Boydton (VA) Redux

We found ourselves only 16-miles east of our first stop in a holding pattern, awaiting the first wave of early winter weather to pass through the Blue Ridge.  North Bend Campground is another US Army Corp of Engineer project that sits adjacent to a massive dam that helps maintain this expansive lake.

We caught a lucky break in finding this site, as many of these campgrounds close for the season on November 1^st.  This particular campground keeps roughly 25 sites open throughout the winter season.  We drove our rig through the somewhat tight trail and backed it onto a gravel pad that had a respectable downward grade, and many trees lining the narrow driveway.  I didn’t travel as many miles positioning the RV as I did at Rudd’s Creek, but I was twice as nervous…as the room to maneuver was t-i-g-h-t, and the trees refused to yield. 

After the initial set-up, I thought it would be nice to have a campfire.  Our camp neighbors at Rudd’s had donated their unused firewood to us, and I seized the opportunity to add more ambiance to the evening. Prior to leaving our base camp in Gloucester, my father donated his axe to the expedition.  He had spent time ensuring it was razor honed, and ensured me it would cut through anything that it should fall upon…including my hand.  Within the first hour of set-up, Kristy was using her paramedic skillz of days-gone-by to close-up an axe wound.  After placing a few steri-strips and some bandaging , she sent me on my way to resume my ambiance-building project.

 About a hundred feet behind our campsite was a really nice white-sandy beach that led to areas of the campground that were closed for the season.  This gave us a nice walking path to take the hounds on their scheduled walks…and unscheduled swims.  I’m sure there’s a time where a wet dog while traveling is an absolute joy.  I have yet to find one of those times. 

At the entrance to the campground loop is a small cemetery with a sign stating “Mays Chapel,” which was a Baptist chapel named after a 9-year old girl—May Land—who died in 1894 and was buried at this location.  The cemetery is small, with roughly 20 tombstones scattered throughout.  

One interesting observation is that there are about a dozen grave-sized depressions scattered about, with no markings.  We were unsure if this was the result of the bodies be exhumed and buried at other cemeteries; or if this was the result of settling after the wooden coffins rotted.  At first I wondered why someone would put a cemetery in such a remote lake-side location; but then I realized that this was once a peaceful hilltop, overlooking a forested valley…until the 1950’s when the valley became a lake.

The weather turned cold.  The absolute temperature was only about  30F, but the humidity stayed in the 80-100% range; and the wind blew a steady 20 mph with gusts to 30 mph.  Hard to imagine, but it was too cold to sit next to a campfire.  The knees were hot to the touch, but the back was going numb.  We headed inside to the comforts of the propane-fuelled heater.  The RV heater worked well during the  colder weather, but the wind convection caused us to burn through our tanks at a rapid pace.

You may not consider getting propane tanks filled as being an exercise in your transition from the military to civilian life, but this simple task showed me that I needed work on my day-to-day expectations, as well as finding my non-military rhythm.   

I arrived at a roadside metal building that was adorned with cigarette, beer, and lottery signs covering the pealing paint.  To the side was a large propane tank that appeared to be operational—which was encouraging to me considering the very rural setting.  After passing the fishing tackle, ammo, and disproportionately large jerky display, I asked the oldest staff member how I could go about getting my propane tank filled.   What followed was nothing short of a mini-seminar on human emotions and cultural priorities.  

Her first reaction was one of pain, with her face contorting as though someone had shot a stream of cold air into an exposed tooth nerve.  That was followed by the hissing sounds as she laboriously drew in air across her narrowly pursed mouth—teeth barely showing, but still showing.  Then the oration  phase began, as she painstakingly explained the current situation at this market of rural commerce.

“Uh….uh…<more hissing>…you see, the guy who does that…<more hissing>…well…you see, he’s not here right now…and <more hissing> uh…I don’t know when he’ll be back…you see…’cause he’s…uh…deer season just started you see…and…uh…he’s out hunting.”

I told her I completely understood, told her to wish him luck in “bagging his buck,” bought a Pepsi product (as this store sold NO Coke products) and walked pass the disproportionately large jerky display as I headed out the door.

I arrived back at the camp—propaneless—to find Kristy watching the weather forecast and searching for our next bed-down site.  I found someone the next day who would fill my tanks—probably one of those "tree-hugger" types who refuse to participate in the Bambi-kill-a-thon.  A break in the cold weather was coming soon, and we remained determined to get into higher elevations.   We hitched-up and headed west on US 58, then took a hard left at Danville, Virginia; a hard right a Greensboro, North Carolina; an headed into the North Carolina hills.

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