Big Meadow, Skyline Drive (2)
A few nice best hotel reviews images I found:
Big Meadow, Skyline Drive (2)
Image by D.Clow – Maryland
Friday
Entry One
Flew out of work, the fleet flight of Friday before a holiday weekend. Everyone cracks a smile upon stepping out of the concrete and glass coffin of the corporate work week. The motorcycle is quickly gassed and loaded, I leave Washington DC at three-thirty, vowing not to check the time for the rest of the adventure. Adventure, the American adventure of the open road is what I seek. The road, my cameras, and escape.
Right turn off of 15th St. NW and I’m motoring past the Washington Monument and the White House. Harleys and clones are already lining the Mall for the annual Memorial remembrance that is Rolling Thunder. I’m soon over the bridge and on I-66 west. I plan on avoiding major highways when at all possible. Preferring scenic byways to drab highways. 66 is a necessary evil to flee the DC metro area as quickly as possible. At the start, 66 is a good quick run, for awhile anyway. Loads of Rolling Thunder riders are heading in 66 eastbound.
I keep the ubiquitous two fingers down to the side salute to fellow bikers out for extended stretches of time. In my experience, HD guys return the acknowledgement about 30-40% of the time. No big deal, some animosity exist though between different bike cultures. Motor-ism two-wheel stereotypes. However with the Rolling Thunder guys there is a noticeable increase in response, perhaps due to no longer just one biker acknowledging another, but a patriotic sharing of support and remembrance for those left behind, POW-MIA.
Traffic worsens further out 66 and I come up on a full HD dresser. Screaming Eagle back patch worked in with POW-MIA covers his vest and is topped by a “Run for the Wall” patch. I keep back a pace and we adopt the natural offset positioning of multiple riders.
After some 66 backup, stop-and-go, we strike up a staccato conversation in the pauses of the traffic flow. Where you been, where you going, see the rain coming? I tell him I’m headed out to the mountains, Skyline Drive and West Virginia. He says he’s just in from there recently, was in DC for Rolling Thunder for the day and will be coming back in on Sunday again. His license plate is obscured by luggage, so I’m unsure of his port of origin.
Later on we part ways and my thoughts turn. Of my parents friends only my step-dad was drafted for Vietnam. Luckily, for us, he only went as far as Ft. Hood, TX, and came back with some good stories about army life and venturing into Mexico (at least the ones he’s shared with me). I think about all the life he’s lived since then, all his experiences and joys. Thinking about what all those who didn’t return gave up, lost, when they didn’t come home. The loss felt by those who loved them, families that have a name on the Wall.
Rain is sprinkling before Manassas. Enough to cool you off but not enough to get you worried yet, at least for a bit. Whooooo. Then come the big drops. I head off the ramp to gear up with the rain paraphernalia under the gas station pavilion. Finally get it all on and get strapped back up and out pops the sun and the rain stops. Too funny. Now I have wet clothes on under the raingear. Rain gear now keeping the wind out that would dry me. I motor on as more rain is promised on the horizon.
This brings up a point about rain. People always ask, “What do you do when it rains and your on the motorcycle”. I reply simply, “I get wet”. Duh. Rain riding has never bothered me. On the straight highways it’s no big deal. Just give more cushion to the cars in front of you. Drive like grandma on the exit ramps.
My turning point is finally reached. Off of 66 west and onto 647, Crest Hill Rd. at The Plains, VA. Crest Hill Road is my first slice of motorcycle heaven to be had this weekend. I’m delighted to find that the squiggly line I traced out on the map when planning this trip has translated so well in reality. The road is still wet from the passing rain clouds, and I give a small rabbit and then a chipmunk a near death experience. My first of many animal crossings this weekend. The road is fantastic. A mixture of hilltop road and tree lined canopies that create forest tunnels. Speed limit is 45mph, 55-60 feels comfortable on most parts. Keeping an eye out for a hilltop barn to photograph that I’ve seen in my minds eye, lit by the sun breaking through the clouds and backed by the mountain vista. No luck on any of the barns actual placement to fit the mental picture I have framed.
Crest Hill Road and Fodderstack Rd is a long stretch. I take shots of a church and other buildings along Zachary Taylor Highway. Fodderstack gives more of the same as Crest Hill, just a narrower road. The asphalt is of my favorite variety, freshly laid. Washington, VA is a tiny town of historic bed and breakfasts. Local wineries appear to be an attraction here too. Right after Washington the rain returns while I’m in route to Sperryville. Then it really starts to come down, a full on summer thunderstorm. Visibility is down. Road and parking lots soon resemble rivers. Rain drops of the monster variety explode on the pavement, and you know it hurts when they hit you.
I quick soaking circuit of Sperryville confirms there are no local hotels. I duck into a barn shaped restaurant to wait it out. My drenched gear takes on bar stool and I occupy another. There’s a few flying pigs about. The bartender get me a hefeweizen, and recommends the angus burger. Locally raised and grass fed, we exchange jokes about my passing the burgers relatives on the way in.
Don’t freak about the beer. I have a one only rule when riding. It was followed by a meal (best burger of the weekend!), several coffees, and this bar top journal entry.
Somewhere along Crest Hill road I decided to keep the cell off for the weekend. In addition no tv, newspapers, internet, or e-mail sound like a good idea. Of course I now am studiously avoid eye contact with the two beautiful plasma’s above the bar.
Entry Two
Hazel River Inn, Culpepper, VA, has the coolest street side seating in town.
The downpour let up at the Shady Farms bar in Sperryville and due to the deficiency in local lodging I quiz the bartender for options. Over the other side of the mountain, the opposite side of Skyline Dr via 211 is Luray with lots of motels, but I want to save the mountain for the morning. The waitress suggest Culpepper, there being a Holiday Inn etc.
Stepping outside the sun has broke through the clouds again. Enough for some shots of Shady Farms Restaurant and a bridge. Heading down 522, the Sperryville Pike, I keep an eye out for photo ops to catch the next morning as I’ll be rerouting back through. Following the mantra of Dale Borgeson about tour riding in the US, I aim to avoid large chain establishments, whether they are restaurants or hotels, and explore the mom-and-pop local variety businesses. I have a dive-ish roadside motel in mind, Culpepper comes through with the Sleepy Hollow Hotel.
Before check in I ride through downtown historic Culpepper. It’s a cool place. The Shady Farm bartender had recommended the Culpepper Thai restaurant. I see it but don’t visit, still full from the meal earlier. Cameron Street Coffee looks like a great place, located in an old warehouse. Unfortunately their closed for the night.
Shower and changed, room 102 at the Sleepy Hollow Hotel. I hop back on the bike, refreshed and dry and ride through the warm night air back downtown. The coffee at the Hazel River Inn comes with a sweet fudge confection on the side. The peach and blackberry cobbler with vanilla sauce is divine.
The reconfigured plan for this getaway is to shed. Shed worries about the job, career, housing, and relationships. My motorcycle is therapeutic. It’s 600cc’s of Zoloft on two wheels. The road lifts my spirits. This wasn’t supposed to be a solo run, and there are stretches of road where I feel the emptiness behind me.
The cobbler is finished and I can hear the sound of a band doing their sound check. The banging of the drum requires investigation.
Entry Three
I found Brown Bag Special in the cellar pub of the same restaurant I was in. On my way to the door the noise of the sound check floated up the stairs and directed my feet downward. Brown Bag Special opened the set, appropriately enough, with “I drink alone”. The ol’ man, Big Money, would have loved it. Drink alone started off a Big Money Blues trifecta to include “The Breeze” and “Mustang Sally”. Then they made the mistake a lot of bands make that have a great lead guitar player. They let him sing. The lead guitarist karaoke sucked his way through a Tom Petty hit. He was so off key in his singing it made you appreciate the guitar solo’s all the more for the relief they provided. Thankfully the regular singer soon resumed his duties and the night went on. More good stuff from the band.
Freebird
Folsom Prison Blues
Cheap Sun Glasses
“can’t you see, can’t you see, what that woman, what she’s done to me”
Off to bed now at the Sleepy Hollow Hotel with the ghost and shades of dead hookers and overdoses past.
150 miles today.
Saturday
Entry Four
Morning breaks on the Sleepy Hollow Hotel, a hot shower and I’m back on the bike. A quick stop downtown to shoot the Hazel Inn, then it’s back on the Sperryville Pike. More stops to capture some sights seen yesterday. Mr. & Mrs. Pump. The open mouth caricatures are an accurate representation of the current gas cost and the pumps eating your wallet.
I keep telling my daughter that her first car, college car, will be a hybrid. She thinks they are ugly. The bike isn’t so bad, averaging around 40mpg. At about 180 miles on the tripometer I start to look for a refill, although I’ve pushed it to 211 miles before.
A quick left in Sperryville on 211 and up into the mountain, Blue Ridge Mountains and Skyline Drive. Heading up the mountain I get the first bite of the twisties I’ve been craving. The fee at the gate to Skyline Drive is well worth the price. Great scenery and fantastic views. The only drawback is the 35mph speed limit that is well enforced by the park rangers.
I shoot some self-portraits at Pollock Knob overlook. They’re funny in that with all the scrambling and hurrying to be the camera timer, then trying to effect a relaxed pose. I’ve also broke out my old friend this trip, the Lubitel 166, a medium format, 120mm film, twin lens camera. I’m like Jay-Z with this camera, I have to get it in one take. There is no digital review after the click for instant gratification. As a fellow photographer it’s “Point, Push, and Pray”. I’ll be interested to see the results. Not that I’ve left digital behind. Carrying both cameras, I’m an analog/digital double threat.
After the self-portraits and some dead tree shots I’m about to pack back on the bike and leave when I meet the preacher and his wife. He offers to shoot me with my camera and I return the favor with theirs. Conversation flows and in a ‘small world’ moment it turns out that he works for same Hazel family that owns the restaurant I was at last night for his Monday thru Friday job. I get a friendly “God bless” and I’m heading south on Skyline Drive. I make several more stops and break out the cameras again at Big Meadow.
There is a gnarly dead tree in the middle of the meadow. It has burn damage at the base, either the result of some wild fire or perhaps a controlled burn done to maintain the field. I spot and shoot a few deer, they probably won’t turn out as they’re to far away for my lens on the D100. I shoot a bunch of shots of the tree with the D100 and then totally switch processes with the Lubitel. The picture setup with the Lubitel takes about a minute-and-a-half. Manual zoom, i.e., walking back and forth to get the framing I want. Light meter reading. Then dealing with the reversed optics of the look-down box camera. It is fun though, to switch it up, change the pace and the dynamics. Just one click though, hope I caught it.
It’s a long but enjoyable ride to the south end of Skyline Drive. Unless you really like slow cruising I would suggest picking which third of Skyline Drive you’d like include in your trip and leave the rest. I drop off the mountain and into Waynesboro. Finding Mad Anthony’s coffee shop for a late breakfast. I overhear that it’s around noon. The Italian Roast coffee is good, in fact, it would prove to be the best coffee of the trip.
One of the pleasures of traveling by motorcycle is that it’s an easy conversation starter. People ask you where your coming from, where you’re heading, ask about your bike, tell you’re about their bike or the one they wish they had. One of the peculiarities of these conversations is that if the person even remotely knows of anyone that has died on a motorcycle, they will be sure to share this fact along with details. These stories usually involve a deer, a car pulling out, or someone taking a corner to fast. The conversation goes something like this:
Stranger“nice bike”
You“thanks”
Stranger“my cousin Bob had a friend that hit a deer and died on his bike”
Short silence.
You“yeah, deer are dangerous, got to be careful”
I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve held variations on this conversation many times. Luckily this isn’t the conversation I have with the owner of Mad Anthony’s. He’s a former sailboat instructor who now finds the same release and head clearing on his motorcycle that he used to get from his sailboat.
This brings to mind the same wave – don’t way dynamic that occurs between sail boaters and power boaters, very similar to the sportbike & HD crowd.
The proprietor is a coffee guru, we discuss roasting (my Italian roast was just roasted Wednesday this week). We talk about the good and the evil of Starbucks. We’re both in agreement that they over roast their regular coffee, but I think their foo foo drinks are tasty. He has in his shop both the Bodum press and the Bodum vacuum coffee pot that I got my mom for x-mas. A shameless plug here, the Bodum vacuum coffee pot makes the best home coffee ever. It’s also an entertaining crowd pleaser, no joke.
Leaving Waynesboro the plan was 340 northward to 33, then into Harrisonburg, VA (home of the Valley Mall and JMU). 340 proved to be boring so I jumped on 256, Port Republic Road, for a better ride to Harrisonburg. I don’t know if the coffee wore off or if I was just worn out. I pull over at Westover Park, pick out a spot of grass, and take a good nap in the sun.
I had my motorcycle bug handed down to me by my step-dad. My kindergarten year of school we moved right at the end of the school year. Rather than switch schools at this inopportune time my Dad stuck me on the back of his Honda and rode me to school and back again for the last month or two. Even earlier than that I have a great photo of me in 1973-4 sitting on his chopper with him. Me in a diaper and him with his long hippy hair. The wild side of the Reverend indeed.
Refreshed from my nap it’s back on 33 westbound. Heading out of the Shenandoah Valley and Rockingham County is more glorious twisty roads and the George Washington National Forest. GW is a beautiful tree canopy lined road with a river off to one side. Franklin, WV is the destination, a return to the Star Hotel.
I stayed at the Star a few years prior when they first re-opened the historic Star Hotel. The owner, Steve Miller, is a great guy, friendly and conversational. I told him I’d be back again, but it’s been a few more years than I thought. Late lunch at the Star is pesto grilled chicken on ciabatta bread with roasted red peppers. Not the type of fare one might associate with West Virginia, but people have misperceptions about everywhere. Steve promises a prime rib later at dinner tonight to die for.
So that there is no misunderstanding, in as much as the Sleepy Hollow Hotel was a dive, the Star Hotel is a dream.
Dump the gear in the room back on the bike for some roaming around. I head back to explore a river road I passed on the way in, Rock Gap. It’s a gravel affair and I follow it back a little ways. Photo some river shots. Down further there is a large cliff face with some college aged kids de-gearing after a day of climbing. I’ll try to stop back in tomorrow and shoot some climbing action, as well as some fly fishing.
I pick up a bottle of Barefoot Wine, Cabernet Sauvignon, and drop it off with Steve at the Star to keep for later. I’ll enjoy that bottle later tonight from the 3rd floor front porch. South out of town I head, into some very secondary roads. I shoot an old decrepit cabin that would be right up Bobby Sargent’s alley. I put it in the metal folder for a possible future model shoot location, along with the river spots I’ve seen.
There are a couple more stops on this little ride. Once for what appears to be a feral chicken, and then for middle of the road stare down with a young doe. She’s camera shy though and is off before I can get a shot. Sportbike probably isn’t the best conveyance for nature photography. The pavement stops and gravel begins, I motor on. Rick & I once spent a full day just about on gravel roads, crisscrossing the back country around Cumberland, MD. So I’m comfortable with the less than ideal riding surface. A few miles on the road dead ends at a pair of chicken houses (source of the feral chicken’s ancestors perhaps?) and I turn around and survey the valley I’ve just ridden through. I have to stop the bike and soak in the scene. A picturesque farm is nestled in the corner of the valley, up against the hills. I meet some inquisitive cows, along with the farmer and his wife.
It seems that when you are in WV and you pass a sign that says “snow removal ends here” that the already suspect road conditions are going to quickly deteriorate and will soon resemble somewhat more of a logging road. I motor on through some back country, no houses, no farms, just mountains, steep roadside cliffs, and wicked gravel switchback curves. The part that gives you the willies are the downhill corners where the road grade is slanted to the outside of the curve and to the drop below. Yikes!
I creep along where a four wheeler would be much more functional. Although I still hit it a bit in the straights. Pavement arrives again and I’m unsure of my exact location. I follow the chicken farmers directions and soon discover myself back in Brandywine, intersecting the same stretch of 33 I rode on my way into Franklin.
Back at the Star Hotel it’s a shower and fresh clothes before heading down for dinner. Downstairs I find the prime rib to be as good as promised.
Entry Five
How beautifully staged is this. Barefoot on the 3rd floor patio, wine to ease the back and the ache in the knee.
205 miles today, the last 30 after check in, just to explore.
Sunday
Entry Six
Out early in the morning. I find no climbers at Rock Gap, unsure of the hours they keep. Out of Franklin on 33 west, looking for another squiggly line I had seen on a map. Bland Hill Road name is a misnomer. A single lane country road winding through German Valley. I got a few shots of German Valley from the 33 overlook before turning on Bland Hill. Now I find myself in the same location I had shot from above.
The road cuts through some open pasture land and I meet some cows standing in the road after rounding one bend. They’re pleasant enough, if in no particular hurry to cross, and don’t mind posing for a shot or two before meandering on. People talk about the danger of hitting a deer, a cow would really ruin your day! Off of Bland Hill and on down into the valley. I come up on the rock formation I had seen from the overlook previously. It’s not Seneca Rocks, but a formation of the same ilk. I get some more photos, then onto German Valley Road. I’m still staying at the Star, there is no real destination today. It’s relaxing to stop as much as I like.
German Valley Road puts me back on 33 west and not long after I’m ordering breakfast at the Valley View Restaurant. Dale Borgeson warns of places that advertise home cooking, but that’s about all you see in these parts. There are a fair number of cars here and that’s usually a good since the food will be alright. Hell, even the Army could make a good breakfast. It all works out and it’s a hell of a deal, for toast, two eggs, hash browns, bacon, and coffee.
From 33 I hit 28 and turn off on Smoke Hole Road, just because it’s there and looks interesting. Boy, what a find it is. Combining the curvy one lane country road with nice wide smooth pavement (gravel free in the corners). It’s great. Smoke Hole Road turns out to run from 28 across the Seneca Rocks National Forest to 220 on the other side. Going west-to-east it starts out all curves and hills, then ends by winding along the south branch of the Potomac. There are lots of fly fishermen here enjoying the catch-and-release section of the river.
Up 220 to Petersburg, I run into some Ducati guys at the gas station. We swap riding info and I’m soon on 42 north towards Mayville. Hanging a left when I see a sign for Dolly Sods. I’m back on secondary roads and I soon pass another prophetic ‘no snow removal’ signs. It’s gravel the rest of the way up the mountain til it breaks out on top at Dolly Sod.
I’m real happy with today’s roads, as both Smoke Hole Road and Dolly Sods were unplanned ‘discovered adventures’. I do some rock scrabbling at Dolly Sod and enjoy the cliff top views. A fellow tourist snaps a shot for me an I hike out well past the distance that the casual tourist and families go. Shot some more shots of the rock formations with both the digital and film camera. Do some more self-portraits. I then sit down to relax in the sun with the cliff side breeze steadily blowing and update this journal.
Entry Seven
Well, fellow traveler, if you’ve made it this far I am duly impressed. I thank you for your perseverance. The rest of the day was spent riding without incident. Just more fantastic roads. You don’t have to be an explore on par with Lewis & Clark to find great rides in West Virginia. Just be curious in nature and unafraid to leave the beaten path. Drop off the numbered roads and take the route less traveled. Soon you’ll be in your own undiscovered country. Blah blah blah.
Out of Dolly Sod and I find myself on 32. Rough calculations put the dirt road travel around 25 miles for the day. While we are on stats, here’s today’s animal road count:
1 rooster
1 dead fox
2 cows
8 chipmunks
7 alive
1 dead
3 dead possums
1 squirrel
1 dead blob (undistinguishable)
No fearsome deer
1 dog
I guided myself today by a rather non-descript map put out by mountainhighlands.com
Leaving Dolly Sod on 32 puts me in Dry Fork and back on familiar 33 west to Elkins. I cruise around Elkins on the off chance I’ll run into a guy I know named Dallas. Now all you need to know about Dallas is the following:
I don’t know his last name
I once gave him a hair cut with dog grooming clippers
I know he works at a bike shop making choppers
You figure the odds of me finding him, near zero.
If your curious it wasn’t the first time I cut hair, albeit the first time using dog shears. In Korea I cut in the latrine for a cut or for a 6 pack. Everything was barter in the Army. We had a cook that would make you a great custom birthday cake for a case of beer or feed you food out of the back of the chow hall at 3am when you staggered in drunk from the ville for the promise of a future round to be bought. Korea stories could fill another journal.
Anyway, out of Elkins and south to Beverly. Scott, if your reading this you were on my mind as I went through town, never forgive, never forget.
So far I’ve only tried to write about the positive food experiences of the trip without throwing anyplace under the bus. C&J in Beverly however, served only barely functional burgers and the vanilla shake was of the worst chemical prefab variety. There are some things that I am stuck on, good vanilla ice cream is one. The others that I’m picky about are beer, whiskey, steak, cheese-steak, and coffee. It’s just so disappointing when something you usually enjoy turns out to be sub par.
After C&J it’s 250 east to 28, which heads back towards Seneca Rocks and Franklin. It’s a good haul through the Monongahela National Forest. A road of the scenic variety, with good twisties up the mountain and through the scenery. These type road have become quite a common occurrence here in WV. Back in Seneca Rocks and 33 east into Franklin. I never shoot Seneca Rocks, the light is never right, number one can tell you how I get about my light.
The Star’s restaurant is closed on Sunday, dagger, so I shower and head into Franklin by foot. About Franklin, WV. It’s a nice little town, quiet and sleepy. No bars other than the VFW that I could see. Everybody I’ve met and spoken too has be pleasant, friendly and conversational, both here in Franklin and elsewhere in WV. I’m sure there are a variety of characters much as anywhere, this is just my observation from the tourist level.
Following last night precedent I grab another vino from the Shell station. The Star being closed is a dilemma; I’m in need of a cork screw (having borrowed the restaurants the night before). I wander back down to the hotel, wine in hand, and past the hotel just a bit til I meet an old man sitting out front. I explain my situation, wine without access, and he says he’ll sell me a corkscrew. He goes in the house, shortly to return with the necessary implement in hand. I figure I have it for -4 or maybe rent it for a one time use for . That proves unnecessary however, he says just to take it, and keep it for any future need.
The sole booking for the hotel tonight, I’m like a wraith as I glide through the halls. On the front porch with my bottle of vino in hand. I have some cheap cigars I also picked up and there’s nothing to do but kick back and watch the sunset.
It’s been a great trip. Somewhat lonesome at times. The lack of someone to talk to surely let to the length of this journal. It was a trip to getaway, to reflect. There was no great revelation or anything, just time to get to know yourself. The road gives you time to think. I know who I am and I like being me. I know what’s missing.
I’m resolved to take more bike trips in the future. It’s definitely my preferred way to travel and vacation. Motorcycling is the way to go.
Tomorrow I have my route generally planned out, more scenic byways for a winding route home.
Miles today, 240.
Monday
Entry Seven
Just a short postscript. 20 miles east of Washington DC, on 66, the chain popped off the bike. It’s never easy.
George Washington National Forest
Image by D.Clow – Maryland
Friday
Entry One
Flew out of work, the fleet flight of Friday before a holiday weekend. Everyone cracks a smile upon stepping out of the concrete and glass coffin of the corporate work week. The motorcycle is quickly gassed and loaded, I leave Washington DC at three-thirty, vowing not to check the time for the rest of the adventure. Adventure, the American adventure of the open road is what I seek. The road, my cameras, and escape.
Right turn off of 15th St. NW and I’m motoring past the Washington Monument and the White House. Harleys and clones are already lining the Mall for the annual Memorial remembrance that is Rolling Thunder. I’m soon over the bridge and on I-66 west. I plan on avoiding major highways when at all possible. Preferring scenic byways to drab highways. 66 is a necessary evil to flee the DC metro area as quickly as possible. At the start, 66 is a good quick run, for awhile anyway. Loads of Rolling Thunder riders are heading in 66 eastbound.
I keep the ubiquitous two fingers down to the side salute to fellow bikers out for extended stretches of time. In my experience, HD guys return the acknowledgement about 30-40% of the time. No big deal, some animosity exist though between different bike cultures. Motor-ism two-wheel stereotypes. However with the Rolling Thunder guys there is a noticeable increase in response, perhaps due to no longer just one biker acknowledging another, but a patriotic sharing of support and remembrance for those left behind, POW-MIA.
Traffic worsens further out 66 and I come up on a full HD dresser. Screaming Eagle back patch worked in with POW-MIA covers his vest and is topped by a “Run for the Wall” patch. I keep back a pace and we adopt the natural offset positioning of multiple riders.
After some 66 backup, stop-and-go, we strike up a staccato conversation in the pauses of the traffic flow. Where you been, where you going, see the rain coming? I tell him I’m headed out to the mountains, Skyline Drive and West Virginia. He says he’s just in from there recently, was in DC for Rolling Thunder for the day and will be coming back in on Sunday again. His license plate is obscured by luggage, so I’m unsure of his port of origin.
Later on we part ways and my thoughts turn. Of my parents friends only my step-dad was drafted for Vietnam. Luckily, for us, he only went as far as Ft. Hood, TX, and came back with some good stories about army life and venturing into Mexico (at least the ones he’s shared with me). I think about all the life he’s lived since then, all his experiences and joys. Thinking about what all those who didn’t return gave up, lost, when they didn’t come home. The loss felt by those who loved them, families that have a name on the Wall.
Rain is sprinkling before Manassas. Enough to cool you off but not enough to get you worried yet, at least for a bit. Whooooo. Then come the big drops. I head off the ramp to gear up with the rain paraphernalia under the gas station pavilion. Finally get it all on and get strapped back up and out pops the sun and the rain stops. Too funny. Now I have wet clothes on under the raingear. Rain gear now keeping the wind out that would dry me. I motor on as more rain is promised on the horizon.
This brings up a point about rain. People always ask, “What do you do when it rains and your on the motorcycle”. I reply simply, “I get wet”. Duh. Rain riding has never bothered me. On the straight highways it’s no big deal. Just give more cushion to the cars in front of you. Drive like grandma on the exit ramps.
My turning point is finally reached. Off of 66 west and onto 647, Crest Hill Rd. at The Plains, VA. Crest Hill Road is my first slice of motorcycle heaven to be had this weekend. I’m delighted to find that the squiggly line I traced out on the map when planning this trip has translated so well in reality. The road is still wet from the passing rain clouds, and I give a small rabbit and then a chipmunk a near death experience. My first of many animal crossings this weekend. The road is fantastic. A mixture of hilltop road and tree lined canopies that create forest tunnels. Speed limit is 45mph, 55-60 feels comfortable on most parts. Keeping an eye out for a hilltop barn to photograph that I’ve seen in my minds eye, lit by the sun breaking through the clouds and backed by the mountain vista. No luck on any of the barns actual placement to fit the mental picture I have framed.
Crest Hill Road and Fodderstack Rd is a long stretch. I take shots of a church and other buildings along Zachary Taylor Highway. Fodderstack gives more of the same as Crest Hill, just a narrower road. The asphalt is of my favorite variety, freshly laid. Washington, VA is a tiny town of historic bed and breakfasts. Local wineries appear to be an attraction here too. Right after Washington the rain returns while I’m in route to Sperryville. Then it really starts to come down, a full on summer thunderstorm. Visibility is down. Road and parking lots soon resemble rivers. Rain drops of the monster variety explode on the pavement, and you know it hurts when they hit you.
I quick soaking circuit of Sperryville confirms there are no local hotels. I duck into a barn shaped restaurant to wait it out. My drenched gear takes on bar stool and I occupy another. There’s a few flying pigs about. The bartender get me a hefeweizen, and recommends the angus burger. Locally raised and grass fed, we exchange jokes about my passing the burgers relatives on the way in.
Don’t freak about the beer. I have a one only rule when riding. It was followed by a meal (best burger of the weekend!), several coffees, and this bar top journal entry.
Somewhere along Crest Hill road I decided to keep the cell off for the weekend. In addition no tv, newspapers, internet, or e-mail sound like a good idea. Of course I now am studiously avoid eye contact with the two beautiful plasma’s above the bar.
Entry Two
Hazel River Inn, Culpepper, VA, has the coolest street side seating in town.
The downpour let up at the Shady Farms bar in Sperryville and due to the deficiency in local lodging I quiz the bartender for options. Over the other side of the mountain, the opposite side of Skyline Dr via 211 is Luray with lots of motels, but I want to save the mountain for the morning. The waitress suggest Culpepper, there being a Holiday Inn etc.
Stepping outside the sun has broke through the clouds again. Enough for some shots of Shady Farms Restaurant and a bridge. Heading down 522, the Sperryville Pike, I keep an eye out for photo ops to catch the next morning as I’ll be rerouting back through. Following the mantra of Dale Borgeson about tour riding in the US, I aim to avoid large chain establishments, whether they are restaurants or hotels, and explore the mom-and-pop local variety businesses. I have a dive-ish roadside motel in mind, Culpepper comes through with the Sleepy Hollow Hotel.
Before check in I ride through downtown historic Culpepper. It’s a cool place. The Shady Farm bartender had recommended the Culpepper Thai restaurant. I see it but don’t visit, still full from the meal earlier. Cameron Street Coffee looks like a great place, located in an old warehouse. Unfortunately their closed for the night.
Shower and changed, room 102 at the Sleepy Hollow Hotel. I hop back on the bike, refreshed and dry and ride through the warm night air back downtown. The coffee at the Hazel River Inn comes with a sweet fudge confection on the side. The peach and blackberry cobbler with vanilla sauce is divine.
The reconfigured plan for this getaway is to shed. Shed worries about the job, career, housing, and relationships. My motorcycle is therapeutic. It’s 600cc’s of Zoloft on two wheels. The road lifts my spirits. This wasn’t supposed to be a solo run, and there are stretches of road where I feel the emptiness behind me.
The cobbler is finished and I can hear the sound of a band doing their sound check. The banging of the drum requires investigation.
Entry Three
I found Brown Bag Special in the cellar pub of the same restaurant I was in. On my way to the door the noise of the sound check floated up the stairs and directed my feet downward. Brown Bag Special opened the set, appropriately enough, with “I drink alone”. The ol’ man, Big Money, would have loved it. Drink alone started off a Big Money Blues trifecta to include “The Breeze” and “Mustang Sally”. Then they made the mistake a lot of bands make that have a great lead guitar player. They let him sing. The lead guitarist karaoke sucked his way through a Tom Petty hit. He was so off key in his singing it made you appreciate the guitar solo’s all the more for the relief they provided. Thankfully the regular singer soon resumed his duties and the night went on. More good stuff from the band.
Freebird
Folsom Prison Blues
Cheap Sun Glasses
“can’t you see, can’t you see, what that woman, what she’s done to me”
Off to bed now at the Sleepy Hollow Hotel with the ghost and shades of dead hookers and overdoses past.
150 miles today.
Saturday
Entry Four
Morning breaks on the Sleepy Hollow Hotel, a hot shower and I’m back on the bike. A quick stop downtown to shoot the Hazel Inn, then it’s back on the Sperryville Pike. More stops to capture some sights seen yesterday. Mr. & Mrs. Pump. The open mouth caricatures are an accurate representation of the current gas cost and the pumps eating your wallet.
I keep telling my daughter that her first car, college car, will be a hybrid. She thinks they are ugly. The bike isn’t so bad, averaging around 40mpg. At about 180 miles on the tripometer I start to look for a refill, although I’ve pushed it to 211 miles before.
A quick left in Sperryville on 211 and up into the mountain, Blue Ridge Mountains and Skyline Drive. Heading up the mountain I get the first bite of the twisties I’ve been craving. The fee at the gate to Skyline Drive is well worth the price. Great scenery and fantastic views. The only drawback is the 35mph speed limit that is well enforced by the park rangers.
I shoot some self-portraits at Pollock Knob overlook. They’re funny in that with all the scrambling and hurrying to be the camera timer, then trying to effect a relaxed pose. I’ve also broke out my old friend this trip, the Lubitel 166, a medium format, 120mm film, twin lens camera. I’m like Jay-Z with this camera, I have to get it in one take. There is no digital review after the click for instant gratification. As a fellow photographer it’s “Point, Push, and Pray”. I’ll be interested to see the results. Not that I’ve left digital behind. Carrying both cameras, I’m an analog/digital double threat.
After the self-portraits and some dead tree shots I’m about to pack back on the bike and leave when I meet the preacher and his wife. He offers to shoot me with my camera and I return the favor with theirs. Conversation flows and in a ‘small world’ moment it turns out that he works for same Hazel family that owns the restaurant I was at last night for his Monday thru Friday job. I get a friendly “God bless” and I’m heading south on Skyline Drive. I make several more stops and break out the cameras again at Big Meadow.
There is a gnarly dead tree in the middle of the meadow. It has burn damage at the base, either the result of some wild fire or perhaps a controlled burn done to maintain the field. I spot and shoot a few deer, they probably won’t turn out as they’re to far away for my lens on the D100. I shoot a bunch of shots of the tree with the D100 and then totally switch processes with the Lubitel. The picture setup with the Lubitel takes about a minute-and-a-half. Manual zoom, i.e., walking back and forth to get the framing I want. Light meter reading. Then dealing with the reversed optics of the look-down box camera. It is fun though, to switch it up, change the pace and the dynamics. Just one click though, hope I caught it.
It’s a long but enjoyable ride to the south end of Skyline Drive. Unless you really like slow cruising I would suggest picking which third of Skyline Drive you’d like include in your trip and leave the rest. I drop off the mountain and into Waynesboro. Finding Mad Anthony’s coffee shop for a late breakfast. I overhear that it’s around noon. The Italian Roast coffee is good, in fact, it would prove to be the best coffee of the trip.
One of the pleasures of traveling by motorcycle is that it’s an easy conversation starter. People ask you where your coming from, where you’re heading, ask about your bike, tell you’re about their bike or the one they wish they had. One of the peculiarities of these conversations is that if the person even remotely knows of anyone that has died on a motorcycle, they will be sure to share this fact along with details. These stories usually involve a deer, a car pulling out, or someone taking a corner to fast. The conversation goes something like this:
Stranger“nice bike”
You“thanks”
Stranger“my cousin Bob had a friend that hit a deer and died on his bike”
Short silence.
You“yeah, deer are dangerous, got to be careful”
I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve held variations on this conversation many times. Luckily this isn’t the conversation I have with the owner of Mad Anthony’s. He’s a former sailboat instructor who now finds the same release and head clearing on his motorcycle that he used to get from his sailboat.
This brings to mind the same wave – don’t way dynamic that occurs between sail boaters and power boaters, very similar to the sportbike & HD crowd.
The proprietor is a coffee guru, we discuss roasting (my Italian roast was just roasted Wednesday this week). We talk about the good and the evil of Starbucks. We’re both in agreement that they over roast their regular coffee, but I think their foo foo drinks are tasty. He has in his shop both the Bodum press and the Bodum vacuum coffee pot that I got my mom for x-mas. A shameless plug here, the Bodum vacuum coffee pot makes the best home coffee ever. It’s also an entertaining crowd pleaser, no joke.
Leaving Waynesboro the plan was 340 northward to 33, then into Harrisonburg, VA (home of the Valley Mall and JMU). 340 proved to be boring so I jumped on 256, Port Republic Road, for a better ride to Harrisonburg. I don’t know if the coffee wore off or if I was just worn out. I pull over at Westover Park, pick out a spot of grass, and take a good nap in the sun.
I had my motorcycle bug handed down to me by my step-dad. My kindergarten year of school we moved right at the end of the school year. Rather than switch schools at this inopportune time my Dad stuck me on the back of his Honda and rode me to school and back again for the last month or two. Even earlier than that I have a great photo of me in 1973-4 sitting on his chopper with him. Me in a diaper and him with his long hippy hair. The wild side of the Reverend indeed.
Refreshed from my nap it’s back on 33 westbound. Heading out of the Shenandoah Valley and Rockingham County is more glorious twisty roads and the George Washington National Forest. GW is a beautiful tree canopy lined road with a river off to one side. Franklin, WV is the destination, a return to the Star Hotel.
I stayed at the Star a few years prior when they first re-opened the historic Star Hotel. The owner, Steve Miller, is a great guy, friendly and conversational. I told him I’d be back again, but it’s been a few more years than I thought. Late lunch at the Star is pesto grilled chicken on ciabatta bread with roasted red peppers. Not the type of fare one might associate with West Virginia, but people have misperceptions about everywhere. Steve promises a prime rib later at dinner tonight to die for.
So that there is no misunderstanding, in as much as the Sleepy Hollow Hotel was a dive, the Star Hotel is a dream.
Dump the gear in the room back on the bike for some roaming around. I head back to explore a river road I passed on the way in, Rock Gap. It’s a gravel affair and I follow it back a little ways. Photo some river shots. Down further there is a large cliff face with some college aged kids de-gearing after a day of climbing. I’ll try to stop back in tomorrow and shoot some climbing action, as well as some fly fishing.
I pick up a bottle of Barefoot Wine, Cabernet Sauvignon, and drop it off with Steve at the Star to keep for later. I’ll enjoy that bottle later tonight from the 3rd floor front porch. South out of town I head, into some very secondary roads. I shoot an old decrepit cabin that would be right up Bobby Sargent’s alley. I put it in the metal folder for a possible future model shoot location, along with the river spots I’ve seen.
There are a couple more stops on this little ride. Once for what appears to be a feral chicken, and then for middle of the road stare down with a young doe. She’s camera shy though and is off before I can get a shot. Sportbike probably isn’t the best conveyance for nature photography. The pavement stops and gravel begins, I motor on. Rick & I once spent a full day just about on gravel roads, crisscrossing the back country around Cumberland, MD. So I’m comfortable with the less than ideal riding surface. A few miles on the road dead ends at a pair of chicken houses (source of the feral chicken’s ancestors perhaps?) and I turn around and survey the valley I’ve just ridden through. I have to stop the bike and soak in the scene. A picturesque farm is nestled in the corner of the valley, up against the hills. I meet some inquisitive cows, along with the farmer and his wife.
It seems that when you are in WV and you pass a sign that says “snow removal ends here” that the already suspect road conditions are going to quickly deteriorate and will soon resemble somewhat more of a logging road. I motor on through some back country, no houses, no farms, just mountains, steep roadside cliffs, and wicked gravel switchback curves. The part that gives you the willies are the downhill corners where the road grade is slanted to the outside of the curve and to the drop below. Yikes!
I creep along where a four wheeler would be much more functional. Although I still hit it a bit in the straights. Pavement arrives again and I’m unsure of my exact location. I follow the chicken farmers directions and soon discover myself back in Brandywine, intersecting the same stretch of 33 I rode on my way into Franklin.
Back at the Star Hotel it’s a shower and fresh clothes before heading down for dinner. Downstairs I find the prime rib to be as good as promised.
Entry Five
How beautifully staged is this. Barefoot on the 3rd floor patio, wine to ease the back and the ache in the knee.
205 miles today, the last 30 after check in, just to explore.
Sunday
Entry Six
Out early in the morning. I find no climbers at Rock Gap, unsure of the hours they keep. Out of Franklin on 33 west, looking for another squiggly line I had seen on a map. Bland Hill Road name is a misnomer. A single lane country road winding through German Valley. I got a few shots of German Valley from the 33 overlook before turning on Bland Hill. Now I find myself in the same location I had shot from above.
The road cuts through some open pasture land and I meet some cows standing in the road after rounding one bend. They’re pleasant enough, if in no particular hurry to cross, and don’t mind posing for a shot or two before meandering on. People talk about the danger of hitting a deer, a cow would really ruin your day! Off of Bland Hill and on down into the valley. I come up on the rock formation I had seen from the overlook previously. It’s not Seneca Rocks, but a formation of the same ilk. I get some more photos, then onto German Valley Road. I’m still staying at the Star, there is no real destination today. It’s relaxing to stop as much as I like.
German Valley Road puts me back on 33 west and not long after I’m ordering breakfast at the Valley View Restaurant. Dale Borgeson warns of places that advertise home cooking, but that’s about all you see in these parts. There are a fair number of cars here and that’s usually a good since the food will be alright. Hell, even the Army could make a good breakfast. It all works out and it’s a hell of a deal, for toast, two eggs, hash browns, bacon, and coffee.
From 33 I hit 28 and turn off on Smoke Hole Road, just because it’s there and looks interesting. Boy, what a find it is. Combining the curvy one lane country road with nice wide smooth pavement (gravel free in the corners). It’s great. Smoke Hole Road turns out to run from 28 across the Seneca Rocks National Forest to 220 on the other side. Going west-to-east it starts out all curves and hills, then ends by winding along the south branch of the Potomac. There are lots of fly fishermen here enjoying the catch-and-release section of the river.
Up 220 to Petersburg, I run into some Ducati guys at the gas station. We swap riding info and I’m soon on 42 north towards Mayville. Hanging a left when I see a sign for Dolly Sods. I’m back on secondary roads and I soon pass another prophetic ‘no snow removal’ signs. It’s gravel the rest of the way up the mountain til it breaks out on top at Dolly Sod.
I’m real happy with today’s roads, as both Smoke Hole Road and Dolly Sods were unplanned ‘discovered adventures’. I do some rock scrabbling at Dolly Sod and enjoy the cliff top views. A fellow tourist snaps a shot for me an I hike out well past the distance that the casual tourist and families go. Shot some more shots of the rock formations with both the digital and film camera. Do some more self-portraits. I then sit down to relax in the sun with the cliff side breeze steadily blowing and update this journal.
Entry Seven
Well, fellow traveler, if you’ve made it this far I am duly impressed. I thank you for your perseverance. The rest of the day was spent riding without incident. Just more fantastic roads. You don’t have to be an explore on par with Lewis & Clark to find great rides in West Virginia. Just be curious in nature and unafraid to leave the beaten path. Drop off the numbered roads and take the route less traveled. Soon you’ll be in your own undiscovered country. Blah blah blah.
Out of Dolly Sod and I find myself on 32. Rough calculations put the dirt road travel around 25 miles for the day. While we are on stats, here’s today’s animal road count:
1 rooster
1 dead fox
2 cows
8 chipmunks
7 alive
1 dead
3 dead possums
1 squirrel
1 dead blob (undistinguishable)
No fearsome deer
1 dog
I guided myself today by a rather non-descript map put out by mountainhighlands.com
Leaving Dolly Sod on 32 puts me in Dry Fork and back on familiar 33 west to Elkins. I cruise around Elkins on the off chance I’ll run into a guy I know named Dallas. Now all you need to know about Dallas is the following:
I don’t know his last name
I once gave him a hair cut with dog grooming clippers
I know he works at a bike shop making choppers
You figure the odds of me finding him, near zero.
If your curious it wasn’t the first time I cut hair, albeit the first time using dog shears. In Korea I cut in the latrine for a cut or for a 6 pack. Everything was barter in the Army. We had a cook that would make you a great custom birthday cake for a case of beer or feed you food out of the back of the chow hall at 3am when you staggered in drunk from the ville for the promise of a future round to be bought. Korea stories could fill another journal.
Anyway, out of Elkins and south to Beverly. Scott, if your reading this you were on my mind as I went through town, never forgive, never forget.
So far I’ve only tried to write about the positive food experiences of the trip without throwing anyplace under the bus. C&J in Beverly however, served only barely functional burgers and the vanilla shake was of the worst chemical prefab variety. There are some things that I am stuck on, good vanilla ice cream is one. The others that I’m picky about are beer, whiskey, steak, cheese-steak, and coffee. It’s just so disappointing when something you usually enjoy turns out to be sub par.
After C&J it’s 250 east to 28, which heads back towards Seneca Rocks and Franklin. It’s a good haul through the Monongahela National Forest. A road of the scenic variety, with good twisties up the mountain and through the scenery. These type road have become quite a common occurrence here in WV. Back in Seneca Rocks and 33 east into Franklin. I never shoot Seneca Rocks, the light is never right, number one can tell you how I get about my light.
The Star’s restaurant is closed on Sunday, dagger, so I shower and head into Franklin by foot. About Franklin, WV. It’s a nice little town, quiet and sleepy. No bars other than the VFW that I could see. Everybody I’ve met and spoken too has be pleasant, friendly and conversational, both here in Franklin and elsewhere in WV. I’m sure there are a variety of characters much as anywhere, this is just my observation from the tourist level.
Following last night precedent I grab another vino from the Shell station. The Star being closed is a dilemma; I’m in need of a cork screw (having borrowed the restaurants the night before). I wander back down to the hotel, wine in hand, and past the hotel just a bit til I meet an old man sitting out front. I explain my situation, wine without access, and he says he’ll sell me a corkscrew. He goes in the house, shortly to return with the necessary implement in hand. I figure I have it for -4 or maybe rent it for a one time use for . That proves unnecessary however, he says just to take it, and keep it for any future need.
The sole booking for the hotel tonight, I’m like a wraith as I glide through the halls. On the front porch with my bottle of vino in hand. I have some cheap cigars I also picked up and there’s nothing to do but kick back and watch the sunset.
It’s been a great trip. Somewhat lonesome at times. The lack of someone to talk to surely let to the length of this journal. It was a trip to getaway, to reflect. There was no great revelation or anything, just time to get to know yourself. The road gives you time to think. I know who I am and I like being me. I know what’s missing.
I’m resolved to take more bike trips in the future. It’s definitely my preferred way to travel and vacation. Motorcycling is the way to go.
Tomorrow I have my route generally planned out, more scenic byways for a winding route home.
Miles today, 240.
Monday
Entry Seven
Just a short postscript. 20 miles east of Washington DC, on 66, the chain popped off the bike. It’s never easy.
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Mary Ann Bickerdyke
Image by elycefeliz
Mary Ann Bickerdyke (July 19, 1817 – November 8, 1901), also known as Mother Bickerdyke, was a hospital administrator for Union soldiers during the American Civil War.
After the outbreak of the Civil War, she joined a field hospital at Fort Donelson, working alongside Mary J. Stafford. Bickerdyke also worked closely with Eliza Emily Chappell Porter of the Northwest Sanitary Commission. She later worked on the first hospital boat. During the war, she became chief of nursing under the command of General Ulysses S. Grant, and served at the Battle of Vicksburg. When his staff complained about the outspoken, insubordinate female nurse who consistently disregarded the army’s red tape and military procedures, Union Gen. William T. Sherman threw up his hands and exclaimed, "She ranks me. I can’t do a thing in the world." Bickerdyke was a nurse who ran roughshod over anyone who stood in the way of her self-appointed duties. She was known affectionately to her "boys", the grateful enlisted men, as "Mother" Bickerdyke. When a surgeon questioned her authority to take some action, she replied, "On the authority of Lord God Almighty, have you anything that outranks that?"
Mother Bickerdyke became the best known, most colorful, and probably most resourceful Civil War nurse. Widowed two years before the war began, she supported herself and her two half-grown sons by practicing as a "botanic Physician" in Galesburg, Illinois. When a young Union volunteer physician wrote home about the filthy, chaotic military hospitals at Cairo, Illinois, Galesburg’s citizens collected 0 worth of supplies and selected Bickerdyke to deliver them (no one else would go).
She stayed in Cairo as an unofficial nurse, and through her unbridled energy and dedication she organized the hospitals and gained Grant’s appreciation. Grant sanctioned her efforts, and when his army moved down the Mississippi, Bickerdyke went too, setting up hospitals where they were needed. Sherman was especially fond of this volunteer nurse who followed the western armies, and supposedly she was the only woman he would allow in his camp. By the end of the war, with the help of the U.S. Sanitary Commission, Mother Bickerdyke had built 300 hospitals and aided the wounded on 19 battlefields including the Battle of Shiloh and Sherman’s March to the Sea.
"Mother" Bickerdyke was so loved by the army that the soldiers would cheer her as they would a general when she appeared. At Sherman’s request, she rode at the head of the XV Corps in the Grand Review in Washington at the end of the war.
After the war ended, she worked for the Salvation Army in San Francisco, and became an attorney, helping Union veterans with legal issues. She ran a hotel in Salina, Kansas for a time. She received a special pension of a month from Congress in 1886, and retired to Bunker Hill, Kansas. She died peacefully after a minor stroke.
Leander Stillwell
Image by jajacks62
Co. D, 61st ILL. Infantry
From "A Standard History of Kansas and Kansans", written and compiled by William E. Connelley
Leander Stillwell
JUDGE LEANDER STILLWELL, now retired from the active duties of his profession, living at Erie, was one of the two pioneer attorneys who composed the first bar of Erie, and located there in 1868, nearly half a century ago. Aside from the amount of work he has performed as a lawyer and citizen, the chief distinction of his life rests upon his record of service, continued through nearly twenty-four years, as a judge of the district court.
He is of English and Scotch ancestry. The first Stillwells on coming from England settled on Long Island, New York, in the seventeenth century. Later a branch of the family moved to Virginia, and from there drifted further south, and Judge Stillwell represents the Virginia and North Carolina lineage. His grandfather, Jeremiah Stillwell, was born in the year 1776, in North Carolina. His residence throughout his life was in that state, where he followed farming, but he died at the home of a married daughter whom he was visiting in the State of Iowa in 1852. He married Nancy Morrow.
Judge Stillwell’s parents were plain, honest people, never wealthy, and spent many years of their lives in the backwoods of western Illinois, in the rugged region along the Illinois and Mississippi rivers in Jersey County. It was on a farm in Otter Creek Precinct of that county on September 16, 1843, that Leander Stillwell was born. His father, Jeremiah O. Stillwell, was born July 28, 1814, in Haywood County, North Carolina, was reared there, but in 1834 removed to Illinois. He was married in Greene County, Illinois, December 14, 1837, to Miss Ann Eliza White, who was born in Chatham County, North Carolina, October 1, 1821. Her ancestors were of Scotch descent. Jeremiah Stillwell was a farmer in that portion of Greene County, Illinois, which subsequently became Jersey County. In 1881 he removed to Kansas, buying a farm near Colony, but a few years before his death retired to Garnett and died there September 27, 1896. He became a republican upon the organization of that party, and not only voted the ticket himself but reared his family in the same political faith, and essentially and fundamentally Judge Stillwell has always been a republican. Jeremiah Stillwell held various township offices, both in Illinois and Kansas, and was quite active in civic affairs. He and his wife were members of the Baptist Church. His wife died at Colony, February 6, 1894. Both had lived much beyond the allotted time of human life. Their children were twelve in number, of whom only five are now living, namely: Virgil, now a retired farmer at Dodd City, Arkansas; Leander; Reuben Fenton, now practicing dentistry at Bartlesville, Oklahoma; Logan, a banker at Mesa, Arizona; and Ernest Quincy, an attorney practicing law at Kansas City, Kansas.
Judge Leander Stillwell was not yet eighteen years of age when the Civil war broke out. His life up to that time had been spent on his father’s farm and his educational advantages away from home had been confined to the common schools. From January 7, 1862, the date of his enlistment, until September 8, 1865, when his regiment was mustered out, he was with the Union army in the field, and participated in the battle of Shiloh, the siege of Vicksburg, and several minor engagements. A brief statement of his "military and medical record" has been furnished by the adjutant general’s office of the war department under a recent date. That record is as follows:
"Leander Stillwell was enrolled January 7, 1862, at Carrollton, Illinois, and was mustered into service February 5, 1862, at Carrollton, Illinois, as a private of Company D, Sixty-first Regiment, Illinois Infantry Volunteers, to serve three years. He was appointed Corporal about February, 1862; Sergeant, August 20, 1862, and First Sergeant, September or October, 1863, and was mustered out as such at Little Rock, Arkansas, to date January 31, 1864, by reason of his re-enlistment as a veteran volunteer. He re-enlisted February 1, 1864, at Little Rock, Arkansas, to serve an additional term of three years, and was mustered into service to date February 1, 1864. He was commissioned Second Lieutenant, same company and regiment, and was mustered in as such July 18, 1865, and was mustered out of service of the company as Second Lieutenant September 8, 1865, at Nashville, Tennessee.
"Under the provisions of the act of Congress approved July 3, 1884, this officer has been recognized by the war department as First Lieutenant, Company D, Sixty-first Illinois Volunteers from August 21, 1865. During the entire period of his service this officer was accounted for on the bi-monthly muster rolls of his company as present for duty except that on October 31, 1863, it was stated that he was absent on furlough from October 16, 1863. The medical records show that he was treated from August 11, 1863, to a date not stated, for intermittent fever, and from September 2, 1863, to a date not stated, for remittent fever."
He had not been out of the army long before he made up his mind definitely as to his future vocation. In the fall of 1866, he entered the Albany Law School at Albany, New York, and in December, 1867, was graduated and awarded the degree of Bachelor of Laws. He was admitted to the New York bar December 5th of that year, but soon returned to Illinois and began practice in Jersey County. A few months later, in May, 1868, he arrived at Erie, Neosho County, where, as already stated, he was one of the first two attorneys comprising the local bar. His home was at Erie until March, 1871, when he removed to Osage Mission, now Saint Paul, Kansas, and lived there until July, 1885, when he returned to Erie. For fifteen years Judge Stillwell handled a growing practice in both the civil and criminal branches of the law. In 1876 he was elected a member of the lower house of the Kansas Legislature, and served one term, having been chosen on the republican ticket.
In November, 1883, Judge Stillwell was elected judge of the Seventh Judicial District, which then consisted of the counties of Allen, Neosho, Wilson and Woodson. From that time forward for nearly twenty-four years he was continuously on the bench. He was re-elected judge of the same district in 1887, 1891, 1895 and ~899. In 1901 the Legislature passed a law requiring district judges to be elected in the even numbered years, and as Judge Stillwell’s term would expire the second Monday in January, 1904, and the next regular election would not be held until the fall of that year, the Governor of Kansas, Willis J. Bailey, appointed Judge Stillwell as judge for this interval. His appointment was made October 27, 1903. In the general election of 1904 Judge Stillwell was again a candidate for the full term of four years, and his election made the sixth successive time he was chosen by the people for the office. While he had opponents in the elections of 1883, 1891 and 1899, he was practically the unanimous choice of all parties in the elections of 1887, 1895, and 1904, and there was no opposition when Governor Bailey appointed him for the interregnum of one year.
On September 1, 1907, more than a year before the expiration of his last term, Judge Stillwell resigned on account of the protracted and dangerous illness of his wife. He felt that his duty was to his invalid wife, and accordingly sent his resignation to Governor Hoch on August 10, 1907, to take effect September 1, 1907.
As bearing on his judicial career, it is deemed permissible to state the following circumstance: A short time before his resignation a case was tried before him and was taken by the defeated party on petition in error to the Supreme Court. That court, some months after Judge Stillwell’s resignation had gone into effect, affirmed the judgment, and at the close of the opinion the court, speaking by Mr. Justice Graves, said: "For more than twenty years this court has been reviewing the decisions of the eminent judge before whom this case was tried, and it has noted with satisfaction the vigilant care and patient industry given by him to the official discharge of his duties. His thorough knowledge of legal principles and clear perception of natural justice made him peculiarly fitted for judicial service, and contributed in a large measure to the success which gave him prominence as a jurist, and caused him to be recognized as an able and impartial judge. In view of his recent voluntary retirement from the bench by resignation, thereby severing his long continued relations with this court, we deem it proper to make this reference thereto." (Fairbanks, Morse & Co. v. Walker, 76 Kans., on p. 909.)
On leaving the bench Judge Stillwell resumed the practice of law, but since the summer of 1913 has virtually retired, though he maintains his office and his library and occasionally furnishes counsel.
On November 26, 1909, Judge Stillwell was appointed by President Taft first deputy commissioner of pensions. This service required his presence at Washington, and he remained in that city in discharge of his duties for about three years and eight months, until relieved by a democratic successor on July 16, 1913. He then returned to his home at Erie.
As to his politics enough has already been said to indicate that he has been a stanch republican since early manhood, and still is, but he did not approve the proceedings of the National Republican convention at Chicago in 1912. From his standpoint he believed that Mr. Taft did not fairly and honestly obtain at that convention the nomination for president. In the following campaign, therefore, Judge Stillwell supported and voted for Theodore Roosevelt for president.
In many ways he has been closely identified with the growth and development of the city of Erie since pioneer times. He was one of the early clerks of the school district, and was a member of the first board of aldermen. He is a member of the State Bar Association, and by virtue of his military service belongs to the Grand Army of the Republic and the Military Order of the Loyal Legion. He is a past master of Erie Lodge, No. 76, Ancient Free and Accepted Masons, belongs to the Ancient Order of United Workmen of Erie, and is a member of the Society of the Army of the Tennessee.
On May 9, 1872, at Erie, Kansas, Judge Stillwell married Miss Anna L. Stauber, and their married life, which extended over a period of nearly thirty-seven years, was a remarkably happy one. As already mentioned, it was the serious illness of his wife that caused Judge Stillwell to leave the bench. But the unremitting care he gave her and the best of medical attention were of no avail, and she died April 9, 1909. Her parents were Dr. Charles F. and Catherine (Frymire) Stauber, both of whom are also deceased. Her father was a physician and surgeon both in Iowa and Kansas, and was one of the pioneers of his profession in Allen County, Kansas, where he located in 1866. Dr. Stauber’s father was a Revolutionary soldier. Dr. Stauber and his wife were both natives of Pennsylvania, but were of German descent.
Five children were born to Judge and Mrs. Stillwell. Rena, born May 1, 1873, at Osage Mission, now Saint Paul, is unmarried and is living in Chicago, where she is cashier of the Chicago Beach Hotel. Nora, who was born at Osage Mission June 3, 1873, is a trained nurse and resides with her father. Hubert, born at Osage Mission, June 22, 1879, has taken an active part in Kansas military affairs, was a member of Company A of the Twenty-second Kansas Infantry during the Spanish-American war, and at this writing is in Company D of the First Iowa Infantry stationed at Brownsville, Texas, on the Mexican border. Charles Rodney, the fourth child, was born at Osage Mission, August 15, 1882, and died at Erie, March 3, 1894. Jeremiah, the youngest child, was born at Erie, November 16, 1887, is a graduate of the University of Kansas, is a mechanical engineer, and lives at Bartlesville, Oklahoma, where he is now pursuing his vocation.
Leander Stillwell
Image by jajacks62
Co. D, 61st ILL. Infantry
From "A Standard History of Kansas and Kansans", written and compiled by William E. Connelley
Leander Stillwell
JUDGE LEANDER STILLWELL, now retired from the active duties of his profession, living at Erie, was one of the two pioneer attorneys who composed the first bar of Erie, and located there in 1868, nearly half a century ago. Aside from the amount of work he has performed as a lawyer and citizen, the chief distinction of his life rests upon his record of service, continued through nearly twenty-four years, as a judge of the district court.
He is of English and Scotch ancestry. The first Stillwells on coming from England settled on Long Island, New York, in the seventeenth century. Later a branch of the family moved to Virginia, and from there drifted further south, and Judge Stillwell represents the Virginia and North Carolina lineage. His grandfather, Jeremiah Stillwell, was born in the year 1776, in North Carolina. His residence throughout his life was in that state, where he followed farming, but he died at the home of a married daughter whom he was visiting in the State of Iowa in 1852. He married Nancy Morrow.
Judge Stillwell’s parents were plain, honest people, never wealthy, and spent many years of their lives in the backwoods of western Illinois, in the rugged region along the Illinois and Mississippi rivers in Jersey County. It was on a farm in Otter Creek Precinct of that county on September 16, 1843, that Leander Stillwell was born. His father, Jeremiah O. Stillwell, was born July 28, 1814, in Haywood County, North Carolina, was reared there, but in 1834 removed to Illinois. He was married in Greene County, Illinois, December 14, 1837, to Miss Ann Eliza White, who was born in Chatham County, North Carolina, October 1, 1821. Her ancestors were of Scotch descent. Jeremiah Stillwell was a farmer in that portion of Greene County, Illinois, which subsequently became Jersey County. In 1881 he removed to Kansas, buying a farm near Colony, but a few years before his death retired to Garnett and died there September 27, 1896. He became a republican upon the organization of that party, and not only voted the ticket himself but reared his family in the same political faith, and essentially and fundamentally Judge Stillwell has always been a republican. Jeremiah Stillwell held various township offices, both in Illinois and Kansas, and was quite active in civic affairs. He and his wife were members of the Baptist Church. His wife died at Colony, February 6, 1894. Both had lived much beyond the allotted time of human life. Their children were twelve in number, of whom only five are now living, namely: Virgil, now a retired farmer at Dodd City, Arkansas; Leander; Reuben Fenton, now practicing dentistry at Bartlesville, Oklahoma; Logan, a banker at Mesa, Arizona; and Ernest Quincy, an attorney practicing law at Kansas City, Kansas.
Judge Leander Stillwell was not yet eighteen years of age when the Civil war broke out. His life up to that time had been spent on his father’s farm and his educational advantages away from home had been confined to the common schools. From January 7, 1862, the date of his enlistment, until September 8, 1865, when his regiment was mustered out, he was with the Union army in the field, and participated in the battle of Shiloh, the siege of Vicksburg, and several minor engagements. A brief statement of his "military and medical record" has been furnished by the adjutant general’s office of the war department under a recent date. That record is as follows:
"Leander Stillwell was enrolled January 7, 1862, at Carrollton, Illinois, and was mustered into service February 5, 1862, at Carrollton, Illinois, as a private of Company D, Sixty-first Regiment, Illinois Infantry Volunteers, to serve three years. He was appointed Corporal about February, 1862; Sergeant, August 20, 1862, and First Sergeant, September or October, 1863, and was mustered out as such at Little Rock, Arkansas, to date January 31, 1864, by reason of his re-enlistment as a veteran volunteer. He re-enlisted February 1, 1864, at Little Rock, Arkansas, to serve an additional term of three years, and was mustered into service to date February 1, 1864. He was commissioned Second Lieutenant, same company and regiment, and was mustered in as such July 18, 1865, and was mustered out of service of the company as Second Lieutenant September 8, 1865, at Nashville, Tennessee.
"Under the provisions of the act of Congress approved July 3, 1884, this officer has been recognized by the war department as First Lieutenant, Company D, Sixty-first Illinois Volunteers from August 21, 1865. During the entire period of his service this officer was accounted for on the bi-monthly muster rolls of his company as present for duty except that on October 31, 1863, it was stated that he was absent on furlough from October 16, 1863. The medical records show that he was treated from August 11, 1863, to a date not stated, for intermittent fever, and from September 2, 1863, to a date not stated, for remittent fever."
He had not been out of the army long before he made up his mind definitely as to his future vocation. In the fall of 1866, he entered the Albany Law School at Albany, New York, and in December, 1867, was graduated and awarded the degree of Bachelor of Laws. He was admitted to the New York bar December 5th of that year, but soon returned to Illinois and began practice in Jersey County. A few months later, in May, 1868, he arrived at Erie, Neosho County, where, as already stated, he was one of the first two attorneys comprising the local bar. His home was at Erie until March, 1871, when he removed to Osage Mission, now Saint Paul, Kansas, and lived there until July, 1885, when he returned to Erie. For fifteen years Judge Stillwell handled a growing practice in both the civil and criminal branches of the law. In 1876 he was elected a member of the lower house of the Kansas Legislature, and served one term, having been chosen on the republican ticket.
In November, 1883, Judge Stillwell was elected judge of the Seventh Judicial District, which then consisted of the counties of Allen, Neosho, Wilson and Woodson. From that time forward for nearly twenty-four years he was continuously on the bench. He was re-elected judge of the same district in 1887, 1891, 1895 and ~899. In 1901 the Legislature passed a law requiring district judges to be elected in the even numbered years, and as Judge Stillwell’s term would expire the second Monday in January, 1904, and the next regular election would not be held until the fall of that year, the Governor of Kansas, Willis J. Bailey, appointed Judge Stillwell as judge for this interval. His appointment was made October 27, 1903. In the general election of 1904 Judge Stillwell was again a candidate for the full term of four years, and his election made the sixth successive time he was chosen by the people for the office. While he had opponents in the elections of 1883, 1891 and 1899, he was practically the unanimous choice of all parties in the elections of 1887, 1895, and 1904, and there was no opposition when Governor Bailey appointed him for the interregnum of one year.
On September 1, 1907, more than a year before the expiration of his last term, Judge Stillwell resigned on account of the protracted and dangerous illness of his wife. He felt that his duty was to his invalid wife, and accordingly sent his resignation to Governor Hoch on August 10, 1907, to take effect September 1, 1907.
As bearing on his judicial career, it is deemed permissible to state the following circumstance: A short time before his resignation a case was tried before him and was taken by the defeated party on petition in error to the Supreme Court. That court, some months after Judge Stillwell’s resignation had gone into effect, affirmed the judgment, and at the close of the opinion the court, speaking by Mr. Justice Graves, said: "For more than twenty years this court has been reviewing the decisions of the eminent judge before whom this case was tried, and it has noted with satisfaction the vigilant care and patient industry given by him to the official discharge of his duties. His thorough knowledge of legal principles and clear perception of natural justice made him peculiarly fitted for judicial service, and contributed in a large measure to the success which gave him prominence as a jurist, and caused him to be recognized as an able and impartial judge. In view of his recent voluntary retirement from the bench by resignation, thereby severing his long continued relations with this court, we deem it proper to make this reference thereto." (Fairbanks, Morse & Co. v. Walker, 76 Kans., on p. 909.)
On leaving the bench Judge Stillwell resumed the practice of law, but since the summer of 1913 has virtually retired, though he maintains his office and his library and occasionally furnishes counsel.
On November 26, 1909, Judge Stillwell was appointed by President Taft first deputy commissioner of pensions. This service required his presence at Washington, and he remained in that city in discharge of his duties for about three years and eight months, until relieved by a democratic successor on July 16, 1913. He then returned to his home at Erie.
As to his politics enough has already been said to indicate that he has been a stanch republican since early manhood, and still is, but he did not approve the proceedings of the National Republican convention at Chicago in 1912. From his standpoint he believed that Mr. Taft did not fairly and honestly obtain at that convention the nomination for president. In the following campaign, therefore, Judge Stillwell supported and voted for Theodore Roosevelt for president.
In many ways he has been closely identified with the growth and development of the city of Erie since pioneer times. He was one of the early clerks of the school district, and was a member of the first board of aldermen. He is a member of the State Bar Association, and by virtue of his military service belongs to the Grand Army of the Republic and the Military Order of the Loyal Legion. He is a past master of Erie Lodge, No. 76, Ancient Free and Accepted Masons, belongs to the Ancient Order of United Workmen of Erie, and is a member of the Society of the Army of the Tennessee.
On May 9, 1872, at Erie, Kansas, Judge Stillwell married Miss Anna L. Stauber, and their married life, which extended over a period of nearly thirty-seven years, was a remarkably happy one. As already mentioned, it was the serious illness of his wife that caused Judge Stillwell to leave the bench. But the unremitting care he gave her and the best of medical attention were of no avail, and she died April 9, 1909. Her parents were Dr. Charles F. and Catherine (Frymire) Stauber, both of whom are also deceased. Her father was a physician and surgeon both in Iowa and Kansas, and was one of the pioneers of his profession in Allen County, Kansas, where he located in 1866. Dr. Stauber’s father was a Revolutionary soldier. Dr. Stauber and his wife were both natives of Pennsylvania, but were of German descent.
Five children were born to Judge and Mrs. Stillwell. Rena, born May 1, 1873, at Osage Mission, now Saint Paul, is unmarried and is living in Chicago, where she is cashier of the Chicago Beach Hotel. Nora, who was born at Osage Mission June 3, 1873, is a trained nurse and resides with her father. Hubert, born at Osage Mission, June 22, 1879, has taken an active part in Kansas military affairs, was a member of Company A of the Twenty-second Kansas Infantry during the Spanish-American war, and at this writing is in Company D of the First Iowa Infantry stationed at Brownsville, Texas, on the Mexican border. Charles Rodney, the fourth child, was born at Osage Mission, August 15, 1882, and died at Erie, March 3, 1894. Jeremiah, the youngest child, was born at Erie, November 16, 1887, is a graduate of the University of Kansas, is a mechanical engineer, and lives at Bartlesville, Oklahoma, where he is now pursuing his vocation.
Nairobi: best for business; Ronald Watts looks at some of the pros and cons of Nairobi for those interested in doing business in Kenya.(Kenya): An … African Review of Business and Technology
Nairobi: best for business; Ronald Watts looks at some of the pros and cons of Nairobi for those interested in doing business in Kenya.(Kenya): An … African Review of Business and Technology
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Title: Nairobi: best for business; Ronald Watts looks at some o
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Nice Best Hotel Reviews photos
A few nice best hotel reviews images I found:
Sweet Beancurd Dessert – Shanghai Dynasty
Image by avlxyz
Yumcha was ok, but nothing to write home about.
4x 小点 Small AUD4.50 = AUD31
6x 中点 Medium AUD5.50 = AUD33
1x 特点 Extra Large AUD7.50 = AUD7.50
4x 茶 Chinese Tea AUD2 = AUD8
Total = AUD80 for 4
Shanghai Dynasty Restaurant 上海王朝
(03) 9663 7770
206 Bourke St, Melbourne VIC 3000, Australia
Links:
- Espresso – by Larissa Dubecki, The Age, October 6, 2009
Birth of a dynasty
THE 0 million redevelopment of the former Village City Centre complex into an Asian dining hub has signed Shanghai’s Dynasty for a 600-seat restaurant.
The press release touts the signing of Dynasty, a Cantonese and dim sum specialist based at Shanghai’s Renaissance Yangtze Hotel, as a coup for the LAS Group’s commercial redevelopment of the Bourke Street site, which backs on to Chinatown.
Dynasty joins the 120-seat Bund, which will also boast two five-tonne shark tanks, and the expansion of former lord mayor John So’s Dragon Boat, which is taking over two floors and will have a large open-air balcony. All going to plan, most of the complex will open by mid-month and Dynasty just before Christmas.
- Dynasty (Man Fu Lou), Renaissance Yangtze Shanghai Hotel – Frommer’s Long regarded as one of Shanghai’s top Cantonese restaurants, Dynasty boasts the same chefs (many from Hong Kong) who routinely cater dinners for visiting heads of state at special banquets and luncheons.
- The Dynasty, Renaissance Yangtze – Fodor’s
- Dynasty (Renaissance Yangtze Shanghai Hotel) 满福楼, 扬子江万丽大酒店 – by Wyatt Bixby, Best Food In China, Thu, 05/28/2009 – 06:46 Executive Chef Wong Chueng Kan has come from Hong Kong to share his 41 years of culinary experience with Shanghai.
Fried Pork Glutinous Dumplings – Shanghai Dynasty
Image by avlxyz
Yumcha was ok, but nothing to write home about.
4x 小点 Small AUD4.50 = AUD31
6x 中点 Medium AUD5.50 = AUD33
1x 特点 Extra Large AUD7.50 = AUD7.50
4x 茶 Chinese Tea AUD2 = AUD8
Total = AUD80 for 4
Shanghai Dynasty Restaurant 上海王朝
(03) 9663 7770
206 Bourke St, Melbourne VIC 3000, Australia
Links:
- Espresso – by Larissa Dubecki, The Age, October 6, 2009
Birth of a dynasty
THE 0 million redevelopment of the former Village City Centre complex into an Asian dining hub has signed Shanghai’s Dynasty for a 600-seat restaurant.
The press release touts the signing of Dynasty, a Cantonese and dim sum specialist based at Shanghai’s Renaissance Yangtze Hotel, as a coup for the LAS Group’s commercial redevelopment of the Bourke Street site, which backs on to Chinatown.
Dynasty joins the 120-seat Bund, which will also boast two five-tonne shark tanks, and the expansion of former lord mayor John So’s Dragon Boat, which is taking over two floors and will have a large open-air balcony. All going to plan, most of the complex will open by mid-month and Dynasty just before Christmas.
- Dynasty (Man Fu Lou), Renaissance Yangtze Shanghai Hotel – Frommer’s Long regarded as one of Shanghai’s top Cantonese restaurants, Dynasty boasts the same chefs (many from Hong Kong) who routinely cater dinners for visiting heads of state at special banquets and luncheons.
- The Dynasty, Renaissance Yangtze – Fodor’s
- Dynasty (Renaissance Yangtze Shanghai Hotel) 满福楼, 扬子江万丽大酒店 – by Wyatt Bixby, Best Food In China, Thu, 05/28/2009 – 06:46 Executive Chef Wong Chueng Kan has come from Hong Kong to share his 41 years of culinary experience with Shanghai.
Fried Steamed Buns with condensed milk – Shanghai Dynasty
Image by avlxyz
Yumcha was ok, but nothing to write home about.
4x 小点 Small AUD4.50 = AUD31
6x 中点 Medium AUD5.50 = AUD33
1x 特点 Extra Large AUD7.50 = AUD7.50
4x 茶 Chinese Tea AUD2 = AUD8
Total = AUD80 for 4
Shanghai Dynasty Restaurant 上海王朝
(03) 9663 7770
206 Bourke St, Melbourne VIC 3000, Australia
Links:
- Espresso – by Larissa Dubecki, The Age, October 6, 2009
Birth of a dynasty
THE 0 million redevelopment of the former Village City Centre complex into an Asian dining hub has signed Shanghai’s Dynasty for a 600-seat restaurant.
The press release touts the signing of Dynasty, a Cantonese and dim sum specialist based at Shanghai’s Renaissance Yangtze Hotel, as a coup for the LAS Group’s commercial redevelopment of the Bourke Street site, which backs on to Chinatown.
Dynasty joins the 120-seat Bund, which will also boast two five-tonne shark tanks, and the expansion of former lord mayor John So’s Dragon Boat, which is taking over two floors and will have a large open-air balcony. All going to plan, most of the complex will open by mid-month and Dynasty just before Christmas.
- Dynasty (Man Fu Lou), Renaissance Yangtze Shanghai Hotel – Frommer’s Long regarded as one of Shanghai’s top Cantonese restaurants, Dynasty boasts the same chefs (many from Hong Kong) who routinely cater dinners for visiting heads of state at special banquets and luncheons.
- The Dynasty, Renaissance Yangtze – Fodor’s
- Dynasty (Renaissance Yangtze Shanghai Hotel) 满福楼, 扬子江万丽大酒店 – by Wyatt Bixby, Best Food In China, Thu, 05/28/2009 – 06:46 Executive Chef Wong Chueng Kan has come from Hong Kong to share his 41 years of culinary experience with Shanghai.