West By God Virginia

Before I get to the point of tonight’s post, let me just say that I can make it rain. Not the kind where dollars bills are thrown in the air, perhaps in exchange for a “dance” at a “club.” I’m talking about drought-busting rain. I’m not talking about Vancouver in November or December or January or February or any other month not called July or August. For my skills to be most effective, the rain has to come at very inconvenient times. I can make it rain in San Diego any time of year. I’ve done it at Spring Break in April, Graduation in May, and in 2019 for Thanksgiving so much that they cancelled soccer games. If I went there 8 times while Erin was in college, it probably rained 5 of them. I can make it rain in San Jose. If there are any Monday Night Football fans that happened to see the Colts play at the 49ers this past October, we sat in the “atmospheric river” for 3 hours while french fries floated past us in the river under our feet. As my recent post noted, I made it rain at Dulles airport so our flight would be delayed and we would miss our connection giving us bonus time in the Dublin and Amsterdam airports. I brought the downpour while we were walking in Munich, 5 minutes from our apartment. It rained yesterday in Gettysburg at the farthest point from my car and not two minutes after another cyclist had passed me and said “at least the rain has missed us so far.” Moron. I showed him. And for good measure, today I waited until I was about 8 1/2 miles down a gravel trail. My Apple watch is ruined and my car is currently a mildewy drying rack for multiple shirts, socks, and shorts. I bring what I can into the hotel and place in front of the HVAC, but those units are no match for me.

But back to the item at hand. West By God Virginia. The incomparable JP Boyea (hailing from Cross Lanes, WBGV - just west of Charleston on I-64 if you’re ever in the area) described it as such my freshman year at Rice and I believe I have not referred to it in any other way since. My kids all refer to it that way. My mother even referenced it in a recent text. I never did get the reason for the moniker, but it just stuck. For a couple summers in the mid 70’s, our family would drive down from Rochester to a place called Pipestem in far southern WBGV. It had pools, golf courses, a couple of nice restaurants and a game room with pinball machines. I thought it was so cool because the lobby was on the 4th floor, as the lodge was built into the side of the mountain. It had a bit of a Dirty Dancing Catskills vibe.

This is the true Motherland. Earlier on this trip, I referenced Missouri as an Appalachian wannabe. While I sincerely believe that to be true, spending the day here makes me realize just how far they have to go to. WBGV is like Peyton Manning and Missouri is like Eli. Nice player, but different leagues. I met a road worker today on my bike ride. His trucked was parked across the road so I had to stop. I asked him if bikes could get through. I have no idea what he said. It sounded like he had a whole tin of chewing tobacco in his mouth, while eating some fried roadkill. Thankfully he motioned me through by hand so I didn’t have to ask him to repeat himself. When I got back to the Visitor Center at the Park, there was a father and his two teenage-ish sons walking out. They were having a conversation in some dialect that was a cross between Gaelic and Mandarin Chinese. But at least they understood each other. I also believe there is not a straight (or flat) road in the entire state. Anything off the interstate winds through countless unincorporated hamlets like Ash, Ashley, Ashton, Ashford, and Ashland. There’s an Alaska, an Arkansas and a California as well as Crumps Bottom and Cutlips. You get the idea. To qualify as an unincorporated town in WBGV, you have to have at least one “holler” - best if you can work it into your name - and a majority of your buildings must not be able to get certificates of occupancy. There’s a book they sell at the New River Gorge National Park called King Coal. All along my drive today, I saw massive stockpiles of coal. To say these folks aren’t on board with climate change science might be a slight understatement. All that aside, it is a beautiful place to visit. The late John Denver was more or less on target.

The view from the old bridge over the New River. The new bridge in the photo is 876’ above the river making it the 3rd highest bridge in the US. It is a bit taller than stacking two Statues of Liberty on top of the Washington Monument. I managed to successfully ride across it when I got back up the hill

Just one of dozens of little waterfalls coming down the side of the hill into the New River.

The first clue that my afternoon ride might have been a bad idea

The second clue - about 3/4 of a mile down the trail

New River Gorge NP. 1000’ of elevation gain in a bit over 3 miles.

North Bend Rail Trail near Parkersburg, WBGV. Gravel and rain. Lots of rain.