If I struggled to see the positives in yesterday, I couldn’t stop looking at them today.
Rachel and I woke up around 9 a.m. — I was up until midnight on my phone, I admit — and listened to the hum of the air conditioner for a few minutes. It didn’t sound so different than the creeks we’ve slept near, but it lacked the body of water rushing over rocks.
After paying for another night at the Travel Inn, cementing our zero, we checked our wheeled transport options. We called the city transit service and agreed to be out front of our hotel shortly before 11.
With our remaining hour, we ate. We’d bought Noosa, a deliciously full-fat yogurt, and the highest calorie cereal cups we could find at Food City (Shredded Wheat and Raisin Bran, surprisingly).
As Rachel rinsed the Noosa cup, in which we’d planned to microwave the eggs we’d bought, we realized it was 10:50. We hurried out, fumbling for our room key and wallets for a stressful minute or two.
The transit van took us to the Post Office, where we mailed back our winter leggings, fleece headwear, and Rachel’s fleece sweater. The surrounding downtown, we agreed, looked a lot like that of Jackson, Missouri, where we grew up. Large-windowed, two-story brick buildings sold everything from dresses to haircuts to coffee cups. Many appeared to have an apartment above, probably originally to house the proprietor. Revitalization efforts were underway here and there, though not everywhere.
While lollygagging, we stumbled across the Army Navy store, where we found two-thirds of the items on our shopping list. We found the largest can of propane-isobutane stove fuel, supposedly good for more than 100 boils, I’d ever seen for $7.99. We also purchased four pairs of Injinji liner socks to replace our existing ones, which are thinner and therefore haven’t held up as well as our Darn Tuff outers.
We worried we were out of luck on the trail gaiters (fabric ankle sleeves designed to keep debris out of shoes) but found them where we worried our chances of doing so were perhaps 20%: Blue Ridge Outfitters, an equestrian and western apparel store.
Amazed we’d completed our errands so quickly, we got coffee at the downtown Exxon and sat on a bench for 20 or so minutes before either of us suggested a new plan of action. It was to be, we decided, a 20-minute walk to Taco Bell for lunch.
On the way, we came across a stunning plaque affixed to what’s now a grey, corporate-chic chiropractic clinic: the founder of Mountain Dew developed the soft drink’s formula in the building.
Why isn’t Marion, Virginia promoting Dew-rism? Surely, whichever beverage behemoth owns the Mt. Dew brand would be willing to cooperate on a festival. Surely, there are enough Dew die hards to make such a venture financially productive.
Surprised, we walked onward and into a rainstorm. We doubled our pace the final few minutes to Taco Bell, whose lobby, we bitterly learned, was closed.
Up the street another five minutes was Dollar General, which we browsed while the rain tapered off but found nothing we particularly wanted to eat. We debated whether to lunch at the caddy-corner Food City or its neighbor, Wendy’s, and chose both. We bought a grapefruit, apple and bananas at the former, and then went to Wendy’s for a calorie infusion of the caliber fast food joints specialize in.
Since walking the remaining 15 minutes back to our room, I’ve been the bad husband fending off his wife’s pleas for attention. I’ve promised her that once I finish writing this paragraph, and uploading everything, I’ll take her to her choice of a romantic dinner of McDonalds, Charley’s, or carryout pizza. And, she says, to give her a foot massage later.
I’m in trouble, aren’t I? Only if we don’t get dessert? OK, honey, let’s go get it.
