Roanoke

One of the nicest things about living in DC is that there is plenty of wilderness nearby to explore. I had to go to Roanoke, VA for a few days for business and decided to incorporate a little R&R into the trip. My plan was to hustle down I-81 to Roanoke Wednesday on my bike, get my work done, then take a leisurely ride back to DC on the Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive, stopping to camp Friday night in Shenandoah National Park.

My first issue was that it was 48 degrees when I left DC on Wednesday and I was under dressed. By mile-100 I was shivering uncontrollably and had to pull into a Denny's to warm up. I threw my gear into a booth and walked into the bathroom. My alien reflection in the mirror was pale white with hints of light blue around my nose, ears, and lips. My fingers were white and I had all the manual dexterity of a lobster. I was without a doubt moderately hypothermic. It took me forty five minutes, a lumberjack special, and four cups of steaming coffee to warm up. Before leaving the restaurant I put on a second thermal long-sleeved shirt and two more t-shirts (for a total of two thermals and three t-shirts under my leather jacket), along with my full rain gear. My transformation into an alien was complete and the looks from the Denny's staff confirmed this.

I rolled into Roanoke two hours later and checked into the Hotel Roanoke. This ornately restored historic hotel was built in the 1880's and has a distinct robber baron vibe. The valet's looked a little perplexed when I pulled up parked my bug-splattered bike between a row of Mercedes and Porches. As I got off a valet walked over to me and mumbled something. I took off my helmet, pulled out my ear plugs and shouted "WHAT?". He leaned in a little closer and said "May I help you sir?" I said "NO, JUST CHECKING IN" still half deaf from five hours of baritone muffler noise.

The two days I spent in Roanoke were similar to Punxsatawney in the movie Groundhog Day and I was Bill Murray's character, Phil Conners. I was somewhat surly and really didn't want to be there. Roanoke is a tiny little place and everyone is into everyone else's business. Within 24 hours there I had: made friends with a cute brunette bartender then blew off a date with her after getting food poisoning at her restaurant and nearly shitting my pants in my hotel elevator, befriended a homeless man who extorted money and malt liquor from me, told a 90 year old woman that the state should revoke the driving privileges of all "old bags" after she (gently) hit my parked bike with her clunker in a Walmart parking lot, was propositioned by a pre-teen meth hooker at a gas station, was offered a $20,000 a year managerial position at the clothing store Hollister, got into a heated debate with a tattooed skin head after overhearing his warped views on Jesus and Jews, and finally broke up a couple after the girl blatantly flirted with me in front of her boyfriend and suggested we get drinks together sometime. It was a nightmare and if I didn't leave town early the next morning I probably would have been chased out by an angry mob carrying torches and pitch forks. I have too much dignity to recount any of those tales so you will have to use your imagination and fill in the blanks.

With my work literally and figuratively complete in Roanoke I left town at first light on Friday. It took me a little while to actually get out of Roanoke because there is only one sign in the whole town to direct you to I-581 North, and it's located twenty feet up the entrance ramp (I can't begin to explain how much this infuriated me).

Once on the road my blood pressure quickly returned to normal and I felt my stress dissipate. It was warm and sunny out, traffic was light, and I had 250 miles of mountainous winding road ahead of me. A few miles outside of Roanoke I picked up the entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway and settled into a relaxing 50mph stride.

The Blue Ridge is a narrow ribbon of smooth blacktop that extends north until it merges with Skyline Drive at the entrance to Shenandoah National Park. As I carved my way through the mountains noting the elevation changes from one scenic overlook to the next I suddenly realized that the only barriers in the park were a series of pitifully short stone walls that were present on only the nastiest curves. The walls were about 18 inches tall and if I lost control of the bike they would likely only snap my shins in half just before I pin-wheeled off the road and down the jagged escarpment. It does serve as a very effective natural speed limit, though, and I eased my speed back to a conservative 35mph.

I arrived at the Lewis Mountain Campground at 5pm, checked in, and unpacked my gear. The campground was small, but like the rest of the park it was immaculate and filled with friendly travelers. Turned out my bike was a real conversation piece around the RV's and tents so most people at the site came by and introduced themselves. One nice old couple even offered me some "pork-n-beans" and a few logs of firewood. I thanked them profusely for the firewood but declined the food simply by saying "Thank you, but I don't eat pork". The truth is that I do eat swine, I was just anxious to try out my new stove and freeze dried dinner. In hindsight I should have accepted the pork.

Just before my new friends left the wife reminded me to put my food in my car before I went to bed. I stared at her with a look that must have screamed "I don't know what I'm doing in the woods" so she went on to explain that there are a lot of bears in the area and they will be attracted to the food. I could grasp the concept, but the threat of bears always seemed like a distant and remote possibility. She, however, described it in terms that seemed less like "if" you run into a bear and more like "when" you run into one. Suppressing my natural sarcasm in the face of growing fear I pointed out that I did not have a car to place my food inside of. She said "Oh, then just put it inside your bear bag and hoist it up high into a tree, you should be fine". I believe this statement was roughly the equivalent of me telling her that if she wears gang-neutral colors in Compton she would be fine.

As the nice old couple walked away I considered the ways in which I could hoist myself high up into a tree. Moments later the old woman appeared again with a crumpled up Coca Cola can filled with pebbles and handed it to me. Clearly thinking she would assuage my fears she said "Don't worry, if you hear any gruntin' outside your tent tonight just jangle this can and them bears usually go a runnin". This really wasn't helping me.

My neighbor on the other side of me ended up letting me put a bag of food and toiletries in her trunk. I can say with near certainty that no bears came around that night because I was up the whole time and had my spidy-senses on code red alert.

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful.

I have my second date with Stella tonight.