Brad in West Virginia. Photo credit Sean Kobia.

2020 was a crazy year for everyone. But for me the craziness began a full 3 months before most of the world had even heard of the Coronavirus. Just 4 days before Christmas 2019 I was at a birthday party at a Ninja Gym for my two daughters, who were turning 7 & 10. The day had been a big hit and the kids had a blast. I’d had fun too. The instructor for the kids also encouraged me to try out the obstacles which I eagerly did. I always liked that kind of stuff. We were nearing the end of the session, and there was one obstacle left that I hadn’t conquered. It was a big vertical wall. You might recognize it if you’ve ever watched the show American Ninja Warrior. On my first attempt I got one hand up and over the top ledge and almost made it. Spurred on by the coach and a few others, I tried again. On my second attempt I sprinted towards the wall, ignoring the coach’s advice to not approach the obstacle with too much speed. As I planted my right foot on the near vertical wall I felt a sharp pop in my lower leg. I collapsed immediately and slammed into the obstacle before sliding to the ground. After a trip to the ER followed by an MRI it was confirmed that I’d ruptured my Achilles tendon. My 2020 started off with surgery during the first week of January. The operation, which was led by a surgeon in Atlanta who came highly recommended by a friend, went well. But this particular injury requires a long recovery, ranging from 6-12 months. My medical team recommended taking the full year before I returned to my normal life at full speed and they routinely work with some hard -hitting Americans from the world of special operations and professional athletes. I started rehab in March and unfortunately not long after the entire U.S. healthcare system shut down due to the COVID pandemic. I was offered the opportunity to continue rehab via virtual sessions, which ultimately proved too frustrating for me, leaving me to navigate the rehab process mostly on my own at home.

Around mid-summer I was feeling pretty good physically and was pleased with the progress I’d made. Like most everyone else in the country I was in quarantine due to the ongoing pandemic and limiting myself to only essential travel. I’d never had an injury that had sidelined me for this long and I was getting a little desperate for some adventure. I needed an outdoor mission. I still officially had another 6 months to go with my recovery and didn’t want to risk re-injuring myself. And even though I was feeling strong in my injured leg I had spent the past 6 months either in a wheelchair, on crutches or wearing a boot and I was still relearning to walk with two legs again. I definitely wasn’t back to normal strength or mobility. I weighed the options for what kind of mission I could reasonably do at 50% capacity. I considered an overnight backpacking trip, but quickly ruled that out as unwise due to just not having had a chance to train with weight over uneven terrain. I wasn’t ready to climb yet and didn’t think my leg was strong enough. I thought about an Outer Banks surf trip. It was mid- September, which means good surf with warm water and small crowds. Surfing was too unpredictable though and the chances for a bad landing that would tweak or re-rupture the repaired tendons was too great. I looked at my motorcycle sitting in the garage, in the same place it had been all year and decided that I could probably handle a moto-camping trip. Some in my inner circle questioned the wisdom of that decision, with good reason. There is always a chance, especially when off-roading on motorcycles that something unexpected can happen resulting in serious injury. But I’d been riding motorcycles since I was 10 years old and knew how to ride well. I knew all the different ways you can get hurt on a bike and also knew that I was good enough to handle riding conservatively and ‘within normal limits’, which I would need to do on this trip. I called up my lifelong best friend Sean, who lives in VA. He had just returned from riding the challenging Idaho Backcountry Discovery Route. I told him I was ready for a moto mission and he immediately agreed to a ride. We tossed around a few different ideas for length of time and location. I wanted to camp and be out for a few days. Sean told me about a route he knew and had actually ridden a portion of recently in West Virginia. It was called the Tour de Coalfields, a 350-mile loop in Southern West Virginia. He said we could probably do most of it in 2.5 days, with three nights out camping. I thought that sounded perfect and I was excited at the chance to get to ride with him. We decided on mid-October weekend, which was just a few weeks away

I hadn’t ridden or done any maintenance on my bike in nearly a year. I got to work getting it ready. I changed the oil and had a new front tire put on. I’d been needing to update my navigation capability for some time, so I ordered a new GPS. It was delivered but I was having some trouble finding a mount. I’ll admit here that I was not focusing on gear prep like I should have been. Moto-camping trips requires a different level of preparation than most other types of overlanding. You can’t carry a lot of extra stuff on a bike so you’ve got to be very efficient. I was busy with my daily schedule and not as focused on the details as I needed to be. I found a mount online and ordered it. It arrived with about a week left before I was planning to leave but came with no instructions and a bag of parts that weren’t obvious to me what mounting configuration they required. I installed the mount and it looked right, but I didn’t have a warm fuzzy. I also hadn’t allowed enough time for a check out ride. There is always an element of uncertainty on a trip like this, just like on a military mission, and basic rehearsals will often eliminate a measure of risk . Despite my lack of a prep-ride, I felt relatively confident that the bike was in good shape, so when the day to leave arrived I packed up my stuff and prepared to hit the road. It felt good to be going on a mission even if I was a little out of practice.

I arrived at Sean’s house in southwestern Virginia around noon. It was a perfect, sunny fall day as I unloaded my bike off the trailer and began the process of arranging my gear. As I started loading my bike, I was feeling guilty for not having done a test ride. There wasn’t a lot of time to worry about it now. I focused on making sure I had the basics and some essential photography gear: tent, sleeping bag and pad, food, water, clothes, tool kit, first-aid kit, spare tubes, phone, charging cord, go pro’s, drone & extra batteries, along with a few personal security items. I managed to get everything strapped down and felt confident that I had enough stuff to at least survive. I felt out of practice though. It doesn’t take long for skills to perish. After a great lunch it was time to head out. We pulled out of Sean’s driveway and onto the two-lane country road and I was immediately immersed in the beautiful Virginia countryside. It had been years since I had visited to this part of Virginia and it felt great to be back. We had a 1.5-hour ride to our campsite in West Virginia. I focused intently on the twisty country roads. With my bike fully loaded it took a while before I was in sync.

Our destination was Camp Creek State Park, located just off of I77 in Mercer County, WV. The park is home to 6000 acres of lush forest and was ideally situated to serve as our basecamp. We planned to ride a section of the route each day and return each night to camp. This was a decision made to ease the logistics of planning for new camp sites each day, as well as to avoid having to ride with fully loaded bikes, as some of the trails along this route had challenging advanced sections.

It was a pleasant ride to West Virginia and even though it hadn’t taken that long, it felt good to arrive at the park. We checked in at the small campground office. The lady behind the counter gave us directions to our camp site and sold us two bundles of firewood. We rode slowly along as we made our way through the campground, our headlights showing the way as the last of the sunlight fell behind the mountains. It was dark as we pulled into our campsite and I could feel the temperature dropping quickly.

West Virginia is an amazing place and I was excited to be back. Almost 80% of the state’s total land area is made up of forest land. The National Park Service manages four areas including the New River Gorge National River, Gauley River National Recreation Area, Bluestone National Scenic River and Harpers Ferry National Historical Park. There are three National Forests: George Washington, Jefferson and Monongahela National Forest, with the latter home to Seneca Rocks, one of the best known and most iconic landmarks in the state. West Virginia is also home to 42 state parks. The state tourism website highlights 13 recreational categories, including some of most extreme outdoor sports like whitewater kayaking, rock climbing and mountain biking. Snowshoe Ski Resort is also located in West Virginia.

The Mountain State has also become popular in recent years with the off-roading community and is home to numerous off-road riding areas and trail networks. The most famous of these is the Hatfield-McCoy Trail Network in southwestern WV. It has 8 separate trail systems comprising over 700 miles of trails and connecting numerous ‘ATV friendly’ towns. A cottage industry has sprouted to serve the thousands of people that travel to West Virginia each year from all around the U.S. to take advantage of the numerous and diverse off-roading opportunities in the state. In many of the small towns that once served the coal industry, it’s common to see trucks and trailers with out of state tags, and dozens of ATV’s and UTV’s more commonly known as ‘side-by-sides’ scattered about the front yards and driveways of the small houses, which cater to off-road enthusiasts. There are also numerous ATV resorts, restaurants and outfitter stores. Tourism is a vital pathway to economic survival in many of the small, rural West Virginia communities. The last time I was in West Virginia had been to explore parts of the Hatfield-McCoy trail system, which is an amazing area that I highly recommend.

As I crawled into my sleeping bag and turned off my headlamp, I was excited with what tomorrow would bring and the chance to explore new places. Our route for the next 2 days would be diverse, covering the famous West Virginia backroads through the heart of coal-mining country, high-mountain trails and some challenging single track.

The forecast for Friday, October 16 was for light rain until about mid-day, and as I unzipped the tent and stuck my head out to see the sky, it appeared that the forecast was accurate. Temps were in the low 40’s. After a quick breakfast of coffee and oatmeal, we started loading the bikes. We were using the campground as a basecamp, so most of our gear would stay in our tents, but we would need to pack a robust day pack consisting of water, first-aid kit, extra clothes, tools for any trailside repairs and whatever camera gear and personal safety stuff we wanted. I finished loading my bike, strapped the waterproof day pack tightly onto the rear gear rack, and swung a leg over the saddle of my KTM.

I was riding a KTM 690 Enduro R which is a dual-sport bike. A dual sport is, in simple terms, a street legal dirt bike. They range in size from 250 to 1250. 650’s and below are considered small. 650’s- 850’s are mid-sized and above 850’s are large dual-sports. They are also referred to as adventure bikes. The most famous of all adventure bikes, probably, is the BMW 1200 GS which reached mainstream recognition after the 2004 documentary called ‘Long Way Round’, featuring Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman as they rode from London to New York. It’s a great documentary, I recommend it if you haven’t seen it. The smaller dual-sport bikes are generally better off-road, but not as capable over longer distances and on the roads. The larger adventure bikes can carry a lot of gear and are much more comfortable on the road with smoother and more powerful twin-cylinder engines and more technology like anti-lock brakes, cruise control and heated grips but are much heavier and harder to ride over challenging off-road terrain.

I’d never really intended on getting into dual sport riding. It seemed like such a compromise of performance. But after Sean started riding one I decided I would get one and try it out. I had a singular focus when I was deciding on which bike to buy for my first, I wanted the most aggressive dual sport bike larger than a 650. Aggressive meaning it could handle being ridden very hard and fast off-road. There’s not many that fall into that category. In the end I decided that the 690 Enduro R was the perfect bike for me. It was powerful and as a KTM its racing pedigree is solid. It was capable of carrying a full-adventure load, could cruise at high-highway speeds and at 300 pounds it is just light enough that it fools you into thinking you can throw it around like a motocross bike. Sean was also riding a KTM, but a larger and newer 2020 790 Adventure R. He had owned a couple of dual sports already. He started out on the iconic KLR 650, before moving to a KTM 350 EXC. He later added the big Honda Africa Twin to his stable, only to trade it for the new 790. KTM’s 790 hit the U.S. market with a lot of excitement among the dual sport/adventure crowd. It boasted a two-cylinder four stroke (twin) that produces almost 100 hp while weighing in at 468 pounds. It was designed to have the nimbleness and off-road capability of its smaller single cylinder cousin the 690, while possessing the features and capabilities of a larger adventure bike. The 790 was powerful, stylish and could handle serious off-roading. (Check out the excellent write up by Dirt Bike magazine here.)

We pulled out of our campground and started on the first leg of the day’s journey, a 30-mile, paved road section that would take us to the start of the actual route. As we left the campsite I already felt chilled. I had to push the 690 hard to keep up with Sean as we accelerated up the on ramp and merged onto the interstate. It was clear that the 790 was more comfortable on the road, with the power of the larger, twin cylinder. One thing also became immediately apparent as we settled into a 70mph highway cruise, my hands were really cold. I had failed to bring heavy winter riding gloves. It was going to be a long day with cold hands. Much like shooting, riding a motorcycle requires making precise movements with your hands, and I was mad at myself for underestimating the cold temps. I was also jealous of Sean’s heated grips.

This would be a classic 2-day dual sport ride, meaning it would involve just about every type of riding you can do on a motorcycle. A good dual sport ride usually has something for everyone. The novelty of transitioning from 70 mph on the interstate, down through the surface streets of small towns, onto country roads that meander through farmland, and into steep, winding dirt roads that eventually lead deep into the wilderness areas over challenging and advanced off-road trails is hard to explain. It’s addicting. I have to admit that my first impression of dual sport riding wasn’t what I thought. Yes, you do sacrifice some performance. Take my bike for example. The KTM 690 Enduro R is highly versatile. I can easily cruise at 70mph on the interstate fully loaded with gear for a multi-day camping trip. It does pretty good off-road, a skilled off-road rider can push the bike harder on aggressive trails than other 700 size bikes, and I can often hang with much smaller bikes on single track. But it still weighs 300 pounds, a fact that becomes obvious once it’s airborne (or rather once it lands) where you quickly find the limits of its off-road prowess. So you do lose out on some aspect of optimal performance with a dual-sport motorcycle. But what you gain is the experience of having completed a real adventure, sometimes one that feels like an expedition, though you may only be a half-day drive away from your home. The ability to have an authentic adventure, in and amongst people going about their daily lives is a uniquely dual-sport thing.

Sean’s turn signal let me know we were nearing our exit and the start of the first off-road section of the day. I had not had time to do a personal map recon of our route, so I was following Sean’s lead. We’d been riding in light rain for most of the morning and as we pulled into a gas station to top off our tanks, I already felt like I’d been on a long ride. I was cold, it was raining, and we had 6 hours of hard riding ahead of us. Another unique thing about dual-sport riding are the routes. There are folks who invest dozens and dozens of hours creating interesting and creative routes that maximize the use of dirt roads and backcountry trails to complete 100, 200, 500, 1000 miles sections or even to cross the entire United States. For some reason, most of us plan just barely enough time to cover the route in a given span of time, usually leaving little time for pictures and sightseeing, instead requiring solid navigation and route-finding skills and a ‘ride hard and fast’ type mindset. We topped off our tanks and were back on the road. We worked our way past the city limits, into the surrounding countryside and finally up into the mountains of WV. I was watching the water kick up from the road behind Sean’s 790 as he turned off of the small, paved road onto an even smaller dirt road. We lifted our visors while he checked his GPS. “I think this is the first off-road section”, he said. He had ridden a portion of this route earlier in the year with some friends, and was more familiar that I was with the overall route, although he hadn’t ridden this particular section yet. He had warned me that we would encounter some tougher single-track trails today, which was one reason we had decided to base camp and avoid having to bring all of our gear and ride the hard stuff with fully loaded bikes, a fact I was glad of since I was still trying to keep this ride relatively mild. The trail in front of me was definitely steep, but I wasn’t especially concerned at this point and I was at thankful that the rain had finally stopped, although the roads and the trail in front of us were soaked and covered in leaves.

Sean started first and I followed along about 10 meters behind him. Almost immediately he hit a patch of wet leaves and started spinning, stopping his forward motion. I was on a good line and just kept going around him to the right as I watched him working to get the 790 unstuck. Barely 20 seconds in I realized that this trail we were on was pretty tough. First, there were so many leaves that you couldn’t actually see the trail, only the larger rocks and logs. The ground felt slick as ice. I still had enough speed that I was moving forward ok but the trail was so slick and by the time I realized we were in a tough section, which would normally have required a more deliberate approach, I just kept the gas on. I went over a big rock, bunny hop, then my legs shot out to duck walk thru a gully, and then up on a berm to cheat around a steep ledge that I didn’t see until the last second. I found a tiny flat section that looked like a good place to stop to wait for Sean. It felt like pulling into an eddy on a tough whitewater kayak run. I looked back and saw that he was stuck again, so I turned off my bike and looked for a rock or large stick to put under the kickstand. I removed my helmet and started walking back down the trail. I slipped on a rock that was covered in wet leaves and fell down. I wondered how my leg was going to hold up, so far so good but this may have been more than I was anticipating from my first post-surgery adventure. Whatever, keep going, it will be fine I thought to myself, as usual. I caught up with Sean, who turned his bike off. We were both out of breath and we had barely covered 50 meters on this trail. “Dude I think this is Mutiny Hill” he said. “Oh, that’s the one we talked about last night, right?” I asked. “Yep” he replied. “Ok, well I guess we push thru”. The clouds were starting to break up, and blue sky could be seen here and there. I gave Sean a push to get him over the ledge he was stuck on. Dual-Sport riding is often a team sport, especially with the bigger bikes. When they fall, or get stuck, it can more than a single rider can manage easily. I noticed how much heavier Sean’s bike felt. The larger rear tire was also proving to be a challenge on the wet trails. We worked our way up to where my bike was parked. The trail was literally as slick as ice. Walking was a challenge. We finally made it to where my 690 was and took a break. How long had it taken us to come 50 meters? It felt like an hour. I got back on my bike and pushed on. The 690 was having a slightly easier time on this section, although it was by no means easy. The lighter weight and narrower rear tire just hooked up with better traction. I rode the next section which had more of the big rocks, steep ledges and gullies until I came to the first switchback and stopped. I walked uphill a short way to see around the corner, and saw a steep, 20-yard section that looked challenging. I heard Sean pull up behind me. We’d been on this trail now for at least an hour and had barely covered 300 meters I thought. It looked like we were near the end of the really hard section, with one final steep obstacle to go. We turned off the bikes and I grabbed a protein bar, and a Go Pro that I had mounted on a small tripod. We scouted the tough section, much like we used to go on a class 4 whitewater kayak run. I saw the line I wanted to run and placed the Go Pro trail side to capture the scene. Sean was off to the side with his camera as I started my run. This section started with a fallen, slick tree that covered the length of the trail. Fallen wet trees can result in lighting fast crashes if not handled correctly, but I hit this one strait on and was on the gas hard on the other side of it. I stayed in first gear and managed to hit the ledge pretty much where I was aiming. My front tire rocketed skyward, and I felt the rear tire level off as it came over the ledge and I was airborne for a brief second. My front tire came back down hard and I felt my handlebars rotate forward and away from me. I knew immediately that I had made a mistake installing the GPS mount, and was cussing for not taking more time to prep, troubleshoot and practice. With loose handlebars, I rode the 690 up the hill until I found another level spot, parked and headed back down the trail to help spot for Sean. He started his run and had a little more traction problem getting over the log than I did. He was struggling to get the speed needed to catapult over the steep ledge and knew it but went for it anyway. Sometimes that’s all you can do. He got his front tire up on the ledge but didn’t have enough speed to get over it and had nothing but fresh air under both of his boots. I saw the bike tilt to the left, and he and the bike came crashing down very hard right on top of the rock ledge. I feared one or both of them would have something broken after a fall that hard, but Sean executed a perfect downhill roll, popped up and in true Surfer-Marine spirit gave a hearty “Woohoo, did you see that?” We recovered his now slightly more scratched and banged up 790, and after another 15 minutes of hard teamwork, we had made it to the top of Mutiny Hill. We conducted a field-expedient fix of my handlebars and after some more water, and a route check on the GPS headed on down the trail. It had been an intense start to Day 1 of this ride.

The rest of the day was less challenging, but what we had hoped to find in WV. Small roads, high up in the mountains that cut thru pristine forests and over high ridgelines. At times we were flanked by trees with colors so vivid they almost seemed to be from another world. I’ve seen more than a few fall leaf seasons and would rank the WV wilderness as near the top. Flowing down smooth two-lane trails along narrow ridgelines high up in the West Virginia mountains seemed like what 790 was was made for. We were having a blast running through the backcountry. We saw almost no one for the rest of the day, except for the times we crossed through small towns and rural communities as we transited to the next section of wilderness trails. We passed by farms and homesteads, often deep in the backwoods that were no doubt owned by generations of families that had settled here decades ago. Despite the economic hard times that so much of Appalachia endures, many have managed to uphold traditions of mountain living that are slipping further into history with each year. We stopped for lunch in a little town, which was mostly a rural intersection in the country with a gas station, a one room post office and a couple of abandoned buildings. We watched some locals come and go as we sat on the curb out front eating a protein bar, a bag of Doritos and a Powerade. A “Dual-Sport Lunch” Sean called it.

We had miles left to go for the rest of the day, so after lunch we topped off the gas tanks, and got back on route. We took turns on navigation duty and covered dozens more miles through some of the most beautiful country in the world. We made it back to our campsite just before dark, and it felt good to get off the bike. We got a fire going, and after a quick meal of freeze-dried Kung Pao chicken, Sean pulled out a flask and filled two cups with a shot of Whiskey. We shared a silent toast, not even needing to speak as we stared at the fire. I was glad to be in West Virginia, on a motorcycle mission with a great friend. It had been a good day.