The Old Dominion

We've reached the comfort of the South in which people always speak of. That southern comfort. Whether we find it in the roads, trees, grocery stores or people, it always seems to be present. Comfort that now finds me on the property of a Baptist church. Tent set up on a concrete basketball court, fly off, as I stare up at the net with a full moon filling in the background.

After almost of week of pedaling through northern Virginia and Shenandoah, a shower, recharge and refill was very appealing. We contacted a guy named Dirk through Warm Showers and received a warm welcome. Unable to be home until late in the evening, he simply opened up his home to us, told us we would be overly loved by his golden retriever and informed us of the available amenities, and functions of such, in his cozy abode. Cyclists are the only people I've met that would open up their home to somebody, five hours before arriving themselves. He agreed on that point later.

The route to his house, from Waynesboro, is vivid in color, paralleled by a shallow river, and speckled with occasional congregates of 5-10 homes. The river seems no more than two feet deep in most places and is crystal clear down to its rocky bottom. Some sections have giant slabs of rock traveling the entire width of the river in length and anywhere from 20-50 feet wide. The slabs of rock all have lines traveling in the same direction and seem to be sandwiched precisely along a finely ruled line. The road is in wonderful condition and is free from all the potholes and divets we experienced in the North. Cold Spring Rd to South River Rd. I highly suggest it to anybody who finds him/herself in the area. Our GPS takes us on a wonky route down a 7-mile gravel road for coal mine access, but even it is a uniquely interesting experience. The kind where we're fully positive we're the first people to ride fully loaded bikes down a road. It's a fun feeling.

Dirk's house is everything we desire and his golden, Meike, is equally amazing. The amount of dirt, grime, odor and salt that falls to a shower floor after a week of touring is astounding. As it flows down and off my legs, I wonder how my body has enough surface area to hold it all. Enough dirt to pot a daisy and salt to brine a turkey. I'll look into more possible ways of recycling it. The rejuvenating powers of a home, while touring, are amazing. Everything becomes clean, charged, full, backed up, repaired, etc...

Dirk arrives late in the night, but him and I are still able to meet and chat for a bit. He explains his love for soccer, how an injury while playing caused him to start cycling, his love for cycling, yet how he has no interest at all in long distance touring. Although he says he'll do the whole Blue Ridge Parkway some day. Retirement delivers time for such silliness. It's late and time for bed, so I give him my thanks and we part ways. He says we should make ourselves at home, take our time in the morning and eat some of his bacon and eggs. Wes never meets Dirk, but enjoys the comforts of his home. Though I didn't eat his food, I found homely comfort in playing Grand Theft Auto IV for an hour in the morning. Thank you, Dirk.

Starting out the day's ride in a horrible way, we ride three miles to a Burger King. Yes, I know. The only logical reasoning we've come to for explaining such actions is that we hate ourselves. For no other reason would somebody want to eat fast food burgers and then jump on a bicycle for a scorching, humid Virginia day. In total, I eat a Carolina BBQ Whopper, two Whopper Jrs, a small fry, and three Zesty sauce cups. So wonderfully horrible, I love it.

The beauty of the days' rides don't seem to plateau. Each day seems just as gorgeous as the last, with a new experience around each corner. As we wind along our day's route, we pass the beautiful Washington and Lee University campus and begin leaning back and forth through the corners of a back road. Some leaves are falling and one sticks to my arm as it does. I let it stay there for a few miles as my little travel companion. Some signs tell us to not use the bridges when they're covered in water. We laugh at the irony of a bridge covered in water and wheelie over them while hollering. We don't actually wheelie. That would be a little difficult, but I like the thought of it. At one point, halfway up a hill, two black and gray dogs come bolting out of a driveway and begin the chase. They have no intentions of being friendly and instead mean business. Bad business. It's amazing what instinct and adrenaline will do when fueling each other. We're on a considerable incline, yet begin traveling faster than we had all day. Luckily already in a high gear, I stand up and pump as if there's nothing in the world that matters more. We continually put distance on the dogs for a couple hundred feet and the pair soon realize they can't catch us, therefore turning around. Right after, the anaerobic sprint takes its toll and we drop into our grannies as we try to find a breath or two, or twenty.

Buchanan, Virginia is a little town of 1,200 people. It doesn't have a grocery store, but has a bridge that is limited to three pedestrians at a time. Our bikes and us weigh about two people per unit. 2+2=4. 4-3= 1 pedestrian over limit. We take turns crossing the bridge. On the main strip there's an old theatre. Wolverine plays at one time every week. Thursdays at 7:30. It just so happens to be Thursday. We cook our jambalaya and hot dog dinner in a local park and show up at the theatre in our Thursday best. I choose my pink button-up with some swim trunks. The movie theatre is exactly what we had hoped for. Fully restored theatre, which showed its first film in 1919. Silent films in which a piano player would create a live soundtrack for the film. The original piano from 1919 was still up on the stage. Curved art deco walls with velvet panel inlays and a pressed metal tile ceiling. Simply to assure our peace-of-mind, the volunteer staff allows us to bring our bikes into the theatre for security. After the adamantium-packed movie, the volunteers give us a tour of the place. Up through a side staircase, we see where the segregated seating once was. I imagine, not too long ago, the hassles some had getting in and out of a movie. The temporary relief gained for an hour or two in the very section in which I stood. Although in that relief, still enclosed within a section created by injustice and hatred.

Sharon, the most seasoned volunteer, shows us the film room. Everything from the old 35mm, to a simple DVD player, to a full HD video projector they spent $60,000 on last year. They're a nonprofit organization, which has already recouped a third of the expense since last November. Spooled on its reel is Invasion U.S.A. from 1985, starring Chuck Norris. It was neat seeing the advances in cinematic delivery. The theatre shut down in 1985, for a period of 17 years, but was reopened and operated by a volunteer organization called Standing Room Only. It reminded me a lot of the Panida Theatre, which stands on the main street in Sandpoint, ID. I shared how my father volunteered at it for years and how it served as our meeting point in town during those years.

Upon leaving, they ask us where we're staying and we reply that we have no idea, even with it being 10pm. They inform us of a park, owned by a church, down the road that allows cyclists to camp in the yard. Sharon calls the pastor and let's him know we'll be camping. People are amazing. Once again, the inherent desire to do good toward others.

Wes has strung his hammock between a power pole and basketball hoop. Setting up shelter has become an autonomic process and I've set up my tent, although really I could have simply laid out on my pad.

I take time to take photos while eating chocolate covered raisins. Anybody with an interest in photography has their favorite focus or setting to capture. Mine is the night. Light works in such a different way at night. Everything is manual. Bulb exposures, timed with a watch, create systematic approaches. The outcome must be thought through in advance. One can simply snap a thousand photos throughout a day and likely be able to capture a few keepers. The night doesn't provide such freebies. I end the night with four photos in 20 minutes. It's like working with an entire darkroom, rather than a camera. The darkroom in the dark.

Morning is now upon us. We've slept/relaxed through a night with three significant events. As the early morning rolls around, I dream of a Burning Man within a forest setting, in which my friend Matt Weinberg is giving me directions to find him on my furry bike. Out of nowhere, an excruciating white light pierces the dream. I find myself awake and still staring into a painfully bright light, which illuminates the whole lawn. Somebody has turned the tennis court spotlights using a switch that must be turned to "Full Visual Irritation". I look at my phone and see it's 5:20am. Nobody plays tennis this early. If for no other reason, to at least avoid the spotlights it requires. Nobody is playing tennis. One woman is casually walking around the tennis courts. Looking out and observing the surroundings. A period of time goes by in which I cover my face with a fleece and she eventually drives away after shutting the lights down. I'll never know her intentions.

I fall back asleep, luckily slip back into my silly dream, and eventually find myself dancing in a water playhouse. Natural flower sprinklers covering the ground and waterfalls falling out of trees. I wake up again. This time, I'm being watered by real rain clouds, with real rain drops. Engage the morning scurry for dryness we've become accustomed to. I set up my tent fly loosely, get inside, and realize the company has made the fly in a way in which it must be guyed out to fully protect from drips. One more inch of material, literally, and this would have been avoidable. It's now a down pour, but I jump out and guy out the fly. Hammocks are so much more enjoyable in the rain.

An hour or so goes by. I finish off my chocolate covered raisins and promise myself I'll start eating more nutritiously. The blinks of my eyes become longer as I look to sleep through the rain. "You boys awake?" I hear from between our shelters. "It's Sharon, from the theatre last night. Are you taking Route 11 south from here?" she continues. We were indeed. "About three to four miles down the road is ... diner. Stop on in there and your meal will be paid for. Good breakfast is always needed on a gloomy, wet day." she exclaims in a caring voice. As she walks away, we thank her repeatedly and lift our rainflies to share astounded looks. This was absolutely amazing. Sharon knew us very little, yet helped us out repeatedly in a 12-hour period. We didn't exchange any contact information and therefore she was doing it all simply out of the goodness of her heart, without the possibly of a 'thank you' in the end. We were half asleep and amazed when she told us, so neither of us can remember the actual name of the diner. We'll pack up and simply start heading down Route 11, with a diner in mind.

North Star Diner. Humble little place where all the locals meet for conversation. We've missed breakfast by 15 minutes, so I get a double cheeseburger with fries. It's the biggest burger I've ever eaten. I'm confused at how to even go about eating it. Yummy pickles. Coffee loaded with cream and sugar. I like it tasting like candy. It's absolutely delicious. Especially delicious knowing it's being provided by another through their care for others. Thank you Sharon! You made our week!