“Almost heaven, West Virginia
Blue Ridge Mountains
Shenandoah River,
Life is old there
Older than the trees
Younger than the mountains
Blowin’ like the breeze…
West Virginia, mountain momma, take me home country roads…”
Not HUGE on John Denver. But this rang through my head in snippets as I rolled through some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever ridden. Roads through thick and lush green forests. With just hints of color change. The carpeted earth drizzled with ribbons of asphalt rolling up and down though and around hills speckled with tiny towns patina’d with age. Sagging barns and dilapidated porches. An entire flat bed loaded with logs and entangled in decades of plant growth rusting away. 100 year old foot bridges crossing over a Charles Wysocki painting. In juxtaposition, quaint highly cared for villages. Compete with a town square and ALWAYS host to a gazebo or bandstand. Tacked with flyers promoting fall festivals or fiddle competitions. Small shops and cafes. An adorable church with a tiny but ancient graveyard. In between these dioramas of civilization it’s surfing through seas of green. Leaves yellowing slightly or small clumps of crimson. Coming around a bend I’m visually struck. The absolute brightest golden boughs in one massive branch droops down over the road. Assuredly weighted down by it’s own grandeur. I felt like Jason coming upon the golden fleece. Goosebumps just thinking about it. That ONE branch blew my mind. ONE BRANCH! From there on more colors came but nothing quite so stunning. Ass the season continues to paint the landscape I’m basking in the anticipation of riding through this living, growing, kodachrome, kaleidoscope. Almost heaven…
The New Nomad 