Springtime always makes me want to hit the road. After two springs of pandemic, the soles of my shoes are on fire.
I'm not sure I've ever gone so long without a multiple day road trip. I got a new car 16 months ago with a an eye on a long drive. But alas, I haven't driven it further than Lexington.
When I can't hit the road like I want, I spend a lot of time thinking about being on the road. I've thought about driving over the continental divide, about rolling down to New Orleans, and about pointing the car north to explore all those lakes in Minnesota. Maybe shoot over to the high plains of the Dakotas and see what that looks like.
I've about worn out thinking of all the places I want to go. Lately, I've been thinking about the roads I'm going to start on.
What's spurred this is the very welcome sight of resumed work on a bridge not far from my home. That bridge will span the Russell Fork at Dunleary, and will be the final piece of a highway that will get me to Pikeville in about 15 minutes instead of anywhere from 25 minutes to an hour.
That's just heading north. One day Elkhorn Citians will be able to drive to Grundy in under twenty minutes and to Bluefield in about an hour.
Lately, I've been starting my Saturdays with a short drive up the new road between Elkhorn City and the Breaks, proceeding beyond where the hard top ends. Much of the route on to Grundy is already at road grade, dressed and graveled, just waiting for two lanes of hardtop to make it official.
If you make it to the construction area early enough, by 7:00 , you're likely to see herds of elk feeding in the morning mist. Deer, turkey and other wildlife abound. The views of the mountains surrounding us can't be topped.
I do a lot of "what if" thinking on these trips, besides the what if I get caught trespassing, which the sign says it most definitely is.
My father moved us to Elkhorn City in 1967 to start a limestone quarry for his father that was going to provide gravel for the new US 460 project. That project was postponed a few years later and my grandfather sold the quarry. Here we are nearly 55 years later and I might live long enough to see that road finished.
I took my mother up the new highway to the Breaks a couple weeks ago. She marveled at the highwalls through the cuts and the majestic views of the Pine Mountain rising up over Elkhorn veering southwest into the distance.
I stopped in the breakdown lane of the high bridge across Grassy Creek, said to be the highest bridge in Virginia. We looked at the big ridge, a view hard to find before the concrete was poured to span the gap.
"My mountains," Mom repeated.
My dad couldn't wait to get away from here. My mother couldn't be extracted with a excavator and dynamite. I'm somewhere in between. I spend most of my time thinking about driving away and then driving back again.
Time for a road trip.