Tuesday, Oct. 30, 2013
Follow the
yellow brick GPS?
I started the day in Winchester, Virginia. My campground was
about 400 yards from Interstate-81, so naturally I figured I would take this
main road south, eventually merging into a westbound Interstate highway that
would lead me to Campbellsville, Kentucky, my destination.
The GPS had other ideas, and so I headed westbound on a
local highway. The West Virginia border was only about ten miles away and I
figured: “OK, I’ll take a few state highways.”
Six hours later I finally reached an Interstate. Route 79, I
think. And I had travelled about 175 miles over backwoods country roads, mostly
along State Route 50, which was usually a two-lane road. And I guess I had a
lesson about just how wild West Virginia is.
I’m near Charlestown, the state capital, spending the night
at a truck stop as I write this. Hopefully the trucks that are spending the
night with me will be on their way before I wake up. Getting lost in the
parking lot, I discovered I had moved into a parking spot, only in the wrong
direction and will have to back out in the morning.
But though I’ve met only a couple of West Virginians, I’ve
had quite an education about a land we think of as hillbilly territory.
As a child, I watched a CBS report on poverty in this area.
It spurred a lot of social programs under President Lyndon Johnson. Yet I
cannot comprehend if there have been any real improvement over the more than
40-year span since Johnson’s “War on Poverty” was enacted.
As I drove through these wild roads, it was clear that there
were many abandoned homes and farms throughout the area. Time after time, I
wanted to stop and photograph these dilapidated buildings, but the roads had no
shoulders and I was towing a trailer. It was also raining and frequently the
clouds reached down to these mountain roads, creating a dense and scary fog. It
reminded me of the first day I was on the road with a trailer back in March of
2011 as I drove along I-84 in Pennsylvania. The mountain snows were melting,
creating a dense fog and making me unable to see more than a few feet in front
of me. I was too terrified to try to pull off because I couldn’t see the
shoulder either.
Fortunately, both times, I eventually came out of the fog.
At one point, I did find a turn-off in the mountains. It was at the entrance to
a coal mine and there were warning signs about blasting with dynamite.
At one point, there was a truck about three vehicles in
front of me that seemed determined to go about 15 miles per hour less than the
posted speed limit. I’m sure it made the drivers behind him go crazy but it was
quite welcome to me. I was on strange roads and difficult weather and in no particular
hurry.
Somewhere along Route 50, I went through a small town that
had a McDonald’s restaurant in it. It was just about the only fast-food joint
along the entire route. And I suppose it featured some downright friendly women
too. As I made my order, I was addressed as “Darlin,” “Hon,” “Sweetie” and
“Suga,” which I wasn’t quite used to hearing. I also couldn’t understand much
of what the women were saying to me. Their accent was strange. I apologized for
not understanding, telling them I was a dumb-ass New Yorker and not too bright.
As I continued my journey, I began climbing up into the
mountains. Occasionally, the state added a “Truck Land” for people like me to
pull over and let those following me pass. This was a good thing because
without shoulders, it was the only time they could.
This went on for many miles as I watched my miles per gallon
indicator drop from 12 to about 8 miles per hour. You may not think that makes
much difference, but think about how you would react if you suddenly lost 1/3rd
of your mileage.
As I reached the top of Allegheny Mountain, elevation 2,850
feet, I also passed into a small area of buildings and found a place to pull
over for a while. I was very tired. Even though I was only about 80 miles into
the journey, it had taken me nearly four hours and darkness was clearly going to
come soon.
As I continued, I passed mountaintop wind farms, and drove
through Mongahelia National Forest and civilization became very rare. But
finally I reached a state highway that had four lanes and eventually reached
the Interstate where I finally was able to pick up gas. I was down to ¼ tank
from hauling the trailer over the mountain and wasn’t sure when I would be able
to gas up.
And so I drove towards Charleston, the state’s capital. I
stopped at a rest stop for a nap and looked at the “you are here” part of the
map. It seemed after all that driving, I had barely moved.
But I am a better nighttime driver anyhow as there is less
traffic to distract and, especially heading in a west-bound direction,
significantly less glare. At twilight, I passed by Annie Oakley Road and was
reminded of a rip roaring tale a woman once told me about a shootout her mother
had with local hunters. A couple of days later I mailed her a note telling her
about my trip and was given a warm response. We hadn’t talked to one another in
several years.
About 3 a.m., I found the truck stop, walked Pup and finally
fell asleep, exhausted.
Wednesday, Oct. 31, 2013
The next morning, the weather remained about the same with
lots of clouds and rain. But the daylight along the Interstate brought some
beautiful foliage and I enjoyed it thoroughly, taking just one picture through
my car windshield to prove I had been there.
And suddenly, I had crossed the Ohio River and my West Virginal
explorations were over. I was both relieved and unhappy. I had just gone
through some of the most incredible scenery I’ve ever seen, and never took a
picture.
A few miles into Kentucky, I stopped at the welcome center
rest stop and walked the dog. I was exhausted and fell asleep for a few hours
before moving on. But craziness continued to follow me. Insects swarmed the
truck while I slept. Would you believe they were ladybugs? Perhaps it had
something to do with the fact it was Halloween, but the darn things were
tenacious in holding on even as I was flying along the interstate at 60 miles
per hour.
