Virginia is for Liars

Hey everyone.  So I know we rapped in that last post, but I'd like to continue keeping it real.  As you know, Lizzie and I have been bff for nearly 30 years, but you can be best friends with someone, and still not know if s/he is a Commie.  To that end, I have developed a fool-proof Commie test.  Lizzie had woken up before me, so as I went to shower, I craftily put the TV on "Saved By the Bell," the most American of shows.  If, when I came out, she had changed the channel, I knew I'd have to turn her in.  When I emerged, Lizzie turned to me and said, "They couldn't have done a better casting this show," and I knew she was as American as Lee Greenwood and giant crosses on I-81. I can't even tell you how relieved I was.  Almost as relieved as I was when we sneaked into a Hardees to pee after driving for hours to escape the Virgina snow. 

We left Winchester around 9:30, and made our way South West through the Shenandoah valley, surrounded by the (true to their name) Blue Ridge Mountains, eventually popping off the highway when a town called Buena Vista promised a Tourist Center, which would most certainly have a bathroom we could use.  We followed the signs for miles, and when we finally, finally found the tourist center, which promised to be open 9-5, it was closed, and we had to dash back to the aforementioned Hardees to empty our bladders. WHY MUST YOU LIE SO, VIRGINIA?  At the Hardees, I had Lizzie take a picture near this "no loitering" sign with her best "I'm loitering" pose, and I laughed so hard at her efforts that I snorted, the horrid sound nearly knocking Lizzie from her post on the post. 

We eventually returned to I-81, contemplating whether the Red Carpet Inn matched the Red Roof Inn (if you know what I'm saying) and whether the fact that we were keeping pace with the Bakersville Casket double trailer held ill-omens.  We also passed THREE open weigh stations.  Seriously--in all our travels, we've never seen one open weigh station, let alone three.  Must have something to do with that full moon.

Also, we seriously passed more than 35 Cracker Barrel restaurants as we made our way to Nashville.  It was horrifying, and oddly comforting...