So, I set out after dropping Deb off for the flight to Vancouver. It was about 1:00 PM and my destination was Smith Mountain Lake State Park Virginia. We had a great taste of US mountain biking in Richmond at Fairfax Lake Park and Round Top NY and I was keen to indulge in a few rides in the area of Roanoke. Deb and I had fine-tuned navigating the US highway system with the help of Google Maps on her iPhone. My destination would certainly be as easy to find, right?! Afterall I had more than enough time (4 hours) to check in, settle into the new campsite and plan the following day of biking. About halfway along I made a stop for gas that started a series of turns that kept getting just a bit more like narrow winding country roads instead of major highways. Hmmm? The terrain is hilly as you travel west through Virginia. The Appalachian Mountain include the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah. The topography that makes cell phone signals a little less than reliable. This is frustrating when, alone, after the 5th “rerouting” message you begin to ponder the off-grid option from what might be the completely wrong end of a state you know nothing about!! In retrospect, part of the confusion was probably that this was the first time I had applied my phone to the task of direction finding. In any event, after cautiously steering our pride and joy home-on-wheels through more tight turns, in fading light and dwindling gas than I care to remember, I pulled into a roadside stop where kind locals assured me – I was close. Now punching the clock at 8:30 PM as I wheeled through the park gates, I prayed I hadn’t missed some deadline to check in. A note with my name on it was on the park headquarters door. I breathed a sigh seeing my site vacant and welcoming me through my headlights. Sometime after 9:00 I called Deb to see that her travels had been less arduous. After some grub and a good sleep, I woke to a new adventure, exploring this great looking park.
I had reserved for two nights. The trails around the park were quite bike friendly and very scenic. My first day was a big ride on mostly cross-country style trails in and around the lake. Fall colours and mild temperatures encouraged me to explore it all and at about 4 PM I could hear a cold, local craft beer calling me from our fridge (weird, I know, but these things happen to me). Day two was about checking out Roanoke for a mountain bike park that I reckoned would provide ample new mountain bike trail fun. Carvins Cove is a multi use municipal recreation park encompassing a large reservoir, smooth rising hills and mostly frequented by area residents. I searched and searched for the mountain biking side of it but that was easier said than done. My phone-map took me to an out of the way zone for boaters. After a few hours of lost, I resigned to do better research and headed back to camp. Next day I pulled up stakes and headed for a campsite that was a bit closer to town, Middle Creek Campground (MCC).
MCC was a smallish private campground nestled on the border of the Jefferson National Forest in a holler of the Blue Ridge Mountains. There is an access point for the Appalachian Trail on the road that leads to the campground and a picturesque little creek with numerous fly-fishing enthusiasts along the way. The busy season was over, and it seemed that the pace was settling into a much welcomed off season mindset. The people that remained were mostly full timers that had found an accepting locale for their ATV/ dirt bike hobby and they were relishing the lack of competition for trail space. I rolled my eyes at the emphasis on off road mayhem and noise, but they were very respectful of morning and dinner hour curfews. Good thing because I had signed on for 4 nights. Eager to find Carvins Cove Mountain Bike Park I got on the road with a solid, direct route to follow to my destination.
Arriving without a glitch, I assembled the bike and disappeared into the beautiful autumn colours. My enthusiasm was hard to moderate, and I could feel the fine line between careless abandon and levelheaded self-preservation beginning to blur. A trail called “Four Gorges” provoked the less cautious characteristics in me. After about Gorge #2 I was “Carve’n” up Carvins Cove with great abandon.
All good things do come to an end and this one really came crashing down on me. An innocent looking too-close-for-comfort tree clipped my handlebar and sent me into a 30 kph reality check with the uphill trail edge. Humbled and feeling chastised for the lapse in judgment, I attempted to evaluate my ability to proceed in light of the increasing pain from the impact. My hand and wrist seemed to be the area most unwilling to comply with my adrenaline-fueled brain. Compartmentalizing this inconvenient truth, I continued on my way but with a renewed respect for the forces of excessive velocity and gravity (not to mention the limiting factors surrounding the diminished usefulness of my left hand). Unable to ignore the fact that I was now riding alone, onehanded on unfamiliar intermediate ability trails. I decided to avail myself to the wisdom of discretion being the better part of valour. The torqueing that my hand sustained in the fall would handicap me for a month and preclude my ability to enjoy a painless bike ride. The combined swelling with black, blue and greenish brown bruising lasted several weeks and is still a top of mind reminder to err on the side of caution when my inner seventeen year old begins to indulge its careless whims (I do realize that many others have learned to intervene sooner. I, admittedly, am a slow learner of this).
The city of Roanoke VA has a colorful history that intertwines railroads, mining and textile industries. Originally known as Big Lick (so named for the salt marshes where various animals congregated to indulge in these “salt licks”). This title is now remembered in the name of a trendy micro-brewery that I searched out called Big Lick Brewing Co. My first visit to downtown Roanoke left me feeling that I had somehow missed the vitality of a city that should have had more to offer the inquisitive visitor. My impressions of downtown were of a void in the atmosphere in the place, revealing a more desperate social disintegration. I arrived at the City Market area due to a boastful brochure I had read claimed “the oldest continuously operated Farmers Market in VA – open 7 days a week”. There was no visible activity of kiosks selling homemade wares just some homeless people gathered around the available tables in the square. After being accosted by an overly persistent inebriated guy photo bombing my picture at the Deschutes Brewery claiming he would take my picture – “give me your camera” etc. I fled to a nearby hotel before making a getaway back to my car. A quick search on my phone said that Big Lick Brewing was only a short drive away so I made tracks for the familiar sanctuary of a microbrewery.
I wrote that experience off to it being bad timing on my part – a late Sunday afternoon gap. But the next day, after walking a number of square blocks of downtown, it only reinforced my first impressions. There was one exception. The Taubman Museum of Art was excellent and I spent a couple hours enjoying the exhibits there. I resolved to explore the area surrounding Roanoke. After a harrowing Halloween-eve storm (that, incidentally, temporarily impeded my return to the trailer and campsite and cancelled the trick or treat festivities of resident kids) I drove to Mill Mountain and took my obligatory selfie at the Roanoke Star, surveyed the panoramic view from the observation area and took a short hike around the top on the easy trails offered there. My search for redeeming sites of interest led me to the historic Grandin Theatre. Opened in 1932, the Grandin Movie Palace provided locals with a luxury venue for movie escapism. The Joker (from the Batman comics genre) was playing so I decided to take that in. It was a great choice and the old theatre setting provided added nuance to the movie of choice.
It was time to get back to Richmond VA to meet Deb after her trip to the Skills meeting so I set out for a “Harvest Hosts”(HH) site that would be an easy few hours drive and get me within easy access to a park with close proximity to the Richmond Airport for my next camp site. The host was a small family vineyard off US 460 offering farmgate style local wines. As I mentioned above, the storm on Halloween caused some havoc with windfall in various parts of the state and when I arrived the owner of the property was hard at work with a chainsaw bucking up the debris of fallen tree limbs in his paddocks. From the minimal road signage I wasn’t certain that I had found my destination but when I rolled in, he approached the truck in his straw Stetson, sleeveless white undershirt, and hollered “You must be my Harvest Hostee?” to which I replied “You must be the Harvest Hoster?” As he got closer, I took notice of his Yosemite Sam moustache and a prominent shoulder tattoo of two crossed six shooters with smoking barrels, and what might have either been a confederate flag or a contemporary American flag. Clearly a man of convictions. With a neighborly smile he motioned for me to follow him up the long driveway to a spot where RV’s usually camped. I felt a bit awkward following while he quietly sauntered in front of my truck, walking in silence until we reached the barn shaped winery and tasting room with the adjacent campsite. He casually mentioned that the gravel road led into his vineyards and that I was welcome to proceed further if I wanted but that most people chose the current spot. It was level and that was all I needed to set up. Before he left I asked if the tasting room was open and he said that it being Saturday there would probably be visitors at which point his daughter would be providing tours and tastings. Great – I was curious as to the offerings of this off the beaten track fermenteria. I read and cracked a beer in the remaining sun. Eventually a fellow identifying himself as the son in law said he would show me around and provide the tasting. The wines were rustic and had some unusual characteristics that I found edgy but maybe quite common for the local crowd. I bought 2 bottles out of a feeling of obligation to patronize my “Hoster”. There were posters and t-shirts available as well but not with whimsical pictures of grapes and winery slogans, but these were Rock and Roll themed and more specifically in a Heavy Metal themed. Turns out the proprietor hosts a Rock festival that attracts tens of thousands and ultimately involves most of the town to assist in hosting. The plot thickened. At the till I noticed a stack of calendars and thought to pick one up for the trailer. I flipped through it and, not being too thick headed, quickly picked up on the theme in the images of guns and gun toting enthusiasts. The sponsor was clearly represented on the back in the “Support your local Virginia NRA Club” pitch. For whatever reason I put the copy of the calendar that I was thumbing through down without comment but the wheels were turning in my mind on a scheme to surprise Deb with a brand new 2020 NRA calendar for our trailer. Well the plan gelled after I departed the tasting and fortunately the son in-law returned to the barn/ winery around 8:00 PM to get his ATV so he could retrieve the 8 point buck he had shot in the not so distant pastures. I managed to squeeze in an inquiry regarding the calendars through his animated and detailed descriptions of the kill. “Hey, you know those calendars at the till inside, could I have one?” went my quick change of topic. I didn’t even think to ask if they were free or not. “ I’ll let my father in law know he is the one that takes care of that.” “Oh, okay, great.” Was my response, feeling like this was a bit more than just grabbing a free calendar from a local outlet. The next morning, I finished up with breakfast and with a short drive ahead I took my time planning my day. There was some rustling of activity around the front of the main building and I walked over and caught up with the son inlaw. Inquiring one more time about the “free” calendar he said “oh yeah I’ll get (whatever the proprietors name was) we are just getting ready to go to church.” It didn’t escape my notice that he was quite comfortable with the “Open Carry” status he presented. From my vantage point the firearm looked to be a 9mm Glock or like. I was invited into the tasting room again and “Yosemite Sam” appeared from a side door packing a similar weapon of self-defense. “Yes, you can have a calendar, but they are not free.” “Oh, ok how much?” “$50 bucks” was the reply. Closing my jaw with my hand I quickly backtracked on my intention to acquire the calendar and the surprise for Deb (wouldn’t that have been a surprise!). “But it’s a great deal! It’s a draw a month for some really nice guns. On the first Wednesday of each month there is a draw for collectors’ guns, look…” He proceeded to show me the prizes. He was right they were some of the “nicest” looking guns (rifles and hand guns) that I have seen. I made a feeble excuse as to my nomad existence and “How would they get the prize to me if I won?…” I pleaded lamely. My Harvest Hoster and his family were very courteous and friendly, I felt very safe and at ease the whole time. After-all this is their home and their community and I was a guest that they opened their life to and hosted in a friendly, welcoming manner. I proceeded to get packed up, they headed off to church and all I have is 2 bottles of marginal wine (not yet consumed) and this story but the memory is at least as good as hanging that trophy calendar in our trailer.
Everything progressed as planned. Checking into the new campsite at Pocahontas State Park, picking Deb up at the airport and continuing down the adventure filled roads we have chosen.