Departure

6:01 a.m.  I’m standing on the road in front of my house, suitcase and cooler on the pavement, waiting for my friend Dave to pick me up. Our destination, seven plus hours away, is Farmville, Virginia, the midpoint of the 33-mile long High Bridge Rail-Trail.  Our plan—ride the full length of the trail.

Taking a sip of coffee and savoring the morning stillness, I reflect on some of the reasons for taking this trip. One is what Joseph Conrad called the “glories of exploration,” that deeply embedded, maybe even genetically programmed wanderlust, that desire for novelty, that wish to see new lands, that hunger for full, purposeful, single-minded engagement.  Dave says there is a cultural learned component too.  He remembers the excitement of family vacations, his parents packing the kids and gear into a station wagon and driving to a distant campground. “My dad taught me to love traveling.”

Another reason, again borrowing a term from Conrad, is “forethought,” a good word to describe all the planning, researching, preparing, and organizing required for a trip, all of it great fun.  There is something deeply human in operation here, the opportunity to engage our frontal lobes, to utilize those so-called executive functions that crave activation.  Dave and I had multiple conversations exchanging ideas about details of the trip–the gear, schedule, lodging, and even dining possibilities.  Hopefully, our forethought has been complete and accurate.

A third reason might be called the Carpe Diem syndrome.  For a newly minted septuagenarian and octogenarian there is urgency to transform “cool ideas” into reality. We both sense that time is a limited resource. It is easy to talk about possibilities, but difficult to seize the day and hit the road. And, if life is an odyssey, then the arc of these trips is a resonant microcosm of the greater journey.

Taking another sip of coffee, I look up the highway for Dave and thought, Yes, there were also obstacles to surmount. The first was overcoming our inherent inertia and procrastination by setting a departure day, by making a commitment.  This took longer than expected as it was hard to find open spots in our schedules.

A second obstacle specific to a biking adventure was finding an interval of rain-free weather.  For the last week we had been constantly, as in twenty times a day, monitoring the Farmville forecast, watching the prediction change from three days of sunshine to a week of rain and thunderstorms.  We postponed our departure by two days and now hoped, if the current forecast held up, that we could squeeze in two days of rain free biking.

A third obstacle caught me by surprise yesterday while finishing yard tasks. Glancing at the back porch, I saw the cushioned wicker chairs arranged invitingly and suddenly thought how welcoming and cozy it all looked. I was seized by thoughts like, It’s so pleasant at home.  Why not just stay home?  Why go to all the bother and hassle and danger of traveling? Dave later told me that he had similar thoughts.  Perhaps there is an inborn counterweight to Wanderlust.  In German, the term would be Heimweh, a longing for the comforts of home.

Dave’s car crested the hill.  The time for reflection was over.

The First Ride

Arriving in Farmville we were eager to hit the trail after a long drive that included several heavy downpours, numerous construction sites, two motor vehicle accidents, and one mercifully short detour.  After initial uncertainty locating the trailhead, figuring out where to park, and where to change into biking gear, we were ready to roll. We got immediate good vibes from the Farmville trailhead, a little park on upper Main Street, with beautiful stone flowerpots, signage for the trail and for the local history, a restroom, and a water fountain.

We did a quick check on the forecast.  It looked like we had a two-hour window before the next line of thunderstorms hit, enough time to bike five miles to the main attraction of the trail, The High Bridge, a historic half mile long span that crosses the wide valley of the Appomattox River.

Mounting our bikes, we headed eastbound, across Main Street, through the outskirts of town, and into the countryside.  The trail, surfaced with cream-colored, crushed limestone, ribboned straight ahead into the distance. We soon fell into a smooth rhythm of pedaling and heard the soft, circular, continuous crunch of bike tires over the compressed stone.  Trees and bushes had grown in abundance into the right of way since the last Norfolk Southern train traveled these tracks on October 26, 2004.

Markers every half mile, 4, 3.5, 3 informed our progress. We peddled steadily toward the bridge.  Minimal elevation changes and the crushed limestone created an exceptionally smooth surface, closer to pavement than the coarse gravel trails back home in PA. The distinctive look and feel of this trail was a surprise.  We agreed that every rail trail seems to have its own unique personality and this trail smooth, surrounded by beautiful natural scenery, and well maintained, was a joy to ride.

As the half miles clicked by our excitement grew.  A light drizzle began to fall. Ahead, an opening in forest, the beginning of the bridge.  Energized by the sight of our goal we picked up speed and rolled on to the wooden planks of the bridge, a steady, rapid ca-clunk, ca-clunk over each plank.

The view was stunning and breath-taking. We found ourselves 125 feet above the half mile wide river valley, above the trees, with vistas of rich green forested hillsides dotted with lighter green hayfields.  The brown swirling waters of the Appomattox River spilled over the banks and flooded into the forest.  A shiny, wet, black raven perched on a cement bridge piling croaked a loud greeting.

The rain picked up.  We headed for a roofed shelter a third of the way across the bridge, pulled in, parked the bikes, and put on our rain parkas.  We saw darker patches of heavier rain moving over the hills to the southwest and heard distant rumbles of thunder.  We were simultaneously paralyzed by concerns of getting caught in a thunderstorm, transfixed by the spectacle, and hypnotized by the luminous light glowing softly over the verdant landscape.

After ten minutes we determined that the patch of heavy rain was veering away and ventured further over the bridge to the next sheltered spot which was directly over the roiling river.  More spectacular views, more photos to capture the moment.

The rain abated.  We remounted our bikes and pedaled over the rest of the bridge.  How far could we go before the heavy rain arrived? 

Back into the woods and another half mile down the trail we came to the Visitor’s Center built to look just like a train depot.  Inside we met Katy, a park ranger, who shared information on the rest of the trail, eastbound and westbound features, and gave us details on the bridge. We looked at the display panels on the construction and reconstruction of the bridge and checked out all the cool trail merch. Might have to come back for shopping.

It was pleasant hanging out in the visitor’s center, but our rain free window was shrinking.  Back on the bikes, back over the bridge to take in more views, and then steady, fast riding, through the drizzle, past the half-mile markers and back into town.  By the time the heavy rain arrived we were seated dry and comfortable under the big white awning of the Three Roads Brewery, listening to the rain drumming down onto the awning, and watching the rain flow over the trail.

Sipping his freshly poured, foam-topped, draft beer Dave said that it had been enjoyable riding in the light rain.  It reminded him of when his parents told him not to go out in the rain, but he went out anyway and then it was really fun. Later, we feasted on Southern comfort food at the Fishin’ Pig—hush puppies, pulled pork, pulled chicken, coleslaw, baked beans, and French fries.

Westbound

Katy told us that the 18-mile ride westbound from Farmville to Pamplin was particularly scenic and interesting.  We were on the trail by 9 a.m., peddled past Longwood University, past the old railroad station, past a few stores and offices, over the four-lane bypass, and back into the forested countryside.  The sky was still gray, and patches of after-the-rain fog hung eerily above the creeks and valleys, but visibility was adequate, and the temperature of 70 degrees was perfect for our full day of riding.

This was a new trail segment for us, creating an exciting sense of exploration.  The scenery varied from thick green forest to vast open hayfields. We rode over bridges and through overhanging archways of green. We noticed the substantial amount of earthmoving and engineering that it took to build the level railway with its maximum .3% grade.  Sometimes the rail bed cut through a hill resulting in high embankments on both sides; other times the rail bed was built up and we looked down steep wooded banks.  No expense, no amount of labor had been spared to build this railway infrastructure, of course with the hope of earning hefty profits.

A pleasant feature of the route west was that every few miles there was a small town, a natural opportunity to take a break and hydrate.  The first of these, after almost six miles, was Tuggle, just a crossroad with a restroom, trailhead parking, and a few houses. Back on our bikes and peddling another 4 miles we came out of the woods to the proper village of Prospect, which featured a little park, a red brick post office, several houses, an old store, and over near the highway an Exxon station with a mini market and a tobacco shop. We felt like we had returned to civilization.

From Prospect to Elam, 3.7miles away, the rail trail ran between a vast, lush, bright green forest on the left and adjacent to US 460 on the right, a major four lane highway. Riding down the trail we could hear the loud, high-pitched wine of the16 wheelers on asphalt and the throaty roar of diesel engines straining up hills. There was no doubt who had won the freight carrying contest between the trucks and the railways.

Old telephone poles stood near the trail in the woods, poles that had carried power for the signal towers and held telegraph lines that had sung with dots and dashes.  The poles were now vine draped, festooned with shiny glass insulators, and clutching strands of broken wire. A few of these poles had toppled and looked like giant crosses fallen upon the ground, a poignant visual reminder of the “disappearing railroad blues.”

It was time for the final 5-mile push to Pamplin.  There was elevation on this stretch. We couldn’t see it but could feel it in our legs and notice our speed dropping.  The half mile markers seemed more distant. I fidgeted on my seat to relieve the pressure. The out and back would be 36 miles, further than I normally rode. I worried if I would make it. Well, nothing to do but forge ahead.

We rode past the old “End of Trail” sign and continued on the recently added mile that extended into Pamplin.  Goal in sight, we picked up our pace and soon arrived at a wooden barrier marking the trail’s end.  With a satisfied “we made it” feeling, we sat down at picnic table to enjoy our lunch of granola bars, muffins, apples, and water.

The village of Pamplin offered a study in contrast. The most striking feature was a row of abandoned two story, red brick storefronts that looked like a railroad ghost town.  From our vantage point we could gaze past the train station down the old, rusty, grass covered, abandoned, tracks of the Norfolk Southern Railway.

Yet on the other side of the train station a new rail line ran parallel to the old. The best feature for us was the nearby Mr. Bubbles Ice Cream and Sandwich shop.  We opted for extra thick milkshakes, peach for me and chocolate swirl for Dave.

The sky cleared, the sun melted the mist, and the temperature rose into the 80s.  We climbed back on our bikes wondering if the increasing heat and humidity would make for a challenging ride back.  Fortunately, most of the way back was downhill. We rolled through the woods beneath shade providing trees—oaks, maples, sycamores, sassafras, and southern pines. The trees were all still in their burgeoning, spring, leafing-out, and growing phase. We felt surrounded by a symphony of green—yellow green, mint green, light green, and dark green.

We biked back through Elam, Prospect, and Tuggle and finally with a sense of satisfaction reached the outskirts of Farmville, past the old railroad station, and past the Three Roads Brewery which would be opening in 30 minutes. 

Once back at the trailhead, Dave loaded up his bike, changed out of his biking gear and headed to the brewery. I decided to ride another mile down Main Street to the Robert Russa Moton Museum, housed in a former segregated school, and known as the “Birthplace of the Student Led Civil Rights Movement.”

We met up at Three Roads and later, after touring around the area by car, enjoyed a margarita and loaded plates of enchiladas with rice and beans at a highly recommended Mexican restaurant, Bandidos.  That night, after the long ride, Dave was sound asleep by 9:30 and I conked out by 10.

Memories and History

When we biked by the train station in Farmville, a clear episodic memory, a vivid video clip from the distant past popped into my mind.  The year was 1963. An 18-year-old version of me looked out the train window, read Farmville on the station, and heard the train slowly whoosh to a stop. I could see myself grabbing my suitcase and stepping off the train to begin my college career at Hampden-Sydney College, a small, all male, liberal arts institution five miles south of Farmville, an ideal venue for an aspiring historian.

It turned out to be a short-lived college career. My interests were more social than academic, and I was more inclined to rule-challenging than rule-following.  In March of my sophomore year the dean invited me to leave, probably a good thing for the college and for me.  One upside is that I still have close friends from my time there.

Dave said that he usually preferred nature and adventure over history, but his viewpoint shifted as we rode our bikes over the High Bridge, the site of dramatic events during the last final days of the Civil War. The Southside Railroad, built in 1854 was a strategic line that connected the Piedomnt areas of Virginia, rich in supplies and provisions, with the coast and Robert Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. 

In early April of 1865, as Lee retreated west, the troops guarding the bridge were ordered to burn it to block the pursuit of Union troops.  They were only partially successful, Union troops stormed the bridge, a maneuver that hastened Lee’s surrender a few days later at nearby Appomattox.  Standing on the bridge we could visualize history unfolding far below. Dave said he felt a sense of awe and could feel the spirit of that moment in time, and could almost hear the crash of muskets, the yells of command, the confusion of battle.  He said, “I feel like I’m there, like a time traveler viewing live action.”

We also gazed at the old brick warehouses in Farmville, remnants from the era when the town had been a storage and shipping center for the tobacco industry.  On the last day of our ride, near the Rice Trailhead we read a “You Are Here” historic marker showing the positions of Federal and Confederate troops facing off at a crucial road intersection. Once again, we could visualize the opposing armies setting up  their positions and could hear the cannon carriages creaking and rattling, and could feel the sense of urgency in the air.

More recent but equally compelling history was presented in the well-curated displays at the Moton Museum.  The building had been a high school for black students during the era of segregation mandated by an 1896 Virginia Law that legalized the proposition of “separate but equal” education for black and white students.  The problem was that the facilities simply were not equal. The Moton School became overcrowded, and the extra students were housed in crude tarpaper shacks erected nearby.

Despite repeated entreaties to the school board to improve conditions, nothing was done.  In 1951 a group of black high school students went on a two-week strike to protest the conditions. Lawyers from the NAACP eventually took on their case and expanded the focus to include a legal challenge to segregation. The Farmville case was eventually rolled together with similar cases from four other states, the most famous of which was Brown vs. Board of Education.  In 1954 the Supreme Court declared segregation unconstitutional and ordered integration.

But the white citizens of Farmville and surrounding Prince Edward County resisted the court mandate for years. Then, in 1959 when the Supreme Court ordered immediate integration the local board of education decided to shut down the public school system while the community set up “private academies” for white students.  For five years black students were denied a public education. Finally, in 1964 the Supreme Court ordered the reopening of Prince Edward County schools for all students.

Coming to the end of the exhibit I realized I was learning about some of the best and worst moments of the civil rights era—courageous and inspiring action by black students and unbelievable and shameful resistance by the white community.  I wondered how the wounds from this conflict had healed.  Was the healing like a broken bone grown stronger as it joined back together? Or was it a thin scar over a still festering wound?

Maybe, the answer came from a meeting being held in the old school auditorium adjacent to the exhibits.  Wandering through the displays, I overheard a few phrases like “more to be done” and “need to persist.”

Green Infrastructure

On our ride to Burkeville, an elderly man dressed in a red coat riding a new, shiny, fat-wheeled, peddle-assisted, E-bike, caught up, passed us, and forged ahead down the trail.  He didn’t respond to our greeting.  We dismissed him as a stuck-up e-biker.  But when we reached the end of the trail and talked to him our opinion changed.

His name was Glen.  He explained that he had been a lifelong biking enthusiast but three years ago he suffered a massive heart attack that took out a third of his cardiac functioning. After having three stints implanted and undergoing two years of cardiac rehab his doctors told him he was lucky to be alive but that he would never ride a bike again.

Glen said, “Then I found this newly invented e-bike which gives me just the right amount of help.”  He added “I feel so grateful every time I ride. This trail is my lifeline!”

We heard a similar message from Richard a day earlier in Pamplin. During his recovery from rotator cuff surgery, he gained twenty pounds.  Now, he rode the trail three times a week from Pamplin to Prospect and was steadily shedding the unwanted pounds. 

During a sunset walk on the High Bridge we met Byron, a retired behavior health administrator living in Farmville. He told us he had been sitting on his couch after dinner and decided to get on his bike and get in his miles, something he did most days of the week, an activity that he enjoyed and that he believed kept him healthy.

In Pamplin we walked over to look at the row of deserted storefronts of the railroad ghost town and were surprised to see that one of the buildings housed a cozy little restaurant, MiPa’s Table. A check of their online menu revealed an inviting list of traditional and upscale Southern food.  Two doors down, a poster in the window announced a coming bookstore and coffee shop. 

Dave said someone should buy up all the old buildings for development.  Sure enough, later, when we were in the Farmville bike store the owner said all the old buildings had recently been purchased and that he bought one of them. He also showed us his fleet of rental, step-through, peddle bikes and new e-bikes, which on summer weekends were typically all rented out providing a major source of income for his business.

At the visitors center we talked to two women who had biked the five miles out on rental bikes.  They were in town to attend a daughter’s graduation later and thrilled to get out for a ride and connect with nature.

On the ride to Pamplin we found a few big branches and small trees laying across the trail brought down by the previous day’s wind and rain.  Spontaneously, we stopped and dragged the trees off the trail.  Social psychologists would call this “pro-social” behavior, behavior often unconsciously stimulated by positive factors in the environment.  We wanted others to enjoy the trail too.

It seemed that this 33-mile-long rail trail, this narrow ribbon of green infrastructure generated a lot of positive spinoffs. It provided a lifeline for healing and health, offered multiple opportunities to fulfil business dreams, and created a venue to connect with nature.  We thought there was something more than a “build it and they will come” phenomenon in operation.  There was some positive dynamic of health and growth, some kind of play-it now and pay-it forward, multidimensional, self-reinforcing, loop.

A High Bridge High

On our last day we woke up early, grabbed breakfast at the motel, checked out, drove to the Visitors Center, and were on the trail before 8 a.m. The plan was to ride eastbound to the terminus in Burkeville, a total of eighteen miles out and back, and thus complete the entire trail.  The sky was clear, the air was fresh and clean, the birds were singing, and the cream-colored, crushed limestone trail stretched open and welcoming before us.

However, it was the third consecutive day of riding. At first, our legs were stiff. Fortunately, we loosened up and soon fell into a steady rhythm peddling through forest, rock cuts and open hay fields. The half-mile markers ticked by.  We rode through the village of Rice, through a trailhead at Moran, and arrived at the Burkeville terminus.  A brief break and then we began the return ride.

It was on this return that I began to experience a “rider’s high.”  Physically my legs had found that sweet spot, peddling steadily with just the right amount of effort, a balance of exertion and forward progress, creating a feeling that I could ride forever.

The surrounding symphony of green that I had noticed yesterday seemed even richer, more varied, more intense, more all-embracing.  Bands of shadows and swaths of sunlight lit the trail ahead.  From the surrounding woods the birds sang, caroled, called, and twittered—cardinals, red-eyed vireos, house wrens, towhees, bluebirds, nuthatches, northern parulas, and indigo buntings.

I inhaled the fresh, after-the-rain air laden with forest aromas—earth, leaves, mushroom, and pine.  The air, cooler when riding through the shaded woods, warmer in the open fields, caressed my face.  Breathing, peddling, hearing, seeing, feeling, inhaling forest fragrances—all blended together—transporting, uplifting, inspiring, sensual, and energizing.

Dave said he felt it too and added that he had heard there was research substantiating brain benefits of biking.  I looked into this later and he was right.  Studies have shown that fifty minutes or more of cycling produces increased brain levels of serotonin and dopamine—feel good chemicals that boost energy, optimism. and mood throughout the day. Specifically, researchers have detected increased anandamide, a natural cannabinoid. That’s right cannabinoid, just like the active ingredient in marijuana, but this high is all natural.

In our elevated state our connection with nature grew deeper. We saw more wildlife, or maybe the creatures felt more comfortable revealing themselves to us.  A trio of deer browsed peacefully in a nearby meadow.  A red-shouldered hawk glided gracefully above the trail.  We came across a box turtle and stopped so that Dave could help it over the trail.  Dave related that he had pet turtles as a kid and as a result, had developed a life-long fascination with and connection to all kinds of turtles.  Further down the trail we saw a six-foot-long black rat snake unfolded, accordion pleat style, across the trail, a most interesting sighting.

Endings and Beginnings

As we took a final ride over the High Bridge I felt a wave of melancholy.  With my sentimental side it is always hard for me to end a good nature adventure. Dave, with a more practical common-sense perspective, reckoned he was satisfied and ready for the journey home.  He said, “We did it!  We biked every mile of the trail. We achieved all of our goals.”

We headed back to the Visitor’s Center, talked to Katy again, described our biking routes, and told her how much we enjoyed the trail.  Dave bought a High Bridge Trail bike jersey.  I’m not a fan of logo T-shirts but I looked long and hard at a royal blue High Bridge T-shirt and now wish I had purchased it as a memento of the trip.

We loaded up the bikes, climbed in the car, bid farewell to the High Bridge Trail, and began the long journey home. Driving north, we recalled Katy telling us how she and her husband loved to bike the New River Trail in western Virginia.  And Glen, the cardiac recovery cycler, originally from West Virginia, told us about that state’s Greenbrier Trail that stretches for 78 miles alongside a scenic river through stunning mountain landscapes.

Seeds had been planted, ideas transferred from one biker to another, an expression of community.  Maybe, more biking adventures await us.

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Thanks to David Gorman for sharing the adventure, offering valuable ideas and edits, and taking his usual stunning photos.

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Here is a link to the High Bridge Trail:  https://www.dcr.virginia.gov/state-parks/high-bridge-trail

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The references from Joseph Conrad are from Heart of Darkness which I just happened to be rereading at the time of writing.

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If you want to learn more about the health and well-being benefits of spending time in nature, look at my latest book, Nature’s Pathways to Mindfulness available on Amazon and through the publisher Shanti Arts.  Links below:

Nature’s Pathways to Mindfulness: Harvey, John: 9781962082266: Amazon.com: Books

Nature’s Pathways to Mindfulness, John Harvey