May 16-17, 2012. Put a sock in it, Denver. We left Columbus on Highway 50. Middle Ohio is pretty flat farmland, but as you work your way East, it becomes hilly and wooded. Regardless, 50 through here was a fine road, gentle curves, divided, and decent paving. Then we got to West Virginia.
The road narrowed to two lanes and wandered through many small towns.
Normally, that’s exactly how we like to go so we can see “real” America. But the road became very narrow, with no shoulder whatsoever. Tiny lanes fine for a car, but really not meant for an RV. In fact, we saw nary a one as we white knuckled it around the bends, hoping no truck was coming the other way. Hah! We nearly swapped mirrors several times.
Our goal tonite was Tygart State Park near Grafton, W.Va, which sits on a lake. We had navigation instructions from the AAA Camping Guide, but chose unwisely this time to trust the GPS. It seemed she was taking us in the right general direction, but when we got there we were at the other end of the lake and park where there was not the advertised facilities. Instead, we were in what appeared to be a small, abandoned campground with not a soul in sight. After fighting the narrow road all day, I didn’t want to try to take what looked like a very long, meandering road to the other end of the lake. We decided to just stay put. I took a nap while Loni made dinner. It was eerily quiet, not even any birds. Around dusk, I heard an engine and we watched a battered old heap cruise v-e-r-y slowly by and disappear around the bend. We didn’t hear another sound all night. Guess no axe murderers.
The next morning, we abandoned our “purist” routing and headed to Grafton over even worse roads, aiming to pick up I-68 to take us the rest of the way into Maryland. Good call. The Alleghany Mountains are a series of ridges, all of which lay vaguely perpendicular to our direction of travel. Some of the cuts are spectacular displays of upfaults.
We would have spent eons crossing them on back roads. The East is full of unpronounceable Indian names. Give me good old Spanish place-names, thank you.
We made good time on 68, and realized we could make it all the way to our D.C. campground, but a day early for our reservations. A call to the park, and they were happy to move us up a day. First, we had to stop for gas, and a bit of serendipity came our way.
I want it! What a great tow car for behind the rig. I’ve had a thing for Deux Chevaux ever since our time in France back in college. This one was in beautiful shape, although the owner had a bit of a problem getting it restarted. We hit the outskirts of D.C. about 3 pm and, like L.A., the traffic already was building. Of course, it was a Friday afternoon, gorgeous weather, so everyone was getting an early start.
We crawled for ages until we reached the turnoff for the Cherry Hill RV Park, located in the College Park area NE of D.C., just north of the beltway. Pricey – $935 for 16 days ($58 and change per day) – but there’s not a lot of options in the area. It has just about all the amenities one could want, except for a wifi that will actually reach the rig. We were right between two transmitters and still could not get a firm signal. I ended up having to go up to the store and sit on the porch to cruise the web. On this, our arrival day, I was on my way there to complain about it when a passing bird blessed me smack on the top of my head. Was this to be an omen? Our home for the next two weeks.
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