Walls of Jericho, by Pops, August 23, 2019

Wait a minute.

That don’t look right!

Ok, now that looks a lot better.

Well now I know, it’s been a long time since I wrote up one of these little Ride Reports; it’s been Hot!.

But the last couple of nights… well, let’s just say—it’s been starting to cool off a little, which has started, well… I’ve been getting the itch to get back out there and be as big a nuisance to the commuting public as possible.

And I know, it ain’t cold yet, so figured, in the meantime, I’d just work on my writing chops and write up this little ride I took “early” last spring: if that’s ok with y’all. In case you were wondering—a little background; I initially purchased my rides to go to the great unknowns and see what I could see while still conserving the scant amount of cash I had on hand to dispose of. That being said, I soon also surmised, if I joined that group that camped also… I could combine the two… and go farther… for Cheaper.

Then, my last adventure to Bankhead State Park crystalized those ideas when I found a great place to camp late in the evening, where I had to return home from– ; in fog and rain.

So, with my bike packed up with my New tent, all manners of food, kitchen appliances, and toiletry necessities… I set out on my First “over-nighter,” to test my readiness, and hone my rusty camping skills.

My journey, set in theory to: Raccoon Creek Wildlife Management Area, Russell Cave National Monument, and lastly to the Walls of Jericho Alabama Trailhead.

Not an outrageous endeavor, only a few hours travel… if the opportunities to document said excursion were not taken to liberally. But I wasn’t in any hurry either so, as I was to discover, perfect timing was experienced throughout.

Just out bumming around…

Of course, now, I chose the lesser traveled paths. Alabama’s State Hwy AL-79 North from Birmingham; mostly a two-lane’r, first. And as with many of these State roads through Alabama, it is well enough maintained, and gives you a much better sense of the “real-life” that happens in the areas it traverses.

An unexpected Benefit along the way.

Guntersville Lake.

It’s huge! I had no idea how massive the thing was. Would probably be a great place to fool around someday; (but, not today—other plans). There is, I found, all kinds of development along it’s banks, and not just various types of entertainment but also several, what I presumed were, industrial facilities.

I mean, I had always heard there was industry up here in this area along the Tennessee River, the largest tributary of the Ohio River, but I had never seen any of it myself, not buzzing down the interstate… it was kind of cool seeing it firsthand.

On the North side of the Guntersville area, I began looking for AL-72, the next turn in my directions (or better stated: opportunity to “get-lost”) on this adventure, but I found it with little distress.

And upon taking the entrance ramp (I believe it was) to AL-72, I noticed over the treetops, in the distance, the tell-tell signs of what I immediately recognized as… the Nuclear Flumes of a power plant. Not expecting them at all I quickly stopped to snap a photo, which just so happened to be in front of this memorial to Jeff, R.I.P.

As a passing tourist… I couldn’t help but feeling the two were somehow forever intertwined in posterity. Little did I know, my campsite for the evening would be just up-river from this site.

Ahhh! A lot of water down there…

I quickly found my turn-off to my first planned camp site: but what you can’t really derive from the angle in this photo is, that from the top of the exit—you can’t see the turn off to the right beside my bike… all you see is that body of water to the left… and I soon could feel the overwhelming feelings of “oh’ shit” arising in my throat.

And even upon traversing down the little path to the right, down a man-made chert trail that linked small pods of drift-dirt together, my excitement sank deeper and deeper in my chest. True, if push came to shove, I could have posted up on one of the clumps of dirt; but the road continued on…

Then after a half mile or so, I came to what was, actually, the official campground of Raccoon Creek Wildlife Management Area.

“Official” Camping Area.

It’d been a good day so far really, excluding that lump in my throat I had just overcome. And I had gotten to the camping area well in advance of the onset of darkness. So, after un-robing from my ridding gear, I made my way down to the river (Tennessee) that was close at hand and struck up conversation with some of the locals that were there: Fishing.

I know! Picturesque, right.

It turned into quite the conversation. From me giving them the heads up on where I had spotted a Bigmouth Buffalo fish swimming around, to whether I possessed Armament, to protect myself during the night… ah? …

I’ll move on to other aspects of my events, if you will…

I enjoyed their company just the same, and after a short time got onto my chores of setting up my humble camp.

Which wasn’t as easy a task as I expected.

But, Free!

The “Camp Ground” if you will, like I mentioned, is located at the end of a peninsula; of some-what, between the banks of the Tennessee River and another body of that same water on the east. One of the fishermen noted, “yeah, you’re lucky to get in here, most the time during the rainy season this place is under water,” which was somewhat unsettling, seeing this was the “Rainy Season.” And as you can see above, there were still remnants of the past rains present. But I found a (less wet) spot and got-on with my business. The fishers soon went home, and I was able to relax and consume one of the sandwiches I had packed for the trip.

Complete darkness was soon to set in, so in the few minutes I had before I had to navigate the area completely by flashlight, I enjoyed my last cups of coffee and a few smokes.

Then, as if signaled by the complete darkness, small animals, completely uninhibited by my presence, began to scurry around in the darkness…

I wasn’t able to light one up definitively with my flashlight, due in part to their quickness, agility, and also due in part to the low power of my light, but I imagined, if only in my imagination; Racoons!

And with a huge smile of joy on my face I settled into my sleeping bag and was fastly off to sleep.

Until…

A vehicle, of some sort came rolling down the gravel road, slowly: and my mind immediately returned to my conversation with the fisherman of armament.

But just as they came, they simply turned around and left.

Then, another came.

This time I presumed it to be high-schoolers, talking loudly, being rude, then as the last, they also turned around a drove off. 

I lost count of the others as I drifted in and out of deep sleep. Then around midnight, a SUV came in slowly, then past me and parked in the boat dock & boat loading area and set up camp, just past where I was camping.

They weren’t obnoxiously loud, just normal talking as they set up their two tents and quickly made their beds.

I actually didn’t think it was that bad a site, just kind of busy, as most of the arrivals unfortunately stirred me enough for me to realize I should pee… but, I thought; maybe, maybe things would settle down now…

Nope!…

At 2:30am, a caravan of big pickup trucks pulled up, pulling various sizes of boats, with banks of bright lights on all, on the road between me and the river.

One of the boat participants graciously walked over to me and explained, as I was fully awakened by their arrival and now outside of my tent observing the proceedings: one of their comrades had gone out on the river earlier in the evening and had not reported back home as expected and was not answering repeated attempt to contact them… and in anticipation of a mishap, they were “all” going out to see if they could find them.

Ok, so how was I supposed to be pissed about that???

Needless to say, I may have slept in a bit the next morning.

The campers, that had camped in the boat dock area had left. And as I stepped out of my tent, I was startled by a huge bird that took off from the bank of the river.

Sandhill Crane

But I, immediately thought “Eagle!”…

…as I scrambled to pull my phone out of my pocket while still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. (Guess I should rise ready to shoot pictures/soon as I exit my tent). But, one of my “bird” friends said later, “it was probably a crane,” as I myself was dumb founded by the length of the bird’s long back legs… whatever it was, it was huge, and it was cool.

But, enough of this foolishness… I needed to find a tree/and pee, again!

And I was starving, too! So, I quick scrounged together some twigs and such to spark up me a little warmth and heat for my breakfast: but try as I may, the morsels of firewood I had gathered were so saturated with moisture… I couldn’t get them to burn regardless of my sorted valiant attempts. And you know I gave it a go, because it was freezing, about 37 degrees, it was.

But, after about thirty minutes with the wet firewood, I gave in and lit up the little stove I had also brought; that in itself not without its own drama. Come to find out, this stove I bought must have been from Australia! Because the flame adjustment knob turns backwards from an American stove, which can blast a flame about six foot up in the air… I’ll let that image play in your mind for a second as to how I know that. Unscathed though; I progressed on.

And as I retrieved my breakfast items from my panniers, I noted little feet prints.

(bet y’all ain’t never seen a “Ahamay” before… ha!)

And on my seat and tank! Obviously, something was just as interested in my breakfast during the night as I was at this moment. (I assume, again, Racoon).

And just outside my tent door, inside my boot prints from the night before, more tracks… ? deer, ? looks like. I found mom’s tracks up by the road, from where she was calling the young one from my doorstep.

Man! They were really quiet, or I was really tired… one or the two…

But as the new day came, so did a new group of fishers, and I made my way;

on to Russel Cave.

I ain’t got just a whole lot to say about this “National” site.

I take, that that square is where they found all the stuff they got out-of the cave.

I guess the cave would have been a pretty good place to camp back in the day, circa 6500 bc or so… that’s how old the fishing hook they dug up here was…

Until one of those big blocks of stone, seen in the back there, fell on your head… that would not! have been a good day.

They did have some picnic tables, where I enjoyed my lunch: and an indoor toilet where I greatly enjoyed… combing my hair… ha!

But, otherwise… I wouldn’t really recommend the drive up there, except for the ride; unless you happen to be looking for somewhere to go.

So, I rode on.

Now I will interject here, I rode back down to Stevenson, AL, on AL-72 from Russel Cave, where I headed West on CR-55, to CR-53, so I could get on CR-13; which looks like this.

Which to me is spelled: “Yeehaw!!!”

Where I got to climb up that hill on some switchbacks.

Which always looks better from the seat of your own bike.

Then stopped here at the top to pray thanks for deliverance from the 1987 Toyota Corolla that that young boy was driving that passed me like I was in his way, as I struggled to navigate the twisting inclining turns…

Which lead me onto a really nice road.

I was confused.

There wasn’t a sign, but the road I was on “T’ed” into this “really nice” road, and I had to go either North or South on it… and I knew from my last check of my navigations I needed to go North… so I turned Right.

And before long found myself atop a beautiful ridge, on a road that must have been built for a King. Just say’n, it was real nice… heck, there was even a State road-crew even out re-painting the roads already perfect lines/and it was Saturday!?! Someone’s got some bucks up here…

I did finally identify that I was on the correct road (the Northern most portion of AL-79), but it was way out of character for the area. Kind of felt like at any moment I was going to get pulled over and told… ah, we don’t allow “Bikes” up here… but, didn’t happen.

It was, uncharacteristically quiet too. Didn’t see hardly any cars… and didn’t see any human life until I got to the trail head.

Just because, for the reason of exploration only, before I got to the trail head, I did pulled off on Tate’s Cove Road, another immaculately cared for road, even though it was chert.

But saw this,

Looked really official.

But it didn’t say anything at all about; “Licensed” vihicles…?

Now, I hadn’t heard any firearms go off, all day, but it Was the first day of Turkey Season… and, some do say, “you Turkey!” to me sometimes…

So, not wanting to push my luck and become target practice for some well-meaning but mistaken cowboy… I made my way back to the hard road and on to my destination; Walls of Jericho.

Trail Head, from just down the path a little.

I pulled in the Trail Head parking lot not really knowing exactly what to expect, based on my previous night’s experience.

I had made a phone call to the Parks offices a few weeks prior and found the area exactly as they described it though.

I had also expressed during that call some concerns to the Park Officer about leaving my bike in some random parking lot out in the middle of the woods–unattended… but, I soon found that the cars parked there were way more expensive than my little old bike… and, was soon put even more at ease when I struck up conversation with a few of the “Hikers” that were returning from their “hike” to the Walls. They were mostly couples, my age, exhausted from their “walk” down the trail, or better stated, “hike” back up the hill to the parking lot.

See, the “Hike” to the Walls of Jericho, is a 1.5 mile hike in… downhill… then, the hike back to the parking lot is also a 1.5 mile hike (of course, right)… but, up a 1300 foot incline,…

You could say our conversations were kind of short as they were all struggling for precious breath…

So, based on everything I had seen, without even a moment more of hesitation I snatched up a load of camp gear and headed down a trail on the opposite side of the parking lot toward my unknown destination to claim my “spot” for the evening.

Down this little trail.

Then up this path,

To an open expanse on a cliff, overlooking a wooded valley of the preserve.

I had not made good time getting to the evenings site. But, still had plenty of daylight left to set up my camp.

I, based on the traffic of the site I had camped at the previous night, set my spot up well back from where I could tell previous campers had placed their tents, so not to be in the way when the posses, I anticipated, all arrived. And then, as any good host, went about collecting as much firewood as possible so that would not be, by any chance, a problem… for all who cared to attend.

I gathered, and gathered; then gathered some more. Then, when I felt I had three times as much firewood as could possibly be needed, I broke up a bunch and separated it into various sizes.

Then, as the shadows began to grow longer, I sparked some up and began snooping around for some good photos.

Easy does it, there, young feller.

sorry about the above space…

And as the sun sat itself on yonder hill, I began pulling out my well-deserved vetals for the evening.

It wasn’t all that, to photograph; another of my turkey sandwich I had packed away for the ride, and some hot Rama Noodle soup with Vienna Sausages tossed in for fun. I can’t remember what I had for dessert, but I know I did indulge as I kicked back and enjoyed several cups of coffee just watching the fire consume wood.

It was cold. The rock face cliff did little to break the wind that howled over it. My tent, even though vented, did do an exceptionally marvelous job though; when I finally got in it.

And to help out the summer sleeping bag I had, …I found that if you simply used your ridding jacket as a blanket over your legs… bingo! Helps a lot.

When the sun had sufficiently risen and warmed the next morning, I emerged from my cocoon to discover… I was still completely alone. I had had no midnight arrivals. Actually, didn’t hear anything; but way off in the distance a muffled lone generator (I presumed from the equine group camped back over the other side of the hill from my camp, but it switched off periodically enough to not be a bad bother). The only other sounds were the cries of the foxes on the valley floor and distant hills as they ran here and there, I imagined, chasing each other and small game.

And not having far to ride home, but still not ready to confront humanity, I leisurely consumed my bag-o-breakfast with several more cups of coffee; as I did my best to burn up as much of the rest of the firewood I had collected.

All and all, when I hit the total on my fun-had button for this trip—

Winner-Winner! Goin-nah’ have Chicken for Dinner!

Having said that… if your ever up this way and are looking for a “quiet” primitive camp site; Walls of Jericho. Way better than Racoon Creek. And Russel Cave???

not so neat as I had expected.

Enjoy the Ride

pops