[The view from just above Marlinton, WVA, looking east]
This short series is for Mishima666, who has waited longer than I promised he would.
The tease:
June 24, 2005 Day Planner entry, after the fact: "Hit deer - totaled bike - ended at Trauma Unit, UVA Hosp, Charlottsville, 2 1/2 days - bad scene all around."
What you may have missed:
Tuesday, June 21, 2005. After a nice breakfast at the Old Clark, when we left the Inn the next morning to begin our exploration of the area the temperature was expected to be mid 70s in the valley where Marlinton was, but much colder in the high mountains. We backtracked our way a few miles north on US219 and immediately climbed the first mountain, at the top of which was WVA150, the 20 mile long "Highland Scenic Highway."
It is a beautiful, well maintained, wide, two lane asphalt road the highest point of which is at 4750 feet. Above 3000 feet it is a good 20 degrees colder than the valley, and was very windy that day. We stopped at a rest area/scenic lookout and dug out sweat shirts and jacket liners.
A key to enjoying motorcycle touring, particularly in the Spring and Fall, is to carry a variety of clothing which can be layered on and off, and to wear good water resistant safety gear as your top jacket, two or three different warmth leather or safety gloves, good rain suits for the real heavy rains you may not be able to avoid, and water resistant boots or boot liners. A good helmet not only keeps you safer, but keeps you cooler in the summer and warmer in cold weather.
There is nothing more miserable than to get soaked and have to ride in 50 degree rainy, windy weather for 30 miles before you can dry off and warm up. The only smart thing is to never get cold and wet in the first place. That is not always possible but you can limit the bad times to infrequent surprises by being properly prepared.
[Stock photo of Entrance to the Highland Scenic Highway]
The vistas were beautiful with clouds scudding not far overhead while the sun broke through occasionally. The meadows and the famous "Cranberry Glades Botanical Area" at the south end of this short, 20 mile, mountain highway were alive with white, blue, yellow and lilac colored wildflowers.
[ Sue and our bikes. View from cold and windy rest stop on the Highland Scenic Highway. This was at about 3500'. The road climbed to 4750' in the next three miles.]
The Highland Scenic Highway wends it way south from the tops of two ridge back mountains into the valleys between and ends at WVA39. At that intersection there is a small State Park featuring a water fall. We rode in, parked, stretched and warmed up a bit from the cold that accumulates in the bones when riding high in the mountains, shed our sweatshirts and jacket liners and walked up to the map of the small park.
Unfortunately, the water fall was almost two miles away down into a steep valley, reached by what was described as a "moderately difficult" trail, which meant another two miles climbing UP that trail to get back to the bikes.
Now, there was a time I would have done that without thinking. But one of the realities we have come to accept as I have aged was that my wide body, with my feet shod in engineering boots, was not likely to enjoy, or possibly even make it back from, such an adventure, tame as it once was. It was time again for a reality check and the resulting compromises that entails.
Keep in mind that Sue is 16 years younger than I. When some obstacle like this comes along, and it does with increasing frequency as I age, Sue and I do a little dance that has become choreographed. I offer to wait while she explores whatever we are stopped at. And she mostly says "No, let's just ride on."
Now I know and she knows that there are times when she really would like to go ahead and explore where I can't go. But she wants me to have as much enjoyment as I can while I can still ride. And I want her to enjoy our rides together as much as she can, which should include her being able to go to things I cannot.
And so it goes, our love for one another and our willingness to sacrifice for the other, dancing with our desire to make the other as happy as possible. Selfish people will find this strange, and possibly amusing. Those who understand love will find it normal.
Another seldom stated reality is that I have always thought that the ride is infinitely more important than the destination. So when we arrive at a new area to explore I usually map out carefully all the roads that look like they will have the most interesting riding, regardless whether they lead anyplace important.
But I have learned to include some interesting destinations because Sue is much more likely to enjoy spending time off of her bike exploring places. This too is a dance as we seek to balance my desire to ride as much as possible with her desire to both ride and investigate new sites on foot.
This time we got back on the bikes, hung a left onto WVA39 east and headed back to US219 south of Marlinton. At US219 we turned south toward Lewisburg, a colonial era town we both wanted to see. Along the way we passed up Pearl S. Buck's birthplace which was just a small bungalow in a hay field.
A short time later we rode into and around Droop Mountain Battlefield State Park. The overlook shown in all of the tourist brochures was closed, but the park itself was beautiful with tall woods that formed a cathedral of shade with a carpet of leaves that the road wound through.
Lewisburg is said to be a beautiful colonial town. We would never know. It lies south of I-64. From the intersection with US219 cars were backed up two miles to the center of town. We carefully worked our way around the cars when we could, eating fumes when we could not, and arrived in the middle of town a hot half hour later.
It seems that this was a famous town wide crafts and antiques show and sale that lasted a frenetic week. We hung a left on US 60 which parallels I-64 and was the main route between Beckley, WVA and the east before the interstate was built.
Traffic out of town was bad for only a few blocks and we made our way to Caldwell, a few miles east. Running low on gas we stopped at the one large gas station in that small town and filled up. As we were doing that we heard a crack of thunder not far away and decided to pull our bikes up by the building and started in as huge drops started falling.
Within a second it was pouring buckets with wind, lightening and hail. Having been caught out in such showers in the past we laughed at our luck this time. I reminded myself to be a bit more observant in the future, remembering that storms can be hidden easily in the mountains and come upon you quickly.
There were a few booths in the station and there was a large covered porch with rocking chairs, benchs and tables out front. It turns out that they had a pretty good short order grill in the back so we ordered lunch, grabbed a couple of large bottles of juice and sat in the rockers outside of the store on the porch and enjoyed, dry, the sound and light show. The sky was an angry dark gray and the water cascaded down the steep street in front, turning it into a river.
Half hour later the skies were much lighter and the rain had reduced to sprinkles. We went out to the bikes, got our raingear on, and fired up the bikes. We rode in the light rain to White Sulphur Springs. The air smelled wonderful, the ozone leaving a sharp scent and all the dust we had encountered on the ride was long washed away.
As we entered the town the sun came out and the azaleas and rhodedendra were in full bloom. It was clear that White Sulphur Springs had gotten a gentle rain while we were being hammered just 7 miles west in Caldwell. We spent some time riding around the town, which was very pretty. Its colonial atmosphere was every bit as nice as we had been told was Lewisburg.
We rode by the entrance to the famous Greenbriar Resort, but didn't go in. We could not afford to buy a soda at a place like that and they would not appreciate two wet motorcyclists pulling up in the driveway of the rich and famous.
[Stock Photo of the Greenbriar Resort]
From there we took the beautiful valley road, WVA92, north to US39, stopped at a small store at the intersection for ice cream and a soda, and then hung a left, west, back to Marlinton. The road was very pretty with a large, dancing, white water creek bordering the highway much of the way.
The highway is cut into steep mountains, but the grade is not overly severe, and the curves were tight but easy and fun to ride. We topped two mountains on the way back and entered the Greenbriar River Valley from a high mountain with a great view of the valley looking west. We stopped at an overlook for a while, remounted, and worked our way down the mountain into Marlinton.
We were tired and hungry, having traveled only 150 miles, but with the traffic jam (who would have thought?) in Lewisburg and the thunderstorm we had more than enough for one day. We went to the largest cafe in Marlinton, which was down by the river, for dinner.
It was a disappointment. The main dining room was log cabin style, with a high wooden vaulted ceiling. All the sound echoed off the wooden walls, and it was loud. The food was mediocre and unimaginative, but the prices were "gouge the tourist" high. We were starting to think that there was no place in Marlinton where there was decent food.
But all in all it was a good day. We saw some great scenery, learned never to visit Lewisburg during the third week in June, avoided by sheer accident getting drowned in a thunder/hail storm, rode around a beautiful colonial town, enjoyed the highest mountain road in the state and one of the prettiest, curvy valley roads, crossed four mountains, rode for miles along a beautiful mountain stream, and learned a bit about the area. Not bad. Not bad at all.
The television at the Old Clark was in a large living room which had a tape player and lots of magazines, books and games. We didn't find anything of interest on the 15 channels available so we read a while and then went to bed early. The bikes were filthy and I wanted to get up early the next day anyway and clean them up.
END OF PART TWO
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