my spring break

"Lovely 6-room cabin, hot tub, loft, fully-equipped kitchen, sleeps 13. From I-xx at Flathead take 15 east to Witless Sprains, then follow 20 east for 22 miles to Dianthus. Continue on to BirdDoo and then for another 14 miles along the river to log cabin on left. 1271 Dog Fork Road, Whinney, WV."

Faithful reader - do you take this verbage to mean that the cabin you rented is at 1271 Dog Fork Road in Whinney, WV? Well, you'd be not only wrong (Whinney, WV is where the owner lives. Silly me.), but you'd be three long fucking hours away from that lovely cabin if you went to 1271 Dog Fork Road in Whinney, WV. You'd be tired and pissed off, and unlikely to be able to do the required mileage math when you finally found your way to BirdDoo, WV, which is on the other side of the freaking state. And heaven forbid if you call the innkeeper, a lovely and extremely friendly gal with a penchant for useless directions. Example: "Y'all just take this road right on up here, and y'all will come to a place where a road goes off to the right. Just stay on that road..." Gentle reader, on which road should you stay? The one you're on, or the one that goes off to the right? I don't know either, so I ask: "So, do I turn there?" And she answers, "No, once you're on that road, you don't turn." So I say, "So I just go past that road that goes off on the right?" and she says, "No, y'all just stay on that road..."

Lucky for me she was home when I still had cell phone reception, and after 42 miles on a twisty winding mountain road, she met me and escorted me to the cabin. I was 4 hours later than I had expected. I had been driving for twelve hours, and it was 10 o'clock at night. It was cold in the cabin. There was very little kindling for the Jotul wood stove, and all the other wood was unsplit. I'm definitely a pyromaniac, but this one had me stumped. The forced air heat took a very long time to get the chill out of the log walls. I waited for my friends until midnight, then drank three very large glasses of wine (okay! I lied! It was more like 3/4 of the 1.75 liter bottle - I guess that glass held like 20 ounces...), and decided I'd take the loft bed. I had no way to contact my friends to tell them not to go to 1271 Dog Fork Road. They finally arrived at 5:50 a.m. on Friday (having started out at 2:30 p.m. on Thursday). I met them at the door, helped them with their luggage, showed them where the bedrooms were, and thanked the gods that I didn't travel in the car with them. It would be hours before they'd be speaking to each other at this point. The sun was coming up and they stomped off to bed. When we got up we'd all have a big laugh about it, wouldn't we?

Late that day the innkeeper arrived to collect our rent, and to tell us about all the local hiking spots, complete with driving directions. None of us could look at each other when she started with the directions. We'd either have to laugh in her face or kill her. There was no alternative.

I was glad, when I drove out on Monday, that I'd arrived in the dark. I was dog-tired when I drove in those 42 miles on the twisty winding country road and judging from how the cans of seltzer and CDs were flying around the inside of my car, I was driving a tad too fast, but I was impressed with my car's handling and response. Good thing, too. The right side of the road coming in had no shoulder and dropped off in some places about 75 feet straight down to white water. In other places half of the road had been washed out from the creeks coming down the mountain. Guardrails? I laugh.