I Have Always Been This Uncool

 Journal of our Journeys 

Chapter 19 - Virginia III 

It was 1978, and we were going to Virginia. Again.

I was 16 years old and still taking the yearly family camping trip with my parents. And once again, same as the previous year, my best friend and partner in crime, my sister Pat, couldn’t join us. She got a summer job at the paper mill in town, making an unreal amount of money for that time. I had only ever earned any money babysitting, and that was pretty infrequent. I was about as uncool as a teenager could be.

What has always been cool, though, are mountains.

From southeast Canada to Alabama, the Appalachian Mountain range runs the entire length of our country’s eastern seaboard. Running the northern stretch are the Alleghenies, the Berkshires, the Poconos, the Catskills, all places for lake mountain resorts, places where families used to go for month-long retreats. In the southern section, the mountains include the Blue Ridge, the Great Smoky Mountains, and the Shenandoah Mountains. They hold romantic names, mysterious descriptive names.

The Rocky Mountains in the west rise rugged and majestic from the plateau below. But it always feels like if you’ve seen one rugged, majestic mountain, you’ve seen them all.

The mountains in the east, though rising not nearly as high, have more personality. They change colors and moods throughout the day. Their forests are dark and mysterious, almost foreboding at times. Mists rise from the hills in the morning. You always have the feeling as if someone – or something – is watching you from the trees.

At a wayside somewhere in the mountains. Not sure if my hair or my socks are the most uncool. 

We took the minor detour through Chattanooga, Tennessee, again. And visited Rock City, but skipped the waterfall in the cave and other tourist stuff. I did manage to cross the swing bridge this time, hanging onto it for dear life. I never did stop being uncool. 

And, yes, Dad swung the bridge.

On our way to the relatives in Virginia, we spent the night at a KOA in Asheville, North Carolina.

What is significant about Asheville, you may ask? Nothing at that time, because there was no internet or travel brochures, and I knew pretty much nothing. As many times as I have paged through the Camping Log, I never made the connection.

As I write this, as an adult, life on this planet pretty much does not exist without the internet and all the information at everyone’s fingertips. If you have traveled at all in the southeast or if you have any interest in huge houses, you know that Asheville is the home of Biltmore Mansion, the massive estate of the Vanderbilt family.

I have been fascinated with the Biltmore ever since seeing it featured on A & E’s America’s Castles. Through the wonder of the internet, I have discovered that we drove within 15 miles of the estate. Once again, I am awed by my lack of knowledge.

I can understand how, at age six, I didn’t know where I was when we went to New York state, but you would think, that ten years later, I would have gained a few orientation skills. Do 16-year-olds in this day and age know where things are in this great country of ours? Maybe, but they only know what Google Maps tells them.

Hold it, don’t answer that. We live an hour’s drive northeast of the city of Abbotsford, Wisconsin. When my kids were young, whenever we drove by Abbotsford, we would stop for ice cream cones at the ice cream/cheese store in town. Until she was 15 or 16, my daughter thought all roads led past Abbotsford. No matter where we were driving, in what direction, she would ask if we could stop in Abbotsford for ice cream.

But we need to go back to 1978. We arrived at Mom’s uncle’s house in Virginia without visiting any emergency rooms, which was good.

While we were there, one of the relatives had the bright idea to visit Busch Gardens amusement park in Williamsburg. It would have been a fun place, had I not been the only teenager. Instead of going on many rides, we mostly walked around, took in the sights, saw the famous Clydesdales, and snapped a few pictures. Having never been to any amusement park, I still thought it was an interesting place, and, always having had a bit of a weak stomach, I had little desire to go on the wilder rides. Just riding through the mountains was usually enough excitement for me. 

And all these years later, I am still just as uncool.