Week 1 – Stafford, VA and Pocahontas, WV -- Part 1

But for the exceptions that prove the rule, good stories start in the middle.  This story is starting at the beginning.  Make of that what you will.

It’s amazing how much of a difference 250 miles makes.  And also how similar highland Appalachia is to the gentle wooded hills of the Schoharie river valley of upstate NY where Renee and I grew up.  There are differences, of course.  Hiking Vroman’s Nose doesn’t take you 4k feet above the fields or give you a hundred mile view, but following a narrow footpath through a forest of mature oaks and maples and hemlocks with clear air sweetened by blossoming Mountain Laurel and brilliant orange azaleas feels like coming home.

I’m writing this on day 4, offline at my kitchen table, reflecting on a hike from 2 days ago and it still makes me emotional.  So many things had to happen for us to be able to leave the hustle and bustle of northern VA like this, to allow us to experience this, and all of it did.  We are grateful and have been saying, on the daily, “This isn’t a vacation, this is our life.”

The state motto of West Virginia is “Almost Heaven.”  I grew up on John Denver (thanks Dad…) and always felt that was a bit of a cash grab from the state tourism board.  I’ve enjoyed driving through the state on I-64, but c’mon.  I have had to reconsider my position.  It is so peaceful and alive here.  It is an unhurried, uncrowded place of accessible wilderness with clean air, rare cell service, and quiet.  The kind of place that makes you, and your dog, very happy.

But that’s not what makes this place “Almost Heaven.”  Nope, what makes it “Almost Heaven” is that the road to get here is narrow.  Like one lane narrow.  Like, “Why in the world did I think I could tow a car behind a 40 foot motorhome up here?”  Truly I say to you, it is easier to drive a camel through the eye of a needle than to get our Tiffin into Beaver Creek Campground.

Things started off well enough and as expected.  We left the Isabella House mid-morning on 1 JUN 24 and spent about 25 minutes remembering how to load the car onto the dolly in a nearby parking lot under a brilliant sun.  Traffic on I-95 was heavy and slow, but comfortable.  We cut through from Fredericksburg to pick up I-64 in Charlottesville without incident.  There’s a great truckstop in Lexington, VA where we stopped to stretch, have a coffee, and exercise the dog.  I also bought DEF for the first time.

We stayed with I-64 to Lewisburg, a scenic stretch of interstate with long grades and wide, wide highway.  The transition from interstate to route 219 was abrupt and dramatic.  Within a couple of miles we were winding further up into the mountains surrounded by old farms, fields of cows and sheep, deep valleys, and rocky streams.  And the GPS kept adding minutes to our arrival – over an hour for the 40 mile trip.

There were serious switchbacks that reminded me of the roads out West, and grades exceeding 9%.  I would occasionally collect a car or three behind me as we navigated up and down to the next somewhat level straight place where I could let them by.  Folks were patient.  No tailgating, no angry horn blasts, just friendly waving and the warning from one young couple that, “Your brakes were smokin’ pretty good comin down that last one.”

Don’t worry, they weren’t on fire.

We turned off 219 onto Seebert road at about 6pm.  Traveling by RV takes longer.  It’s not something to do when you’re in a hurry.  We were okay with that, just a little tired.

It was a smaller road and our rig got some stares.  Especially passing a small tavern/ice cream shop with a parking lot full of people watching me navigate a series of COMPLETELY UNECESSARY 90 degree turns.  Deep breath and then…

300 yard single lane bridge with weight restrictions.  Welcome to Watoga State Park where your “easy button” doesn’t work.  Even more narrow park roads that just go on forever.  5 miles.  And then I took the fork in the road when I should have just veered left.  We talked about unhooking the car to turn around in the parking lot where we had lots of room and were out of the way.  Gut said to unhook and turn around.  But it was late and the GPS said the road connected with where we wanted to go…

We pressed on for another .42 miles where a tight switchback stopped us short.  Couldn’t make it.  Entire one lane road completely blocked by yours truly.  We got the car off and the dolly unhooked in about 10 minutes which was just enough time for multiple vehicles to show up from both directions.  A local couple offered to attach the dolly to their truck and lead us to our campground.  Everybody else smiled and waved and said, “Don’t worry about it.”

I backed down the .42 miles to the original parking lot and let everyone by.  Most stopped to chat for a minute with one couple telling Renee that if that had been them, “[they’d] have divorced on the spot and left the camper right there.”  I felt bad for them, clearly they weren’t retired yet.

The good people who hooked up our tow dolly were good to their word and led us all the way to our campsite (even though we didn’t buy a squirrel).  It was a genuine kindness, no expectation of compensation beyond “just doing what was right.”  I made a bad decision, got stuck, and needed help.  My decision disrupted their night and yet their response was the further inconvenience of grace.  So different from what the place we moved away from has become.