Tell you what...
There are a couple of sections of trail that run close to and beside a paved county road. We stopped as we came out of the woods and were surveying the situation.
We decided that it would fun to see if we could keep up with the traffic on the road while blasting down these whoop infested straights. We each took our turn waiting on a car and then trying to run it down.
Now here's the part where I'd love to tell you that we got the bikes up on the top of those things and were skipping along the tops at or above highway speeds. The problem is that would be an outright lie. Bryan obviously came the closest to doing it, but all he could manage to do was get on top of the whoops for about 50 yards or so and then the front end nosed into one of those whoops and things got ugly pretty quick. He didn't fall, but he got the old mans heart rate up for a bit. I, on the other hand, made a gallent effort to actually apply throttle through the first three gears. But just as the bike was beginning to settle into a rythum my big a$$ decided it wanted to play to a different tune and the three of us (me, the bike and my backside) got into the darnedest tank slappers you ever saw. Feet flying one way, bike going the other. I don't know how, but I managed to save it, and then went hunting for lines on the outside of the trail... (ouch).
My only gripe about the place is that there is no camping allowed. We rode down the night before and had to find a wide spot that we could park in for the night. Then had to find and go to the ranger station (it's not on site) to get our permits, before going to the riding area. I'm sure if we knew our way around a little better it wouldn't have been such an ordeal, but for some out of town newbies it was a royal pain in the butt trying to do the right things.