Funtimes.

I am absolutely convinced that my school cafeteria puts some amount of laxatives in its food. No more than 10 minutes post-meal, I find myself in the same spot. Additionally there is zero nutritional value, aesthetic appeal, or benefit. I am just simply going through the motions when I swipe my meal plan card. But I cannot stop going back.

I know this is long, but give it a try…

Most recent jaunt.

A friend of mine (Jacob Driggs’ mom), told me about a small town in southern Virginia named Floyd. Apparently Floyd is the getaway for many artists, writers, musicians, and the like. Always willing to take a spontaneous trip I got home from work Friday night, and got in the car. This is the story of my impulsive experience in Floyd, VA.

I scratched down the ‘reliable’ directions in my moleskine notebook late Friday night. Armed with a dozen krispy cream doughnuts, a handful of Rockstar energy drinks, a half bottle of Canadian Hunter, and a PB&J, I attacked the road. The time was 3:22 AM.

The first part of the journey was fairly familiar, passing through pastures in the North Carolina countryside. It is essential to bypass large highways, freeways and throughways. All of the –ways are too generic. There is not a single emotion on these routes, simply A to B. This direct concept is not what I ever wish to experience, especially on road trips. I was glad to see that no one else was on the country back roads, which allowed me to enjoy the peace around me by ignoring traffic laws and setting my own pace. I crossed the state line in no time, still yet to see a single car. The time was 4:31 AM.

This is where it truly begins to get interesting, leaving North Carolina meant leaving flat farmland. The Appalachian Mountains now lay before me with open arms and a sideways smile. The following was recorded as I pulled to the side of a single road winding up the mountain.

No sleep, no hesitation, that is how I like my road trips. I have been driving straight through the night and if you told me there were a more twisted curve stricken road in the world I would not believe you. The loops and twists leave me feeling as though I am about to see my dinner a second time. The roads kept getting less developed, and eventually I was led off the main ‘highway’ which was a unpaved cinder two lane road to a road called Iron Bridge. There was no iron bridge to be found; in fact I’m confident that a bridge could not survive here regardless of its building material. I cannot stress enough the terrain, I neither my car nor I have ever experienced such twisting and tossing. My little black sedan as if it were a hot potato right off the country wood stove. Unmarked hairpin turns nearly have left me for dead on several occasions. Next on the plate is Shooting Creek Rd. Again, no creek to be found, the names here are incredibly misleading. Of course I am silly enough to look for a creek. There is no sign for Shooting Creek which caused me to miss it completely. About 12-15 miles in the wrong direction, through single-track forest I happen upon a service station that to my delight is open at 5:47 AM on a Saturday morning. After fourteen different sets of directions, I believe the man with a quarter of his teeth, tobacco dripping from his lips has given me the general idea of where to go.

“about twelve miles that way, you’ll pass a few dumpsters and a red shed on your right. About a mile and a half after the last dumpster you’ll see a big oak tree. Turn right there. That is shooting creek. There is no sign, but you’ll see it. I think its mile marker 860 or 720. Yes sir, we’re backwoods Virginny back here man I’ll tell you what. Good luck.”

Relieved to have some direction and to be rid of my new aquantiences. I set for Floyd.

Shooting creek can barely be called a road. I’m almost positive it a devolped horse path formed by early settlers. There is just enough room for a single car, no pavement, no street lines, no lights, no anything, just dirt weaving around great oaks, pines and other various flora I could not quite make out. Going above 15mph on this road is putting a marker on your life.

I reached the Blue Ridge Parkway just as the sun was rising in the distance. I stopped to enjoy the fruits of my labor, and to appreciate the fact that I was, as best I could tell, still alive. Unfortunately, my car did not enjoy the pause in action as much as I did. Starting back on the road proved to be difficult for both of us. The engine won’t turn. It is 6:13 AM.

The downside of leaving at 4AM is that you arrive before any one or anything is thing of being awake and active. Again, not terrible for peace of mind, but taking a nap in the Hardee’s parking lot at 6:45 AM leaves something to be desired. 

(To be continued)