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Solitude on Two Wheels |
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by David Henderson
Other than the railroad tracks being replaced by a paved path, not much has changed here in hundreds of years.
David Henderson is a writer and baby boomer who lives in ... you guessed it ... northern Virginia. His email is david@boomercafe.com.
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Among
the passions in my life is northern Virginia in the Fall. I grew
up here, and there is nothing better to renew my soul than a long
bicycle ride through the rolling historic Virginia countryside
on a crisp cloudless autumn day. It's a historic land in the foothills
of the Blue Ridge mountains where colonial skirmishes and Civil
War battles were fought long ago. An area originally surveyed
by George Washington and revered by the likes of Thomas Jefferson
and George Mason. The founding fathers. A place where John Singleton
Mosby -- the legendary gray ghost of the Civil War -- and his
raiders invented their own form of guerilla warfare. They all
loved this place. They created towns with names like Middleburg,
The Plains, Remington, Haymarket, Leesburg and Purcellville.
Sharing
with them the passion for this land, as I peddle along, gives
perspective to today's threat of terrorism. This is America, hallowed
ground. I think about this land with pride, and it gives me goosebumps.
When the leaves turn a spectrum of warm shades of yellow, orange
and red, I am reminded there is no better place.
Today,
I ride along the old Washington and Old Dominion Roadroad trail.
It is Sunday, and I am in Nature's cathedral. The limbs of tall
trees on either side of the narrow trail rise high above me and
intertwine, as we might put our fingers together. It is as if
Nature has opened her breast to reveal the spiritual beauty of
her soul for us to witness and cherish in full color. Leaves gently
fall on the path. I am in Nature's Church, more magnificent as
any stone cathedral.
The
woods in autumn have a cool, sweet fragrance. It's a nostalgic
perfume of nature. It takes my breath away as it reminds me for
some reason of the intoxicating feeling of being with my first
love, my high school girlfriend, my best friend. I remember her
dad gaving us $20 to go horseback riding on a day like this, years
ago when we were kids in northern Virginia, and as we rode along,
she said she could feel history behind every tree. It is this
ancient perennial fragrance of the place where I grew up that
recalls the importance of people in my life who are close to me.
There is a gentle dry rustle when a breeze blows, the leaves give
up and fall to the ground.
I
ride the 11 miles between the old pre-colonial towns of Leesburg
and Purcellville, up over Clark's Gap, past Paeonian Springs and
the old train station at Hamilton Junction. The building is now
boarded-up and filled with bales of hay. You can still see some
of the original paint, federal blue. 
There
is the spicy smell of applewood being burned nearby in someone's
fireplace. The light is pastel, filtered through the fall leaves
against the blue sky. The fields of corn that line the bike path
have turned brown. Behind them more autumn color.