The sun was barely casting its morning glow as my then-wife, and I set out for an adventurous Sunday at Zilpo Campground in Eastern Kentucky. The promise of a scenic biking trail near the Pioneer Weapons shooting range lured us in, and little did we know that our escapade would take an unexpected turn.
As we unloaded our mountain bikes and prepared for the trail, a campground official shared a cryptic warning with us about wildcats lurking in the vicinity. Undeterred, we reassured him of our ability to defend ourselves and our small Maltese dog against predators. The official smiled and left, leaving us with a curious sense of foreboding.
We pedaled along a trail that traced the contours of the steep mountain stripped of trees and the stream that followed the road on the other side. further along the vegetation blocked the site of the road. The trail snaked its way up the incline with sharp switchbacks, leaving us in awe of how logging trucks could navigate such challenging terrain. The landscape below unfolded like a canvas, revealing the trail we’d left behind.
After the tiring, but satisfying 1 1/2-hour uphill morning ride, we decided to rest in an open area, surrounded by the sounds of nature and occasionally, the sounds of the nearby activities from cars, people, and the boats from Cave Run Lake. Our lunch spot was quiet and relaxing with an open area overlooking the trail serving as the perfect backdrop for our respite.
We left our bikes and gear to spend a few hours hiking around the area. We saw wild turkeys, turkey vultures and lots of entertaining ground squirrels, Gray, Fox and even Black squirrels. This relaxation was exactly what we needed as we both had very demanding careers. We felt invigorated enough to head back to our bicycles and start the return journey.
Our travel back became an adventure into the unknown. Exhilaration from the speed of our descent, the wind rushing past us like a symphony of freedom, the sudden twists and turns with treacherous drop offs to the side and long tunnels of trees and vegetation forming a tube that blocked the daylight. Then suddenly our elation was abruptly halted when we encountered a bizarre obstacle. It was a barricade of three or four massive trees blocking our path.
Perplexed, we assessed our options. To one side, the mountain was too steep to climb, and on the other, a marshy swamp hinted at potential dangers of thigh high mud and the ever-present venomous snakes.
The trees seemed to have been uprooted, not cut, and an eerie feeling settled over us. We debated about going back, as we thought we may have taken a wrong turn and ended up on a different trail. There was never any option or fork in the road, and we were going in the right direction based on the sun. These trees weren’t here before, and we would have heard the heavy equipment it would have taken to put these trees here. We started questioning whether the campground official had orchestrated this obstacle to dissuade others from using this trail or he had put this obstacle there as a form of punishment for not heading his warning. We were confused.
Suddenly, I got the strange feeling we were being watched–so I looked around but couldn’t see anybody. I stopped looking around as I thought if whoever was watching us thought I was on to them, it might force their hand. This could put us in far more danger than the current situation.
The feeling of being watched intensified, prompting me to hastily disassemble my bike and throw the pieces through the gaps in the blockade. My wife at first thought I was up to my usual dramatics and just stood there staring like I was overreacting. She suggested we just go back up the trail a bit. Then, suddenly she dropped her usual level-headedness and joined in, dismantling her bike as fast as she could as well. We felt a sense of urgency, an unspoken understanding that something wasn’t right.
We threw the remaining items over the top of the pile of trees and began to scale the barricade. We helped each other over and back down the other side of the obstacle.
Once on the other side, we hastily reassembled our bikes, a sense of relief washing over us, but the unease lingered as we continued down the trail, apprehensive about what awaited around the next bend. Did we take a wrong turn and were we going to end up in someone’s yard protected by dogs, or worse? The ominous silence was broken only by the crunch of our tires on the dirt path.
Less than a half-mile later, our truck came into view, parked as if waiting for our return. We loaded our gear with a mix of gratitude and confusion, the events of the morning haunting our thoughts. we drove back in silence until we reached the interstate highway. Then the memory of the tree blockade sparked a conversation filled with speculation.
As we drove away, the question lingered in the air. What had really transpired in those woods? had we encroached on a moonshiner’s territory? No, a moonshiner wouldn’t operate that close to a public area. An elaborate prank, or something done to discourage others from taking that road. Probably not, blocking the trail at the trail head is the official way to stop vehicles, or deter hikers. We didn’t even think that it could be something more mysterious at the time. We contemplated the possibilities and came up with other theories over the years, but none explained all the events to any great satisfaction.
Now that I have heard similar stories from other people about encounters where Bigfoot made its presence known and with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, I wonder could it have been the elusive creature? The truth, like the depths of the mountain forests, remain elusive, leaving us to ponder the mysteries of that unforgettable day.
So, I pose the question to you: What do you think? Could it have been the legendary Bigfoot, orchestrating our detour and observing our every move from the shadows of the Eastern Kentucky wilderness? Or was it simply a series of coincidences, tangled in the threads of an adventurous Sunday morning?
Mark R Steinpreis
1/7/2024