Ties to Far-Flung Homes Drive Commuters to Great Lengths

On campus, the men are marked by their faraway roots. Even Dean, who has worked on Northern Virginia campuses for 17 years, says it's hard to adjust completely to the cosmopolitan, ethnically diverse environment.

"It's a culture shock, it really is," he says. "It's, 'Oh, there's the country boys.' They like to ask about our hunting stories because they don't have any contact with that."

Which is one reason the drive back at 2:30 p.m. is a lot easier than the drive in, even though the traffic's worse. The men are headed home, and their anticipation betrays one explanation for their tolerance of the long ride: Even if they could afford to live closer in, they don't necessarily want to.

Passing by the rows of new townhouses and close-set detached homes along Interstate 66 in western Fairfax and into Prince William County, Lang remarks on how they all look the same. "If you went out to the bar, you'd come back and go into your neighbors' because you'd forget which one is yours," he says.

The van slows for the notorious congestion at the I-66 and Route 29 interchange in Gainesville. (One recent day, the backups were so bad that the drive took three hours, and the men stopped at a 7-Eleven for hot dog dinners.) Beahm is stretching his right arm, warming it up for the batting practice he'll be throwing.

Finally, the van breaks through, and soon it's curving back down Route 340. The sun is out, redbud trees sport lavender blossoms and the mountains rise up on both sides, obscured no longer.

This is the moment Dean looks forward to every day. "It's such a relief when you hit the mountains," he says. "It's like a big pressure lifts off you, and you can relax."

He'll have 10 hours at home until the alarm goes off. Tomorrow, it's his turn to drive.