Who Let The Dogs Out? Bikepacking The Wilson’s Ramble

After reading this story’s title, you might be having a flashback to the year 2000 and the hit alt-reggae song by the Baha Men, but that’s not what this tale—errr, tail—is about. Let’s start at the beginning of the journey, in the late summer months of 2022, when a riding buddy of mine first brought up the idea of this trip while we spun around the forest on two wheels.

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In the past, Rob and I had independently done a little bike touring in the West before we met while living in North Carolina, so when the opportunity to have an adventure in our new backyard’s mountains presented itself, we made the mutual decision to go for it so we could get to know part of the mighty Pisgah National Forest from the saddle. What started as a two-man team quickly turned into a trio, then a foursome, and finally a five-pack of mutually connected buddies, all eager to share an adventure. So ensued the planning. 

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Over the next eight months, the humble beginnings of a group text with two friends from Colorado and a couple of others in Asheville quickly evolved into an information-sharing platform. Rob, Bryan, Bryson, Mike, and I covered all the topics that unfold in any good adventure planning group text, with talks of route planning, gear checklist nerdery in the form of spreadsheets, logistical chatter, sharing new fly fishing beta, the occasional bit of banter, a fair dose of spreading stoke, and finally, the part about the dogs. Yeah, the dogs. More on that below. 

The Ramble and Feldman’s Reroute

The route, affectionately coined Wilson’s Ramble, was created by a local area rider and the creator of BIKEPACKING.com, Logan Watts. The name of the route is evidently showcased throughout a meandering 125-mile loop in the Southern Appalachian Mountains, connecting scenic gravel roads, winding singletrack, and fast-rolling forest service roads. Passing through ancestral Cherokee lands in the Wilson Creek and Linville Gorge Wilderness areas, the Ramble had our crew cranking up steep gravel climbs with sweeping switchbacks and zipping along rolling, winding descents that seemed to go on forever.

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While we stayed fairly true to the Garmin track, we opted to explore a few minor reroute options that our resident map expert, Mike, had suggested to prioritize some bonus fishing spots. Mike’s an avid fly angler and his last name, Feldman, has a certain similarity to the name Wilson, so as we pedaled along on the alternate sections behind our sage navigator, we joked those sections would wear the moniker of Feldman’s Ramble and hopefully lead us to some good fishing. 

Checking out points of interest

There’s no shortage of sightseeing or experiencing some unique establishments along the Ramble, which provided us with an excellent mix of feeling removed from it all, giving us an up-close look at the rustic structures that dot the region, and still having some opportunities to score some bonus food from the charming off-route resupply point, Betsey’s Ole Country Store & Trout Pond, which was worth the detour. 

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Unfortunately, we timed things a little off-kilter to hit the iconic Whippoorwill Farm, home to Fonta Flora Brewing, for a cold one, and we missed out on the Southern fare offered at Famous Lousie’s Rockhouse Restaurant. Still, we did manage to score a little solo time at Wiseman’s View before a wave of sightseers flooded the overlook area, and that felt well worth the effort.

Fishing, not catching

One of the beautiful phenomenons of Southern Appalachia is the abundant water that seeps from the mountains, collecting in tiny brooks that feed into creeks, building up to larger streams that spill down waterfalls and through hollers, and eventually collect in often gin-clear rivers at the bottom of the watershed. For that reason, there is no shortage of water along the route to filter and drink, take a quick dip in to cool down, rinse off the day’s efforts, or try your hand at casting for the wiley native trout that inhabit the area.  

Following along the rugged watersheds, we crossed countless mountain streams, providing us the opportunity to combine bikepacking with fly fishing on some of Western North Carolina’s most scenic waterways and terrain. In our research, we read that there were several opportunities to fish for trout along the way, so lingering near water sources and taking long breaks to wet a line along the route were central priorities in our crew’s shared vision. The problem was that the fish weren’t having anything we served on the faux-bug menu.

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As any angler will know, conditions can be hit or miss, especially when covering ground on the bike is part of the dance. For that reason, we made sure to camp near fishable spots so we could get on the water during the golden and dawn light hours of the day, seemingly our best chances to connect with a fish, or so we thought. With a couple of other plotted lunch stops by water to rig up and throw some casts, we were determined to break the skunk that seemed to be looming. 

Hundreds—if not thousands—of collective casts later, our crew of stumped anglers found nothing but a couple of tiny Warpaint Shiners, a cold water species in the South that conveniently shares the same aquatic insect diet as trout. Trout: one, bikepackers: zero—this time. On second thought, perhaps we could have pedaled back to Betsey’s Ole Trout Pond for a shot at success, an extra Cheerwine, and a bag of Doritos for the road. 

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Despite being skunked and humbled by some incredibly elusive trout and given a little false hope from the shiners, we weren’t left entirely empty-handed. What we did catch on this trip was a brief reprieve from the chaos of our everyday lives, a little bit of rhythm that the rise and fall of the mountains and rivers offer, a stronger connection as buddies, and a deeper love for and appreciation of the place a few of us get to call home.

The Rogue Dogs

For four days and three nights, we enjoyed pedaling, camping, and fishing our way around the unforgettably scenic loop that is Wilson’s Ramble, residing temporarily in magical sites surrounded by rushing mountain streams, uncurling ferns, and the coming alive of the forest that springtime in the South brings. 

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On the fourth and final day, we at last learned about the dogs. Highlighted in the comments section of the route overview here on BIKEPACKING.com, several riders noted rogue dogs on the final stretch of the mission. We took note but had hoped that maybe the dogs would be inside being good boyyys, snoozing in the late afternoon sun or just not paying attention when we zipped by. One could only hope for such luck.

As we got into the heart of the zone where we expected to meet the infamous dogs from the comments section—who, by the way, have managed to take out a few riders—my buddy Bryson calmly announced to the crew in a rather steady tone, “We’ve got a couple of tangos at three o’clock.” 

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We figured our best shot at evading these pissed-off pups was to pick up the pace and stick together. The first couple of interactions were fairly low-key, with the dogs barreling through tall grassy meadows and not quite getting to the edge of the road as we whizzed by. We were able to skirt by without trouble, which left us feeling confident for the moment. Based on our count of how many we thought there were outlined in the comments section, we gathered there were still a few more to come. “More bogey’s on the left.!” This time, Bryson’s tone was slightly less collected. 

Mike led the crew with an enthusiastic and thunderous “wooooooooooh!” battlecry as we charged directly into more enemy territory. Meanwhile, Rob and I looked at each other pensively, let out nervous chuckles, and charged onward, following Mike’s fearless lead. 

Our crew of five held together in tight formation, cranked out some more pedal strokes with what matches we had left to burn on day four of our journey, narrowly dodged a group of two, then a pack of three, and what I vividly remember as two sets of neighbor dogs who teamed up for a foursome of angry fur friends who somehow managed to flank us from both sides.

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Eventually, we cleared the last of the advances, sharing a few laughs safely on the other side. But we still wondered if we would eventually meet some kind of “boss dog.” And, could we beat him? I personally don’t care to find out. As for the title of this story, well, I’m still left wondering. Who let the dogs out? Who, who, who, who?

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