Cocooning, Part 5b

So, as I was saying in Part 5a, I went on a lovely ride in the country with my nephew Daniel the other day.

We drove toward West Virginia (which, for the benefit of UK readers who may not know, is -- since the Civil War era -- a different state, not the western part of Virginia) on an old US Highway rather than a soulless interstate. The more modern interstates are fast, but the old US routes (like the fabled Route 66) are more scenic and are the ones that have those wacky old motels and diners right alongside of them.

In fact, I felt a little shown-up by my nephew, who pointed out at least three great-lookin' motels, all of which I had managed to miss. (I did notice a couple of cool-looking diners.) He also noticed two red English phone booths during our travels. (If you remember, I said the area looked like the English countryside. This must be an acknowledgment by its denizens that they are aware this is true.)

We stopped for while in affluent, historic, small-town Middleburg, where we had "home-made" ice cream (it was delicious!) and talked to two older gents, seated -- as if placed by Central Casting -- on a bench outside of a shop.

Later on, we saw what seemed to be identical older chaps sitting in front of a different shop a couple of blocks away. It was as if the town fathers were playing up the character of the village by placing identical-looking gray-haired men on benches throughout the community. But the truth was simpler -- the guys we'd talked to before had, with their wives (who disappeared into shops while the menfolk did bench duty), made their way down the strand, as it were, and we had, through synchronicity, managed to encounter them again.

On, well. On the road again . . .

My teenage nephew did the driving - did I mention that?

I don't drive. But I'm aware enough to notice he did a very good job -- except for the time he drove down the one-way street in the wrong direction. (Or the time he almost did it again.) Actually, the signage was bad and it wasn't his fault (which would have been small consolation if an oncoming car had rendered us dead).

We drove through Winchester, VA, which was nostalgic for me, 'cause I remember going there with my family as a kid and my father singing "Winchester, Vir-gin-ia" to the tune of "Winchester Cathedral" when we did. Then we crossed the border to West Virgina.

My nephew expressed feelings of Virginia-bred superiority to the more westerly state because, to his eyes, the "Welcome to West Virginia" sign was smaller than the "Welcome to Virginia" signs of his beloved home. Still, he was excited, as I was, to be wending our way into the mountains of WV.

But we quickly had to turn back because we were meeting my other nephew, Russell, and one of Daniel's friends (Pancake House Gang member, Darren) for an 8 o'clock showing of Casino Royale and we had the tickets..

Going home, we passed, for the second time, a couple of Waffle Houses and I expressed, as I had before, my concern that the Waffle House Gang might see us and start trouble. (Daniel was not so good about playing along my breakfast-oriented family restaurant gang fantasy, but I was persistent.) And we stopped at strip mall (of course) based Philly Cheese Steak place, so I could prove to Daniel that the cheese steak he's had at a gas station/coffee house/fast food joint called Sheetz was crap. (This was intended as a step toward demonstrating that any cheese steak purchased outside of Philadelphia is unworthy, but we would have to travel to Philly to complete that lesson, so this would have to do for now.)

-- story continues shortly --