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Connecting North and South Today, I was on my own. Dawn drove the 11 miles up to Mount Vernon and dropped me off outside George's home. I'd already walked to the grand estate from the Alexandria side and visited it with my friend Terry back in October of last year. Today the leg I'd be walking back to the hotel in Woodbridge would be the final link in my route going from the North Carolina border all the way up to Washington D.C. I'd already crossed the Maryland border on my hike up the Eastern Shore, so after today all my walks will follow the advice of John B. L. Soule: Go west young man! But westward expansion would have to wait. Today I was headed south. I had plenty of time before the hotel's 11 a.m. checkout, so I stopped in at a church yard sale that was just setting up. As I browsed at one of the tables, a woman in a frumpy, flowered dress snarled at me. "We don't open for 20 more minutes." Thus put in my place, I stopped ogling her various bric-a-blahs and continued on my way. The Mount Vernon Memorial Highway had no shoulder to speak of, but less than a mile into my hike a walking trail picked up alongside the road and I ducked into the woods to continue my leisurely stroll. There seemed to be an abundance of dog walkers out this morning, and, as is my wont, I asked nearly every one of them if I could stop and visit with their dogs. I soon found the reason for the canine congregation: this path led to a dog park. For a dog lover like me, this was almost as good as accidentally stumbling upon the Playboy Mansion. Well, maybe not that good, but a whole heck of a lot better than a yard sale that is fending off potential customers.   I continued to lollygag, pausing to take pictures of Fort Belvoir�s Walker Gate�I can�t pass up anything inscribed with �Walker� without snapping a few�and of George Washington's Grist Mill & Distillery from every conceivable angle. By the time I reached the intersection with Route 1, which was just 3 miles from my starting point, I found nearly 2 hours had passed. Calculating the distance remaining, I suddenly realized I would have to race along at top speed to make it back to the room before checkout time. Whoops. This was right about the same time that the sun, which had been slyly hiding behind a screen of clouds, decided to pour down a cauldron of lava upon this particular section of Virginia. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit (it was only in the upper 80's), but that's what it felt like as I hoofed double-time down the road with my pack bouncing on my back. Sweat poured off my forehead in rivulets, and not just from the weather. The walking conditions were treacherous. There was no shoulder to speak of, just a drop-off into a ditch, which I stepped into many times along the way whenever the nearby D.C. traffic would press too close. Six times I had to cross under a bridge that didn't even have a ditch as a safety net and I would have to wait for a break in traffic so I could run across before a semi could flatten me against the cement wall. But, I persevered, and made it back to the hotel with 5 minutes to spare. Better yet, the clerk at the front desk allowed me to stay an extra half-hour so I could shower. Good thing, too. In my condition, even the friends I'd made at the dog park would run away howling. As water soothed my overheated noggin and road grime washed down the drain, I considered what I had accomplished this morning. The 11 miles put my "official" total over 850 and gave me an unbroken line that I had walked from the southern border of Virginia to its northern border. As I did a little jig in the tub, I remembered that I still had 450 miles to go and the smile washed off my face and went down the drain with the rest of the grime. Somewhere a Yard Sale Lady was laughing. Nudie Town You remember that dream that you had when you were a kid? The one where you're walking down the halls and everyone is giggling and pointing at you and then you look down and realize that you're naked. The shock would wake you up and you'd realize the dream was due to your being unprepared for something like a science fair project for which you had all year to prepare but you just started working on that night (actually happened to me, but that's a story for another day). I experienced something like that today. Except this wasn't a dream and I was the one wearing clothes while everyone else was nude. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. The day started when I picked up Dawn at her house and we drove out toward the tiny town of Ivor, stopping first at a Chick-Fil-A to get some breakfast biscuits. As often happens, Dawn bumped into someone she knew in line. Seems she can't go anywhere without being recognized. Once, we traveled down to Jacksonville, Florida and as soon as we reached our destination and parked the car, someone called out, "Dawn, is that you?" True story. So seeing someone she knew in a local fast food line was no big deal. Except her friend didn't ask the usual first question: How are you doing. She said, "Hi, Dawn. Where are you going today?" In a bright and cheerful voice, Dawn replied, "We're going to a nudist colony!" Every head in line swiveled our way and Dawn stammered her way through an addendum, "To do a story. He's a writer, you see. We're not getting naked ourselves." "Uh huh," her friend replied, sly smile creeping across her face. "Nice cover story. I always knew about you." "Um, don't say anything to anyone else about this, okay?"
In Dawn's defense, she didn't know she was lying at the time. We arrived at the gates of White Tail Resort and identified ourselves to the intercom. I'd called ahead to schedule some interviews, and they'd run a background check on both of us. White Tail is a family nudist resort and as such won't allow anyone inside who has any sort of sexual misconduct on his or her record. Since none of my youthful indiscretions had been documented, we were allowed to enter. At the main office, we chatted for a while with Kim Winkler, White Tail's advertising and marketing manager. Kim filled us in on a lot of facts about the place: first opened in 1984, now has 500-600 members, some of them year-long residents, attested to by the row of mailboxes at the front gate. She also explained the appeal of the place. "I had some friends here that I knew for three years," she said, "then one day they asked me to come to their house. Until then, I didn't know they were millionaires. That's what's so great about this place. There're no status symbols like expensive clothes or jewelry to make people stand apart." As of the 2000 Census, the population of Ivor was only 320, so most times there are more naked people within the town's boundaries than not. But the town's small size is not why the owner, Bob Roche, chose Ivor as the best location to build a nudist resort. He chose it because the town was located halfway between Richmond and Virginia Beach, an easy drive for the hundreds, if not thousands, of Tidewater residents who wished to come and take a load off. Literally. Over the years, Bob and a handful of residents built all of the structures, including a church, a fire station, a clubhouse, and more. Kim gave us a tour of the place, walking us around the outer track of the 45-acre plot. Just as we were getting started, an actual wedding was getting under way outside the chapel. The entire wedding party was nude except for the bride. She wore a veil. We continued past nine rental cabins, 160 campsites (with a 5-year waiting list), and 29 mobile home sites (with a 15-year waiting list). As we sauntered past streets named for other nudist resorts, a few residents cast odd glances our way. Not because we were strangers, but because we were clothed. As stated in their rather extensive Standards of Behavior: "We expect those who use our recreational facilities to do so in the nude when appropriate. The pools, sauna and hot tub areas are nude use only. Nudity is welcome at all times, including while dining and at dances. The Pavilion area is considered clothing optional and is an excellent place for first timers to being their experience." We didn't consider ourselves "first timers" though; we were more like anthropologists observing and reporting on the behavior of a different culture without partaking of it. We couldn't document our day photographically, however, as no cameras are allowed inside White Tail. Understandable, though I did wish we could have taken a picture inside the Tradewinds Restaurant. Their wall had a beautiful mural of a three-masted sailing ship approaching a nude beach. I thought my artist friend, Terry, would really appreciate it. Oh well. Guess she'll just have to drop trou and visit it on her own sometime. After our tour, we told Kim that we would return to join her for dinner at the restaurant after we logged today's walk, which would take us from the front gate out to the nearby town of Zuni and back again. "Y'all should try it without clothes," she suggested. Dawn replied kindly with something that essentially translated into "Fat chance." As soon as we hit the road, Dawn said, "You know, a guy I knew once invited me to come out here on our third date. Can you believe that? You don't ask someone to go to a nudist camp on your third date!" "I don't know," I said. "Depends what your second date was like." A short while later, I stopped on the side of the road and said, "You know what? I'm going to do it." "You're kidding!" "When will I ever have a chance like this again?" "Omigosh, I just don't think I can do it." "That's fine. Whatever you're comfortable with." Over the course of our 7-mile walk, Dawn alternated between a firm decision to stay clothed and the what-the-heck-stranger-things-have-happened choice of taking the leap with me. Once, when she had talked herself into it (and moments before changing her mind back again), she cupped her breasts and said, "Looks like the girls are going to make their public debut today." While Dawn see-sawed, I just marched along and mangled the song Funky Town by Lipps Inc. with a version that went something like this: "Won't you take me to�da, da, da�Nudie Town? Da, Da, Da. Won't you take me to�da, da, da�Nu Dee Town? Well, I talked about it, talked about it, talked about it, talked about it. Talked about, talked about, talked about stripping." When we returned to White Tail's main office, Dawn made a bee line for the ladies' room. I figured she was trying to escape my horrible singing, but no, she came back moments later in the all-together. "What the hell," she said. "No guts, no glory."
Inside the Tradewinds restaurant, Dawn quickly scanned the menu. "Dang," she said, "I was hoping they'd have an ABC license. I realllly need a drink!" No booze, just spectacular food. We ordered two of Chef Michael Haley's specialties: Asian grilled steak and Thai grilled shrimp. I also ordered an appetizer platter for our group consisting of sweet corn bites, jalepeno caps, fried mushrooms, and fried pickles. For some reason, we'd expected no more than hot dogs and fries, but this meal was four-star quality. The delicious meal was not, however, the biggest surprise of the day. As I'd mentioned before, Dawn seldom goes anywhere without being recognized, and this was not to be one of those rare occasions. Each time the waitress came to our table, she'd squint at Dawn and go off with a thoughtful look on her face. Finally, she said, "Don't I know you?" Dawn's alert radar started pinging. After spending 20 years as a sheriff's deputy, those words can be pleasant (when she encounters someone from law enforcement) or painful (when she encounters a former client). "I'm sure I know you," the waitress continued. "I used to work in the Newport News courts." Then it clicked and they gave their names to each other. "It figures," Dawn said. "I go to a nudist colony and the one person I recognize is wearing clothes." Her friend was a resident and usually nude, but food handlers, per state regulations, must be clothed. Also, as it turned out, the waitress was not the one person Dawn would recognize. Soon enough, a former cop she knew came strolling through the dining room and Dawn ducked her head down. "Oh my God," she said. "I know him too!" In her condition, her blush was even more apparent. "I should have done a Lady Godiva and let my hair down," she said. We got out of there before Dawn bumped into 20 more people she knew. As we drove home, Dawn said, "This is something I will never repeat again." "Do you mean 'repeat,' as in 'talk about' or 'visit again?'" "Probably both." For me, it was probably neither. Right now, obviously, I'm repeating what happened on our little adventure. And, two months from now I plan to repeat the experience as I come back for a world-record skinny dip attempt. I'd always wanted to be in the Guiness Book of World Records. And to get in there naked? What could be better! Who Knew They Had a Garden? Norfolk is blessed with a wonderful Botanical Garden that covers 155 acres and includes more than 30 themed gardens, thousands of plants, and specialty exhibits such their butterfly house. But, for me, a trip to Norfolk includes a dreaded trip through the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel, so I don't get out there as often as I'd like. So imagine how delighted I was this morning when Dawn and I were exploring Centreville Road in James City County and came upon a sign announcing Williamsburg Botanical Garden. I'd never even heard of it before!
Dawn was getting eaten alive by mayflies and other dive-bombing insects, but my boonie hat kept most of the kamikazes away from my ears and neck. When we left the garden and headed for our original destination, Freedom Park, we passed another couple. The man was dancing about and waving his hands all around his head. "You need to get yourself a hat," I said. That's me: always willing to offer advice that's of no help at that particular moment. How fitting it was that we were about to walk through Freedom Park when last weekend we walked through "Freedom from Clothes Park." Freedom Park was a 600-acre forested retreat that featured more than 15 miles of mountain bike trails and two miles of hiking trails.
As soon as we entered the first building, we noticed Plexiglas walls sealing off the living quarters from the entrance. I could admire furnishings that were authentic to the period (1803-1850), but I couldn't touch. Sounds like the motto of every first date I'd ever been on. At one point, we were dawdling in the parking lot when Dawn noticed a veteran with two prosthetic legs heading out on the bike trails. An appropos vision to end our visit to Freedom Park since he was the reason we have freedom in the first place. Mountain View Montage My western walks have taken me into and over many beautiful mountains. The hikes have often been painful, but the views were always splendid. And though I can't share all of them with you, here is a little taste of what I saw along the way.  Half-Marathon in the Mountains Ever since Dawn hiked 10 miles with me last November from the Virginia Bazaar to Thornburg, she's been itching to go farther. Specifically, she's wanted to walk a half-marathon. That, she figures, will probably be the outer limits of what she can accomplish (at least until she completes it; then she'll probably aim for 15). Although lots of people hike longer distances than that, what Dawn has accomplished equates to a normal person completing an Ironman Triathlon. Why? you might wonder. The answer is simple: Dawn is not a normal person. She's an Oompa Loompa. Actually, she is a normal person (sort of) who just happens to suffer from several conditions that would prevent most people from even venturing outdoors. Firstoff, she's a two-time cancer survivor, the second bout of which she'd been told would kill her within a year. Of course, that was eight years ago and she beat the Big C into remission. Secondly, she has COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) and less than 50% lung function. Thirdly, she has a condition called lymphedema, an incurable condition whereby the lymphatic system cannot drain lymph fluid (often because lymph nodes have been removed), resulting in massive swelling and potentially elephantitis. To keep this in check, she has to wear a constrictive garment on her legs every day. Forever. Imagine hiking on a hot day in a wet suit while only being able use one lung. Then imagine a big, sweaty fella walking next to you and pestering you incessantly about every little inane sight on the side of the road. Now you see why it's so amazing what Dawn has accomplished. But, as I mentioned above, Dawn wasn't satisfied with a 10-mile walk to her credit. She wanted more. Today she would get it. But before we began our long march, I had to stop somewhere for a work assignment�an early morning interview with an author in Culpeper. This was not the first time Dawn accompanied me on such a visit and she understood what her job would be. If my lead-in up to this point could be considered a carrot, then what follows is the stick. Dawn has been tagging along with me for a long time, and not just since I started this walk across Virginia. She's traveled with me to football games and literary events and even accompanied me on about a dozen-or-so sit-down interviews. The first time she came to an interview was a little bit rough. Dawn�let's see, how can I say this nicely?�can be a bit loquacious. Her gift for gab is the reason why I bring her with me to certain events. Drop her in a room full of strangers and they'll all be her pals by the end of the night. But on interviews, it's more important to listen than to speak. So, on that first interview, Dawn was jabbering away and interjecting comments to hold up what she considered to be her portion of a pleasant conversation. On one of the very few lulls, I leaned over to Dawn and, ever so kindly, whispered, "Shut yer pie hole." Ground rules thus established, she became an invaluable assistant on future interviews. I gave her a pad of paper on which to take notes about the interview subject's outfit, descriptions of decor, and other esoterica. She has a great eye for these sorts of things while mine is wooden. And even if I just incorporate one detail she wrote down, it helps strengthen my article a wee bit more. I bring all this up because Dawn and I began today's excursion into the mountains with a stop off in Culpeper to conduct an interview with Laura Bynum, author of the novel, Veracity. Veracity is a wonderful genre-bending novel that I will be featuring in the next issue of Virginia Living. I'd called ahead to set up our interview at 10 o'clock, but we arrived about a half-hour early. We parked the cars across the street from her house and piled out on the sidewalk. We planned to pass the time in a nearby coffee shop, but Dawn wanted to stretch her legs first after the long drive. While she squatted and grunted on the sidewalk, I pumped up the volume on my CD player and started doing a ridiculous dance next to my car. It was about this time that Laura stepped out of her house to see what all the commotion was. Ah, nothing like making a good first impression. The interview went well. Dawn's pie hole stayed shut for most of the time and Laura entertained us with great stories about how her family history, the genesis for her book, and the experience of winning a major literary award before it was even published.
The most exciting thing Devin has seen in his two months on the trail just occurred yesterday. "I actually saw my first bear. Finally. Hiked over 900 miles and finally saw a bear. Didn�t see one in the Smoky Mountains. It was about 30 or 40 feet away, not very far at all. In fact, off in the woods behind it, we even saw a cub with it. I�ve always heard, you know, a mother bear protecting her cubs is the worst danger. But it didn�t offer us any trouble. It just stood there and watched us walk by, then as we were kind of passing it, it run off toward its cub." I was stunned. How exciting it must have been to see a bear. And not get mauled. We said our goodbyes, filled our water bottles with icy aqua from a water pump, and began our trek down out of the mountains. Finally.
Driving back to Pinnacles, we encountered a car stopped in the middle of the road. As we slowed behind him, the driver hooked his arm over the roof and pointed into the wood line. There, about 40 feet away, was a bear ambling through the woods. I grabbed the camera and shot some photos. Then I switched it over to video mode and filmed him sauntering by. Wow, what a thrill! I posted the video on YouTube, and although the quality isn't that great, you can clearly see him walking past from left-to-right at 13-19 seconds on the counter. Plus I think you'll enjoy my suggestion to Dawn. For some reason she didn't follow it.
The constant drop in elevation was the reason I'd chosen this hike for Dawn's longest walk attempt. It seemed prudent to let gravity lend a hand. However, going down presents its own types of problems and as we were nearing the end both our legs were sore from straining against the slope. Also, I might have sprained my right ankle (I stumbled on rocks a couple of times); all I know is my foot was throbbing by the time we finished. But finish we did. I rushed ahead of Dawn at the very end and shot pictures of her victorious finish. She did a short dance�very short�and cut to the chase. "Now that that's done, where's the food?" This was about 8:30 on a Friday night, and I figured we'd easily find someplace to eat in town. But Sperryville was almost entirely shuttered. We snuck in the doors of Rudy's Pizza two minutes before their listed closing time (9 p.m.) and asked if it was too late for us to order a pie. The two workers shifted from clean-up mode to cooking, making a fresh pizza for us and sliding it in the oven. The back of Rudy's menu bragged about how they made their dough fresh every day, made their own pizza sauce, and used no artificial ingredients. It went on to state, "Try us tonight and you'll taste why our customers tell us we make the best pizza in Northern Virginia!" The customers were wrong. This wasn't the best pizza in Northern Virginia. This was the best pizza in North America! I couldn't believe how mouth-wateringly delicious it was. There was a strong basil and oregano taste in the supple crust, and the various ingredients we'd chosen were piled on thick. What a perfect end to a great day! After we'd wolfed down a few pieces and our grumbling stomachs had quieted, I held up my glass of water in toast to Dawn. "Quite an accomplishment today, Lass. You should feel proud." She clinked my glass, took a sip, then got that far-off look in her eye. The question that popped to her mind was no surprise. "So," she said, "exactly how far is a marathon?" Rudy's Pizza is located at 3710 Sperryville Pike. If you're ever in their neck of the woods, stop on by for a delicious pizza or calzone. Heck, stop on by even if you're not headed in that direction. You'll be glad you did. On Being a Street Walker
Sure, hiking out in the wilderness has its dangers, such as bear maulings, snake bites, possible starvation, and running out of toilet paper. But I would argue that yellow blazing offers a whole host of problems that wimpy white blazers don't have to contend with. Absorbing the reflected heat of the road, being accosted in front of tax preparers by the Statue of Liberty, and occasionally returning to your car to discover the ice has melted in your cooler and the post-walk Gatorade is tepid. Shocking, I know. Sometimes, I'm even heckled and have things thrown at me. But it's usually Dawn who does that. The most dangerous threat comes from the steel missiles hurtling past. With the number of inattentive, drunk, and/or belligerent drivers out on the road, dodging cars is a serious threat. Though most drivers give a wide berth or switch lanes when they see you hiking on the shoulder, a few veer toward you just for fun. Then, I'm sure, they return to their trailers, pop the tops on bottles of Colt 45, and announce to their significant others (i.e., the lucky sister or brother they have chosen to wed), "Boy, dang, it sure dun't get no better than that!" Then there is the toll that walking for long periods of time on the road takes on your feet. I spoke about this with Richard Ambrose�the Londoner who is walking across America with his girlfriend, Sally Gould�and he told me that he and Sally have been getting blisters on the left sides of their feet because all their weight was leaning down on one side. Most roads, you see, are crowned in the middle so that rainwater will flow off the sides. Since pedestrians are supposed to walk facing traffic, that means you walk on a constant leftward leaning slope. Hence, blisters on one side of your feet. Though I haven't had their problem of blisters (which, after all, is just a British phenomenon), my right ankle has recently swollen due to constant torsion from bending in toward my instep, also known as pronating. I hadn't really noticed this until last week's half-marathon in the mountains, when my ankle was so swollen and painful that I had to take a short break from walking. The insteps of the shoes I had been wearing that day were so worn down that they caused me to pronate even when walking on flat surfaces. Needless to say, I won't be using those shoes any more.
But it's not all bad. Breathing exhaust fumes saves us the shock of transitioning to and from pine-scented breezes. Motorists who slow to let us pass through busy intersections are constantly telling us we're number one (at least I think that's what their one fingered salutes mean). And while white-blazing trail hikers are treated to majestic views of nature, yellow blazers get their share of interesting sights as well, and I'm not just talking about the graffiti. Silly though it may seem, I am constantly stopping to snap photos of street signs that catch my eye. Anything with "Walker" on it is cause for a pic. I've photographed Walker Diner, Walker Avenue, Walker Business Park, and so on. Likewise, anything with my name, such as a sign announcing "Pay Your Bills Here," or anything that just sounds funny, such as Wigglesworth Way, gets the same treatment.
So, next time you see someone out walking the street, stop and give him or her proper respect, whether that's a honk of the horn, a one-finger salute, or a hug. Unless, of course, it's the other type of streetwalker, in which case the "hug" might cost fifty bucks. |
White Tail resident's favorite drink
I was much more popular my second time through the resort
Williamsburg's beautiful Butterfly Garden, sans butterflies
Bill tidies up with a 17th-Century broom
Devin (center), trail handle "Roughin' It" (left), and "Major Chafage" (right)
Old Bag looks over Old Rag
Ursa Americanus on side of Roadus
Dawn's choice of shoe inserts
It's Super Bill!