Summer of 76: The Trip, Part Five: Shenandoah, I Long to See You
Day Four
Sunday was the day before Memorial Day, and I really felt I would like to go to Arlington National Cemetery on our way out of Washington. Unfortunately for us, thousands of bikers had the same idea, and all the streets heading that direction were closed. Traffic was extremely congested, but the weather was nice.
We had checked out of the hotel and paid our parking bill earlier. I had made a quick trip through the White House Visitor’s Center, in a wonderful old building just across Pershing Park from our hotel, and purchased and mailed some postcards. We were both hungry.
Miriam is especially fond of a D.C. restaurant called Open City which we frequented while on our last trip. We were staying at the Omni Shoreham then, so Open City was the closest possible restaurant to us. From the Willard, however, we had to drive. I was looking for Connecticut Avenue, but missed it somehow, and we soon found ourselves in the residential neighborhoods north of downtown. It was interesting to see how busy the shops and restaurants were: the sidewalks were packed with people going this way and that. We got back on track, found our way to Open City, where I let Miriam out to reserve a table while I found a place to park. The latter was no easy task, since the National Zoo is in that neighborhood, and the holiday and nice weather had everyone out and about. I ultimately found street parking on the most pleasant lane I’d ever seen. A mother and daughter were gardening in front of their house, and I asked the lady to summarize the parking rules for me. Parking on one side of the street was reserved for a church four four hours on Sunday, but I’d be fine on the other side. So I moved the car–right next to an awesome Corvair–and made my way to the restaurant. Miriam was still waiting outside when I arrived, and we had to wait many minutes more. But it was worth it. Open City is charming and bright. Indeed, the long wall of windows can be totally opened on nice days. The food was as good as we expected. We walked together back to the car, remembering our earlier holiday when the area around the Woodley Park-Zoo/Adams Morgan Metro stop was our turf. If we ever move to Washington, we tell ourselves, that is where we’d like to live.
Driving out of the city was bittersweet: we were sad to leave with so much still left to do, but we had so much left to do elsewhere. (Actually, it was bitterangrysweet, since the traffic was a nightmare and the bikers were outrageously loud.) But we soon crossed the Potomac and were back in Virginia heading west on Interstate 66, passing Arlington, Falls Church, Tysons Corner, Merrifield, and Centreville. I had a strong urge to exit in Manassas to visit the national battlefield, but resisted, mostly because I knew it would consume the remainder of our day, and we were determined to reach Charlottesville.
Somewhere near Gainesville, Virginia, I got it in my head that I would like to see Shenandhoah National Park. I have always wanted to see it, actually, but couldn’t imagine a circumstance in which I would, since I knew it was unlikely to ever be a destination in and of itself. But since we were so close, and since my free traveler’s map of Virginia (which I got at the visitor’s center) showed me it was a very minor detour en route to Charlottesville, I changed course slightly, and we headed south into the rural heart of western Virginia. It was beautiful, actually. Farms and fields stretched out in all directions around us, and the road passed over rolling hills for miles and miles. The road itself–Highway 211, or Lee Highway–was in excellent condition, and traffic was very light. We stopped for drinks and fuel somewhere near the ominously-named Amissville, but even that was nice. We reached the western edge of the national park with plenty of time to meander down the Skyline Drive and still make Charlottesville before dark.
Shenandoah National Park charges admission, but I had no objections whatever, since I’m sure the National Park Service isn’t as well funded as it ought to be, and, in any case, I’ve wasted fifteen dollars on worse things countless times. Anyone who has traveled along the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina will understand what driving through Shenandoah is like. The only difference is that at the overlooks on the west side of the Drive, you look out over the Shenandoah Valley, and see the fabled river meandering along. I kept thinking of the old, sad song:
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It was a gorgeous day, and though the park was not crowded per se, there were plenty of cars enjoying the same drive. We stopped repeatedly to explore the various overlooks, both facing east and facing west. It was late in the day, and the lower angle of the sun combined with haze down in the valleys made the mountains look blue. As the day wore on we determined that further stopping would be inadvisable, so we continued south down Skyline Drive, through mountains, through meadows, past animals, and so on, until we reached Highway 33, where I thought it wise to leave the park and head back southeast to Charlottesville. There is a more southerly exit to Shenandoah National Park that would have spit us out near Interstate 64, but the extra miles along Skyline Drive would have easily taken an additional two hours. I was satisfied with what I had seen.
As we drove back east toward Charlottesville, the high mountains began to gradually disappear behind us, until we were once again in the midst of rolling fields and farmland. We made good time on the open roads and soon enough were at the northern edge of Charlottesville.
Filed under: Dana Heritage Project, Food, Recreation, Travel on September 1st, 2010 | No Comments »








