New River Gorge (WV)

From Red River Gorge, I’d driven later into the evening than I’d planned, looking for Hawks Nest State Park near New River Gorge. I presumed it had a campground. It turned out to only have a lodge. I was not in a spendy mood and kept driving, stumbling into Ansted and a $40 motel instead, older and funkier, but nicely redone.

In the morning, I shared a coffee in the office with another patron and the manager and heard his story about racing cars over the famous New River Bridge in his youth while the bridge was still under construction. There were no guardrails, he said. It’s 876 feet high (it was the world’s highest when it opened in 1977) and 3,030 feet long, and spooky enough with guardrails. He had that look, like he was lucky to be alive.

I headed to the visitor center near the bridge, waited a few minutes for them to open and was the first customer at the desk. A thunderstorm was due to arrive at any moment so I grabbed my trail map and hustled down the walkway and stairs for a picture of the bridge, then raced back to the truck for the short drive to the trailhead. I planned to hike along the Endless Wall, which is where most of the rock climbers go. The ladders leading down the cliffs sounded appealing and it would be a nice way to check out some of the routes in case I ever put my climbing harness on again. I’d love to squirm my way up a 5.9 crack, though I might have to get back in shape first.

The walk out to the brink of the cliff was enjoyable, but just as the view opened up and the earth fell away, the sky exploded with thunder. The rain followed instantly and within a minute or so it was pouring like crazy. I looked down at the steel-runged ladder, up at the sky and saw another flash of lightning. I was so tempted to climb down (and out of harm’s way), but I was alone and no other sane person would be out there to assist me if anything went wrong. So I deployed my umbrella and trotted the half-mile back to the truck, splashing all the way. A tiny critter of some kind was crossing the trail in front of me and I stopped to investigate in the downpour. Who’d a thunk, it was a crawdad.

I reached the truck with bolts of lightning fast on my tail, and happily climbed in and slammed the door. A park ranger was trying to empty the trash from the restroom and getting soaked as well. He caught up with me later at another roadside pullout where someone had pushed a port-a-potty over the top of a boulder. It took both of us to right the thing. I’d done my good deed for the day and had enjoyed plenty of adventure already, so I pointed the truck homeward and cranked up the CDs I’d picked up in Nashville two days before. I especially enjoyed the wild rendition of Ghost Riders in the Sky by Kelley’s Heroes who we’d seen perform at the Full Moon Saloon. After the long drive home, I was feeling like a ghost rider myself. It was good to be home with the wife and the cat again.