by Jill Winkowski
Jill shares her viewpoint on the 9-mile walk she did with Bill
on the Eastern Shore on a cold, cold day in January
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We were bundled, that�s for sure, and there were not many locals out perambulating. We only ran across one couple out getting exercise and that was at the later part of our journey. The rest of the Eastern Shore was very clever and drove places, passing us in our cars. We must have been the sight, Sarah, Bill and I, bundled in street clothes, ski jackets and fuzzy hats, trekking along a rural road that paralleled the railroad tracks from Onancock to Parksley.
To get to the Eastern Shore, we drove from Yorktown and as we passed the exit to Virginia Beach, the sun was rising. Bill was driving ahead of us, calling on the cell phone every few minutes with some tidbit of clever information or a question (just kidding--but he did call a couple of times). As we exited the highway toward the Chesapeake Bay Bridge tunnel, there was that orange halo around the earth�s horizon, pinkish on the edges. Sarah was bundled next to me, three blankets over her lap and legs, hooded and asleep.
The first island of the bridge was like I said�I felt the frigid air through the door handles even though I had the heat blasting. And the grey gusts of water were fringed in white bursts. Birds flew haphazardly over the waves. Bill and I stopped at the information station, excited to share the rugged beauty that we had just passed.
When we got back on the road, we had lots of bridge ahead of us. Sarah had woken up and she was the first one to notice that there was an inordinate number of seagull road kill along the sides of the bridgeway, avian bodies fairly fresh, you might even imagine still warm with sharp white wings sticking up into the air and flapping a bit with the passing cars. Poor birds, probably had landed on what seemed to be a solid safe place on a windy night, only to be whacked by two tons of hurling metal. The wind was high that morning, there was even a travel warning, Proceed with Caution, and trucks were not permitted on because of it.
We followed Bill through the tunnel and up Route 13, a straight road with purpose, right up the middle of the peninsula. It was lovely, just what I wanted to be a part of when I chose an Eastern Shore portion of his Walk Across Virginia. We drove to Parksley and parked in the middle of town which was mostly only two quaint perpendicular streets. (The list of restaurants and stores is more specific and accurate below.) . I parked next to a small building the size of a backyard shed, white clapboard with a sign indicating it was the Parksley police.
We took a breath of fresh air, stretched our legs and piled into Bill�s car. We were heading to Onancock in one car so we only had to walk one direction. To get to Onancock, we drove along the road we would hike, I saw the tracks that would measure our steps, line them up really and I am a big fan of walking on the sides of roads, so I was really looking forward to the hike.
It was cold. I think I said that before. It didn�t heat up with hours either. It was still cold. And windy too. We parked at the Wharf in Onancock and from there we took the sidewalk on Market Street, past homes and churches, iron hitching posts, stained glass. The only busyness was people coming to town for church, parking their cars along the street. I seem to remember an older woman parking her Buick and then opening the door to the back seat to unload a casserole covered in foil.
Sarah and I had split a small muffin on the ride up so we stopped at a convenience store for a little extra breakfast. It was not a chain store. There were very few chains along that route and I got coffee and granola bars while Bill and Sarah guarded the pack outside. It was good to be hungry and walking, though, so I didn�t eat the granola bar right away. I wanted that feeling of walking in the bitter cold, bundled up and a little hungry, drinking coffee. You know that one? I get my thrills where I can.
We continued down Market to the Onancock sign, stopped to take a couple of photos. There was a bend coming up with no shoulder to walk on so we were getting mentally prepared. We walked toward traffic, Sarah and Bill in the lead. I think it was somewhere along this curve that I panicked. I thought I had left my car keys in Bill�s car. This would have meant walking a couple miles back to Onancock. Luckily they were in my hoodie pocket. Not a jeans pocket or a jacket pocket. A deep under layers pocket. Besides, no adventure is complete without one good panic. (Well, there was the scroungy, barking, threatening dog panic as we rounded the corner after the �key� panic. Bill was ready with the mace and Sarah and I were a little frightened but it backed off and we were on our way again. Another adventurey sort of event.)
We had just finished talking about ways to convince ourselves that we were warm and not cold�the final group decision: to imagine we were taking a walk on a beach in Tahiti�when in the distance we saw the faint outline of palm trees. True! As we got closer we saw that not only were there palm trees and sand but that there were beach volleyball courts. What a way to instill our Tahiti fantasies with a little reality The name of the joint happened to be Shucker�s Roadhouse and it turned out that the gate around the volleyball courts was locked up, no entry but there were the palm trees and there was the sand and volleyball nets, even a stray volleyball in a frozen puddle, so we had to stop for the photo op. Bill feigned volleyballing in front of the net and trees while Sarah snapped photos. I put a dried out palm frond in my mouth and did a hula, still bundled in ski jacket. Silly us.
After we got our fill of Tahiti, we meandered back to the road and headed up along the railroad tracks. I found a few choice additions for my metal collection: a bent and flattened kitchen knife, a tiny iron rusted decorative curlicue, a spark plug. They fit tidily in my huge pockets. Sarah skated on the frozen puddles in the ditches. Bill slid a some flat thing across the ice. It was living, man.
We pressed on because it was cold. But we were enjoying the heck out of everything, Even when we hit our first flat farm field and the wind howled and whipped across it, making our frigid walk even more frigid, we loved it. When we hit the second field, we were more ready but it seemed to take a little longer to cross it. And when we hit the third, and the wind howled across the open flat land, like Jack Frost himself flying toward us with great animosity and speed, I chose my favorite coping skill�fantasy. I become a Polish farmer�s wife trudging miles from my rural home to the city, my family trudging with me. Maria, I was, and Teodor and Teresza my walking companions. We had been forced from our homes through religious persecution and we were heading to Warsaw. People we had known all our lives were dropping like flies around us. It was winter and the ground was frozen and the wind bitter on our unprotected cheeks. That is how I got past that third field. Bill and Sarah played along.
Still along the railroad tracks. I love those things. They are so straight, predictable and metally. They are a measure of where you have been and how far you have to go. They are placid and dependable. They read the earth, they let you read the earth, too. I like reading.
We approached Parksley, our destination. The tiny town, the preserved 1950�s facades, the postage stamp police station and not one restaurant opened. It was the middle of winter and it was a Sunday. Darn. So we passed up the railroad museum, another time, perhaps, and piled in my old white Camry. Guess what I did then? I turned up the heat full blast. Our cold noses began to thaw. Funny, by the end, we really weren�t paying attention to the cold at all. We really only thought of the fun we were having.
We headed back to Onancock, traversed the path we walked in a fraction of the time. I was amazed that the things we noticed coming up, the gravel on the sides of the roads, the treasures we had collected, the deflated volleyball, the dog, the frozen gutters, weren�t even in our purview going back, amazed at how much more you take in with your feet planted on the firmament.
I won�t forget that trip, the ruggedness of the Bay, the tiny Eastern Shore towns in winter. We ate fried fish and chips at Tammy and Johnny�s on the way out. I went to the freezing outhouse and washed my hair in cold water, blew it dry with cold air. Tousled it in front of a mirror freckled with blemishes. I had the same feeling when I sat down to lunch with Bill and Sarah, that I get when I sit down in a ski lodge after a day of exercise down the slopes, recovering from the cold and enjoying camaraderie. It was time to go. We took Bill back up to Parksley where he would make a three mile trek alone and meet a fellow named Tubbs that he planned to interview. Then we headed home, back over the bridge and then another, the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel, to our home in Yorktown.
That hike was a treasure. It was a challenge and it was charming and it had the stuff of memories. I loved the railroad and the cars passing us with heads swooping back to get a load of the three loons. I am glad I took my daughter and that we shared it with such a good friend. I am glad we all had that bit of crazy in us or we never would have gone.