Getting away (part one)

It’s nice to get away sometimes. I highly recommend it. I know that sounds strange for someone who travels for a living, but there’s a big difference between “going away” for work and “getting away.”

Connie and I have been trying for a while to take a little trip. It didn’t matter too much where, just somewhere different and somewhere quiet. Between my work schedule and the responsibilities of family and kids, we had not had a lot of luck. But then things suddenly fell into place.

It took some careful planning, and I had to build our “get away” around a work meeting, but somehow we made it happen. Last Thursday afternoon we packed our bags and headed Northeast, arriving that evening in Roanoke, Virginia where we had a nice dinner at a local diner and then a wonderful visit with our niece Angela and her adorable newborn son, Noah.

Our timing was perfect. Noah had been born on Monday and had only been home from the hospital for one day when our little adventure brought us right by their door. His grandparents, Connie’s sister Sally and husband Dan were there, glowing in pride, and it was great to see them too, although the focus of everyone’s attention was on the baby.

Angela’s husband Jeff staggered through with the weary, happy, slightly overwhelmed look I knew and understood well. It doesn’t matter how many parenting books you read or how many videos you watch trying to get ready, nothing prepares you for the massive amount of stuff you have to do as a new parent. Every waking minute seems to revolve around doing the right thing in the right way for the baby. It’s exhausting.

Friday morning we got on the Blue Ridge Parkway and headed north. We had debated taking our convertible, thinking the wind in our hair on a beautiful fall day would be great, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to put 1500 miles of wear and tear on our car and ended up convincing Connie that the “logical” thing to do was to get a rental. Amazingly, it turned out to be a good idea.

I doubt we would have had our top down for more than five minutes during the entire trip. The average temperature across the parkway and Shenandoah’s Skyline Drive was probably no more than 55 degrees, but with fierce gusts of wind that came along about every two minutes and drove the temperature down to near freezing.

When we stopped at overlooks to take pictures, Connie would hop out, snap a few with her camera and then jump back in the car, where she would wrap herself in a blanket and shiver. I did not mind the cold so much, being fairly well insulated from years of macaroni and cheese, hot wings and lack of exercise. While Connie’s teeth chattered and she feared that she might get frostbite, I stood proudly on the mountaintops in my short sleeve shirt and khaki shorts, throwing a few more calories into my internal furnace that runs a few degrees higher than the average person anyway.

Despite the cold, and the fact that it was a little cloudy that day, it was still amazingly beautiful. It was my third trip along Skyline Drive and it was still as awe-inspiring as my first time. Riding across the crest of ridges with expansive valleys sprawled out on either side, you are tempted to stop at each of the many overlooks, just to take the time to breathe it in.

After two hundred miles of peaceful, scenic driving, we reached Front Royal and merged with the heavy highway traffic heading north to Winchester, Virginia. Being tired and a little too reliant on Interstate signs, I did not reach for my printed Google map directions and quickly realized that I had missed the exit to our hotel. I took the next Winchester exit and in a brief moment of reasoning that somehow ignored my miserable history in terms of navigation, I decided that rather than turn around and go back the way we knew would get us there, I instead would blaze my own path across back roads and alleyways to what must logically be the location of our bed for the night.

We had a thorough tour of Winchester. I’m sure those who live there think it is a lovely town. I hope they are happy and that their children live in peace and prosperity. I also wish to never visit that flaming pit of despair again.

You never fully realize how tired you are until you are ready to be where you want to go and just can’t seem to get there. We were tired and hungry, and all we wanted to do was get to the hotel, drop off our stuff, freshen up and then get a nice dinner at one of the restaurants that invariably cluster nearby. It was a simple plan, but nothing about it seemed to work.


First, of course, I had gotten us lost. This was frustrating for us both. I don’t like being an idiot and Connie does not particularly enjoy being married to one, so the rising tension in the car as we seemed to drive further and further toward a final destination of nowhere was getting uncomfortable. Stupidly, as I took another random turn, I would say, “this has to be it,” and then moments later, after turning around in any available driveway or wide spot in the road, I would say, “it must have been that other way.”

For lovers of apple sauce and other apple products, we did learn that Winchester, Virginia is the home of White House Foods. We also learned that their dock areas are very busy and if you sit still for very long looking at a map, they will attempt to load your vehicle onto an outgoing rail car.

Oddly, we also learned that Winchester has two roads by the same name which run through town in various mis-directions and for no apparent reason (and no warning by way of signage) become other road names entirely. I’m sure that if you grew up there and worked in the Apple canning facility all of your adult life, you’d know how to get from point A to point B without the use of street signs, but for visitors and those who are not blessed with magical intuition, a clear and obvious street sign would be NICE!

When we finally stumbled upon our hotel for the night, we were surprised to see that it was a practically new facility and had obviously been built on the promise of future development in the area. With the exception of a gas station across the road, there were no restaurants within sight. The friendly front desk clerk pulled out a map when I asked for potential eating establishments and pointed to a small dot on the far side of a white expanse. “This is where we are,” he said. “You can go here,” and pointed to a group of dots on the far side of the map, “or here,” designating another grouping farther up the page.

“How far are they?” I asked.

“Oh,” he cocked his head to the side and thought a minute, “it’s only about five to seven miles to any of them.”

I was not looking forward to another visit through the tangled streets of town, so we chose to stay on the road that led back to the Interstate and the exit that I had previously missed. By now it was dark and our exhaustion and hunger was getting the better of us. We normally like to find restaurants that we don’t have in the Knoxville/Oak Ridge area. We can eat at Outback anytime.

My preference is usually for small, local, home-style diners and café’s. I especially like the notion of a family run business. I imagine Momma in the back frying chicken, baking biscuits and pies. Dad doing dishes and checking the ovens while the kids serve the yummy goodness with a friendly smile and a refill on sweet tea. It’s part of that Mayberry utopian existence that floats around in my brain.

Our options for local goodness seemed limited in Winchester. There was a steak and seafood place that had a promising name, but when we started to turn by the sign we realized that it was located in a Holiday Inn. I don’t eat at hotels located next to an interstate. That’s just a rule that has served me well. No offense meant.

There were a few Mexican restaurants that appeared to be housed in converted bank branches, and a promise of the best fried chicken “you’ll ever eat” at a place which also sold gas. We ended up at Golden Corral, if for no other reason than I was about to run out of fuel, and Connie out of patience. At that point, our hunger was not willing to wait for a server to take our order and prepare it as requested. We just wanted a plate and anything that was grilled, fried or sautéed. Fortunately, there was an abundance of all.

Back at our hotel, collapsing on the couch in exhaustion (and a bit of buffet regret), we ended up laughing about how such a wonderful day in the mountains had ended so ridiculously. Despite our frustration at being lost and trying to find a good meal, it had still been a great day. Even our mutual dislike for this small apple town in Virginia would only add to the warm memories of our trip, which had barely even begun.