Traffic was light on I-66 that morning as we cruised toward the mountains, the sun coming out, green trees flanking the road. My friend Kate popped in an upbeat CD, keeping the volume low enough for conversation. Things were looking good.
Our destination? The middle of nowhere -- a place we could only dimly imagine, but we'd know it when we saw it. Our desperation? The byproduct of living in the middle of everything, the sirens, the crowds and the wearying go-go-go of the city. Which is how two twenty-somethings found themselves blazing a trail to West Virginia in a rented black Chevy Cobalt in search of a little peace and lots of beautiful scenery.
Still, I was mindful of what travel writer Jane Ockershausen had told me: "I think for too many people, getting there is not an enjoyable part of the trip." This was a mistake, I vowed, that Kate and I would not make. I'd leafed through numerous guidebooks and talked to several local travel writers. We were well prepared to enjoy every minute of this two-day getaway and return with valuable lessons to share with you, dear readers.
Lesson one: Bring towels.
Our first stop was Front Royal, Va., and a used bookstore Kate had spotted a sign for on the highway. We headed south onto U.S. 340 (aka South Royal Avenue) to check it out. The Royal Oak Bookshop was a nice surprise: a labyrinth of rooms filled with new and used tomes, audio books, children's lit, guides to nearby Shenandoah National Park and volumes on local Civil War history (207 S. Royal Ave., Front Royal; 540-635-7070. http://www.royaloakbookshop.com/ ). Lounging on the counter was the resident feline, all fur and purrs, named Willa Catter, after the great frontier novelist Willa Cather, who, I later discovered, was born about 25 miles north near Winchester. Meeting Willa felt like a good omen for these two westward travelers.
And west we headed, along Route 55, whereupon the landscape dissolved into rolling green hills edged with wildflowers: cornflowers, cosmos, blue lupines and daisies. With the Blue Ridge Mountains surrounding us and the Alleghenies in the distance, we drove into West Virginia under a brilliant blue sky.
Just after crossing the South Branch of the Potomac River, near Petersburg, we happened upon our next stop: Welton Park . Picnic pavilions, a ball field and a playground spread out beside the road, and a rocky beach led to a swimming hole filled with splashing bathers.
Kate and I couldn't resist. We pulled on our swimsuits and waded into the sun-warmed water, carefully balancing ourselves on the slippery rock river bottom while tiny fish poked at our legs. Next to the river loomed a sheer, red rock wall hundreds of feet high, its summit sprouting wispy trees and its base ringed with lush greenery.
It was then that I realized we'd forgotten towels, so we tossed a Frisbee and rode the swings while waiting for our swimsuits to dry. Suddenly, dark clouds filled the sky; we hurried into dry clothes and the car just before the skies opened.
Lesson two: Expect rain.
After a harrowing drive in the pouring rain, Kate and I pulled into Seneca Rocks , a popular climbing spot, where sandstone walls rise nearly 1,000 feet, resembling ragged hatchet blades driven into the forest below. We were hoping to watch climbers scale the rock walls; unfortunately, the rain kept them grounded.
Several guidebooks recommended having lunch at the Front Porch , a spare but cozy restaurant above the jampacked Harper's Old Country Store (at Route 55 and U.S. Highway 33, Seneca Rocks; 304-567-2555. http://mountainhighlands.com/listings/harpers.html ). After a couple of very satisfying sandwiches, sodas and an apple dumpling, we looked around the store, then hit the road. U.S. 33 led us to Elkins, home of Davis and Elkins College , whose campus boasts Victorian buildings as well as the Augusta Heritage Center , where the focus is on studying and preserving Appalachian folkways (Davis and Elkins College, 100 Campus Dr., Elkins; 304-637-1209. http://www.augustaheritage.com/ ). Every summer, musicians flock to the college's annual Augusta Heritage Arts Workshops -- a kind of band camp for grown-ups -- followed by the Augusta Festival, a celebration of highlands music and arts.
