Leg 5 to 6: Abingdon to Pittsburgh aka What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been

Could it really be? Could this really be the end of the mindless journey we set out upon almost six days ago? I wish I could say the trip ended with a roar, but unfortunately, the final leg was more of a whimper than we expected.



The western half of Virginia is the skinniest part of Virginia, meaning we were not on the road very long before we careened in to the home of Pitt's rival: West Virginia. The first thing we noticed was mountains; undoubtedly the largest we had seen in several states. It looked like the chorus of "God Bless America" no matter where we went.



Our first stop led us to Beckley, a small but dense town in the southern swing of West Virginia. After taking the exit ramp, I phoned my Grandma and asked for her recommendation on the best place to eat in Beckley. Granted, IHOP looked comparable to the other fine establishments in Beckley, but we nonetheless decided to press on. Around this time, I began trying to persuade Marc to take exit 47 to the local casino, knowing that table games were legal in West Virginia. Apparently, we stumbled into the Bermuda Triangle of West Virginia, and watched as exit 46 quickly evaporated into exit 48 without warning. My wallet thanked me as we headed to the next eatery.

The road north through West Virginia is - in comparison to others we had seen - a scenic route. Indecisive topography made for decisive photography, and we would have been crazy to pass on such miraculous sights. A quick detour led us to the second largest arch bridge in the country. Words can not do it justice, so I'll let you decide if the stop was worthy of a blog post:




As we passed through nameless town after nameless town, we eventually came across a quaint little strip of strip mall to our left. My stomach gurgled and quickly persuaded us to stop.

I never thought I would find authentic Mexican food in West Virginia, but given the circumstances so far, it really did not seem so far out of the ordinary. We took a quick exit aka left turn in to a strip mall directly off the interstate. We opened the door to La Carretta, which is Spanish for "delicious Mexican restaurant where the only other patron is a young mother with four screaming kids" (source: Wikipedia). I was skeptical, right up until the point where a God-gifted hostess led us to our table.



I ordered a plate of crispy chimichangas, and Marc ordered a plate of random Mexican ingredients aka fajitas. The great thing about Mexican food is this: the ingredients pretty much stay the same, while the mix of these ingredients changes with each dish. After almost no time, my two cylinders of deliciousness arrived. They were packed with steaming beef tips and covered in a bevy of quacamole, queso sauce, sour cream, and lettuce. I barely blinked before I deposited every morsel on my plate in to my eager stomach. Marc followed suit. It seemed almost rude not to.



What else was there? After such a good meal, the rest of the trip seemed like a bleak, foregone conclusion. I secretly hoped for a casino that never came. Believe it or not, there are no casinos between the southern half of West Virginia and the northern half, at least via the interstate (further research revealed several "really?" locations, none of which were blatantly advertised). Green signs flew through the rear view mirror until finally we reached our final state: Pennsylvania (sorry for the lack of state sign - I was slow on the trigger finger).




For the first time in the trip, I recognized our surroundings. I saw familiar road signs. I saw familiar surroundings. For the first time in the trip, I saw something I had seen before. It was miraculous that we had survived so much. The final stretch to Pittsburgh felt more like a victory lap than anything else. There would be no unnecessary road stops; there would be no random departures from the interstate. This was the last stretch of road before home, and frankly, it felt like the longest stretch of the trip. For the first time in the trip, we hit traffic. Hundreds of hesitant-to-drive-through-a-tunnel Pittsburghers stood between us and home.



It was here that I began to feel a strange feeling; something I had never expected to feel throughout the entire trip. In a word, I can only describe it as: roadsickness. I didn't want this to trip to end. I yearned for the road. I craved the uncertainty of an unfamiliar destination. I desperately sought a place where citizens looked at me as the stranger.



As Marc affixed the playlist to the most appropriately depressing songs he could find, we made our final trek in to Oakland. It had been a long, unforgettable trip. If I could describe it in one word; well, I can't. I'll save that for another post, for one word can not do it justice. I had just been on one of the greatest journeys of my life, and to try and sum it up in one word would be doing a terrible disservice to the adventurous spirit of all travelers of the world. I looked up at the Oakland sign and in that moment, I saw home.



At the same time, I saw the most unfamiliar place I had seen in seven days. I realized after traveling for six days with no plan, that my only home was the road. Roadsickness is a disease that never goes away. It stays with you until you make the next pitiful attempt to satisfy its unquenchable thirst. No number of untraveled miles will ever satisfy this thirst; however, the beauty of life is constantly trying to satisfy the unsatisfiable, while at the same time having absolutely no idea why the hell you are even trying.

I came, I saw, and I will never conquer, and that could not make me more happy.

Road is where the heart is,

CPS

Top Ten Rules for any Road Trip

In light of the overwhelmingly positive response to the travel log so far, I thought I would share a few tips we learned on the road before publishing the final two entries. As you probably have figured out by now, our trip ended on Wednesday night. Along the way, we saw some cool stuff, heard some cool stories, and learned some cool tips. Here are the top ten rules to remember for your journey:

10. Pictures are the cheapest souvenirs.

Sure, a tacky shirt that says "I got Bourbon faced on Shit Street," will be good for a laugh, but how many times can you actually wear it? Save your money for something else. Take a ton of pictures, they will be the most memorable souvenir you can buy.

9. Take care of your greatest asset: your car.

If you plan on traveling thousands of miles in a dilapidated coupe, it may be time for a little preventative maintenance. Get your oil changed, get a car wash, and get your tires rotated. A little extra effort will do wonders in the long-run.

8. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

Remember, not everyone on the road is trying to help you get to the next place. Some people get wide-eyed when they see a tourist wandering around the streets, and if you're not careful, you might get caught in a scam. Do you really think someone can tell you where you got your shoes? Do you really think there are many gentleman's clubs with no cover? Not likely.

7. Keep your wallet in your front pocket, and keep all valuables secure and within reach.

You won't get very far on your journey without money, and unless you keep it secure, you're asking for trouble. Scammers see tourists as easy target, so keep walking if you hear a lame proposal for money (i.e. I need $10 for a deposit on a gas can). Scammers typically use very detailed stories and will make promises to pay back more than they borrow. Don't be fooled.

6. Carry enough cash with you, especially if you're headed to an unfamiliar location.

If you're headed in to a major city, you probably won't need tons of cash; but when you head further in to the outskirts, remember that an ATM could be miles away. The only thing worse than being stranded is being stranded and broke. Keep in mind though, if you do carry cash, keep it secure.

5. When in doubt, ask a local.

In our case, 90% of the locals we talked to were more than happy to share their opinion on the best things to see or the best places to eat. Most people are happy to help out a naive tourist, but you won't get far unless any request you make is accompanied by a "please" and "thank you."

4. Sometimes, the quickest way isn't always the best.

Or, as some might say, it's the journey, not the destination. You don't have to stick to every interstate. A departure from the norm, even if slower, can offer scenic views and is a welcome change from the familiarity of the main road.

3. Manage your time wisely.

This not to say you need to plan the trip down to every minute; however, a little bit of planning will keep you from being tied down to the same place all day. There is lots to see in this world, so if you spend all your day on one street, you're going to miss out on a lot of really cool stuff.

2. Never, ever be afraid to try new things.

After all, that's the point of the road trip, isn't it? If you've never tried an oyster before, and you end up in the oyster capital of the world, it may be time to break the hiatus. People are often surprised to find they like something they never expected to like. It's out there, so go out and try it.

1. When in [blank], do as the [blanks] do.

I've said this time and time again, but I guarantee it will help you on the road. Remember, you are in their territory, not the other way around. Save your hometown customs for your hometown. When you go somewhere else, you will stand out like a sore thumb unless you consider your surroundings, and the last thing you want to do is offend anyone with a social faux pas (this is especially relevant abroad). Though, this is not to say you can't share a little bit of your hometown flavor with the world, just be smart about it; after all, you are the guest.

Keep these things in mind, and you just might survive your own trip,

CPS

Abingdon: We Showed Up and Doubled the Population

With one day of money left, and exhausted from several consecutive states of driving, we sat down to pick our final location. Several possibilities crossed my mind: Roanoke, Asheville, Blacksburg, Charlotte, etc. All of these locations fell about halfway between Birmingham and Pittsburgh; however, none of these locations stood out more than our final choice: Abingdon, Va. Abingdon, Va., for the six of you who have never heard of it, is where the first space shuttle was launched, the birthplace of the Rolling Stones, and the site of the world's largest brewery (source: Wikipedia).

Alright, none of these things are in Abingdon. In fact, the only recognizable landmark in Abingdon is the Martha Washington Inn, which I assume, based on my one poor-quality iPhone picture (sorry for the quality, the camera was absent for our trip to main street), is full of lots of argyle socks and overpriced brandy.




Further down the road from the Inn, the main stretch turned into a college-looking town, the likes of which Marc compared to Miami of Ohio. It's a quaint stretch of existence; it's full of quiet college students. I have a special admiration for towns like these. One can only look at so many Wal-Marts before you begin to miss the traditional hard-working spirit of a small business.



With our limited repertoire of activities, we decided the most appropriate course of action would be to eat well and subsequently drink well. A trip to the liquor store would provide the best blog material of this visit. We walked in and perused the isles of aisles scattered around the store. We noticed high prices on just about everything but whiskey/bourbon, so once again we followed our old motto: "When in Abingdon, drink as the Abindonians drink." Before settling on an old favorite, Black Velvet, we heard the front door chirp and the subsequent exclamation, in a deep southern draw, of "Hey Mama!" A portly Po’ Boy with a belt buckle the size of Abingdon's high school exchanged pleasantries with his mom while picking out a bottle of hooch. It's moments like these that make travel worthwhile.

Nava, one of the thousands of attractive older women we saw in the South, directed us to Alison's, a local, casual eatery perfect for our current down attire. We hopped back on the main stretch and continued to the restaurant. Allison's was nice. Nothing special, but a perfectly filling meal and exactly what we expected. I downed a cup of the famous potato soup (which was somewhat reminiscent of the same soup I used to eat in eighth grade - my favorite soup of all time). For an entree, I, fighting a slight unrelated stomachache, ate a small quesadilla. Marc had a smothered burger with enough toppings to lift the top bun to the ceiling. We paid the tab and ran home.




Marc, exhausted from a long day of travel, took a few sips of his strong drink and called it a night at 10:30pm. He mentioned something about the time messing with his sleep pattern, but we actually lost an hour, so I think he really was just that tired. I decided to stay up and wrestle with the bottle while doing several activities: chatting on Facebook, calling our friends in Vegas (somehow my over-the-phone "good mojo" didn't result in a win), and updating the travel log.

Wednesday would be the beginning of the end. I took one final sip and closed my eyes.

Sometimes nowhere is a good destination,

CPS