9/14/11 - 9/19/11 From the Piedmont region, across the southern tobacco and cotton plantations, through the Tidewater area, Virginia oozes with history, while dazzling you with it’s beauty and depth. Having called this state my home for over twenty years, it was high time to climb on my trusty Cannondale touring bicycle, and explore America’s tenth state.
Off with the sunrise, I began this adventure heading west from my home in Leesburg, VA, on the W&OD trail. This 100 foot wide rails-to-trails bicycle path is one of the narrowest parks in Virginia and one of the longest, stretching from Purcellville to Alexandria. With the small familiar towns of Hamilton and Round Hill behind me, I hit my first real climb crossing the Appalachian Trail at Snicker’s Gap, near Bear’s Den. This 1150 foot climb, straight up, later produced my highest speed of 42 MPH, as I descended into the Shenandoah River valley, just south of the West Virginia border.
With the Shenandoah National Park in my sights, I took a well needed break at a McDonalds in Front Royal. In my thirty years and 11,000 miles of bicycle touring, McDonalds has become an oasis, offering filtered water, clean bathrooms, and a comfortable place to take a break, not to mention a variety of low cost high energy foods.
Skyline Drive, the 105 mile thoroughfare, running the entire length of Shenandoah National Park, soon became the highlight of my trip. After the establishment of the park in the 1930’s, the Civil Conservation Corps (CCC) enhanced it by bordering the road with beautiful stone walls and building scenic overlooks, as well as tasteful campgrounds and visitor centers. It has aged wonderfully and seems to have very little impact on the surrounding wilderness. My excitement was evident as I entered the park at it’s northern gate, full of energy, not realizing that the next six miles would be straight up.
After four miles of crawling up Dickey Hill, I took a break at the visitor’s center to replenish my water and to fuel my body. The cool morning soon gave way to temperatures in the mid 80’s, adding to the difficulty of the climbing. This day would bring a series of climbs, mostly up, passing Stony Man Peak (4011’) and the highest peak in the park Hawksbill (4051’), bringing my average speed to only 9.9 mph. The mountain views were magnificent, but when the clouds rolled in you could sense the impending rain. After feeling a few drops, I found a nice clearing in a flat wooded area just opposite Crescent Rock overlook (3550’), where I set up my tent and collapsed after 94 miles of tough going. The torrential wind and horizontal rain, as well as the cracking thunder, woke me. Unfortunately, an area of my tent floor leaked, and I spent the rest of the night avoiding puddles that had formed.
I awoke to a spectacular view of the mountain peaks nestled in the clouds. Breaking down camp took longer than usual, trying to place wet items to air out as I rode. The rain had subsided, but as I descended into the clouds my visibility was seriously restricted, and with the steep wet winding roads and speeds of up to 40mph this was a thrilling but treacherous ride. With the highest peaks behind me, the next fifty miles of the park rewarded me with more downs than ups, but the intense fog denied me the mountain scenery I had enjoyed the previous day. Practically out of food as I exited the park, I decided to descend out of the Blue Ridge Mountains into slightly more populated roadways.
Route 151 took me back to civilization, and after passing the Wintergreen Resort, I was rewarded with an IGA grocery store, where I stocked up on supplies, as well as a submarine sandwich for lunch. The rain returned, and when I spotted an old abandoned house outside of Piney River in the middle of nowhere, I stopped to investigate. It was a little two bedroom house, still furnished, but in a state of disrepair, and telltale signs of some critters having lived in it. It was dry so I set up my tent and spent the night. I found evidence that no one had lived there since 1986 and I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. The house gave off good karma, and I slept great.
The morning brought with it a cold front that dropped the temperature to the low 40’s, and with the damp air, it chilled me to the bone. Passing Amherst on the Patrick Henry Highway, right by the gravesite of the patriot’s mother, really gave me the sense of the historical value of this area. Then, continuing south I came upon the town of Appomattox, the site of General Lee’s surrender and the end of the Civil War.
Now that I was out of the mountains and passing through small towns, every so often, I felt more at home with the ride. Finally reaching route 40 and heading east gave me a real taste of southern Virginia. The low lying farm land is perfect for the acres of tobacco and cotton farms as well as corn. When a trailer loaded with hanging tobacco leaves passed me, I knew I was in the south. The artillery being fired from Fort Pickett made me a little nervous, as route 40 crossed right through it.
Once again mother nature decided to pay me a visit, dropping cold rain, so after passing literally dozens of abandoned homes on this trip, I kept going until I spotted one just south of the James River. When I entered the building it became clear that it was an old church, with several home made pews scattered about. The place was a mess, with a big hole in the roof and the windows broken out, but one corner was dry with an old piano up against the wall. I put two pews together and made a bed and then laid out all my gear to air out. The next day was a Sunday, and I had stange dreams that I would be discovered the next morning by the church group.
Taking the Scotland Ferry across the James River towards Williamsburg, gave me a birds eye view of Jamestown, the site of the first English colony in the new world. Then, riding through Williamsburg, the largest living colonial museum, reinforced Virginia’s place in the founding of this country. Unfortunately for me, it was early on a Sunday morning, so almost everything was closed, but I was able to ride through most of it.
My sights were now set on Fredericksburg, where I had been invited by my son’s girlfriend to crash on the couch of her dorm apartment at Mary Washington. The 115 miles was my longest daily mileage for the trip, and as I arrived just after sunset, the atmosphere in town was lively, even for a Sunday. Cristina greeted me warmly and her three roommates were so nice and treated me as though I was another student. After eating and showing off a tobacco leaf and a cotton plant I had found on my trip, as well as the map of my journey, we hung out for a while before I finally crashed out.
Off by sunrise, with only about 75 miles left on my trip, I had time to reflect. At 575 miles, this had been one of my shorter cycling tours, but it was filled with some of the most memorable towns and the best road conditions ever. The weather wasn’t very cooperative, but I didn’t have a single mechanical issue, not even a flat tire the whole trip. As I passed Oatlands Plantation, a national historic site just outside of Leesburg, I knew I was home.
Check out the pictures on face book "Adventures with Albert" page.
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