Portraits of Adventure / Vultures Knob / John Denk
John Denk
Vultures Knob, Wooster OH
August 2026
How far does a trail travel? Not in the course of its own design, but in the people it reaches. Vulture’s Knob served a large population, which included John Denk, during a time when there were no other legal ways of riding trail. From 1996 to about 2006, Vulture’s Knob served a geographical area as far as Cleveland, offering a place to legally ride mountain bikes. Today, it’s easy to take for granted the trails that are 10-30 minutes from the city. 20-30 years ago, Vulture’s Knob was serving this community among many others.
“I don’t know how we found it, but we ended up finding it... you didn’t have the map thing back then... now you look it up. There it is. Boom. I’m there.” The trail was still mostly an underground scene at this point. Most locals didn’t even know it existed. This was a time when things like this were only learned about through word of mouth, or a flier catching the right eye.
As a firefighter, John quickly identified the parallels between training for the job and racing at the Knob. They fed off one another, working toward two different goals: one saving his own life, the other saving the lives of others. “You work your butt off, and you push yourself more than you ever think... sometimes we don’t wear the mask, you actually start getting smoke in... that weakens your muscles. So it’s almost like you push against that.” And what better training is there than endurance riding, out on a bike with others. “This kind of was like for us, being out on a fire with the endurance. We would just push ourselves... who can be tougher?”
“It was me, Joe, and Tom. We rode this a lot, the three of us. We would bring other firemen here... but they never, they weren’t part of our core group.” Tom, also featured in this project, worked with John, a bond that spread beyond the trail. Like many others who rode the Knob, John made lifelong friendships out there.
Everyone finds their own joy in riding the trail. Sometimes those joys overlap. Sometimes they lap each other. John loved racing out here. It’s what got him started. “You start a big group of people... after a while you’re just coming up on so many people. So then you have to pass them... it’s just so much fun.” Not only was he working to stay fit for his career as a firefighter, but he found joy in the competition and camaraderie of riding with others on the trail.
A living trail that changed with the seasons, literally. There was always a new feature to be discovered, usually causing one to stop and carefully consider the consequences. This after all was at a time when mountain biking was still a relatively new sport, standard features hadn’t been developed yet, and many were still in an exploratory, experimental phase. “We would come here every spring and not really expecting anything because it wasn’t like Facebook where you could read about what he was doing. We’d just come and see what it is.” John, like many others, calls out these odd features as some of the most memorable things about the trail.
For John, the Knob trained him not only for his career, but for the trails he’d find later, on vacation. Being as technical as it was, the trail forced you to learn how to handle your bike, mind your speed, and be ready for anything. “I’m thinking it was 98 that we went to South Dakota, the Badlands, and we rode trails out there because we were good from doing this... endurance wise and skill.”
John wouldn’t have brought Jean-Luc here for a first ride anywhere else. His son already had two years in at Royal View, a trail in North Royalton that John helped build himself, out there with the volunteer crews and a hoe. “That’s my trail right there.” But Vulture’s Knob is advanced, genuine, a place you earn your way into rather than start out at, and John wanted this to be Jean-Luc’s real introduction. Out on the rocks, he coached him through it in real time: keep your pedals level, or you’ll strike one. Jean-Luc learned that the hard way, breaking a plastic pedal clean on a rock early in the ride, then spent another stretch totally mudded, sliding through a low spot with his back against a fence just trying to stay up. None of it fazed him. “I like getting hurt, so I like to get hurt,” he said, bringing up an earlier flip that left a rib sticking out. Whatever it costs him, it’s clearly worth it. Beats a video game, no contest.
There’s a stretch of the trail that cuts through a corridor of pine, and riding it wet, there’s a smell that comes up off the needles. John noticed it right away. He’d caught that same smell once before, out in South Dakota, on the trails Vulture’s Knob had already prepared him for. Twenty-some years apart, same scent, same realization that the trail under him had taught him something before he ever got there. Jean-Luc rode through it without knowing any of that history. He just liked the carpet of needles under his tires. Maybe that’s enough for a first ride. The rest comes later, the way it did for his dad.
Asked if today might have been his last ride here. John didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Oh, yeah.” He’d felt it already, pulling in that morning and seeing the closure notices nailed up around the property. Thirty years is a big number to say out loud, and he said it anyway. “I’m not afraid of change,” he said, “but I had a little bit of sadness.” Whatever comes next, he’s already decided to be part of it. There’s talk of moving the trail, rebuilding somewhere else with whatever gets salvaged from this one, and John doesn’t need convincing. “I’m all in. I’ll be there.” He’s a couple years retired from the fire department now, with more time than he’s had in decades to actually show up for it.
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