"A Three Hour Tour..."

They say "Virginia is for lovers".  I think it's West Virginia.

Where else can a couple divorce and remain cousins?

The last line of that joke is borrowed from a local after my car broke down yesterday.  As I wrote elsewhere:

"Having your car break down on a rural West Virginia highway is far from ideal.  To add to the suspense, I may or may not have heard banjo music coming down the hollow before bolting from safety."

For the past month, I've been crisscrossing the country visiting friends and family with three primary objectives: (1) spend Mother's Day with Grandma, (2) experience Cajun Country, and (3) visit my host parents from Uzbekistan who are here spending time with their son near New York City.  My last post was written in all seriousness, but my chair offered me an olive branch just before the meeting and I believe God was saying "not now" so I ultimately decided to hold off.  Even so, my position still stresses me when I think about it and, in addition to the reasons listed above, I had hoped this trip would serve the roll of reenergizing me for the coming year.  That hasn't happened as of yet, but I have learned a few life lessons.  For one, it has reemphasized the fact that if a friendship isn't there in the beginning, it won't magically appear on a trip such as this.  On the flip side, a good friend remains a good friend regardless of how many years it has been.

Overall, I've enjoyed my time on the road and I thankful for the opportunity to see friends.  But after yesterday's events, I'm ready to be home.

Part of the this trip is for work purposes.  The sites and regions I visit are used in a number of classes and the book publisher I visited in Virginia is likely to give me an opportunity I might not have otherwise.  With that in mind, the backroads offer a great opportunity to see these sites I might not see otherwise.  Yesterday my itinerary included passing through Morgantown, WV, on my way to Amish Country (Holmes County, OH).  Unfortunately, this leg of the journey ended up being a major money pit.

For those of you who haven't been to West Virginia, much of what you have heard is exaggerated.  Having said that, much of what you have heard is true.  Roughly 30-45 minutes outside of Wheeling I started to experience mechanical problems related to my clutch going out.  It quickly became obvious that I was going to need help and I quickly found the nearest "normal" house I could.  I pulled up, introduced myself, and explained the situation.  The son (who I would say was in his mid to late 40s) seemed normal enough, but the dad came out without a shirt and, if I didn't know better, would swear the mother had cigarette or cigar burns on her arms.  After a call to a local mechanic, it was determined I needed to make my way into "the big city" if I was going to get any help.

My next stop, the site where my car died some 15-20 minutes outside of town, was equally interesting.  Once again I searched for a "normal" house and introduced myself.  Although this family was fully dressed, a neighbor did show up without a shirt.

Both times I was really tempted to ask these noted individuals if I could take their picture, but ultimately decided not to lest I extend my three hour tour.