I have just arrived and settled into the Almost Heaven Habitat for Humanity Center in West Virginia. That was an amazing drive. I kept thinking I must be lost or we must have passed it, but it was just a mountainous, winding road. I think West Virginia would be at least twice its size if you could smash it flat.

The rainstorms we were experiencing in Maryland are either everywhere in the Mid-Atlantic area or else they followed us here. I alternated between my driving glasses and my sun glasses. (I really need to go to the eye doc for these middle-aged eyes.) One moment it was sunny and squinty bright, the next it was a deluge forcing the bikers to huddle under the overpasses.

One highlight of the trip came just east of Front Royal when we stopped at The Apple House at the Linden exit. Here you can purchase wines from several Virginia vineyards, local jams, relishes, and jellies, pretty & marginally functional crafts, hamburgers dripping in greasy sautéed onions, and the best donuts you could probably ever find: the famous apple cinnamon donuts. Nutritionally speaking there is absolutely nothing redeeming about these delicacies. Deep fried white flour and sugar rolled in cinnamon sugar. The apple component is nominal, certainly no chunks of fresh apple. But every now and then you need something that is completely bad for you - especially if you have been good for a long time. You can't diet every day. I bought a cup of black coffee and a dozen of these gems.

Due to the lack of visibility from the rain, I accidentally exited early and drove through the booming metropolis of Harrisonburg, VA. We passed Harper's Lawn Ornament store on the outskirts of town. I made a mental note to stop there on the way home. That place was worthy of a blog of it's own. I wended my way out of the last "big" city in Virginia and quickly found myself in increasing wilderness.

The highway narrowed and the signs of civilization grew further apart. The trees crowded up to the edge of the road. I noticed three homes close together with brightly painted homemade signs reading “Don’t even think about turning around here.” I was wondering why so many people turned around there and what the local's beef might be with the u-turners. I didn’t want to risk any “Deliverance” style hospitality, so I proceeded without turning. I didn;t really think about it. Before long I realized that the narrow passage was really the last turn around available before you were committed to a serious mountain drive. It was two hands on the wheel, no fooling with CDs, eyes on the road. I felt like I was steering the roller coaster.

The last third of the trip had spectacular scenery. I woke up the girls in my car so they wouldn’t miss it. Because of the recent and current rains, the spectrum of greens was like an optic orgasm. My mother the artist wouldn’t have known where to begin. We were winding right up the side of these ancient rolling mountains on the old side of the continent. We literally had our heads in the clouds. We crested the state line between Virginia and West Virginia on Route 33 at 3580 feet above sea level.

I have been up Mount Evans in Colorado which, if I remember correctly, is a 14’er. That was spectacular in a whole different category – and much scarier. In Colorado, I actually passed a road called “Ohmygod Road.” I asked how it got its name. The guide said, “Just wait, you’ll see.” The drop off was terrifying for a flatlander like me. The difference is that I wasn't driving in Colorado.

The West Virginia mountains were not as menacing as the Rockies, but much more lush and beautiful. I was grateful I was not twisting up and down this mountainside in the dark. Concentrating to see around the bends in the road through the clouds we were penetrating, I don’t think I ever reached the speed limit. I caught one glare from a local for driving too slow. Too bad. He could see my Maryland tags.