I had two goals in mind when I set out from Geist’s Mountain Creek Cabins on my mountain bike. The first was to catch a fish and the second was to make it to the end of the road in the Upper Jerry Natural Area. The idea was hatched the previous evening as I stood around a campfire drinking good beer and crappy scotch. I’d been intrigued with the notion of packing up my bike with my fishing equipment and heading up into the mountains in search of native brookies and their stocked cousins. The tiny stream in this secluded corner of Cameron County (Pennsylvania) had yielded some nice fish over the years for some of my fellow fisherman. This would be my first visit to the stream and it was going to be on my bike, totally self contained for the afternoon.
At approximately 10 am I pulled out of the parking lot and my adventure began. As I crossed the bridge over the First Fork I waived to Tom Rushe who was fishing down below. I’m sure a part of him had to be thinking I was certifiable as why on earth would I set out on my bike to fish when there was miles of quality fishing water within footsteps of the cabins? I felt extra good and the bike seemed especially comfortable as I pedaled towards seclusion. But first a quick stop off for some bait at Mama Penos shop. I asked what she recommended, maybe some maggots or meal worms. She smiled and said after some thought, “Those natives like something alive.” I purchased a dozen red worms.
Once you leave the camps and year round homes and cross over the small bridge over Wykoff Run, it’s basically uphill the rest of the way. The previous evening when this plan was hatched I was promised several things by some of the guys who had spent some serious time fishing in this area. I was told the fishing was great, the area is desolate and the road is dirt. Once I got in to this little remote section of Pennsylvania, I realized I was taking one of the most enjoyable bike rides I’d ever taken in my life.
I own three bikes. The oldest is my 20 year old Panasonic Touring Deluxe which I purchased when I was in college and the most expensive is my Cannondale Super V dual suspension. I was on my third bike. It is the one I built up after seeing the Diamond Back frame hanging on the wall of the Ambridge Bike Shop. I paid $40 for it. A few months prior to me purchasing this frame I had broken the frame on my original Diamond Back. I figured I already had most of the parts so I might as well try and cobble together another bike. Well it is this trusty third bike that has travelled with me on many adventures. This is the bike I’m not afraid to leave outside and so when I’m venturing off to parts unknown this is the riding partner that sees most action. I outfitted this bike with semi slick tires. The handlebar has a flashing white light and the seat post has a flashing red light. It has a rigid fork and a Blackburn rear rack I probably purchased back in 1992. A Planet Bike mud catcher is affixed to the down tube. In other words it is a perfect bike to take up a dirt road to nowhere.
After a half hour of slow grinding, I took a break and got off the bike and did some stretching. I knew if I was going to make it to the end of the road (this was kind of a hazy destination as some guys in camp told me it was only 10 miles in one direction while others told me 20 miles) I didn’t have the luxury of taking a bunch of breaks every time the hills got steep. After a few pictures I got back on the bike and did another half hour grind. I figured after an hour of riding I was far enough in to start looking for a fishy spot. Now it was time for my second goal.
As I assembled my fishing rod and prepared for a match of wits with a fish that has a brain the size of a pea I saw a car approaching. This was the first one of the day since I had entered the Upper Jerry Natural area and I flagged them down. I had picked up a discarded Busch Beer can and was wondering if they could be so kind as to take it with them. Turns out they were a couple of younger guys in search of some stocked trout and after a few minutes of me explaining where I had personally seen buckets of trout dumped the previous day on First Fork, they were on their way. They continued heading up hill, and I never saw them come back down the whole rest of the day.
I took off my helmet, replaced it with my baseball hat and I was now in fishing mode. My 10 year old medium-light action Diawa fishing rod breaks down into 6 pieces. Shortly after I purchased the rod I had my mom build a sleeve where the individual pieces would slide into and then I simply roll it up and slip it into the tube. So when I’m getting rigged up there is this procedure where I take out the cloth sleeve and then unroll it and lay out the pieces in front of me. It’s almost like a surgeon or maybe a safe cracker laying out his delicate instruments in front of him. But then when I look at the well used rod and the cracked and then repaired epoxy I realize there is nothing delicate about this fishing rod.
I run the line through the eyes and then attach a foot long section of 6x tippet (somewhere around 3 lb test) to my 4 lb test line. No swivel was necessary for this type of fishing. It’s all about being stealth like. A size 14 treble hook with the barbs pinched down is the end of the line.
From where I stood I could see how the stream splits. The pool I wanted to fish was 50 feet through the woods and across the small stream that ran at my feet. I fished a bit right at my feet but if anything was in there it clearly saw me hovering over its house. I jumped across the stream and stopped half way to where I wanted to fish. I rested there a few minutes and crept up another 20 feet. I rested another few minutes and then sidled up next to my target. I waited a few more minutes and then lobbed a perfect little cast a mere 8 feet. The worm danced through the hole and within a second it was devoured by my quarry. A few seconds later and a picture was taken and the fish was back in its hole. Mission accomplished. I thought for a few moments and quickly realized I didn’t want to disturb this fragile little eco system anymore. I wanted to keep on riding.
I quickly made my way back to the bike and got back in to riding mode. From where I stood the day had been perfect. I had ridden approximately 5 miles in to a secluded nature area and had caught a fish. I probably could have caught 20 fish if I had felt like it. Now I just wanted to get to the end of the road, but I really didn’t know where that was and how far it was. After another mile or so I realized that my water supply was running a bit low. I had only packed a single bottle of water. I’d heard there were natural springs in the hills but with no one to ask I couldn’t be certain what was safe and what wasn’t. As I kept on grinding up hill at what must have been a snail’s pace I realized how noisy this area was. On more than one occasion I spun around quickly thinking there had to have been a car behind me chugging up the road, only to discover a whole lot of nothing. It was unnerving.
The hill got steeper and I began to shiver even though the temperature was perfect and I was adequately dressed. My breaks got more and more frequent. I was stopping every 100 yards or so, just for a quick breather and a stretch. I wondered if I had indeed gotten close to the end of the road I had been seeking. The stream at this point was not visible. The guys said the stream disappears and the road levels out. Well this road was certainly not level but after 8 miles I was right where they had described I would be. I made my way under a blown down tree that hung over the road. My bike fit better than any car. I kept on climbing. Now it seemed without water and with a ton of extra weight strapped to my bike, it was becoming clear that turning around and heading back down hill was a logical next step.
I made it as far as the power lines and Millers Laurel Lodge but that was the end of my upward journey. My trunk rack was the expandable variety from Nashbar and around my shoulder slung a bulging creel. The day before on the big water the creel had been filled with fish. Now it held my essentials. I made sure everything was nice and secure and then I turned and went down.
Never in my life had I ever picked up as much speed as I had in as short of a distance. I dropped 2 miles really fast and it was on this little stretch that I most likely hit my top speed of 33.7 miles per hour. The road was filled with duffle bag sized boulders that I had studied and rode around on the way up, but on the way down my legs screamed. When I stopped, I turned around and noticed my fishing rod tube was gone. I looked back up above me and came to the conclusion that I was in no way able to ride back up and look for the rod. I had just descended the most amazing 2 miles of continuous downhill I had ever experienced. No it wasn’t single-track, but considering the speed and the lack of suspension (and considering my ride isn’t exactly a top end rigid bike with nice parts draped on it), I felt proud knowing I had conquered some amazing terrain with some serious old school style technology. I’m not certain anyone could have gone any faster than I had with the bike I was on.
I kept going down and my thighs begged me to take a break but if I wanted to ever see that fishing rod again I needed to get back to camp, hop in my car and retrace my steps. I experienced two close calls on this next section. The first was transitioning from dirt to some kind of black cinder stretch and the second was when I chose the wrong line when crossing a bridge. I quickly recovered after the minor missteps and no harm was done.
By the time I returned to camp my bicycle sounded more like a motorcycle than anything. I explained to one of my buddies who had been checking the oil in his car that I needed to retrace my steps and hopefully find my fishing rod. I tore out of the parking lot in my Honda Pilot and across the bridge and just as I headed up the first hill into the Upper Jerry Natural area I noticed a pickup truck ahead of me. As there was no way of passing I had no choice but to follow this person who was clearly babying their vehicle. Of all things I had to get into a traffic jam! Probably three cars total all day had driven on this road. The climb up seemed to go on forever. Had I really pedaled my bike this whole way? A hundred yards from where I started my descent there in the middle of the dirt road was my fishing rod tube. The pickup truck went around it and I jumped out of my SUV and picked it up. My fishing rod had a bit more history now attached to it and when I pass it on to one of my kids there will be a story that goes with it.
As I sit in my living room and type a few words about this little excursion, I think about two of the magazines I received today. One was an issue of Bike and the other was Dirt Rag. These magazines frequently describe these epic bike rides that double as a life changing experience. I’m not certain how much a 16 mile trip in to the Upper Jerry Natural Area in nowhere Pennsylvania will alter my life, but I do know that I will never forget it. I’ll never forget how brown everything was and how noisy such a quiet place can be. I’ll certainly never forget that decent sized native brookie and how I outsmarted him. I know those first two miles were amazing for how much speed I attained and I know I’ll always remember the huge smile on my face as I jumped rock after rock. Those little stone ramps buried in the middle of the dirt road were placed perfectly just far enough apart. I remember that if you accept the challenge of finding the end of the road you better enjoy the view on the way up because on the way down you will see nothing but a series of blurs. Maybe life changing isn’t a great way to describe this ride, but flat out amazing, certainly is.
If you choose to venture in to this part of the state just make sure you bring along your camera and drive safe as you are in Elk Country. The Geist’s Mountain cabins are clean and rustic and a perfect place to kick back after a nice grind. You can fish just outside the door for trout and it is a perfect place for camp fires. In this area there are countless possibilities for riding dirt roads as well as sweet single-track. For camping accommodations the Sinnemahoning state park campground above the lake is a nice place to pitch a tent. Sites 4 and 5 are nice for tenters and sites 28 and 29 are better suited for larger trailers or for people who like to spread out a bit on the grass. Bring the kids along as there are plenty of riding options (especially for the bikes with training wheels) just outside of your tent.
Overall this area offers a vibe that is quite different from your typical mountain bike destination. There are no chair lifts in this area and any trips downhill are the reward for your climb getting there in the first place. You are also way more likely to encounter a fisherman than a fellow cyclist, and don’t expect to find any chi-chi coffee shops. I’m not positive but the closest bike shops are probably found either in State College (45 minutes from base camp in one direction) or Dubois (45 minutes in the other direction). What this place does offer are some amazing opportunities to get some mud on your tires and put some sweat on your brow.
Resources:
PA State Parks – 888-PA-PARKS 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday to Saturday, except Thanksgiving Day, Christmas Day, New Years Day and Martin Luther King Jr. Day.
www.dcnr.state.pa.us/index.aspx
Geist’s Mt. Creek – 37 Wyatt Lane, Sinnemahoning, PA 15861
Telephone – 814-546-2087
Melissa and Jeff are the proprietors
Vitals of the ride:
Elapsed time- give or take 4 hours
Ride time- 1:57
Avg. speed- 8.2 miles/hour
Total distance- 16.13
Max speed- 33.7 miles/hour
Highlights:
Nice steady climb uphill on a dirt road in a Refuge Area
Tremendous downhill on the way back to camp
Plenty of elbow room to test your skills on some spooky trout
