#1095580 added August 19, 2025 at 1:49pm Restrictions: None
Day 48 West Virginia
Is it just me? Does anyone else see the name Virginia and think of those immortal lines, Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus? Now, the belted lyrics of a song creep into my subconscious. John Denver? Country roads take me home to the place I belong West Virginia mountain momma take me home country roads. Great, now I have an ear worm as I write. Today, you were all wet Lyn's a Witchy Woman. No, I mean it. So was I. That kind of thing happens as you swirl, bob, plummet, spin and splash in a series of rapids on the Lower Gauley River. It's pretty much inescapable. I have discovered a new level of jostling. I noticed your teeth gritted at times and that probably mirrored my own grim expression. Not that we didn't beam also. You introduced me to a stomach dropping, drenching, and jaw clenching adventure. Gauley? Shouldn't that be Golly or something a little more defining like Oh Crap? I tried to whoop when I wasn't gasping. I'm hoping those helmets softened/contained/restrained my screams and muttered prayers. Perhaps the roaring of the aptly named white water drowned me out. When I staggered onto dry land on my wobbly legs I understood why people drop to the ground and kiss it. That was one wild ride. Adrenaline overload. Touring the Fayetteville haunts was tame compared to the wringer washer experience. I found it campy, but fun. Who doesn't appreciate a few ghost stories? Not a bad place to linger and haunt.
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. No, I mean it. So was I. That kind of thing happens as you swirl, bob, plummet, spin and splash in a series of rapids on the Lower Gauley River. It's pretty much inescapable. I have discovered a new level of jostling. I noticed your teeth gritted at times and that probably mirrored my own grim expression. Not that we didn't beam also. You introduced me to a stomach dropping, drenching, and jaw clenching adventure. Gauley? Shouldn't that be Golly or something a little more defining like Oh Crap? I tried to whoop when I wasn't gasping. I'm hoping those helmets softened/contained/restrained my screams and muttered prayers. Perhaps the roaring of the aptly named white water drowned me out. When I staggered onto dry land on my wobbly legs I understood why people drop to the ground and kiss it. That was one wild ride. Adrenaline overload. Touring the Fayetteville haunts was tame compared to the wringer washer experience. I found it campy, but fun. Who doesn't appreciate a few ghost stories? Not a bad place to linger and haunt.
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