After finishing up with the National Gallery, my mom and I decided it was time head back to the hotel in northern Virginia via the DC Metro and then get on I-66 towards Front Royal, Va., a small town that actually objected to being named in an "X-Files" episode some ten years ago. The drive from the DC suburbs to Front Royal takes approximately an hour depending on traffic congestion.
Since my mom was very tired, I volunteered to take over for the rest of the drive in Strasburg, Va., another small town that is 15 miles south of Front Royal, which was known for some kitschy tourist attractions, such as The Museum of American Presidents. Alas, many of them have abruptly closed within the last two years for failing to make a profit, among other factors.
We were discussing where we could eat in Strasburg. I knew there was Christina's Cafe, a quaint coffee shop that has only been open for a few years and a Mexican restaurant. But, we found a Denny's that I had never seen before in Strasburg. Sure enough, it was owned by the local J.R. Ewing, a local oil tycoon from Mount Jackson, Va., named Bill Holtzman. (Seemingly every other business in Shenandoah County, which includes Mount Jackson and Strasburg, is owned by Holtzman; I used to a be a reporter for a local newspaper in the county).
While there, I ran into someone who is somehow still a photographer at what was a rival newspaper of our's when I was at "The Shenandoah Valley-Herald" in Woodstock, Va., from 1999-2001. We had not seen each other in over ten years. I was amazed he was still in the newspaper business given that turnover is high, and cutbacks in recent years have become even more drastic than they were when I was a reporter for the 'Herald."
So, it was my turn to jump behind the wheel. I was expecting that it would take about two hours and 45 minutes to get to Roanoke from Strasburg. As I've gently hinted at on this blog before, my mother is someone who likes to be the leader in a group as she was the oldest of six children growing up in South Carolina. This is not easy for anyone who is her offspring (well, I am not speaking for my sister), but in recent years she has made an earnest effort to be more accomodating.
Nevertheless, right away, my mom started telling me to slow down even though I was driving about 63 miles per hours in a 70 MPH zone. And, she didn't want me to 'get to close' to the other vehicles even though I was a good 20 feet behind them even as big trucks were sneaking up on me in the rear view mirror.
Somehow, as I passed the teepee near Mount Jackson, the statue of Johnny Appleseed in New Market and the old hotel sign in Harrisonburg, three of many things which stand out as one journeys through the Shenandoah Valley corridor of I-81, I knew the night was going to turn into a Stephen King novel.
And, when we got to Staunton, there was indeed major road construction. The lanes started to merge. Immature drivers were starting to try to creep into my lane as their lane was gradually closing, and my mom ironically told me to get close to the car in front of me to keep them from butting in. This lasted for about an hour.
When we got to Lexington, I started to brief a sigh of relief. But, around Buchanan, a very small hamlet which is 23 miles from Roanoke, I realized that we had not left Godzilla*, the family cat, enough food. Sure enough, when we got home Godzilla had devoured all six cans we had left him. He was hungry; he was mad. I fed him and changed his liter box. But, of course, he wasn't happy for Godzilla wanted out even though it was midnight.
I then went on the Internet to see, just in case, if there was a terrorist attack or an earthquake/mud slide somewhere, since the radical evangelical nutcase Harold Camping was forecasting doomsday. Of course, there wasnt' anything of that sort, though when I woke up in the morning, I realized much to my shock and horror that I had come down with a sinus infection.
*-Godzilla is not the family cat's real name, though he does act like him quiet often.
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