Great Awakenings Along the Creeper Trail

The old depot at Green Cove, along the White Top-to-Damascus route, on the Virginia Creeper Trail.
The old depot at Green Cove, along the White Top-to-Damascus route, on the Virginia Creeper Trail.

After reaching the milestone of our daughter’s high school graduation, my husband and I felt the urge for a getaway.  The tension she’d felt in those last months of senior year had been contagious, of course, and we needed a brief retreat to breathe a prolonged sigh of relief.  We had reason to celebrate:  she’d finished at the top of her class and would be entering a fine university in the fall.  We were savoring a natural high that came with reaching that momentous landmark.  We couldn’t stop smiling.

After exploring several travel options, we settled on the charming town of Abingdon, Virginia.  It sounded just right – low key, yet cultural and historical.  For our two-night stay, we chose the magnificent Victoria and Albert Inn for its location within walking distance of downtown.  We hiked along brick sidewalks, stopping at inviting shops.  We saw the spot where one of my ancestors, Daniel Boone, had supposedly run into wolves that sneaked from a hidden cave and attacked his dogs.  We ambled through the antique-filled halls of the Martha Washington Inn.  We bought tickets for the next night’s play at the famous Barter Theatre.  After dinner, we walked down to the trailhead of the noted Virginia Creeper Trail, a former railway line that had been converted to a bicycle path.  We explored a few hundred yards, admiring the well-groomed trail, before darkness drove us back to our inn.

The next morning, over breakfast, we discovered that we were the only guests, and the innkeeper took the time to chat with us.  We learned that she had a daughter  graduating high school the next year, so we commiserated on the ups and downs of seeking colleges.  Then she asked what our plans were for the day.  We told her we’d probably stroll around town, visit the winery, and go to the theatre in the evening.

She suggested, “Why don’t you ride the Virginia Creeper Trail?”

I demurred, saying I hadn’t been on a bicycle since I was 20.

She explained how most of the ride was a gently descending incline with hardly any pedaling needed.

I hemmed and hawed, claiming to be uncoordinated.

Then she persisted, “Oh, why don’t you?  It would be a new experience to tell your daughter about.”

That gave me pause.  Then, the statement that clenched it:

“An 80-year-old lady could do it.”

Well!  I certainly couldn’t let that pass.  She explained various trail options and gave us brochures listing bicycle outfitters.  The whole trail was 34 miles, but we selected the White Top-to-Damascus route, a mostly downhill one consisting of a mere 17 miles in the bicycle seat.  That choice meant driving to Damascus, a small community known for all the trails intersecting there – including the Appalachian Trail.  We picked the first bicycle rental shop we saw, and a young man selected a couple of mountain bikes for us.  Then I told him I wanted one for an 80-year-old lady.

We were then taken on a 20-minute ride by shuttle van up a bumpy gravel road to White Top and deposited at a starting point along with a handful of other riders.  We put on our helmets and mounted our bikes.  I tested my brakes and even hopped off the bike a few times, planting my feet on the ground to show the bike that I was in control.  Then I was ready to plunge into the new experience!

Barely pedaling along in places and coasting in most, we passed picturesque farmhouses and pastureland.  We rode through the dappled light of leafy forests and the sunny expanses of open grassy meadows.  For much of the trail, a twisting, sparkling creek babbled beside us.  Once, we stopped to rest on the sun-baked rocks edging the stream.  We crept slowly by the old depot at Green Cove.  The highlight of the trip was crossing the wooden trestle bridges.  We saw deer and ducks and even spotted a snake under one of the bridges.  After two hours, we stopped at a small cafe in Taylor’s Valley. When we rolled into Damascus, we were disappointed that our journey was over.  But we had taken pictures to prove to our daughter that her humdrum parents had risked trying something new.

When we packed to leave, I thanked the innkeeper for her insight.  She helped awaken us to a time of new beginnings for ourselves and not just for our daughter.  It was a transition in perception, a fresh way of thinking.  As we drove home, my mind raced, imagining the adventures that lay ahead.

And, several years later, we’re still smiling.

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