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 Trying to do a long walk on Sept. 24 proved one thing to me�my knee strain isn't healed enough yet for me to go on a long walk. Heck, it's not quite ready for a short walk either. Almost, but not quite. I mean, I can do it; I can hobble around and get places; but it's just not wise. And for once, I thought I'd try being that.
While I convalesce, I thought this would be a good time to look back at the many bumps, bruises, and bashings that have kept both me and Dawn sidelined at various times during the Walk. Recently, my calf muscle knotted up while I was climbing some steep hills. But that only shortened that one walk, so it was no big deal. After rehydrating, the calf was feeling great again. It was an early morning walk and when I returned to the hotel and met Dawn in the lobby for continental breakfast, I asked her, rather loudly, "Will you go out to the car and get the vibrator?" "Don't call it that," she said, slugging me. "It's a massager!" I knew that. She tells me that every time I call it a vibrator. But I don't do that all the time. Just when other people are around to overhear. Anyway... Something that took a lot longer to feel great again was my ankle when I took a tumble early on in my walk. I'd had to jump into a ditch in pitch black conditions because a truck had veered too close. Instead of using my flashlight to check the ground before getting back on the shoulder, I stepped forward right into a chuckhole and twisted my ankle pretty badly. That bonehead move kept me off the road for about three weeks. But the condition that has hindered me most during my walk is the plantar fasciitis in my left foot. I ice the heel of my foot a lot and that helps; but even so, the pain starts to dig through my foot somewhere around the fifth mile and gets steadily worse as I continue. If not for that, I'd be knocking out 20-plus miles on each leg. Instead I usually halt somewhere between 10 and 14 miles. After our walks, Dawn and I will usually stop somewhere to eat. I'll get out of the car and hobble over to the restaurant. One time I told Dawn, "You know, anyone seeing me simply try to cross the street will never believe I'm walking across Virginia. Oh, yeah, you can walk across the state. Tell me another, buddy" "Yeah," Dawn said, "you give the Crip Walk a whole new meaning. It actually means cripple in your case." Okay, enough busting on me. As I'm sure you've noted from my use of the word "us" in the title, I haven't been the only gimpy walker on the road. She walked with bruised ribs for a while after a fall from a chair and did another walk the day after falling off a ladder (falling seems to be a thing with her!). Another time, she was laid up for a week after one of our walks because she had tied her shoes so tightly that they had done something to her feet. Lately, Dawn's been limping due to some indeterminate hip pain. On our walk last month to visit Stafford Art Glass, her hip flared up so much our pace slowed to a crawl. As we slogged up one of the giant hills on US-460, trucks whining on the other side of the divided highway added an appropriate sound track to our hike. One trucker looked out the cab window of a particularly struggling truck at Dawn and they gave each knowing nods that summed up their frustration. Parker Stafford had agreed to drive us back to Blacksburg after our walk so I could pick up my car. Wondering what was taking us so long, he came driving down the highway to check on us when we were just a quarter-mile from his studio. "Hop on in," he said. "It's just up ahead." But, no, we explained how persnickety we were about the route. We had to actually walk every step along the way. Even when we were such sad sacks. We may be gimps, but nothing, not even our own bedraggled bodies, will keep us from finishing up this walk!
Making Lemonade When life gives you lemons, find someone to sue. Unfortunately, I couldn�t find anyone to blame for my hobbled condition except myself. And although I felt fairly certain I could win a case in court against myself, I also knew that I'm kind of a deadbeat without pockets deep enough worth suing, so why bother?
So, to de-French myself a little bit today, I took my first steps toward rehabbing the knee�literally. I took one of Dawn's dogs for a walk around her neighborhood, which is a �-mile loop. I iced the knee afterwards and it felt fairly good, so good, in fact, that I went out for another loop. A mile-and-a-half might not seem like much, but it's progress. Yummy and Crummy Stuff in my Mouth While rehabbing my knee, I've been walking a couple of miles around town every other day. All's going well and I plan to bump up the mileage soon. But while I'm working up to logging some more "official miles," I thought I'd use this time to talk about one of the key elements of traveling across the state: road food. When you're out hiking for two-to-five hours, you're going to get hungry. The wise thing to do is pack a snack. Early on, I bought and MRE from an Army surplus store and stuffed that in the bottom of my rucksack, one of those just-in-case emergency provisions. Lucky for me it has a long shelf life, because I've been carrying it around for over a year-and-a-half and haven't ripped into it yet. Instead, I've munched on various other goodies that I tucked into the webbing of my ruck's outer pockets. Things like Nutrigrain bars, Fig Newtons, and bags of trail mix or dried fruit.
But my favorite snack of all is a bag of baby carrots. Not only are they healthier than most of my other choices, the bite-size treats are easy to handle and surprisingly filling. Plus, on a couple of occasions I've been able to mosey over to a corral containing horses and been able to stroke their necks while they ate carrots from the palm of my other hand. Speaking as someone who grew up in the burbs, it's a way cool experience. There have been failures as well. I tried sunflower seeds, but they were only good for breaks. When I'm panting from one of my walks, it's too difficult for me to shell the seeds and I wind up spitting out the whole mess. Another snack that I thought was perfectly suited to my walks was Oscar Meyer Lunchables. Pre-sliced tiny meats and cheese with accompanying crackers...what's not to love? Well, unfortunately, the sliced cheese doesn't stay that way once it gets out into the sun. It turns into a block of cheese. This happened a couple of times before
At times, I have packed more than just snacks into my rucksack, things like sandwiches and fruit stowed in Tupperware containers for a little picnic at a midway point or at the end of a walk. Once, Dawn and I dined in a graveyard. Another time I unpacked an entire cooler from my ruck at the end of a walk and we feasted on crab and seven-layer salad on the grass underneath Virginia Beach's King Neptune statue. On a nearby stage, a band played beach music to a swaying crowd. When I've been out on the road for extended stays, I've tried to shop in local stores for road food. Sometimes, I've found pleasant surprises, such as Mennonite cookies at the Lydia Mountain Country Store. Other times, what I've found has turned my stomach, such as mason jars of pickled pigs feet or pig's snouts or other pig parts that are just too disgusting to mention. Many of these country stores sell generic brand items for a fraction of the name brands. The saying, "You get what you pay for," comes to mind. Once I was browsing through the Arrington Mini Mart when I saw some white-labeled cans with big black letters proclaiming, "MEAT." Whoa, I thought, that's a little too generic for me. Closer inspection revealed smaller lettering at the bottom of the can that read "Spaghetti sauce." Phew.
There have also been shysters. Dawn and I stopped at The Apple Shed on Route 29 somewhere in the Lovingston area and perused their baskets of fruit. We pawed at several selections, unable to make up our minds, when the owner suggested we try a combo-basket. "I'll just go make one up for you," he said. A few miles down the road, Dawn felt like noshing on one of them and discovered that he'd packed our bag full of hard fruit that was nothing like the juicy samples displayed out front. "Guess he figured we were just stupid city folk and wouldn't do anything about it," I said. Then, pausing to eye the miles back to his crappy, little shack, "Guess he was right." Since one of the big reasons for this walk has been to learn about my home state, I've been trying to also partake of as much Southern cooking as possible. I've had peanut soup, barbequed alligator, sweet potato fries, fish of every kind, and grits aplenty. I've had my first taste of collard greens and loved it, and had my first taste of gizzards and nearly gotten sick. Whenever possible, I've avoided chains in favor of small-town restaurants and searched the menus for house specials with some tie to that locality. It's made for some wonderful discoveries, such as Dead Sea Fries in Gainesville's Town 'N' Country Restaurant. Here for you are some of the best, and worst, discoveries I've made in this long journey across the state. Take note of the top five and if you're ever passing their way, stop in for a bite. You'll be glad you did!
I�ve Got Crabs!
�I hadn�t really thought about it. I didn�t know it was even possible to walk out there.� �Sure,� Kurt said. �We�ve got a boat and go out there all the time. That�s the only way you can get out there. Many of them have never been inhabited, so when you walk on the beach your footprints might be the first ones ever laid down.� How could I pass that up? A chance at being the first one to defile�I mean, leave my mark�on the virgin sand of an uncharted island. I was in! One of the first things I learned about the Barrier Islands was that they had all actually been charted. Also, the island we would be visiting, Smith Island, the first Barrier Island just off the southern tip of the Eastern Shore, had had plenty of visitors in the past. A steel-framed lighthouse stood on the far end of the island amid the rubble of two previous lighthouses. The first Cape Charles lighthouse, built in 1828, was replaced by a 150-foot brick tower in 1864, which then collapsed into the sea in 1927. Okay, so the island wasn't uncharted and the sand wasn't virgin, but I was still in. And so was Dawn. We drove out to Kiptopeke State Park at 11 a.m. It was high tide and the water level had risen to a couple of inches above the pier beside the boat ramp. No prob, though. Dawn was wearing Wellies and I kicked off my sneakers and merrily sloshed through the water and stepped into the boat. The water felt great on my bare feet, which lulled me into going shoeless for most of the day. Big mistake. But before we get to the day's blunders, let me first dazzle you with the day's wonders. There was a pleasant surprise right at the outset when we met two extra (and fun) companions for our day at the beach: Kurt and Sally's friend Mary and her daughter Rachael. Along the way, Kurt steered the boat between the pilings at Wise Point to pick up his son, Van. We didn't get to spend much time with Van though as he had to leave halfway through the day to go race in a cross country meet. Ah, the life of an athlete. The final addition to our merry crew was Kurt's two-ounce terrier, Winnie. She perched on the gunwale as the boat skipped across the water and the breeze riffled her tangled coat. Nothing exemplifies the feeling of freedom one gets in a speeding boat more than a happy dog with its face in the wind. Especially on a day like today. After a week of hard rain and cold temps, the skies had cleared and we were being treated to an Indian summer�80 degrees with a breeze. The rest of us put our faces in the wind just like Winnie, though most of us (Dawn excluded) kept our tongues in our mouths. As we passed beneath the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, Sally waved frantically and woo-wooed at the traffic overhead. "I always wave to let them know that I am having more fun than them." Naturally, we all joined her. Never pass up an opportunity to boast.
We offloaded our supplies and set up beach chairs in the sand. I grabbed the large umbrella planted it between a couple of the chairs, keeping my head down to make sure I didn't stab anyone's foot as jammed the pole down. I should have also paid attention to the rest of my environment. Perhaps then I would have seen Sally arranging another chair right beside me. I finally realized she was there when I jammed the pole down and heard her yelp. The umbrella's taut fabric edge had smacked her in the head. Poor Sally. And unfortunately, that wouldn't be the last injury I caused her this day. Nor the worst. For now, though, Sally didn't know about the abuse that was coming her way and she graciously downplayed her first beat down. In the water, Kurt was busy with his own problems. Another boat was having difficulty in the fast current and it was drifting dangerously close to Kurt's. Kurt offered to help the other boat's owner, but the numbskull kept shrugging him off and insisting he had it all under control. He didn't. Just before the two boats could smash together, Kurt wedged himself between them and shoved the other guy's off the prow. Kurt was done taking no for an answer. He guided our neighbor to a spot farther up the shore and I grabbed the anchor line and planted the anchor in the sand. I had no idea our day of rest and relaxation would be so taxing! Back on shore, Mary and Rachael had gone off exploring. Kurt had to stay near the boat so he could ferry Van to his race in a little while, but Sally suggested we go searching for some conch shells. As I strolled down the beach with Dawn and Sally, I figured I'd only be able to walk a mile before turning back because of my bad knee. I don't know if it was because of the sand's soft surface or because I was walking barefoot, but whatever the reason my knee was feeling great and I wound up walking a total of about five miles. The view was gorgeous and the lapping waves made for a serene soundtrack. But serenity wasn't all we found. There were numerous treasures on our walk. In addition to scores of beautiful conch shells just lying in the sand, we found worn-down bricks from the old Cape Charles lighthouse, sand dollars, and even a coconut. A few things found us as well. Namely crabs. As a tiny crab skittered across the sand in front of us, I said, "I'm going to catch one of them. Crab's good eating." "You can try," Sally said, "but I've never seen anyone catch one of them before." With a challenge like that, I was soon chasing down the creepy crustacean, trapping him against a dune. I raised the itsy, bitsy crab in the air and cheered as if I'd just wrestled a bear to the ground. We passed the little fella around and then set him free. "His friends will never believe him," Dawn said. "He's going to tell them, 'You won't believe what happened to me today...'" Dawn and I wanted to walk a little farther down the beach but Sally wanted to turn around and check on things back at home base.
Some turned out to be all of them, as we loaded her down with half a dozen conch shells and a handful of bricks. We did pick up a few more during our walk, but our hands were fairly free by the time we returned. Kurt grilled hot dogs and we dressed them with ketchup, mustard, and some of his homegrown pickles. Then everyone who was of age�sorry Racheal�popped the tops on some beers and settled in for the R&R part of our trip. The company was great, our bellies were full, and the cool, salty breeze placed all our internal thermostats on Oh, yeah. I was so comfortable, I hadn't even noticed when the umbrella shade drifted and left my marshmallow-white feet roasting in the sun. The pain of sunburn was still hours away. I would notice it when climbing back aboard Kurt's boat after looking down at my feet and exclaiming, "Lucky me! I caught a couple of lobsters!" For now, though, all was bliss. Dawn suggested we walk off some of our lunch, so we headed down the beach in the opposite direction of our first trip. We hadn't gone far though when a six-inch crab darted out in front of me and I gave chase. When, even to my surprise, I caught this one as well, I told Dawn, "Oh, we have to go back and show it to Sally!" I thought there was some sort of way to hold a crab at the rear of its shell that wouldn't allow it to pinch you with its claws, but I wasn't sure enough to risk it. So I carried the crab with one claw pinched between the thumb and forefinger of one hand and ditto for the other side. I held it out in front of me and was tip-toeing like I was toting an open vial of nitroglycerine. Back at our site, I held the crab out for Sally to inspect. Its eyes popped up on their stalks and its claws snipped at the air.
That's the way I repay someone generous enough to treat me to a wonderful day out on an island you can only get to by boat�by bashing her in the head, loading her down with bricks, and slicing one of her fingers open. For some reason, I don't think Dawn and I will ever be invited out with them again. Well, Dawn might, but I'll probably have to stow away. Be Merry After surprising myself with a five-mile walk out on Smith Island, I decided to bump up the distance just a little bit more. Today, I went out to Brookvale to extend my route up the Northern Neck. I planned to walk out three miles to a town called Merry Island then turn around and walk back. Six miles of mostly flat terrain. I crossed my fingers and hoped my bad knee would be all right. I didn't really figure on making any neat discoveries on the walk; I only wanted to log the miles. But, as I've found time and time again, it's hard to go anywhere in Virginia without bumping into some neat thing you didn't know about before.
The current four-car Merry Point Ferry is just the latest version to cross the Corrotoman. Originally, the ferry crossed the river under the power of deadrise work boats lashed to its side. Then, in 1985, the cable system was installed and a two-car, steel-hulled ferry replaced the old barge. This summer, those were replaced again with the four-car ferry that VDOT operates today. Cars aren't the only thing that crosses on the ferry either. While I watched, a man and a horse came across on the ferry. The palomino was a little skittish coming off the steel ramp, but he soon settled down. But the ferry wasn't the only merry surprise I had this day. After turning around and hiking back to Brookvale, I stopped in at Net Cruiser's Cafe to celebrate finishing the six miles without any mishaps. Once again, I figured it would just be a regular restaurant and a common experience, and once again I was wrong. Net Cruisers was not your ordinary cafe; it also had an oxygen bar! And, as you should know by now, I can't pass by something like that without giving it a try. Signs on the wall extolled the virtues of oxygen, such as speeding up the body's recovery after physical exertion, improving digestion, and relieving muscle stiffness, and answered some frequently asked questions, such as "How much oxygen is in the air we normally breathe?" (About 19%-21%). This oxygen bar dispensed 87%-95% pure oxygen mixed with assorted aromas. Set against one wall, five laboratory style flasks contained different colored liquids and bore labels describing their contents and intended effects. There was eucalyptus (energize), peppermint (invigorates), lavender (stress relief), vanilla (calming), and cherry (female aphrodisiac). I noted that there was no "male aphrodisiac," but then I supposed that men would be turned on from women sniffing from the cherry beaker. I paid for a five-minute session and took a seat at the bar. I didn't see instructions posted anywhere and the cashier was busy with other customers at the counter, so I started poking around to see if I could figure things out myself. A thick tube protruded from the top of each beaker. I grabbed the tube coming out of the eucalyptus beaker and held it by my nose, wondering if I was just supposed to shove it up one of my nostrils. Kind of gross, I thought. I mean, what about other people's germs? My luck, I'd probably get the bird flu or something. "Um, excuse me," I called out. "Do each of these have just one tube?" "The masks are over there," she said, pointing to a wicker basket beside the glassware.
Now, had any of my so-called-friends been with me at that point, I would have heard no end of comments like, "People aren't supposed to suck, but you can't just help it, Bill." But the cashier took pity on my ignorance and said, in that manner you might address a two-year-old, "I'll be over there in a sec. Soon as I'm done here." Just as I'd missed the open basket right next to the beakers, I'd missed the machine as large as an office printer sitting on the floor beneath the bar. Oops. The cashier pressed the ON/OFF switch and the machine started humming. A moment later, eucalyptus-scented air started pumping into my nose. I took deep breaths and felt my bronchia opening up. My nose, throat, and head had that tingling sensation I get when I suck on a mentholated cough drop. I found myself feeling relaxed, reflecting on my six-mile hike and the day's wonderful surprises. Whoever had named Merry Point, I decided, had been right on the money. A New Best Friend
But first, we stopped at another island. To get to the Eastern Shore, you see, we had to pass over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. Hampton Roads residents can be forgiven if they are blas� about bridge-tunnel constructions, seeing as three of them cross over water in their area, the other two being the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel and the Monitor-Merrimac Memorial Bridge-Tunnel. But the fact of the matter is only eight bridge-tunnels exist in the world. Japan and Canada have one apiece while the other three are in Scandinavia. I don't know if the $12 one-way toll ($5 for the return trip) makes it the most expensive, but the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel is definitely the grandest of them all. At 17.6 miles in length, it is nearly as long as all of the foreign bridge-tunnels combined. In 1965, the CBBT was selected as One of the Seven Engineering Wonders of the Modern World, due to the complexity of the project. (It was later replaced on the list by the Chunnel connecting England and France�yeah, as if anyone wants to visit either of those!) Built to withstand hurricanes, the CBBT combined trestles, tunnels, bridges, causeways, and four man-made islands, one of which Dawn and I visited today.
After pestering the fishermen, we hopped inside the cafe. We'd hoped to dine outside, but those tables were closed for the season. The view from the long window fronting the booths was still spectacular, and we whiled away the time watching seagulls drift in the breeze. A cormorant bobbed on the water, diving under now and then to fish. After witnessing it disappear several times for minutes at a stretch, we tried to time how long it could hold its breath, but we lost track of the slippery fellow. So, after dawdling for an hour or so on this man-made island, we set out once more for our actual island destination. On our last visit to Chincoteague, construction had just begun on a new drawbridge over the Black Narrows to replace the old "Swing Bridge," which had been in existence since 1940. The dedication ceremony for this new 3/4-mile bridge had just occurred two days earlier, and it was now open for business. Dawn dropped me off in Chincoteague so I could walk the first stretch alone. That way I could see how my knee was faring before we ditched our vehicular life-line. While I hiked the first few miles, Dawn drove past me a couple of times and parked once at an emergency pull-off to check on me. "Feeling great," I told her. The only discomfort I was feeling was thanks to the indigenous population. The only road leading to Chincoteague, you see, is a narrow strip of highway that cuts through several miles of marsh. As I trod the shoulder of this road, mosquitoes feasted on every inch of my exposed flesh. I swatted dozens of the blood-suckers, but more took their places. They were relentless. Finally, grass started to replace the reeds and houses started popping up as the water receded. Dawn picked me up after I'd covered a little over three miles, and we drove another two miles to park the car at Wallops Island Visitor Center. Then we began the hike back to where she'd picked me up. Two miles out and two miles back would put my total walking distance at 7-� for the day. At least, that was the plan. Mosquitoes, I would soon find, were the least of my troubles. Walking on the side of the road, we frequently had to step onto the thin, sloped shoulder to avoid traffic. I'm guessing that all that walking on a slant is what did me in, but whatever it was, I soon got a hitch in my step that became more pronounced as we went along. My knee was clicking and nearly gave out on me a couple of times. "You think we should turn around?" Dawn asked. "Not this close," I said, pointing ahead to the turn-around point. "It's just another half-mile. If we don't do it now, I'll have to come back here another time just to walk this tiny stretch." Once we got to the turn-around point, Dawn insisted I stay behind while she went back for the car herself. I felt like a wimp, but there wasn't much else I could do. I passed off my safety vest and flashlight, and then she marched off to the west. I sat on a guardrail looking glum and about 20 minutes later a sheriff's car pulled over. The way my luck was going, I figured he was about to give me a ticket. "You with that woman I passed?" he said. "Yeah. We were walking and my knee gave out. She's going back to get the car." "Y'all need a ride?" And that's the true story of how Deputy Harry Thornton saved the day and became Dawn and my new best friend. Rocket Boys
Not only does Wallops Island house scores of gigantic satellites and oddly shaped buildings (some of them look like three-story golf balls), but the facility also serves as NASA's most active launch range, having fired off more than 15,000 rocket missions since 1945. In the early days of rocket science, accidents occurred frequently, which is why such an important facility is located out in the middle of nowhere. Less chance for collateral damage on the sparsely populated Eastern Shore. Upon entering the Wallops Island Visitor's Center, I asked the woman at the front desk if there were any programs going on today. "The shows are only on the weekend," she said. "Sunday was Living in Space. But today I'm just here to answer questions." "In that case, how big is Saturn?" "Um, big," she replied. Then, with a little more certainty, "Very big." I started reading some of the placards next to posters of rockets across from the desk, and the Answer Lady called out to me again. When I glanced over I saw that she had a tome open on the counter and her finger was pressed to a line on one of the pages. "Saturn is 93 times the size of the Earth," she said. Wow. She really was the Answer Lady! Her pleasant and helpful attitude reflected the interesting, hands-on nature of the visitor center. As I continued, I came across numerous fascinating displays�actual moon rocks, videos showing various aspects of space exploration, colorful posters displaying images of the Earth from space as modern art swatches, and models of all sorts of flying vehicles, from balloons to space shuttles. I was momentarily confused by a display describing a planned ballooning expedition to Mars. At first, that seemed like a step backwards to me, but it made sense after reading how balloons can fly 100 times closer to the Mars surface than modern orbiters and travel 1000 times farther than rovers in a comparable period.
Stepping outside, I walked a path that wound past sample rockets and came upon a class of middle-schoolers from Moravian Academy in Pennsylvania. Fifty-or-so were testing out the rockets they'd built as science projects, shooting them hundreds of meters into the air. The day's winner soared higher than the length of four football fields. An amazing feat made even more so by its construction. The students' rockets were crafted from 16-ounce, plastic, soda bottles fitted with fins and partially filled with water. After the rocket was attached atop a launching device made from PVC pipes, the teacher used a hand-pumped bicycle pump to build up pressure in the pipe. Then the students pulled away a ping-pong-ball stopper and the rockets shot up into the air. As I said, amazing! I would have shot dozens of photos to post here, but my camera died halfway through my last walk (sniff, sniff). You'll hear more about that later; for now, though, I'm just sorry that I couldn't show you a video of these rocket boys (and girls) and their amazing projects. I went into the gift shop to see if they had any rockets similar to this. They didn't have this exact set-up but they did have some very cool stuff. I bought a couple of packets of freeze-dried astronaut food and an egg-sized, wind-up UFO toy with a Martian in the driver's seat. When wound up, the toy rides forward on a flat surface until it hits another object or an edge, and then it turns away in another direction. Not bad for a $4, plastic toy. But enough playing around. It was time to walk. I hoofed it out to Wattsville, where I planned to turn around and walk back to the visitor center. Before I began the return journey, though, I had to celebrate. Not because of the great distance of this walk�about three miles�but because this marked another milestone in the bigger walk across Virginia. Today's walk put me over the 1,100-mile mark. I went inside a convenience store to get something to drink and then sat on a bench to feast on my packet of astronaut food. Ripping open the bag, I munched on tasty freeze-dried strawberries and then washed it down with Gatorade. Now that is how you celebrate! As I stood up, ready to begin my walk back, a man stepped out of the store wearing a NASA badge on a lanyard around his neck. "Hey," I said, "you going back to Wallops Island?" "Yeah." "Could I hop a ride with you?" He said sure and then turned his truck in the opposite direction I was headed, which is how I learned that the Wallops Island Visitor Center is located a little more than three miles away from the actual Wallops Island entrance. Oops. But Nathan, the driver giving me a lift, was a good sport. He turned around and drove me up the road. Nathan, it turned out, was a student from Washington State University working out here on a NASA internship. "Coming out here was awesome," he said. "The 44-hour drive was a kind-of-neat way to see the country." I know exactly what he means. When Nathan dropped me off at my car, I wanted to show my appreciation and I knew just how to do it. "Wait here just a sec," I said. "I've got something for you." I opened the gift shop bag on the passenger seat of my car and removed the toy UFO. Nathan chuckled when I gave it to him as my token of thanks. If he enjoyed it just half as much as I did seeing it zip and bounce across the gift shop counter, it will have been well worth it. Besides, as soon as he left, you know I went right back into the gift shop to get myself another one. It might not be as impressive as the pressurized, soda-bottle rockets those kids were shooting off, but when that Martian bumps around my desk, dangles perilously over the edge, then scoots back to safety, I, too, feel like I'm a rocket boy. Out With the Old, In With High Def
In mourning, I put off buying a new camera. Besides, I thought, there's not going to be anything interesting on today's walk. What a dummy. There's always something interesting on the walks. You've just got to open your eyes to see it. And be carrying a camera to share it. So, cameraless me was unable to show you the fantastic displays at Wallops Island visitor's center. You'll just have to take my word that a trip out there is well worth it. Not wanting to repeat my mistake, I went out this evening and purchased a new camera: a Kodak EasyShare C195. Palm-sized, it is just as easy to tote on my walks as my previous camera. And, just like the six-million dollar man Steve Austin, it is better, stronger, and faster than before. While my old camera had 3x-optical zoom, this one has 5x. The Polaroid had a maximum resolution of 5 megapixels and this one has 14 megapixels. The old one was standard landscape view and this one sports a high definition picture. And if that isn't enough to win you over, then check out the video I shot with my new camera of a Martian joy-riding in his UFO. Buffalo Bill Buffalo Bill Cody was a famous cowboy figure from the old west. I'd been called "Buffalo Bill" a few times in my life. Sometimes�the football field, for instance�that was a good thing. Other times�such as when overhearing your date talk about you to her girlfriends�it was not so much. Today, though, I would be earning the nickname for a reason other than my appearance. Today, I would be walking among a herd of buffalo and slapping each of them on their hindquarters. Okay, maybe that's a little exaggerated. But I would get to view them up close while standing safely behind a fence that could restrain the massive creatures. Dawn and I hiked the few short miles from Merry Point to Ottoman where we met up with Don and Kim Edmonds, the owners of Edmond's Farm. Neither Don, from Chicago, nor Kim, from New Jersey, knew anything about farming growing up. But Don worked a job as a vet tech in an animal hospital and discovered a love for animals that turned him into a regular Dr. Doolittle. Now, in addition to the herd of 85 bison, scores of other creatures roam his property. And he introduced us to them all. First up were the pigs. He pulled a couple of piglets out of their pen and let them run around on the ground. "That one's named Sausage," he said, "and the other one is Bacon." Don, I was glad to see, had a sense of humor.
"He must've heard about us," Dawn said. Then, scratching it under its chin, "Sorry to tell you guys, but I love to eat bacon." "Same here," Don said. "That's why we got into it. We love to eat pork. But this way, there's no antibiotics, steroids, or growth hormones." Don, it turns out, is also a health-conscious guy. He'd originally just bought two pigs so he and Kim could eat untainted pork, but then the word got out and one of his neighbors came to him with an offer. If he would feed and care for one more pig, Don could keep the piglets and the neighbor would get the ham. Then another neighbor approached him and said, "Hey, I hear you're raising pigs with nothing unnatural." With so much interest in healthy meat, he unexpectedly backed into the swine business. In addition to the cute, though not so cuddly, piglets, Don has plenty of enormous hogs and sows that are coated in mud. "They love to wallow," he said. "They can tear up an entire field in a single day."
Then he surprised us again, this time hopping up on top of the hog and riding it around the pen a bit before jumping off and rejoining us. "My turn," I said, just joking and not meaning it at all. "Oh, no," Don said. "I raised him from a little piglet. That's the only reason I can do stuff like that without him getting riled." "Must be tough when it's time to go to market." Don got somber for a moment. "Yeah, that's the hardest part. When I take them in, I tell them, 'Let me go in and do the paperwork before you start doing anything.' I don't want to see any of that." Here he stops and gives a shrug that says it all. In addition to the pigs, he's got a few horses roaming in a nearby field and some rhea in another. Rhea are South American birds that look and awful lot like ostriches. Across the dirt strip of road that bisects his property are yet more animals: goats. "I tried to make some cheese with the goat milk this year," he said. "Feta. Half of it turned out fine and the other half�" Again, he gives a shrug and moves on. "I'd never milked a goat before. The whole trick of it is getting the motion down�" He pinches the air with his thumb and forefinger and then squeezes his three other fingers against his thumb in a ripple. "�while this goat is trying to kick and bite you." Hearing that, I'm surprised that even half the cheese turned out OK. Or that he would go back for seconds after the first goat kicked at him. But, then again, I'm not hog-riding wild like Don.
It would be hard for me to imagine a day when getting kissed on the mouth by a fawn would not be the highlight of my day. But today was such a day. For today, Dawn and I would encounter some of the most majestic beasts that still roam the face of this Earth: American bison, or buffalo.  However, to read about this part of our exciting day at Edmond's Farm, you'll have to click the following link for the Virginia Living blog. That is where I posted the story about our encounter with the buffalo. The Virginia Living site also includes a variety of other interesting stories about lifestyle, food, and entertainment from across the Commonwealth. A Walk Across the Country
"I walked across Spain a couple of years ago," Richard told me. "I already knew what it was like to walk across a country, so I wanted to see what it would be like to walk across a continent." Well, now he knows. He and Sally crossed San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge this morning. And you can read about his grand adventure online at Richard's blog: Walk Over States. Not only is his story great and his viewpoint of America interesting, but he is also quite the humorous writer. Definitely worth reading. They spent 231 days walking 3,348 miles across 12 states. Kind of makes my own walk seem puny in comparison. But, every woman I've has told me, size doesn't matter. Ever So Slowly I love Dawn's trio of Rottweilers. That should be evident by the pic I posted on my October 4th entry where I'm smooching with one of them. But sometimes it can be a love-hate relationship. Mid-September was one of the "hate" instances. That was when Morgan, the block-headedest of the bunch, rammed into the back of my knee while I was walking. I felt a slight popping then an immediate loss of control. But the knee just felt a little bit sore, so I didn't think much of it. Occasionally, when I would exert backwards force on my leg, the knee would hyperflex (bend backwards) without resistance and be close to collapsing, but there wasn't any associated pain so I pretty much ignored it. I'd seriously injured my knee before, tearing my Anterior Cruciate Ligament (ACL) a few years back. It had taken me nearly two years to recover as I slowly transitioned from crutches to a cane to slow walking. So, since I was still able to walk after being smacked in the back of the knee, I didn't think much about it. Until I went walking a few days later on September 21 and my knee was clicking like a lovesick cricket.
At the time, I hadn't made the connection between my sore knee and the dog. It hadn't been immediately sore after the collision, so I thought this injury a few days later had simply been from overwork or maybe straining my knee from the mountainous walk. I rested it a few days and continued on with my next planned walk. Dawn came with me to Abingdon and played spotter while I walked 4 painful miles before calling it a day. The knee was obviously hurt worse than I'd originally thought. That was when I finally (duh) made the connection. Whether I strained my knee or slightly tore my PCL, I don't know. All I knew is it wasn't as serious as my previous injury. I was able to walk around, after all. Well, hobble around anyway. After resting for another week-and-a-half, I started walking again around my hometown Poquoson, which is mercifully flat. I worked one mile the first time out and slowly increased the distance on later trips, limping and gimping all the way. Earlier in my walk, I'd skipped over an 11-mile stretch of Chincoteague Road when going out to the annual Pony Penning on Chincoteague Island. Since the Eastern Shore is just as flat as Poquoson, I figured I might as well knock that out while rehabbing. Even so, it's been frustrating. Today was my third trip out to this quiet stretch of road. At my peak, I was could put in a 20-mile day. Now it's taking me three times as long to cover half the distance. What's even more frustrating is that my capability isn't increasing. I've had some days where I was able to walk 5 or 6 miles, and today I was planning to walk 7.2. But when I hiked from Wattsville, where I left off last time, to Oak Hall, I bummed a ride from someone at a gas station instead of hiking the 3.6 miles back to my car. Harrumph. I guess it's time for something different. Albert Einstein once defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I've been walking just about every day to rehab the bum knee. Now I figure I'll give it a rest. We'll see how that goes. I'd rather earn my insanity label doing something a little more fun than walking on the side of the road. Something like diving off a cliff or taking part in a world-record skinny dip. Oh, wait, I already did both of those earlier this year. Don't Make Me Mad!
But it was Dave Ambrose who stole the show. He's a big-and-tall guy, just like me, yet he came dressed as a big baby. He had the bib, the bonnet, and the pacifier. He was also sucking on bottles of beer for most of the night. "Hey," he said, "I'm a bottle-fed baby." As for me, I was the incredible Hulk. I cut off a pair of black pants and shredded the legs. Then I slathered on green body paint and donned a torn-up tee shirt. As for the bulking up part, well, that was one part of the costume I didn't have to worry about. Okay, okay, I know what you're thinking, but keep your smart-alecky comments to yourself. You don't want to see me mad. |
A little confession here about my usage of the word "gimp": I'd always thought it meant a person with some sort of lameness that manifests in a limp. However, when I did an online search for a funny photo to use, every picture and cartoon that popped up featured some sort of S&M bondage. Uh oh. Learning long ago not to be too proud to run to the dictionary when a word I thought I knew came into question, I opened up my Webster's and (phew) discovered I had been right after all.
Reconnecting with an old girlfriend
Why the long face?
Tasty, 200-calorie sammiches
Truth in advertising: these burgers will, indeed, give you a big az
This charming diner has a giant neon arrow pointing to the front door and a sign that proclaims "Let's Eat." Dawn and I couldn't pass it up. Inside was more of the same: checkerboard floors and a row of post-mounted stools along a long, gleaming counter. We'd expected greasy spoon fare on the menus and were surprised to find the house specialties were a variety of delicious Greek dishes. The owners, you see, are Greek and cooked all the specialties themselves. Dawn ordered one of her favorite Greek standards�gyros�and I experimented with something called dolmadakia (ground beef and rice wrapped in grape leaves and coated with a lemon sauce). I must have moaned in delight when I took my first bite because Dawn started laughing at my reaction. What can I say? It was delicious and I was enjoying it too much to care what I looked (or sounded) like!
The service in this establishment is unsurpassed; the food is remarkable (save room for the sweet potato pie dessert if it's in season!); and the d�cor is jaw-dropping. They have for years served police officers from all over the country who were training with the FBI at nearby Quantico. These officers have given them distinctive patches from their units and the restaurant has tacked thousands of them on its ceiling.
While walking through town, I'd read the menu posted on the window of Withers Hardware Restaurant and couldn't stop salivating when I saw a dish titled Salmon Rockefeller. After cleaning up in my hotel room, I drove to the restaurant for lunch, only to discover the dish I wanted was a dinner item only. However, the kind lunch chef acquiesced to my wild-eyed demand and made a special order for me. While she cooked it up, I admired the ornate and eclectic interior, Christmas lights and old metal gas signs juxtaposed with oak paneling and brass rails. When lunch arrived I could barely contain myself. The pan-seared salmon was tender and smothered in saut�ed spinach, mushrooms and caramelized onions, complemented by side servings of saut�ed vegetables and jasmine rice. Yum. Great service and excellent food, what more could you want?
Anchors aweigh!
Loading down Sally like a pack mule
The Stallone of crabs draws First Blood
A very merry ferry
I suck!
Chincoteague's best-known resident: Misty
An easily disoriented Dawn has trouble finding the Chesapeake Bay
Rocket launch from Wallops Island
The Magic Planet
Goodbye, old friend. You were irreplaceable. Well, almost.
What's that I smell?
The Swine Rodeo
Pucker up!
Sally begs Richard to forgive her for leaving the water running in Jamestown. "If we head back now, we'll be there by spring."
How can something located halfway up the leg be such a pain in the ass?
The circus must be in town