Two Grannies

 Well what can I say except that leaving Charlottesville beat the hell out of getting in.  We did get a little lost and ended up on the wrong road, but being the kind of person who’d rather stab myself in the thigh than bicycle up over a hill I just rode down, I started looking for cross cutting roads to get us over to the road we should be on.  There were none.  I should say, Google maps says there are several….they are all private and quickly end at a gate or onto a golf course.  So we climbed a big hill and were rewarded with a fabulous view of mountains in the background and grassy knolls in the foreground.  Horses on pasture, to boot! We lucked on to a sandwich shop and had a no bread sandwich with bacon!  The placard at the order counter was this:

Eventually, we reconnected with our intended route and made our way to Afton.   

Afton is a side of the mountain no services wide spot in the route up and over Rockfish Gap, past the junction of BR parkway and Skyline Drive, toward Waynesboro.  It is also the home of the Cookie Lady.  June Curry has been welcoming cyclist and AT backpackers with cookies and water and talk and tent sites since the 70’s.  She is a living legend to travelers.  I didn’t want cookies but I did look forward to a little hello and a tent site.

So I called ahead, spoke to someone other than June and made arrangements to get into the ‘hostel’ for the night.  It turns out that it is in the bottom floor of the building beside June’s house; it is what can only be described as a perpetually closed up slightly neglected shrine to bicycling. Inside what I will call the museum, are all manner of cycling related derelict (in its nautical sense) that appear to have been left there for memento sake but may have just been the final resting place of some things that east bound cyclists found that they could finish their journey without.  There were also dozens of Christmas cards, birth and death announcements and a little hand written sign on each window that read, “do not open, the wind blows the cards down”.

Having decided that this smelly, closed up, thin walled hostel would be an unhealthy place to sleep, we decided to ask about camping.  June met us at the door with a partially incoherent statement that began with jumble and ended with a flat “I’m sorry I can’t do more for you.” So, here we are, 7pm, haven’t had supper yet and nothing but uphill to Rockfish Gap.  So we trudged back into the stink and tried to settle down.  Shortly, we agreed to reload our bikes and move on.  This would require our headlights so some reworking of the packs was required and we were on our way just after dark.  Luckily the final leg up the mountain ended well, the Inn at Afton was open (I had been misinformed that it was closed) but almost as decrepit as the museum.  We checked in and cooked a very late supper on the breezeway.

The following morning dawned beautifully.  It was cool and clear and breezy.  In the daylight the Inn at Afton showed its age and neglect.  Sam and I have been staying at the Inn since our first trip through in ‘94 but age has not been kind.  Further, we were told that the Inn sits in two counties and there is some kind of tax dispute that has rendered the owner hesitant to put money into it.  I regarded this as our last visit to both old ladies.