ADV training: Riding the new South East Backcountry Discovery Route

I started this series of articles in an attempt to improve my off-road riding skills. But what’s the point of gaining all those skills if you’re not putting them to use in the wild? Adventure bikes are made to slide around corners, not safety cones. They’re meant to explore the far reaches of the trail, not gravel parking lots.

That doesn’t devalue the importance of formal training. I believe all riders (young and old, new and seasoned, etc.) benefit from some form of professional training. I equate it to practicing before a big game. The more you practice, the better you play. But no one practices just to practice. For me, it was time to play the “game.” Little did I know that it’d be the biggest game of my ADV life: riding the South East BDR.

It’s not what you know…

I bet you’re wondering, “How’d this chump score a trip with the Backcountry Discovery Routes team?” I was wondering that myself. While I’d love to say it’s my unique combination of natural talent and hard-earned skill, it was neither. Instead, it was good old-fashioned nepotism (insert sweat-laughing emoji). 

Triumph sponsors both Jeff Stanton’s Adventures (JSA) and BDR. After I completed Stanton's training course, a Triumph brand rep asked if I’d be interested in riding the latter. I wouldn’t be joining any old BDR ride, either. It’d be the maiden voyage of a yet-to-be-announced route. Like a man-child buying Pokémon cards at Costco, I jumped at the chance.

Here’s the catch. (There’s always a catch). The BDR shooting schedule spanned 10 days. I couldn’t afford to be away from the Common Tread desk for that length of time. Plus, I had no desire to be on the trail that long. I just started enjoying adventure riding. Let’s not overdo it.

After weeks of deliberation, we landed on me joining the group for the last three days of the trek. It was the ideal timespan. It wasn’t too short and it wasn’t too long. I wouldn’t be overwhelmed and I wouldn’t be underwhelmed. I’d also get to see lovely Tennessee for the first time. Let’s just say I was brimming with excitment. That is until I arrived at camp.

It’s who you know

The plane touches down at the Chatanooga Airport. It’s 5:45 p.m. on the day before Halloween. That’s to say the sun is still up at this hour. It’s well below the horizon by the time I arrive at Welcome Valley Village, a campground 40 minutes away. 

When my Uber rolls onto the premises, it’s too dark to see anything but the light of a pavilion. That’s where the BDR team gathers for dinner. As soon as I see them, my confidence melts. Anxiety replaces it. It’s all real now. This isn’t a training course. There are no instructions included. There’s no one to deliver feedback and encouragement. You’re on your own.

“You have to keep up,” I remind myself. That’s easier said than done, considering the caliber of this group. 

There’s Tim James, the President of the BDR Board and the AMA’s (American Motorcyclist Association) 2024 Motorcyclist of the Year. There’s Jocelin Snow. Yeah, that Jocelin Snow. The one that runs Jocelin Snow Training. The one that (wo)manhandles a BMW R 1250 GS — all 61 inches and 118 pounds of her. There’s BDR board member Kirk Lakeman, BDR ambassador Mani Vermaas, and BDR veteran Kyle Kirschenmann, accomplished ADV riders and our local guides. 

Outside of the BDR brain trust, there’s Tobias Wacther, owner of Edelweiss Bike Travel and an outstanding rider in his own right. His partner in crime (for this trip, at least), Justin Kleiter, manages Harley-Davidson’s demo fleet and flogs a CVO Pan America. Even the film crew, Sterling Noren, Michael Bielecki, and Ely Woody, have decades of off-road experience between them. 

These people eat, sleep, and breathe adventure riding. I merely sip it from time to time. I’d be taking a long drink for the next three days. Despite my apprehensions, I’m welcomed with open arms. I know that I’m the weak link, but no one makes me feel that way. 

Talking to fellow riders, even those you’ve never met, is like talking to old friends. We speak a shared language. I can relate to their stories. They can identify with mine. That’s what it was like meeting the BDR team. Sure, we glossed over the ride schedule, but more than anything, we shared stories over plates of barbecue and around the campfire. What more are adventure trips made of?

Before I knew it, it was time to hit the hay. That’s when I learned I’d be bunking up (I literally slept on a bunk bed) with Kirk and our chase vehicle driver, Tom. That’s something else I forgot about road trips: shared lodging. Manufacturers spoil us moto journos. Press launches are often held at ritzy resorts. There are no such accommodations on this trip. That’s when another form of anxiety set in.

What if they snore or fart in the middle of the night? Then I turned the inquisition on myself. What if I’m the snorer? What if I rip one? How mortifying. Luckily, I slept so well that all three of us could be repeat offenders and I’d never know. What I do know is that by morning time I was ready for the ride day ahead.

Back in the saddle

Things look different in the light of day. Last night, there was nothing but darkness and mystery beyond the light of the pavilion. Now, a flowing river and trees painted in fall’s palette wait beyond that pavilion. These hues don’t occur in my neck of the woods. Southern California comes in shades of brown. Seldom is the scenery green, let alone yellow, orange, or red. More fall colors awaited us on the 100 miles of pavement and trail between here and Tellico Plains.

After gawking at the leaves throughout breakfast, it was time to mount up. I tucked my belongings into my Touratech bags and tossed a leg over my Triumph Tiger 900 Rally Pro. They say you never forget how to ride a bike, but I sure forgot how to ride an adventure bike. My morning was filled with unhealthy amounts of negative self-talk. “No, weight the outside peg here, not the inside peg.” “Stop staring at the ground, dude. Look up.” 

Then I went back to what Daniel Sedlak taught me at the Sedlak Offroad School. I remembered Jeff Stanton’s lessons. Grip the bike with your legs, not your hands. Look through the turn. Maybe most importantly, stay loose. Only then did I notice anything besides my mistakes. I appreciated the well-packed dirt, another departure from the sandy trails I ride in California. I gazed at the sunlight streaming through the multicolored canopy. The Northeast is known for its fall foliage, but Tennessee sure gives it a run for its money. 

What I’ve found is that two things help form my memories: wonder and trauma. The former is responsible for my recollections of Tennessee’s picturesque scenery. The latter for my flashbacks to that day’s water crossings. Sometimes, my mind runs away with itself. It can dream up a thousand nightmare scenarios in seconds. That’s exactly what it was doing as we staged for a river crossing. 

By this point, we had already crossed several creeks. Their muddy bottoms sent my front wheel wandering here and there, but I stayed upright. I thought the hard part was over. Not so fast, buddy boy. Our last crossing would be the most difficult. With 20 yards between its banks, the river wasn’t just wide, it was deep. That was made evident when the first rider splashed his way through. 

“Where’d his wheels go?” I wondered. “Why’s the water up to his fender?”

It’s not a b-line to the shore, either. The river bottom isn’t just muddy, it’s rocky. 

“Maybe I should just turn back now,” I reasoned. “I’m just one day in. No one will even notice.” 

After dreaming up all the embarrassing outcomes, it was my turn. 

“I’m actually going through with this?” I agonized. “Well, I hope Triumph likes flooded engines. Here goes nothing.”

I rolled the front wheel into the water. “Keep momentum,” I told myself. The wheel deflected off one rock. Keep momentum. It popped over another. Keep momentum. Out of nowhere, the front sunk. I’m slowing. This is it. I’m going down. Then, I grabbed a handful of throttle and slipped the clutch. The rear wheel churned through the riverbed and powered me up the slick bank. I made it. I survived. The Lord can take me now.

When we roll into Tellico Plains, trick-or-treaters are out in force. It’s Halloween, after all. Main Street already looks like a movie set. The festivities only add to the mise-en-scène. By this point, I’m tuckered out, but there’s no way I’m missing dinner with the group. I’m glad I don’t. I still remember the ribeye and Brussels sprouts from that night. Part of my compliments go to the Peach Street Grill chef. The other part goes to the trail. All meals taste better after a day like that. I’d have to savor that moment of relief, because the forecast called for rain the next morning.

Wet behind the ears

Showers. Precipitation. Rain. We don’t get much of it where I’m from. That’s why I’d never ridden off-road in the wet before. That all changed on day two. The route sent us to Andrews, North Carolina. There’d be a whole lot of fog, rainfall, and mud between here and there. 

When the first droplets hit my helmet visor, worrying was no longer an option. I was a ball of nerves on the first day. I wasn’t wasting any more of my energy on worrying. The trails sap enough of it already. That approach wouldn’t be sustainable. Not in this weather.

Dense fog clouded our climb up to the Nantahala National Forest. The fog only receded when we reached the trailhead. Right on cue, the heavens opened up, pelting our party with heavy showers. Puddles formed, my visor fogged (even with a Pinlock insert), and water seeped through my gloves. Needless to say, it was slow going for the first few miles. The pace would pick up soon enough.

There was no other choice when following behind Jocelin. Not only was she fast, she was efficient. Not only did she show me the optimal line, she showed me how to judge the terrain. In dry conditions, I often avoid gravelly patches. I sought them out in the rain. With more rocks under-wheel, I could preserve what little traction was left. I avoided mud wherever possible. Although, Jocelin and I blasted through our fair share of puddles. Girls just gotta have fun, right? 

I learned just as much when shadowing Tobias. At that point in the ride, grip was even harder to come by. It wasn’t just wetter. The trail was covered in fallen leaves, too. Talk about slick. Still, The "Tob-inator" slid around each turn with ease, spinning up the rear tire at every exit. Like a toddler, I mimicked his moves, breaking the rear loose and easing the throttle before lowsiding. I finally felt like I knew what I was doing. I finally felt confident. I finally felt like a “real” ADV rider. 

That’s the thing. Neither Jocelin nor Toby were trying to teach me anything. They were just trying to get out in one piece. But, when you surround yourself with great riders, you’re bound to pick up a thing or two. Some of the best lessons are learned by osmosis. When it comes to ADV riding, many of them are gained out on the trail, not in the classroom.

Bring it on home

I was at ease when I awoke on the final day. We’d have to cover another 100 miles before rolling into Maggie Valley, North Carolina, but I was in no rush. I wanted to soak up each moment. There’d be slick river crossings, tricky hillclimbs, and fast downhill descents, but I’d seen it all before. It didn’t stop me then, it wouldn’t stop me now. And if I fell, someone would be there to pick me up. I knew everyone had my back. That camaraderie might be the most rewarding part of any adventure ride.

Three days ago, these people were strangers to me. I’d grown close to them in that short period. For Pete’s sake, I’d seen Kirk and Justin in their skippies (on separate occasions, mind you). I’d endured Tobias’ thunderous snoring. They probably have the goods on me too (good thing I’m the writer of the bunch). That’s what facing obstacles — and overcoming them — does to a group. It creates a bond. It brings them closer together. 

Prior to riding the South East BDR, my ADV experience consisted of press launches and training courses. To say the South East BDR was a crash course in adventure riding would be a gross understatement. I pushed my limits on the BDR. I honed my skills on the BDR. Ultimately, I became a better rider on the BDR. But more importantly, I rode with an incredible group of people. A group of people that I now consider my friends. If adventure riding should be about anything, it should be that.