When we are at home, there is a rhythm, a schedule that we follow each day. It gives our lives a sort of normal schedule to follow day by day and week by week. Here in this lovely camp in West Virginia, we are completely off the grid. We were expecting spotty cell service as the camp is a hollow, in the mountains of West Virginia. But spotty it is not. We are completely without a single bar of cell service and no TV service or radio either for that matter.
Slowly, we began to enter the mountainous terrain of West Virginia. The highway went through dense forest and upward to breathtaking views. Well, for the most part anyway. I have become extremely nervous whenever we go through any sort of mountain road — small rolling or steep climbing — it does not matter. My heart starts to race and at every turn I have a death grip on the door handle. Jim is so amazing. When he piloted our Cessna 172 airplane, he was always a very calm pilot no matter what we may encounter. He is the same way when he drives, calm and cool, steady as he goes. He is the sort of person you want around in an emergency. Me, heck no! I completely lose my cool and panic. Just another reason we are a good team.
But I digress, gradually we moved from Interstate to State highways. Four lanes became two and good wide lanes narrowed to little more than driveways. The roads twisted and turned like a snake and at the same time went up and down. Our truck performed perfectly, pulling the heavy fifth without “breaking a sweat” but no matter, I was still nervous. As I usually do, I ask about fuel from time to time so when the need does come, I can help find a station with diesel fuel. When I asked, Jim replied we were at a quarter of a tank. One lesson we learned a long time ago is when your tank gets to a quarter, get fuel. We passed several exits with signs for fuel but Jim rejected each as being too small for us. Finally, we exited the highway and made a turn toward two lane country. There were two stations there but no need Jim said, we have enough to get to camp and then we can fill the truck without the fifth attached. Remember that statement.
As we crawled along, panic in the truck was palpable. Finally, as we rounded a sharp curve a station came into view. Fuel I shouted! The diesel pump sat off to one side and Jim had to jockey the rig a bit to get close enough to reach. He filled the tank and we made preparations to leave. Once back on the road, he admitted that he was getting “concerned” that we might not make camp or find a station when we got there. Well, duh I thought.
When we arrived at Glenville, we both gave a sigh of relief that our long drive was nearly over. The gps indicated we turn right on Cedar Creek Road, so we did. Immediately we went over a tiny, rusty old skinny bridge; not a good start. A short distance later, the one lane road changed from paved to gravel, mmmmm not a good sign. We crept along trying not to scramble everything inside the fifth as we dodged pot holes filled with muddy water. Finally the gps announced we were at our destination. What? We were in the middle of no where and no camp in sight. Oh golly, now what. Up ahead there was a farm house so Jim left me with the truck and walked up to hopefully get directions. No one was home, of course. He again entered the campground in the gps and it indicated that we continue forward five more miles where we would once again join the highway we just left and backtrack to Glenville. Oh geez, technology got us again.
As we crept along my anxiety and by this time Jim’s as well was increasing by the minute. I have to say that the views were amazing. We were deep in a hollow where cattle grazed peacefully and the occasional house dotted the roadside. At last, we passed a house where a man was in the front yard. He was round in the belly, sported red hair and a bushy red beard and a warm friendly smile. Actually when we stopped, he began to chuckle. Jim hopped out and asked about where the campground was located. The man told us that lots of people follow the gps and end up on this road but not top panic; it did indeed come back out at the highway. There we should turn right and when we pass the church turn left and that would take us there. So, on we went thinking in about 15 minutes we would finally arrive. When we reached the highway, Jim looked at the gps indicating to turn left but the man told us to go right. Mmmmm, we went left. We arrived in Glenville at the road where the gps indicated but no way we would go down it! Good grief! Once again, we asked for directions; yep go back the way the man had indicated and it would take us to the camp. Oh my goodness!
Yesterday, we left Mississippi behind and headed north. It was a pretty easy day of driving until we hit rush hour in Nashville. Geez, bumper to bumper traffic, not our cup of tea for sure. We spent the night just outside of Nashville in a KOA that left us unimpressed. KOAs tend to be more expensive and this one was no exception. The sites were very small and packed together like sardines in a can. But hey, it was just an overnight stop so never mind.
Our new home away from home is Lil’ Piece of Heaven Campground just outside the town. It is located on a small lake. It is a pretty large camp but including us, only eight of the sites were taken. I guess as the weekend comes that will change as the tourists come in. We managed to get set up just as a rain storm rolled into the area. It afforded us time to relax and rest a bit.
Inside the building the thick Flemish stone walls, deep window casings, heavy ceiling timber’s and built-in cupboards reminded me of Inns in England. Back in the day, the cooking was done in two fireplaces in the rear of the original Inn. Overnight guests had to climb the staircase to the loft where men were housed in one of the two rooms and the women the other. The practice of having individual rooms for guests was not introduced until about 1805. Yikes, it would not have been my cup of tea for sure.
A building of this age has to have ghosts, of course. There have always been ghostly stories told by the locals and guests alike. The most famous of the ghostly visitors is Jesse James. Employees of the inn have reported encounters with this ghostly spirit walking the halls. Another is the lady in white that appears in some of the rooms. Other stories include round balls of light moving around in rooms in the middle of the night. Objects move about in the rooms and clocks chime during the late hours. There are all sorts of stories to make one pause before staying a night.
Our time in Bardstown is winding down. We have had lots of rain during our stay. Last evening, a thunder storm rolled in accompanied by lightning and a heavy downpour. Both our girls are very freighted by storms. They join us in our bed seeking comfort and in the process our sleep is broken and restless. Fortunately, we missed all the serious storms that brought tornadoes and damage to property. Tomorrow our visit ends and we will head off to the mountains of West Virginia where we hope to see waterfalls, natural bridges and other sights of nature.
Even though there was a bar, the only libations on sale was beer that was pulled from a ice chest that had seen better days. If you wanted wine or spirits, you could bring your own. Red, the owner was in the house. As reported, he sat in the corner in his recliner watching a big screen TV with the sound muted. He was watching a baseball game and drinking a brew. He was a big man that filled that chair and then some.
We stayed for a set and then when the singer took a break decided to head back to the RV. As we walked away, he and others were outside smoking ….. and drinking. They called out to us to be careful and not do anything they would not do, hehehe. A cheerful bunch for sure who left us laughing and glad we had visited Red’s. Tomorrow we move on.
Saturday dawned and we headed out, filled with a sense of excitement. We have been talking about going to Clarksdale to hear some Mississippi Blues for some time now and today is the day. The sky was filled with dark, grey clouds promising rain. And it did. As we drove past field after field stretching as far as the eye can see, the rain poured down. Fortunately we drove into and out of the showers as we made our way to Clarksdale.
Our campground destination was the county fairgrounds. We have stayed at fairgrounds before so knew generally what to expect. There are lots of sites, some with full hookups and some with electric and water only and some just a place to park. Since it is first come, first serve, we were lucky to get the last site with hookup even if the electric was 30 amps instead of the 50 amps we normally need. In this muggy heat, it would be nice to be able to run both the front and rear air conditioners, however we can manage with only one. The overall arrangement is a mix of full timers and transients. We were set up in no time and hurried to get the girls settled before we headed out to explore the town.
We spent early afternoon Friday searching the area for a place to eat. I am sure that sounds odd, but out here in the rural Delta, communities are strewn across the landscape. Some are tiny and some just small but all of them are the embodiment of pictures one sees of the poor South. We had several names of cafes whose menus listed all the Southern favorites that were candidates for our lunch. Our first stop was Big Fellas just down the road a piece from our camp site. Opening time was not for several hours later so with growling stomachs we moved on to the next stop. At first we thought that the GPS was malfunctioning. Over and over it directed us to places that were boarded up or non existent. Covid has hit this area pretty hard leaving business after business closed. But some of the closures are a result of the young folks moving out of the Delta searching for a better life in a larger town. The result leaves what remains a sad, rundown neglected shell of what once was a lively community. It is an agricultural society out here with field after field growing corn and soybeans.
We finally ended up at Leland. Leland once was a hub of activity. It’s train station and bus station brought musicians and others into the growing community. There is a placard on one corner highlighting how the meeting place for so many was the Leland Cafe. As we walked through the dusty streets, we were delighted to find that the cafe was still in business. At last, we could get some food. Inside the air was cool and filled with smells that made my stomach growl loudly. Jim had circled back to the truck to get his mask while I went inside and got us a table. I was greeted by a large, rotund woman who could have stepped out of the pages of a Tennessee Williams book. Her skin was midnight black and glistened with beads of sweat. Her hair was piled high on her head and covered with two colorful scarves. She wore black athletic shoes whose soles had collapsed from miles of walking under her heavy girth. Her mask dangled from one ear revealing a smile that lit up the room and her smooth, alto voice greeted me with a welcoming hellooooooo. Her assistant, if you could call him that was just the opposite. Tall and skinny as a rail, he spoke so softly from behind his mask that I could scarcely make out what he was saying. It was a Peter Piper and his Wife moment.
