The long ride, part 3

Even though it had been a couple days since we left Jacksonville, I still believed that our trip truly began after we left Charlotte. We were venturing away from a somewhat familiar city into the wilderness.

The drive from North Carolina to Virginia was pretty, and as the hills became mountains, it was a much more entertaining drive than the trip through South Carolina. The twists in the road and the steep climbs made me feel like I was truly driving the car, rather than simply keeping the steering wheel straight and the gas peddle depressed.


Credit: Lynchburg, Va., Kiwanis club.

We took a slight detour into Lynchburg, Va., birthplace of the cigarette rolling machine and enema. The downtown had a turn-of-the-century urban charm about it, and the houses along the hills were beautiful. We explored the downtown area and walked down to the riverfront, but the oppressive heat (it was a breezeless 90-degree day) and lack of public parks or shade — seriously, for a 200-year-old town, you'd think there would be trees taller than 6 feet — hastened our return to the car and to the highway.

We entered the Shenandoah National Forest a little after lunch time and began our ascent through the mountains. The road one takes through the forest is called Skyline Drive, and as it winds through the canopied forest, it occasionally meanders along the edge of the mountain to allow some breathtaking vistas of the valley below. Eventually it evens out at Big Meadows, which is where we would camp that night.


Big Meadows, Va.

Before the trip I bought a tent. Now, this isn't an ordinary tent like one you'd buy at Wal-Mart or Target; I bought this one from Black Creek Outfitters in Jacksonville, and despite mitigating the price somewhat with an old $100 gift certificate Kristilee gave me, I still paid $130 to make up the difference. I think that's a lot of money for a small, two-person tent.

But, back to the "this isn't an ordinary tent" comment, this is probably the most hardcore piece of camping equipment I'll ever own. Extremely durable and lightweight, this tent comes with instructions on how to pitch it in the middle of a blizzard or on a steep mountain. "Bad-ass" doesn't do it justice.

On the other hand, it was also the easiest tent to pitch. The instructions were simple and the parts were few. Now having done it once, I could probably pitch it in about a minute, maybe two.

After we pitched it, we rested for a moment and I looked around our campsite. It was perfect: shady, quiet, far enough away from facilities but not too far that going to the bathroom wasn't a hike. The sites are in the wilderness, under a canopy of trees, and some of them are close to a peak overlooking a valley. (We'll have to reserve those next time.) And while we were pitching the tent, a deer strolled up the brush next to us to start eating. Wow!


Hello, deer.

Having been cramped up in the car for several hours, we decided to change our shoes and explore the area. Jenn had found a hiking trail that led to a waterfall on the map, and we set out to find it.

The trailhead was set a couple hundred feet back from the road and it looked well-used near the top. A guidepost said the trail descended 1,000 feet for about 1.2 miles. Not realizing the physical toll these simple numbers eventually demand, we both smiled our chipper smiles and said, "Let's do it!"

It was a gorgeous path through the forest that varied from worn, dirt trails with large rock formations, to steep and rocky. But eventually it seemed like we had been walking forever and that cruel calculus started creeping into my head: Each step I take forward is one I'll have to take back.


Rocking out on the trail.

Jenn started thinking that way, too, and we both started asking, "How are you doing back/up there?" — each question actually a statement of the other person's fatigue. But neither of us showed our hand and we kept walking. Forever.

And then we heard it: the sound of the waterfall. We stopped for a minute to ensure it wasn't just the sound of wind rustling through the leaves. It wasn't.

That gave me an extra boost of energy and we stepped up the pace a little. As we came around the corner, we saw another family coming back our way, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. They said the falls were up ahead.

There was a small stone vantage point built into the side of the rocks, and although it looked a little out of place from the rocky, steep trail on which we had just arrived, but it offered a nice view of Lewis Falls.


Lewis Falls.


We made it!

Now we had that little matter of climbing back. Just the thought of it made me start looking around the woods for berries to eat and timber to gather to construct a house. Going back seemed almost out of the question.

I came to my senses and we began the march out, stopping a few times to rest along the way. We emerged, trudged back to camp, and collapsed in the tent. We were tired — admittedly, we were also tired from having been on the road all day — and dirty.

I got up after a few minutes and began to prepare dinner. On the menu: Lemon herb chicken, potatoes and corn on the cob. I lit the fire while Jenn prepared the corn, wrapping it in aluminum foil with butter. We also wrapped the potatoes in foil.


Our dinner plans foiled!

The fire was lit, but the grill wasn't getting hot enough to cook anything. Our fire was too small. Or the grill was too big. Whatever; the food wasn't getting cooked. Plan B: We tossed the foil-wrapped items and skillet directly on the glowing coals, which got things cooking rather quickly. This radical departure actually proved to be moderately successful, with only the potatoes suffering from being undercooked.

So with our bellies full and our bodies aching, we went to bed, piling on this tiny, inflatable bed. This bed would end up being our uncomfortable, cramped chariot to dreamworld for the rest of the trip. Hey, this twin bed was the only bed small enough to fit in the Apocalypse Tent.

The next day would be a long day, one that would take us from the wilderness to the big city.

WHAT I LEARNED: Hiking a 1,000-foot descent across 1.2 miles (one way) isn't the best way to stretch your legs after a seven-hour car ride. Also, always build a bigger fire.

FAVORITE PART: A tie between driving up the mountain and marching down (and back up) it. Yeah, even though it was hard work, I still enjoyed it.

OTHER THOUGHTS: When the apocalypse comes, you'll find me in my tent, lying on a bed that's too small.