* * Riding an old road

Reality is harsh. I might as well admit it. I’m not very athletic and I never have been. Whenever I’ve competed, I’m usually the last rider up a hill, the last hiker over the mountain, and the slowest in the footrace. At my age this won’t be improving.

This thought, along with many others, flooded my brain as I departed the Dedmon Center and cycled up Tyler Avenue yesterday morning in Radford to begin several hours of riding on the Wilderness Road Bicycle Ride.

Perhaps fortuitously, I had no company on this ride. Jim, who I ride with often, had a touch of a cold and was saving his energy for the next day’s brutal Mountains of Misery Ride. Roger was at the start, but we decided our goals for the day were different. So I was on my own.

No worries about getting lost. Not only was I intimately familiar with the area, I was in fact the founding director of the ride. Now in its 21^st year, the Wilderness Road Ride was something I envisioned way back in 1992. With the help of several people (including Heidi Bernard, Christina (Baum) McIntyre, Dow Scott, Dave Jenkins, Lance Matheson, and several others I apologize for forgetting) we formulated the event as a way for local riders to bond together in camaraderie and exercise. I’ve done the ride every few years since giving up the helm, interested in it still for the same camaraderie and exercise.

While nothing like the insane strenuousness of the Mountains of Misery ride, the Wilderness Road ride is still challenging, as are almost all rides in this mountainous part of the country. On yesterday’s ride, the heat was sure to be a factor as well, as I’ve always hated riding on hot days.

The main route follows Lovely Mount Road to the intersection of Tyler near I-81. This route is a throw-back to when Tyler itself was a two-lane, shoulder-less affair, thus deemed too dangerous for a group ride. But Lovely Mount is anything but for cyclists, as it is steep and hilly. So I’ve learned to bypass it, which also saves two miles.

I proceeded east towards Christiansburg on the Mud Pike, passing the home of my first high school girlfriend and into town a block from the house where I grew up and my parents still live.

My mind rocketed back 21 years to the first event, when we organizers prayed that things would go well and riders would actually participate. The pre-ride packet pick-up was held at a hotel in Blacksburg, but an hour before, a massive storm swept through, strewing debris over most roads and toppling a tree beside our driveway that necessitated a detour through the front lawn to extricate our car so we could go staff it. Christina was training to participate in the Race Across America, so she volunteered to do the last-minute route marking, riding her bicycle through the night to spray-paint directional indicators on the road.

In Christiansburg, my knowledge and experience steered me wrong, as I took a shortcut right around the new location of the first rest area. So I kept going.

I rode down the wonderful descent of Pilot Road to Rogers, and then re-ascended up Nolley Road and Union Valley Road to Riner, to the second rest stop, at about 18 miles. The Ride has several distance options. I was still undecided between the 38 and 58 mile options, knowing the 78 mile option was beyond my ability. At this stop, I realized how hot it had become, but decided I’d shoot for the 58 miler anyway.

Departing, I spoke with two women from Lebanon and Abingdon (Virginia) who had come to the Ride several years. I also talked with a young man from Charlotte. After all these years, the Ride was still bringing bicyclists to our scenic area.

By the time I reached the third rest stop at the Snowville School, I was officially painfully hot. But the worst hills were yet to come on the stretch of Lead Mine Road leading to the Lowmans Ferry Bridge. The bridge itself is scenic and exciting, but the bright rays of the sun shimmering off the water made it seem even hotter. I took an unscheduled stop in the shade on the climb of Lowmans Ferry Road, assessing my condition. My feet were sore, my thighs were sore, my shoulders ached, and my head was dizzy. I knew if I could do the next climb into Newburn, I’d survive the day. I took my longest break there.

The home stretch into Radford, mostly on Hazel Hollow Road, is generally downhill and normally fast, but my legs were spent and my right thigh was beginning to cramp. So I eased across Memorial Bridge and descended to the riverside bike path below. I limped back to the Dedmon Center parking lot, hot and exhausted.

Still sore as I write the next day, I wonder what kind of athlete could do 104 miles and 10,000 feet of climbing, glad I wasn’t suffering through that ride myself.

* * Motorcyclist Doug Thompson cheats death

Motorcyclists face many hazards. Perhaps the most feared of all is the sight of a large, oncoming vehicle in his or her traffic lane. That’s exactly the sight faced by Floyd rider Doug Thompson on a recent afternoon on a rural road in south Montgomery County.

 Thompson was riding his Harley around a sweeping left-hand curve when a Chevy Silverado appeared in his path. As he described what happened when we met a few days later at a Christiansburg coffee shop, Thompson slid up the sleeve of his t-short to show me a massive bruise the color of raspberry/orange sherbet on his left shoulder.

By mere centimeters, he avoided a frontal collision which surely would have killed him. Instead, his shoulder smacked the rear-view mirror and his clutch lever scoured a long crease in the side of the pickup. Miraculously, Thompson never went down.

“I think there are several reasons I’m still around. The only part of the bike that hit the truck was the clutch lever. It gave way and mashed into my finger. My shoulder was the real impact area.

“I was following proper riding procedure. I was riding on the outside of the turn. When I first saw the truck, it was already over the (center-)line. It kept coming further into my lane. My gaze focused on where I was going. I was going 45-50 mph and he was going even faster. It would have been a 100-plus mile per hour collision.

“The Harley was staggered by the impact. It wobbled towards the edge of the turn but I managed to avoid going off the road and brought the bike back under control. I stopped to see if I still had an arm. My helmet slid alongside the car, which ripped the intercom transmitter right off it.

“The driver, to his credit, stopped immediately. He called the police, apologized to me, and claimed full responsibility.”

Thompson wouldn’t claim superior riding skill for his survival, but I think he was selling himself short. He rides 30,000 to 40,000 miles every year and has been riding off-and-on since he was 15. “I consider a 300 mile day a good day.”

Lots of friends who heard his story admonished him for being on his motorcycle. He said, “If I’d been driving my Wrangler, I’d surely have been unable to avoid a full, head-on collision and I’d be dead. People don’t stop driving their car the day after they have a near-tragic accident.

“I always wear body armor. I know that seems anti-Harley (as Harley riders are notoriously style- rather than safety-conscious). And I had a full-face helmet on. Without it, the impact would have taken off much of the side of my face. If I hadn’t had the padded jacket on, the mirror would have taken my shoulder off, or at least broken it in several places.

“The driver’s insurance company is cooperating with me. I think they’re happy they’re not getting a wrongful death lawsuit from my wife. He was definitely speeding. He may have been on the cell phone, but he didn’t admit it. At least he stopped and turned around. I’m sure many other drivers would have kept going.”

Thompson described a rambunctious childhood that he continues to live. He joined the Navy and served in Vietnam. When he finished his tour of duty, he got a job in the newspaper industry and went back again as a photographer and writer. He had since then been imbedded as a journalist in several other war zones. His parents had been motorcycle riders before he was born. His father returned from World War II and met his mother and got her interested. The first big spike of interest in motorcycles was in the late 1940s when the soldiers and airmen returned home and looked for some type of adrenalin rush like they found in the War.

“The main message is that on a motorcycle, you can never relax, even on a road you ride every day. This is my third collision in three years. One was a deer, one was a bear, and this time was a pickup truck. Not too long ago, I rode up to a turkey vulture that was munching on a decaying skunk in the road. When he saw me, he went aloft, trying to carry the skunk. He let go of it and it splattered against my jacket. Boy did I stink when I got home!”

“I’m not riding with you,” I laughed.

“I’m enough of a religious man to believe that when it’s my time, it’s my time. Last Wednesday wasn’t my time. But I got enough of a message of what it might be like. It is only by blind luck that there wasn’t an obituary the next day stating that a 64-year-old Floyd man died in a motorcycle crash. Apparently, it wasn’t my time yet to die.”

* * SPECIAL EDITION: Answering questions about *Providence, VA*

A conversation with author Michael Abraham

About Providence, VA

Questions provided by Shea LeMone of Ferrum, Virginia.

Storyline:

Sammy Reisinger is a 17-year old violin prodigy from a wealthy New Jersey family. She has inherited a priceless Cremonese violin from her grandfather and is schooled in the classics. Becoming enamored with traditional Appalachian music, she decides to visit the venerable Old Fiddlers Convention in Southwest Virginia. While there performing, tragedy strikes, leaving her seemingly trapped and orphaned. Providence, VA is the story of how she and her tiny host community deal with an epic disaster.

Q. What was your initial inspiration for the novel Providence, VA?

A. During the course of writing my first book, The Spine of the Virginias, I interviewed a woman from an urban area in North Carolina who lived in a remote community along the border of Virginia and West Virginia. She made the comment about the people who now surrounded her, “If the world ever goes to hell in a handbasket – and many people think it just might – these are people you want to know. They are survivors.” When I pressed her further, she said they were still skilled in traditional arts of gardening, animal husbandry, home and barn building, and generally providing for each other.

I have a tendency to be a bit of a catastrophist, so I began to think about how the world – or at least our part of it – might go to hell in a handbasket. I decided the collapse of the power grid would do a pretty good job! I quickly decided the tale would best be told from the eyes of someone first, from someplace culturally different and distant, and second, young and impressionable. So my heroine, Sammy, is from New Jersey, a young adult from a wealthy family.

Q. You impart so much technical knowledge in the book on a variety of subjects, economics, science, midwifery, herbal cures, local history, classical and blue grass music, and so much more. How did you manage to gather all of that information?

A. I am inspired to write to educate way more than to entertain. I’m enthusiastic about what I learn and my highest goal as a writer is in sharing that knowledge with my readers.

I’d love to tell you I spent hours in libraries, but it’s not true! Most of my information comes from people who I consider to be experts. There are three dozen people in my acknowledgements. They are herbalists, preachers, engineers, musicians, midwives, economists, survivalists, preachers, psychologists, religious scholars, Karate experts, and more. I find people around here to be extraordinarily generous with information and advice, eager to share their knowledge with me. Secondarily, as a native of the area, I have always kept my eyes open to the history and culture, as do many Southwest Virginians.

Q. How long did it take you to write the book and how many transformations and epiphanies did you experience during the course of writing it?

A. I’m asked this question more often than any other. The book took about 14 months to conceptualize but only 2-1/2 months to write! I don’t feel that I’m a natural story-teller, so I wracked my brain for many months trying to decide the main plot and sub-plots, the main characters and the sub-characters, and the sources of conflict beyond the essential conflict of the breakdown of the grid. Once I knew the basic plot and characters, I developed a timeline on a spreadsheet. I placed all the “compulsory” events, such as holidays and jam session days, and then filled in the other actions. Once I began to write, I proceeded with a frenzied urgency, cranking out 5000-6000 words per day on good days. For me, the conceptualization is the hard part.

Q. What do you hope readers will take away from this book?

A. I’m interested in cultural anthropology. The question I always ask myself when I read about ancient peoples is, Were they happy? I’ve come to conclude that beyond the fulfillment of the lower rungs of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs where food, shelter, sleep, safety, and health are provided, there is no correlation between wealth and happiness. What makes people happy are love, belonging, self-esteem, security, and giving. I hope readers will realize that the trappings of our society upon which we so heavily depend are a relatively new thing and they could vanish in a moment. If they do, life will go on, and we will continue to seek happiness and fulfillment.

Q. The physical beauty of Southwest Virginia is such a vivid part of your storytelling. Is there more on that subject you’d like to add here?

A. Many Southwest Virginians have a deep, abiding, and visceral attraction to this area. Making a living here has always been difficult, but few people want to leave and most that have left want to come back. All my writing has an element of the bond between people and this landscape. I think we’re a prouder people because of that bond. We have a difficult time understanding people who live in featureless landscapes to which they have no bond.

I’ve heard it said that once you’ve been to Southwest Virginia, everywhere else just looks like Oklahoma.

Q. I see your central character, 17-year-old Samantha Reisinger, as becoming a major figure in modern literature. How did you create her and in how many ways did she grow to become fully formed?

A. You’re very kind to say so! Sammy is an amalgamation of several young women I know, but she emanated from the soul of my only child, Whitney, who is now 21. Whitney has been my greatest gift. Whenever I was puzzled by a conflict Sammy faced, I’d ask myself what Whitney would do. Whitney is a great singer but she doesn’t play an instrument like Sammy. But Whitney is an avid horsewoman, as is Sammy. Sammy’s instantaneous bond (There’s that word again!) with the horse, Jackson, was very reminiscent of Whitney’s bond with her horses. I was determined to endow Jackson with an almost human-like sentience and a supernatural quality of affection for and protectiveness towards Sammy.

I think the characters around Sammy realized her potential for inner strength, healing and caring long before she did. Jamaal clearly sees these things in her and I wanted to play heavily on their co-dependency. He helps her realize that as awful as their situation is, they must make the best of it. She’s smart enough and resilient enough to embrace that reality.

Parenthetically, I love Sammy with the greatest affection anyone can have, of a parent towards a child. I feel it is a special privilege as a novelist to be able to bring her character to life.

Q. You have one of your characters explain the differences between Judaism and Christianity. Where do you stand on spirituality?

A. I grew up in a Jewish family, but today I am a devoted atheist. That said, I’ve lived in Southwest Virginia for most of my life and I knew religion would play a huge role in the decisions and actions of my characters. It was important to me to discuss in detail how these two religions differed and how those differences might drive each character.

Q. One of your characters, a snobbish man from New Jersey, makes a remark about the small town mentality of the people who befriended Samantha. What would you say to anyone harboring similar notions about Appalachian folks?

A. Ah, yes, the Appalachian stereotype still lives! Every stereotype surely has some basis in reality. But ascribing characteristics to any individual because of where he or she lives is unfair and ultimately fruitless. I interviewed Rita Forester in my third book, Harmonic Highways. Rita is the granddaughter of A.P. and Sara Carter of the Carter family singers. She told me about her area, “People can interpret this anyway they want but the fact remains that thousands of people from all over the world make long treks every year to (our area) to celebrate the culture that surrounds us every waking hour.” I couldn’t say this better myself.

Q. Do you have any clue what your next book will be about?

A. Of my four books, two are non-fiction and two are fiction. My non-fiction books are about the people, culture, and landscape of particular regions. For me, fiction is significantly more difficult than non-fiction. I’m not a gifted story-teller. If I’m honest, I’ll admit that for me, the story is secondary to the message. I start with the message, asking myself as you’ve asked me, what I want my readers to take away. Then I try to envision appealing, believable characters and an enticing story to convey the message for me.

I have an idea for another novel. My two novels are both named for the small communities where they are set, and both names have a dictionary name beyond the place name (e.g. “union” and “providence”). I may set my next novel in War, WV, and try to play on that name. But I don’t have a message yet, and there is no motivation for me to write until I do.

Now then, I have a question for you. As the story ended, did you see Sammy getting back on the bus?

* * Proud to be a Hokie

It goes without saying that April 16, 2007 was the worst day in the lives of most everybody around here. Nobody was untouched by the tragedy that unfolded that day on the campus of Virginia Tech. I don’t suppose many of us will ever be fully healed. But I think the commencement speeches of Senator Mark Warner and First Lady Michelle Obama last week has really helped.

Work commitments prevented my attendance in Lane Stadium on that picture-perfect day. But I was able to watch and listen on a live stream on the Internet. Their words struck me profoundly and emotionally.

I am a 1976 graduate of Virginia Tech; it was the only school to which I applied. My dad graduated there and mom graduated from Radford College when it was a division of Tech (or VPI in those days). My wife earned a doctorate at Tech and my daughter goes there now. For most of my life, if I got cut, I bled maroon. My ties are deep.

When an insanely brutal murderer took all those Hokie lives five years ago, it struck deeply into our cultural roots here in Southwest Virginia. I think most of us see ourselves as gentle, accepting people. Mass murder was an affront to our sensibilities, and outrage has matched horror in our collective psyches.

My understanding was that Senator Warner was invited to speak, but Mrs. Obama asked university officials if she could speak as well. There’s no doubt in my mind that she chose Virginia Tech as one of three places to speak because of what happened five years ago. She wanted to be here because she understood what we’d been through, how we wrapped our arms around one another and moved forward as a community.

Warner spoke first. I have had the honor and pleasure of meeting him on several occasions and in my estimation he has grown as a speaker and motivator. He’s also gotten funnier! (“My advice to you,” he said, “Call your mother!”) But a serious note got my attention. He said, “In the awful moments after the April 16, 2007, shootings, many asked ‘Who will go to Virginia Tech now?’ You raised your hand, and said, ‘I will.’”

He’s right: many graduates and residents in Blacksburg were asking that. We were worried. But our worries proved to be unfounded. I learned from a friend in the admissions office that applications had actually gone up substantially in the following year. The news media placed our Hokie Nation under their piercing glare, trying desperately to show the world that we were vitriolic, bitter, and spiteful, but instead we were calm, respectful, and deeply, deeply sad. I’m certain that thousands of kids saw that and said to themselves, “There is a real community in the Hokie Nation, and I want to be part of that.”

Warner stressed the power of failure as a learning experience, something that struck a chord in me. He failed miserably in his first business ventures. My career path has been crooked and filled with potholes, but I’ve found reasonable success (although nowhere near Warner’s!) by staying positive and taking risks. Kids coming out of Tech today face an uncertain economy and a rapidly changing marketplace. We haven’t made it easy for them. Looking back, I remember virtually nothing I learned in my Mechanical Engineering curriculum other than not to be intimidated by problems, but to address them with logic, purpose, and dedication to task.

Regardless of what anyone thinks of Mrs. Obama’s husband, she’s difficult not to admire and adore. She exudes grace and sincerity. She graduated with honors from two of the nation’s best universities, Princeton and Harvard. Later, she traded a comfortable job in private law for one in public service. Her signature issues have been support for military families, encouraging national service, and fostering better childhood health. In spite of her vast wisdom and experience, she said she came to Blacksburg to learn from us! She said, “Like so many people across this country and around the world, I have been following the journey of this school. I have witnessed the strength and spirit of the Hokie Nation. And I think that you all already learned plenty of lessons here at Virginia Tech.”

Warner had already said much the same thing, “The nation has watched you, and we have been impressed.”

Seeing the First Lady walk onto the field at Lane Stadium, slapping the Hokie Stone above the entrance where the words, “For those who have passed, for those to come, reach for excellence,” appear, and then address the Hokie Nation wearing a black gown trimmed in Chicago maroon and burnt orange, was pretty gosh-darned special.

* * Making happy music

Today's entry is about two friends, both musicians. One is a violinist named Adam DeGraf and the other is a vocalist, a baritone named Tadd Sipes. I’ll tell you their stories in a moment. 

The history of music is as distant, vast, and varied as human life itself. From the time humans evolved into the species we are today, music has always been a part of life. With the rich musical traditions of Southwest Virginia, it is difficult for many of us to envision a world without it. Music holds the power of emotion over us. Music touches our hearts and soothes our soul. For those of us unable to produce it, musicians possess a special gift.

Sadly, many musicians, especially those who work professionally, are as often cursed as well as blessed. This notion was conveyed first to me by Adam, who lives in Lewisburg, West Virginia. When I interviewed him for my first book, The Spine of the Virginias, he told me of his surprising journey. He was a Jewish kid from Chicago, who at a young age was recognized for his extraordinary talent. As with many prodigies, he was soon ushered to one of the finest music conservatories in the nation. Before graduating with his master’s degree, he was second principal violinist at the Richmond Symphony. After several years, however, he became disenchanted, finding a lack of connection between the musicians and the artists.

Adam was interviewed by a psychologist who was studying job satisfaction in professional symphony musicians. After hearing of Adam’s ennui, he asked Adam what he expected for the rest of his career. Adam’s goal was better orchestras and bigger cities. The psychologist told him job satisfaction dropped as orchestras became bigger and better. So Adam quit the symphony and did the Green Acres thing, buying a piece of land in rural Monroe County, West Virginia, and a tractor. “We just knew it was the right move for us. We did the move totally on faith.”

Adam joined with a ragtime pianist in a duet called Pianafiddle and did some solo concerts, and in doing so revitalized his zest for music. He found a connection with his audiences that had always been missing. “I will tell you something and I believe this with all my heart. The proof is in the applause. Applause is an amazing thing. In our first concert with Pianafiddle, our audiences were screaming, hooting and hollering. I was ecstatic!”

Which brings me to Tadd.

I have been in Tadd’s presence exactly once and have never heard him sing. I met his wife, Erica, a few weeks ago and we’ve formed a friendship. She’s a musician herself, an accomplished pianist and cellist from San Francisco with bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York. She told me Tadd was an assistant professor of music at Virginia Tech but had just been denied tenure. In the academic world, that’s the kiss of death; essentially he’d been fired. She loves Blacksburg and the nurturing musical world it has provided her, but this loss to their family was, at least on the surface, devastating.

My career is as twisted as the road up Mountain Lake, with triumphs and failures too many to count. But I’ve always landed on my feet and I’ve learned what Adam learned: your heart will take you on the road to life’s successes. I offered to speak with Tadd.

So he and I got together, chatting around their dining room table. He called his situation a “de-frocking.” He said Tech had offered him another year on the faculty, essentially as a lame-duck instructor. Taking it was tempting for the obvious reasons: another year of financial security and the all-too-important health insurance. Most friends suggested he accept, but I was the contrarian. I argued, “It will be a toxic environment and you’ll be miserable. You’ll be working with faculty members who know you’ve been jettisoned. You’ll be unable to form relationships with your students. You’ll need the poise of an angel to do a good job, and doing a less than good job is poison for the soul.”

Was his firing justified? I don’t know. Is he a good teacher? Don’t know that, either. I do know this, as it comes through quickly and forcefully: he’s a talented, intelligent, intense, hard-working man.

I learned two days later from his Facebook page that he’d turned down Tech’s offer. He wrote, “(I am) happy to be given an opportunity for course correction. I have officially decided not to teach at Virginia Tech next year, but instead (with my family) decided to become real Blacksburg townies and find a way to stay in the place we love with the people we have grown to love and do the things we love."

Wow.

Our community is a better place because Erica and Tadd Sipes are here, bringing their personal grace and the joy and emotion of music. Now the rest of us need to step up to the plate, to offer the help, encouragement, and support that will let them find a way to make it work.