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FALL 2016 ISSUE 02 / VOL. 01
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Views of the Allegheny Mountain ridges from the Highland Scenic Highway near Marlinton, West Virginia. last section of the road was closed to traffic. A controversial and destructive form of mining called the mountaintop removal method is slowly but surely burying what remains of the town, never to be seen again. Derby, Virginia. Once thriving. Humbling scenes like this depict all too vividly the temporary nature of the human condition, but the natural beauty of the region perseveres. Returning to Appalachia, a brisk ride on a flat and twisty ribbon of old U. S. Route 23 restored the mind and spirit. Now in Virginia, maybe that map would do me some good. In Norton, I pored over the folds, looking for the best way to reach Fort Blackmore, another lost town. There was the long way’ round, or the short way. The short way was a jagged line of road, a run of about 12 miles labeled Route 619 that cut across the Bear Country Wilderness. The map foretold of an improved road and a future of riding pleasure.
The first few miles to Flag Rock were a blast. From third to second to first, I kept dropping gears to match the steep rise and tight cutbacks up the mountain. The back side was a different story. The blacktop ended just over the peak, turning into a long, slow descent of hard-packed gravel. A few miles of gravel is no big deal, so I pressed on. Facing declines just as steep, the bike and I literally crawled down the mountain with gravel giving way to hard, wet and slick dirt. Had I crossed paths with an angry mama bear, I’ d have been screwed. I had an hour to think about that as I crept toward the next sign of civilization. When pavement finally reappeared, I stopped for a breather and lunch at a local store. I removed the map from my top case, wadded it up and tossed it in the trash. I could do better without it.
My target destination was Bluefield, West Virginia. Having spent far more time than I’ d planned slogging through the wilderness, I simplified my route by following Routes 65 and 71 to Lebanon. Turning north on U. S. Route 19, I opened up the bike, kicked out the highway pegs and settled against the backrest for a few dozen miles of power touring. Bluefield rolled into sight in the late afternoon.
While Bluefield has avoided the“ once thriving” label, it may never regain its original stature. A century ago, Bluefield had true urban credentials— high-rise buildings, the first“ rush hour” traffic and more millionaires than anywhere else in the country. But you can guess the rest of the story. The town’ s fortunes turned entirely on the success of coal. As the coal played out, so did the town. Today, Bluefield, like many Appalachian towns, is pinning its hopes on a new economic base: Tourism.
Another day, another brilliant blue sky. I decided today to aim for some of the better roads through West Virginia and head toward the New River Valley. If you haven’ t ridden the Mountain State, put it on your bucket list. Forget about the hillbilly stereotypes, West Virginia is filled with friendly people and hundreds of miles of wide-open, well-paved roads. Heading out of Bluefield, I took the circuitous