I woke to a rustling in the nearby woods. I rolled onto my side and peered into a misty dawn. A hundred or so feet away, along a tree line, a black bear foraged for a morning meal. For ten minutes, I lay still watching the ursine make a living. It peered up, looking in my direction, but not at me, before slipping into the trees like a bouncing ball of fur.
The spectacle served as my morning caffeine and I rose, knowing it futile to try to gain more sleep.
With a smile, I stuffed my bag into my pack, found the railroad tracks and followed them west towards Waynesboro. Forty-five minutes later a freight rumbled out of the east. I jumped it and rode it to Clifton Forge, a CSX locomotive fueling depot. The town of Clifton Forge is built along the Jackson River, which runs through the middle of the town. One of the reasons I wanted to visit this town, other than it is a railroad town, is that the Civilian Conservation Corps – which in my platform, I call for its reformation – built the nearby Douthat State Park.
At a late breakfast, I asked the old timers at a local café what they thought of the idea of revamping the CCC. The question was akin to asking the church choir what they thought of music in church. I shook hands and even signed my autograph on napkin. I bid the crowd farewell and hoofed through town before returning to the train yard. Within an hour, I was crossing the border into West Virginia.
Beckley WV: I strolled into this quaint town nestled in the heart of Appalachia. My mouth dry with grime of the rails from the last leg of my journey. This was my second time in town, once, in my hobo days, I passed through, camping a night in Babe Ruth park. I stepped into Billie Joe’s and the six eyes that were in the bar turned my way, five of them looking at me and one off to my left. Quickly four eyes turned back to an Olympic boxing match. The other two, belonging to a middle-aged woman, appeared to look at me and the back bar simultaneously.
Between rounds, the bartender took my order and set my tall blonde on the bar with a thud, took my money and slipped into the shadows. The woman spoke with a gravelly voice. “Gentleman may prefer blondes, but real men prefer brunettes.”
I looked at her, holding the gaze of her right eye a long second before giving into the impulse to look at her left eye and following its gaze to the back bar. “Don’t you get confused looking at two things at once?”
“I have broad horizons.”
I snickered, raised my bottle in toast and took a long sip. I learned that the woman’s name is Shari, that she is an alcoholic, is unemployed, her trailer was in danger of being foreclosed upon, her eldest daughter was murdered eleven years ago in Baltimore, and her husband is in prison in Kentucky all before she found out my name is Robert and I’m running for president.
She laughed, spitting out her drink. “You have as much a chance getting elected as I do getting a job modeling contact lenses.”
That Shari wasn’t sensitive about her lazy-eye made talking with her easy.
Especially, when my gaze found itself distracted – as she spoke, I found myself looking in the direction of her left eye, as if she was talking to me but watching someone else.
I bought her a drink and quickly learned she was passing through Beckley on way to Beattyville, KY to visit her husband.
“Want to share the road to Kentucky?”
“Sure,” I answered. We finished our drinks, left the bar and slipped into her Toyota Tercel. Surprisingly, she didn’t jump onto the freeway, instead she kept to back roads, making pit stops in Glen Daniel and Bob White, where I talked to a few folks at the convenience store, before stopping for the night in Madison.
In Madison, Shari introduced me to Hudson’s Bar and Grille. The local’s were receptive and I returned the favor by bringing my top game. Being Tuesday night, I bought a few votes by helping a couple new friends butcher karaoke. I am confident that no tapes exist and the threat of blackmail well mitigated.
Before Madison, I was concerned that I would not succeed in West Virginia. I pinned my attention on Beckley and allowed myself to be distracted. As things worked out, Madison turned out to be a much better campaign opportunity.
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