Our first stop the next morning was a CVS, as the little red dots were showing up on Brett's arms. It was 8:00 and the store had just opened. We walked in and didn't see a soul so we set out in search of a soothing cream. I noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye and I turned to find Gale. Gale is in her late 60's. She works a the CVS in Hendersonville, NC and on this day, she was running on a light breakfast and a bottle of Benadryl. Gale had one puffy, red eye that was only half open. She looked dopey.
"Can I help you with something?" she asked.
Brett turned to look at Gale and then he said, "My wife has a terrible rash."
"No I don't! It's you. It's him!" I declared. The corners of Gale's mouth curled slightly in a suppressed smile. She turned slowly and walked us to the anti-itch section.
"I think it's here." she said. "But I don't have my glasses." and then she inched off to wherever she came from.
Brett spent a long time mulling over his poison ivy options and then had to go find Gale when it was time to check out. I made sure Gale knew that Brett was the one with the rash. Gale made sure we knew that she'd been stung in the eye out in her garden yesterday and the Benadryl coma was real.
"Do you know how sleepy I am?" she asked me, peering out at us through eyes held at half mast.
We loved Gale and felt bad leaving her to fight for consciousness in the CVS.
Back on the trail, the forests gave way to the rolling hills and we were enamored by inclines and altitudes. "Look at that hill!" Brett would shriek. "It's so great!"
We listened to an assortment of podcasts and Taylor Swift hits before driving into Abingdon just in time for lunch. The Martha is a great place. The porch, the swirling staircases... it takes you back in time. It was originally built by a post-Revolution era general for his wife and nine kids. Then it became a boarding house, a hospital during war-times, an upscale women's college, and finally, a hotel. The hallways are full of photos of the female graduates from the early 20's and one of them looked exactly like Brett in a dress. Even he agreed.
We listened to an assortment of podcasts and Taylor Swift hits before driving into Abingdon just in time for lunch. The Martha is a great place. The porch, the swirling staircases... it takes you back in time. It was originally built by a post-Revolution era general for his wife and nine kids. Then it became a boarding house, a hospital during war-times, an upscale women's college, and finally, a hotel. The hallways are full of photos of the female graduates from the early 20's and one of them looked exactly like Brett in a dress. Even he agreed.
We spent the afternoon wandering up and down the main street, gawking that the peonies, eating snacks and drinking coffee. We wandered off the beaten path and found a brewery with a live band, so we sat and listened and took in the sights. Drunken dancers can entertain simpletons for hours. Just before a big rain, we ducked into a colonial basement and had an especially delicious dinner. I was enthralled with the great flavors. Brett was enthralled with the timber support beams and warped wooden floors. "Check out those cross braces!" he'd say with wonder while I slurped up a mouthful of the best salad dressing I think I've ever had.
"Is it citrus?"
"I think that's a load-bearing truss. There's a name for that."
"I think it might be orange. Maybe grapefruit. It's so great with the vinaigrette!"
"It's a Summerbeam. That's what you call the load bearing beams on a timber framed building."
"Oh man! Dip your meat in it!"
We talked and laughed and walked home in the rain.
Brett shows off his rash.
Our second day really kicked my butt. The HonBons really talked up the Virginia Creeper. Despite how it sounds, The Creeper is not a local serial criminal that one should hide their children from. It's a 35-mile decommissioned rail trail that runs through forests and plains and farms and small towns. They told us to rent bikes and ride the trail so we did. It was a beautiful day; warm in the sun, cool in the shade and we'd both filled up on a hearty hotel breakfast and were feeling great. We were loving our bike ride. We found cows and deer and a sweet golden retriever that was running alongside a lawn mower, biting at the clippings as they blew by. Around mile six, I got a little hungry. We consulted a map on the trail. The next town, Alvarado, was just a few miles away.
"Let's ride there and eat some lunch and then we'll head back."
"That sounds perfect."
We happily rode to Alvarado. The trail took us through some beautiful farmland and we discussed what a bummer it is that great scenery becomes commonplace. We noted how we would plan to do this every Saturday if we lived here but in real life, you just don't. Like how we rarely go to the beach. After eight miles my belly was gurgling and I was ready for a big meal. We pulled into Alvarado just as church was letting out and I felt silly in my activity shorts amongst so much God-fearing semi-formal attire. The problem was that Alvarado is closed on Sundays. The lone restaurant had a barricade against their front door.
I slowly began a routine panic.
"Brett," I said calmly. "I'm very hungry."
"I know."
"You know I have low blood sugar."
"I know,"
"We didn't bring any snacks!"
"I know. That's ok. Let's rest a bit and we'll just ride back slowly. No rush"
Brett took his shoes off and put his feet into a freezing stream. I sat nearby calculating my hungriness on a logarithmic-milage scale. Due to the nice weather and our matching positive attitudes, I opted out of a Blood Sugar Panic and decided that I'd make it back okay but we better get crappin' going.
So we hopped back on our bikes and started the eight miles back. We'd gone less than a half mile when my legs burned with a fiery hatred. I was notably more winded and when did the petals start resisting? Then it dawned on us. We'd been riding down-hill all the way to Alvarado. My lunch in Abingdon was eight-ish miles up a mountain trail.
"Oh dear."
I'll spare you the painful details of our arduous trek. Well, my arduous trek. Brett exercises regularly so the possibility dying from strain was much less threatening to him. My hunger increased with the pain I felt all over. I had a death grip on my handle bars and the tension was running up my arms. My thigh muscles sizzled beneath my skin. Sweat beaded on my brow. My stomach screamed for sustenance.
"Oh look at the cows!"
Somehow I never lost my happy disposition. This was confusing to both of us and Brett often turned around to look at me, suspicious and unconvinced. That last two miles uphill were the worst and I'll admit that I began to think defeatist thoughts. I had to walk my bike up one particularly large hill that Brett sailed over like it was the first one of his day. Brett logged us at just over 17 miles for the day, which is not what we're thinking when we bee-bopped off with nothing but a cell phone and a half-bottle of water.
We raced up to our room to change out of our sweaty clothes and then we ate an enormous BBQ lunch and immediately fell asleep.
The second half of this day was the greatest part of our whole stay. We woke up from our naps and took our books down to the front porch and we sat in rocking chairs and read. Then it started to rain and I loved the moment even more. I pretended it was the front porch of our own grandiose mansion and I really wished the pups were with us, lounging on the piazza. We slumped on the porch for an hour or so and then took ourselves down to the pool for a swim. We had the whole place to ourselves. Since most of Abingdon was closed by the time we were ready for supper, we drove over to Bristol VA/TN (Did you know it sits half on each side of the border?) and found a bustling little downtown and a place that serves hot wings so hot that you have to sign a waiver first. This was extremely appealing to Brett.
"But Lu, you get a t-shirt if you can eat all six!"
I did not discourage him. I ordered summer salad and waited. Brett loves very spicy things and one of our favorite pre-bed activities is watching a Youtube series of interviews performed while eating progressively hotter chicken wings. People loose their cool and they burp and sweat and it really delights us. On a few occasions Brett has taken chilies and hot sauces into work and made his co-workers eat them. Sometimes they get sick. Anything so hot it must be served by people wearing gloves is right up his alley. But in the end he opted out. He chose the wings one level below that illegal one and it think it's mostly because I would have panicked if he showed any sign of pain or regret. I don't know where the hospitals are in Bristol VA/TN and I was not interested in finding out.
We did not want to leave when check-out time came the next morning. We liked the little town and loved The Martha and I had so much fun that I forgot we were married. I mean that in a nice way. I felt childish and giddy all weekend and we talked and laughed the whole time and then I remembered that Brett is my husband and I got all shy and embarrassed. We stand by our notion that Virginia is the state to live in and we support the Hon's notion that The Martha is the place to stay. We had the best time and sending a thank-you note just doesn't seem good enough.
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