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Awesome is
a Seven Letter Word
Part Two

The Hatfield-McCoy Jam -  Ride Report
By Ramjet - 10-11-03
West Virginia

Now that Rocketman is rescued, we head down the trail as a mad pack of screaming machines.



The scenery whisks past me with a green blur. The October weather is just simply beautiful and my Pilot is running well. This is a great time of year to be here. The trees are still green and the weather behaves itself. Nights are cool with a full moon.



We're moving as a group at a pretty good pace when we are confronted with a major obstacle. A huge mud hole, torn up with deep water filled ruts, blocks our path. Perplexed what to do since the Pilot isn't the best machine in deep water, a few make a run at it and make it. One does not. It's from Odyknuck's lesson, the remaining riders in the group go around this muddy beast.

 Here's Mud In Your Eye


Trailshark's Pilot

Now you can't fault Odyknuck for not trying. It was deeper than any of us thought. It was also pretty funny and is another reason this sport is so much fun. But this time, the trail gods frowned on Odyknuck and I caught his plight on film. Everyone will look back at this years from now and laugh.


This sinking of the HMS Odyknuck into the bog of doom


Odyknuck tries to free his machine without success.


One, Two, Three...PULL!

How's the old Beatle song go? "I'll Get By A With a Little From My Friends" is the tune. That's what I like about this group. You're never alone for any length of time and every one pitches in to help if your in trouble. That's a rare thing these days.


Bucked's Pilot

Odyknuck's out of the bogg and we're back on the trails. We bump into another smaller mud hole. The meek of the bunch beat a path around the mud hole and follow the rest. One nameless guy with a stolen blue milk carton decides he can make it and attacks the mud hole at an insane rate of speed. He's right, he makes it.

Barely.
 








 



 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We return to camp to rest, eat and repair our machines. SpaceOddy's machine is running awful and our intrepid group of engine and system doctors discover that a small guide pin inside the barrel of his carburetor has failed. Depressed that nobody can fix it on site, Moskito appears with a replacement carburetor in his hands and presents it to SpaceOddy to mount to his machine. This is just another example how this group helps each other when the chips are down. In a matter of a hour, Spaceoddy ride is back up and running.

While other riders are wrenching on there respective machines; a future Pilot driver is in the making. This little guy has that determine look you only see on the faces of Spring Valley racers. Pilothawk's son road around the camp in careful circles to the grins of a approving guys.

After lunch, it's back on the trails. We take the same entrance and go for a long run with Rocketman leading the way. The ride was generally uneventful until we stopped to water and rest. The dust was kicking up this late in the afternoon and we rolled to a nice open spot where three trails intersect. Some of the guys hop out and shake off the ride; other just rest in their machine. I dismount and walk over to take a few group shots and stretch my legs.

Hold My Beer
and Watch This!

Looking around for something to photograph,  I hear the sound of a Pilot being started behind me. It zips past me kicking up a plum of dust. I see it take off to the top of a hill above us where one trail enters the woods. I ask who it is as it makes high speed passes and turns on the hillside. I run up the hill for a closer look.

It is my friend Moskito, and he's decided to show off his skills for the crowd of dusty warriors.
 
Now, Moskito is one of the best drivers I have ever had the pleasure to ride with. He's got thousands of riding hours on a variety of machines and is a safety freak (just like the rest of us). But  he spins past me again at an outrageous speed and spins figure eights in the dust only to head up to the top of the hill.

Coming across the face of the hill, something goes wrong and Moskito becomes a rolling dust bunny. He tumbles in front of all of use who just stand there dumbfounded for a few seconds. One of the guys who was following him on a dirt bike rolls up  to Moskito who's on his roof and says he's okay. I run up and take his picture for posterity. The other's arrive, and put him back on all fours. A little bump of his throttle and he's gone again.

Our adventures for today are coming to an end as we decide to head back to camp. But Hatfield/ McCoy has one more surprise for us and this time it's victim is Kiowa.

I hear Banjo's

It's getting pretty late in the day and we head back to camp. Everyone is tired and hungry. While scooting down the trail, something goes terrible wrong with Kiowa's Pilot. It's diagnosed he's not going anywhere and we're not exactly sure where we are on the trail and how far from camp.

By popular vote, Kiowa requests to be left behind while the rest of the troops head back to camp to assemble the rescue kit to get him out of there. I offer to stick around and he declines. The last thing I see in my mirrors is Kiowa standing next to his machine kicking the mud off his tires. The sun is going down rapidly and darkness envelopes the trail.


 Trailshark's gets towed back to camp after losing his engine.

Back at camp, Bucked, Odyknuck, RedRider, Rocketman ,and a few other I believe, assemble everything they need to help Kiowa. It's pretty dark now, but off they go to save a friend. We don't see or hear from the rescue team for two hours, but eventually we hear the faint whine of two cycle engines in the distance as they bring Kiowa home. What is ironic is when we finally knew where Kiowa broke down, he wasn't that far from a exit trail to camp. A short drive. Unfortunately, the rescue team went all the way through the trail system to get back to him. While waiting patiently for the rescue team to show up, Kiowa swears he heard banjo music in the distance.

An evening of stories around a warm campfire concludes the day. Everyone sleeps good tonight. We'll ride one more time Sunday, and head for home.


This is the poor cousin to the RamCam. And to think, this guy is an engineer! Like fake boobs, there's nothing like the original RamCam. :)

Hatfield & McCoy has something for everyone. The trails are well marked, the staff is excellent and the cost is moderate. Give it a try, You won't be disappointed. But bring your friends, the come in handy.

I Give This Ride a Ten Out of Ten.