Rediscovering the Familiar – A New Series from Trail Stories.
I’m opening this series of rediscovery with the story of Route 11. This has been one of my favorite roads for many years, and an access route for my overland travels into the off-road trails and roots and rocks in the mountains of Virginia and West Virginia.
US Route 11 is a numbered highway running 339 miles starting at the Tennessee and Virginia line, and maps a route through the Shenandoah Valley. It was designated by the Sate of Virginia in 1926. However, it’s origins go back hundreds of years where it was known as The Great Indian Road or The Great Wagon Road. Come rediscover it’s story. I’ll start with my memory of this well traveled road.
The Shenandoah Valley has been a source of beauty, discovery and travel my entire life. My earliest memories traveling the valley came from the back seat of a 1963 Mercury Comet driving between McLean, Virginia and our family farm in Boones Mill, just south of Roanoke.
In the early 1960’s, the Virginia portion of Interstate 81, which is today’s heavily traveled corridor, consisted of a one-mile stretch near Buchanan and a four mile section in Harrisonburg that opened the year of my birth, 1959. By late 1963, 85 miles were open with the remaining portions being completed over the next three years. Therefore, our primary road was Route 11.
Being an only child on these trips, I had free range of the back seat that I shared with Boots, our beagle. Our time was spent listening to the trip report from my dad that included the names of every town, creek and river, his stories of the family farm, the static of AM radio, and seeing the mountains, fields, and forests along the route. I’ll share the names, history, and significance of these towns, creeks and rivers later in the series.
Even at an early age, I was curious about the terrain, territory and the roads we traveled. They seemed new and interesting, even exciting at times. They seemed to call me. My imagination would travel with me. Who lived here? How long had they been there? Who built the roads and bridges? How did the first settlers get across the creeks? Did native Americans discover this part of Virginia? Were there bears in the woods? What happens if the car breaks down? Will we be safe? All very relevant questions rattling around in a young boys head.
Sometimes, I would ask questions of my folks often getting a longer response than I wanted. Mom, a West Virginia native would compare the roads and terrain of Virginia to the tight winding turns and dark hollows of her home state. Dad would interrupt and redirect the conversation to his version of the answer. By the time there was resolution between the natives of the neighboring states, Boots and I were in that dream state, feeling the motion of the car navigating the curves in the road, hearing the wind pass across the windows, with a sense newness and adventure as we traveled.
Fast forward to the present. Interstate 81 runs the length of the valley. Route 11 is simply considered that alternative, slower route or an after thought, except when traffic is heavy or when a semi truck brings everything to a stands-still. It has all become so familiar. The view through the windshield. The sound of the wind brushing by the windows is replaced with streaming music or podcasts. The names of the towns, streams and rivers are familiar. Everything is pleasantly familiar like the relationships in our lives, the music we hear, and perhaps the social media content from our devices. Yes, all very familiar.
Yet, something is not right. Something does not feel right. The comfort that used to come with the familiar has moved to…well…discomfort, even a sense of being anxious coupled with a sense of anticipation. There’s a voice coming from those well traveled roads, the terrain, and familiar towns and residents that says, “I’m not what I appear to be, there’s more, so much more. I have stories yet to tell and old secrets to reveal. I’m waiting for you, for being re-discovered. Come find me again while time allows.”
Perhaps, this sense, this voice calling us is actually a good familiar voice. A voice of a friend or family member. An invitation to revisit a memory or a call to come back to a “familiar” place. If any of this is of interest, please join me in this path to “re-discover” the familiar.