In the long summer of my 18th year, a close friend and I decided that it was past time for us to see New York City. Despite the fact that my 1988 Ford Bronco barely worked and that we had little to no capital (sofa change was actually listed as a significant asset in our trip planning), we set out on a road trip to the Big Apple.

We planned a stopover in Washington DC to visit a friend who lived there. By the time we got to Washington several facts hindered further progress. (1) The clutch was going out on the Bronco, (2) we had very little money left, and (3) we knew no one in New York who might put us up (and pay our way besides). Plus, we discovered that we were having a great time in D.C. with our friend, where we had a nice floor to crash on and an abundance of free things to do. Long story short – we never made it to New York.

Since I was already well versed with DC, I’d imagined we wouldn’t even stop there this time around. But the siren call of a free national zoo, among other no cost attractions, lured us into the city as we drew near. Though I’m sure the city hasn’t changed that much in the 8 years since I’d last seen it, it felt fresh and vibrant.

Washington D.C. Highlights:

1. The National Zoo
   It’s a zoo. It’s free. Plus, it’s got Baby Giant Pandas (kind of sounds like jumbo shrimp, doesn’t it). Granted, on the day we went all the cool animals seemed to be either on vacation or sleeping. Of course, when we arrived we found out that the Baby Giant Panda’s birthday celebration had been last week, and had we arrived then we would have seen Giant Baby Pandas out the wazoo. But we did get to see Cheetahs. And let me tell you - I’ll take a Cheetah over a Panda any day. Cheetah’s make 40mph look like a leisurely stroll, and play at speeds that are difficult to see. WARNING: Don’t pay for the overpriced parking - That’s how they get you. Park in the nearby neighborhood instead.
2. Meskarem Ethiopian Restaurant
   I’d always thought of Ethiopian food as an oxymoron. How wrong I was. This stuff is delicous. I’m not sure what I ordered. I’m not sure what Dayna ordered. All I know is that they brought it all out together on a huge peice of Injera (read crepe), that we ate it with our fingers and with broken off peices of Injera

Lots of paintings - no bathrooms
3. The National Gallery
   Lots of famous art. Lots. Free. Although if you are in the IM Pei designed post modern addition, don’t count on finding a bathroom: 20,000 sq. ft, 4 floors, 1 bathroom (in the basement). Talk about ‘forcing you through the space’. WARNING: Don’t park anywhere near the place. We parked out front at a metered spot. When we returned all the cars around us had been towed, and we had a $100 ticket. That’s right - $100 parking ticket - WTF? Apparently, if we had read the very fine print on the sign halfway up the block we would have known that street cleaning started at 2. Bastards.
4. Tryst Coffee Shop
   I think that just walking in this place earned me 50 cool points. Everyone is ever so hip and well dressed, and the desserts are good though overpriced. Plus, it seem to have the only reliable wifi connection in the DC area.

Washington D.C. Pitfalls:

After a long day whitewater rafting on the New River, we were about ready to hit the sack and call it a day. We wanted to make a little progress first though, so we set the GPS for Washington DC and hit the road, planning to stop and make camp in an hour or so.

Apparently, our Garmin GPS had other ideas. It had passed the day idly sitting in the car, and was eager for a bit of adventure. At least that’s the only reason I can figure why it led us into the beautiful but not exactly on the way Monongahela National Forest, instead of to a nearby interstate.

Before quite realizing how we’d gotten there, we found ourselves in the middle of an absolutely pristine wilderness and winding back and forth on a narrow mountain road very reminiscent of the Blue Ridge Parkway, but minus the conveniently placed rest stops and overlooks.

Though the winding route was gorgeous, after a full day rafting I lacked the stamina to appreciate it, much less navigate it. The road lacked even a shoulder to pull onto, never mind a place to camp.

Looking down at the GPS, I saw nothing but green for at least 80 miles. “80 miles is only an hour and half,” I told myself. Then I looked at the speedometer and realized that I was averaging only 25mph in these very twisty twisties. I looked at my watch – 20 minutes to sunset. Then I said “shit”. Mountain roads are not a good place to drive after dark.

“At least it’s not raining,” I told myself.

When the sun came down the fog rolled in. 20 minutes after that a heavy rain began to fall. I slowed down to 15mph, and still felt like I was on the brink of death with every curve. With no shoulder, stopping wasn’t an option.

White knuckles gripping the steering wheel I debated whether or not to wake Dayna, who was sleeping fitfully in the passenger seat. Just after I decided to wake her on the premise that she should be conscious for what could be the last minutes of her life, she woke on her own accord.

She looked at the road. She looked at me. She tightened her seatbelt, and gripped the ‘oh shit’ handle above the door. She spoke. “Can I help?”

“Pray for a campground, or even a place to park,” I said.

We rode on in silence. Lights appeared behind us, tailgated us, and then passed us. I figured that they were either suicidal or superhuman.

At one point an 18-wheeler passed us going in the opposite direction, and the force of its passage rocked the van back and forth and covered the windshield in a deluge that made it impossible to see anything for several seconds. They were very long seconds.

In spite of the danger or perhaps because of it, the scene was hypnotic and primordial. We rolled into fogbanks and out the other side. The rain fell in torrents and then slackened. For many minutes we could see nothing beyond the soft halo of our headlights, but occasionally the rain would slacken with the fog and we’d find ourselves suspended in the forest in a bubble of absolutely breathtaking clarity. Then the rain or the fog would start again.

When I saw the dark green of a forest service sign and a gravel road just past it approaching fast in the murk, I managed to pull off just in time. The sign said “Virgin Spruce Overlook – 5 miles”.

The gravel road was a narrow one-lane affair, and the brush and trees crowded thick on either side. When I was doing trailwork with the forest service the accuracy of NFS signposts was widely bemoaned. A sign that said 5 miles could be more accurately interpreted to mean ‘between 3 and 10 miles’. As it was then, so it was now. We drove, and we drove, and we drove some more, deeper and deeper into the forest. Never have I felt such a sense of remoteness in a motor vehicle – it was almost like backpacking.

Finally we arrived at the end of the road. It terminated in a cul-de-sac, a trashcan and the trailhead it’s only features. Just as we arrived the rain slackened to a drizzle, and then stopped. I got out to make camp and beheld the deep dark of the deep woods. When I looked up into the sky I found only gray due to the cloud cover, but when I looked around me in the clearing I saw stars everywhere – fireflies.

After I lifted pop-top of the camper into place, I unzipped all the windows to open our home to the lightshow outside. Dayna and I stood hand in hand and watched the symphony – the lights of the lighting bugs calling to one another in patterns that rippled and bounced across the clearing. Gradually I became aware of the sounds of crickets, and realized that their calls were manifested in a similar ‘call and response’ pattern. The lighting bugs and crickets were having a party, and we felt like the luckiest party crashers in the world.

That night, I had one of the most restful night’s sleep in my life. The next morning greeted us cool and crisp, and Dayna and I both woke up feeling refreshed. We had a leisurely breakfast, and then ventured onto the trail.

Everywhere we were surrounded by Spruce tree young and old, and the needles crunched under our feet. “Baby Christmas Trees,” Dayna said as she clapped, and I realized that she was right.

The trail was short, but absolutely beautiful. Sometimes it’s better to be left wanting more, and we were. As we returned to the van, another car pulled up. We’d had the sacred place all to ourselves for 12 hours – it was their turn now.

Rambo’s got nothing on Heather

Her name was Heather, and I knew from the minute I saw her that she was a bigger man than I was. She was our whitewater tour guide on the New River, which is paradoxically one of the oldest rivers in the world.

Dayna and I knew after our first whitewater trip on the Ocoee that we wanted more, and the New River in West Virginia was our answer.

Any notion that we knew what we were doing as whitewater veterans was quickly but kindly dispelled by Heather, who called us and our raft mates ‘flying squirrels’ for reasons that would later become evident. I preferred that nickname to what she called her husband (John Rat) or her dog (Squeaky Rat). Apparently, she had a predilection for rodents.

Jenna Elfmans in distress - Call US Weekly!

The raft we rode in on this trip was considerably larger than the one we’d rode in in Tennessee, and we had a much larger crew. There were perhaps 8 guests total, plus Heather. Two of our raft mates were from Jackson, MS, and were in West Virginia for a massive family reunion. A family of 3 was from Alexandria Virginia. The father worked for the National Safety Transportation Board. The daughter had just graduated from college with an acting major, and looked remarkably like Jenna Elfman.

Being so old, the New River has had plenty of time to carve a gorge out of the surrounding alluvial plain. The New River Gorge is called ‘The Grand Canyon of the East’ – and although there seem to be many places that call themselves that, the epithet in this particular case was fitting.

We’d signed up for the full day trip, so I had plenty of time to enjoy the scenery. Though the action on this river was a bit spread out and left time for sightseeing and swimming, the rapids between the calm stretches were incredibly intense and satisfying.

Thanks to an eddy and some curious river dynamics we ran one particular number several times. We’d run it, the person in the front on the right would be sucked out the boat, and then we’d swing around to pick them up, change positions in the boat, and do it again. Everyone going into the front right corner thought they’d be able to stay in the boat, and almost no one did.

Tennesse State Quarter (minus the foot)

This had happened 3 times before my turn, and yet I was still surprised when I got sucked in the water and under the boat. On that run I wasn’t the only one – 3 others went with me.

Dayna proved so good at pulling people back into the boat (she’d use her whole body for leverage in a rather pretty feat of gymnastics) that Heather pronounced her the best rescue operator she’d ever seen.

Her skills very nearly saved her from being thrown overboard, but despite an incredibly limber back bend in midair gravity and water pressure prevailed and Dayna also made a trip under the boat. When she popped out of the water laughing I knew all was well.

After a full day of similar thrills we pulled out of the river just past the country’s largest single span suspension bridge (featured on the Tennessee state quarter) pretty well exhausted.

Like the Jersey Turnpike, but better

Wow. Imagine an S, twisted along both the vertical and horizontal dimensions, that travels through the greenest places. Plunge, twist, turn, lunge, gasp, smile, repeat. That was and is the Blue Ridge Parkway.

It defied all of my history of road travel, designed as it is not to go somewhere but rather to be there. Along the Blue Ridge Parkway, every mile is your destination. Never have I been on a drive that felt so much like a hike through the woods.

Our second day traveling along the parkway we came to a small town called Little Switzerland. There was a book & record shop, a diner, and wine & cheese shop, and a general store.

Books, wine, & cheese - they have everthing

In other words, it had everything. There was a slow deliberation about everyone there that seemed the perfect manifestation of the parkway: even in motion, everyone was where they needed to be.We ate yogurt and oatmeal at the café, and Dayna bought me a shirt that says ‘Not all who wonder are lost’ from the general store. According to the label, it was made by a company called ‘Life’s Good’ that was started by two guys traveling, living, and selling shirts of their van. It seemed poetic.

Where the party’s at

We stopped in Asheville primarily to visit Dayna’s cousins and because it was on the way to the Blue Ridge Parkway, but I’m glad we got a chance to spend some time here.

The entire populace of the town is imbued with a sort of hippie hillbilly chic, and one gets the feeling that everyone they meet, from the gas station attendant to the fast food cashier, will be playing a digeridoo or the bongos in an amazing hillbilly jam band later that evening, and will be mounting an expedition into the Himalayas later in the month. Not to mention the fact that the town seems to have public space specifically dedicated to hacky sack, and I massively respect that.

I’m afraid we spent most of our visit in Asheville at a Laundromat. It didn’t take that long to wash our clothes, but I made a profound mistake while we were there that detained us for quite some time.

I decided while our clothes were in the wash to ‘fix’ the passenger’s side door of the van. It had lately developed an ailment that made it impossible to open from the inside. The idea of performing the hooptie reach around for the rest of the trip was very distasteful, as both Dayna and I were very eager to avoid giving the ‘living in a van down by the river’ impression. So I decided the pop open the door and fix whatever was wrong, despite the fact that we were to meet Dayna’s cousins as soon as we finished with our laundry. “How hard could it be?” I thought. “It’s a purely physical mechanism”.

The door after I fixed it

Four hours later I’d fixed the door by making it impossible to open from both the inside and the outside, and homeless people were seriously invading my personal space to point our various mechanisms within the door and give inane advise like: “You see that metal piece there below the doodad – it needs to move man, it needs to move: know what I’m saying”. Dayna’s cousins were waiting, but we couldn’t leave because I knew that if I shut the door in its current state I might not be able to get in open again.

I finally realized that if I left the door partially disassembled we’d be able to open it by fiddling directly with the lock mechanism, and we traveled in that fashion to Dayna’s cousins’ house. The wind roaring in through the door and rattling throughout the cabin, Dayna checked her seat belt and asked: “Is it safe?”. I of course had no idea, but I think I lied well enough to reassure her. We finally met up with Dayna’s cousins at 11pm.

Our very warm and wet welcome party

Despite our extreme tardiness, we were greeted enthusiastically and warmly by Dayna’s cousins and their two St. Bernard’s. Being greeted enthusiastically by a St. Bernard is rather like being greeted enthusiastically by a warm fuzzy slobbery avalanche – not necessarily unpleasant but a bit overwhelming.The next morning, Dayna toured a local park with her cousins and I fixed the door for real.