We used to call at Roosie Roads, Puerto Rico, and could not resist the title. Sorry. We had some fun there, before he venerable old Spanish-American War vintage base was shuttered, and the island of Vieques was bombed for the last time.

But it was Rosie’s Roads yesterday.

We poured some raw gas down the carb, she turned right over, we lock the farm and roared out on a voyage of discovery, Panzer in the lead, me trying to keep a sight picture of the Pepto-Bismo Pink station wagon centered in my rear view mirror.

We had our cell phones charged for inter-vehicle communications. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?

Well, except that apparently she can’t turn left up hill without stalling, and with the Panzer in lead position, that left us at a bit of a disadvantage. That and the windshield wiper thing, though we only saw a couple of mild sprinkles as we headed up across the Shenandoah Valley and the hills beyond. And my brother’s phone died.

Other than that, no problems.

We deliberately took Virginia Rt 522, the Zach Taylor Highway, due to its slower pace and the ability to angle away from the traffic madness that is Northern Virginia. It was a wise decision, and the little villages along the way, nestled in the green valleys of Springtime Virginia were placid enough that I found myself thinking of what it would be like to have a life out there.

The route took us through some of the little hamlets and towns that had been so fiercely contested during the Late Unpleasantness Between the States, Front Royal and Winchester, and ultimately up to the junction with I-68 and Maryland and the twisting roads through Cumberland and all the way across Senator Byrd’s Gateway to West By God Virginia.

We got some “oohs and ahhs” at the Good To Go Marathon at Friendsville, MD, and hung out for a while in a marvelous shop with gas, food, alcoholic beverages and a head shop. Truly one-stop shopping for the discerning road warrior.

North from Morgantown, sedately at 60 miles an hour, best Rosie could do, to Washington, PA, and finally route 40 West toward Wheeling, the old neighborhood that Mom remembered so well, with the car that Dad had helped design.

It was with a feeling of triumph that we pulled into the Holiday Inn Express, still in West By God, but with the flatlands beckoning and more than half the miles of the journey under our belts, and two and a half days to make it good.

We were feeling so good we thought about adding a tourist destination along the way to kill time when Aleysha, the swing shift clerk at the Inn, matter-of-factly informed us that “they,” whoever that is, were predicting three inches of snow that night.

I looked at my brother, and he looked back at me.

“Could cause an adjustment,” I said. “A blizzard in freaking April?”

“Indecision is the key to flexibility,” he said.”We can figure it out tomorrow.”

I will let you know how it works out.

Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com