Today is my birthday, and I called all the shots. I said "Take 81!" and that's where we went. I said "Pull into Shenandoah National Park!" and it happened. I said to the Waffle House waitress "Bring me hash browns and keep 'em coming!" and she brought me an order. It's a good life, this birthday life.
We really couldn't explore all 75 overlooks on the Skyline Drive, but we overlooked the heck out of several of them. Our daylight was running out, so we took 211 out of the park and down the mountain into Sperryville. That's where we started falling in love with rural Virginia. Oh, we knew it couldn't last. It's the guy you met at open mic that first warm Saturday night in April. You didn't even give him your real email address. He was wearing yellow Crocs with tube socks, he chewed too loudly, and didn't even know the food-miles on his out-of-season California strawberries. Still, there was something about him, and you were charmed for an evening.
That's 522 out of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It didn't last the night, and we didn't exchange names. It was understood that we would never meet each other's friends. But, for an hour, I was enthralled.