It was in July of 2020 that Joseph and I decided we wanted to visit all 50 states. That is why, three years later, I woke up in a tent in the mountains of West Virginia to cross state number eighteen off our list.
Our campsite had was located on a small farm. On my way to the restroom to get ready, I was greeted by a black and white cat and three bleating goats who wanted all the head scratches I was willing to offer. After getting ready and cleaning up our campsite, Joseph and I drove through a misty morning in the green mountains to Cass Scenic Railroad State Park.
I had booked us one of the longest train rides offered, which would take us to the summit of Bald Knob, the tallest mountain in Pocahontas County. We arrived early at the park, so we spent the next hour exploring the shops and snacking on homemade peanut butter and chocolate fudge. When the time for our trip finally arrived, we boarded the Shay locomotive, one of the original trains used for logging all the way back to 1901.
Trudging up the mountain to Bald Knob
I was filled with a childish glee when the trains whistle rang through the air and we began the slow chug up the mountain. Black smoke billowed into the sky above us as we sat on the wooden benches and watched the trees pass by the open air car.
I do not know why I was under the impression the train ride would be three hours, filled with gorgeous panoramic views the entire way. Mostly, it was trees, and what should have been a short afternoon became nearly five hours of sitting on uncomfortable benches as the train trudged up and down the mountain. We were rewarded at the top with a beautiful view of the Appalachian Mountains, but as we slowly made our way back down the mountain, I was beginning to think it would have been faster just to hike our way up instead.
It was supposed to be a relaxed day, but by the end of the train ride, our legs were aching from sitting all day, and neither of us were much enthused by the idea of going to our campsite. We were tired from a week of traveling and exhausted from a day that had been much less exciting than we had anticipated. With very limited wifi, we discovered we were not all that far away from where we had planned to go the following day. Ready for a little taste of adventure, we decided to move that hike to this evening and then drive home a day early, where we could enjoy the final day of our vacation in the comfort of our own house.
The final stop of our trip was Blackwater Falls State Park. As soon as we arrived, we were greeted by a black bear running across the road in front of us, and we took that as a good omen we had made the right decision.
We hurried down the slippery wooden stairs to the overlook of the falls — a gorgeous view of the amber colored water that spilled over the black rocks and pummeled into the river below. We stood in the cool spray of the water and breathed a sigh of contentment. It was a beautiful view, one I was glad we had not bypassed in our frustration with the day and sudden eagerness to return home.
We hiked a little farther to see the Balanced Rock, which was a large slate of stone balanced precariously upon a tower of boulders. Wet with sweat from the muggy, West Virginia air, we returned to our car just as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and began the drive home.
As we drove the six hours home beneath the starry night sky, I gazed out my window in awe of red, blue and gold fireworks bursting overhead. We were just a few days away from Independence Day, and it seemed the nearby towns in West Virginia had decided this was the night to celebrate. I was reminded vividly of our trip to Colorado, when we had made the decision to spend a few days extra in the state to see the 4th of July fireworks in Salida. Sitting beneath that mountain on the hood of Joseph’s car, sipping wine as we watched the cyclists cruise down the mountain and fireworks burst overhead, is one of my most treasured memories. It was the beginning of a new season in our lives, and of so many adventures ahead.
I would not normally be one to so amicably agree to return home early from a trip, much less be the one to suggest it. Normally, I want to soak up as much of our travels as possible. But in the last year, I have begun living my life differently. Instead of waiting for our adventures, I have created ones in my everyday life. I have pursued the career of my dreams, and in my free time, I do the things I enjoy. I have focused my attention on being present and noticing the little joys life brings, instead of going through the motions. I have spent more time on self-care, so I do not feel as though I am sleeping through my days because of exhaustion and burnout. In the last year, I have, for the first time in my life, dedicated myself to creating a life I love. And that is a life I do not mind returning home early for, as long as my travel buddy is by my side.
Joseph and I sitting on his car waiting for fireworks on Independence Day in Salida, CO (2020)
It’s strange to think that, three years ago, in Colorado, we were living through a global pandemic. I had lost my business. Joseph and I had just gotten engaged, and we were ready to embark on wherever that adventure would take us. Little did we know, we would be getting married within a year. That we would restart the business together, and build a team of incredible people I enjoy working with every day. That we would already have crossed eighteen states off our list, with the plan to be halfway done with our goal of visiting all fifty by the end of this year.
We did not know what the future would bring. In July of 2020, we were simply content to be sitting side by side on Joseph’s car, watching the fireworks and knowing, whatever came next, we would be doing it together.
I smiled to myself and reached for Joseph’s hand beside mine as I watched the fireworks burst overhead. Despite three years filled with adventures, not much has changed at all, and I could not be more grateful.
The one thing I told myself not to forget for our hike in Red River Gorge was bug spray. After reading the reviews online, in which everyone mentioned the malicious nature of the bugs on the trail, I knew it would be a miserable hike without it. In the morning, I filled our waters, packed myself an extra snack, and even remembered to charge my Garmin watch so I could put my phone away and only need to quickly glance at my wrist to check the time. But I forgot the bug spray.
We were only a short distance into the trail when I realized my critical error. Joseph offered for us to turn back, but we were already running a little behind schedule, and I thought, how bad could it really be?
Bad. Incredibly uncomfortable. Every step involved swatting another bug away while I felt another bite me somewhere else. We were only a mile in, and I already wanted to be finished with the hike.
Thankfully, the bugs drifted away a little as the trees became thicker. We were greeted by new creatures instead — a long, black snake; a cute turtle that remained paralyzed with fear on the trail until we were out of sight; and little snails curled up in their shells. It was not until we were quite a few miles into the hike that we reached our first overlook at one of the arches.
Me looking out at the view of Courthouse Rock from an arch at Red River Gorge
The arches were amazing. The rock formations had naturally created archways on the edges of cliffs that overlooked the valley below. We sat in the shade of the rock balanced above our heads and gazed out at the lush green valley. It would have been a gorgeous view, had we not been dripping with sweat from the muggy air and being attacked by bugs now that we were out of the trees once again.
We continued our hike, which took us all the way back down into and across the valley to climb up Courthouse Rock, another large rock formation that rose overtop the trees like a gigantic monolith. From our vantage point, we could see the arches we had hiked to before. When we finally arrived back at our car, our clothes were soaked and skin was wet with sweat. I was beginning to wonder why I had ever decided it would be a good idea to visit Kentucky in June.
Showers, unfortunately, were a luxury we could not yet have, but coffee was thankfully within the realm of possibilities. We stopped for drinks and lunch and then began the long drive back into West Virginia to go to New River Gorge.
We crossed over the bridge that overlooked the peaceful river below. This was one part of the trip I had been nervously awaiting since planning. Within the hour, we would be strapped into harnesses and walking the catwalk beneath the bridge we were currently driving across.
We had arrived earlier than expected, so we walked around the gift shop and read about the history of the park while we waited for our tour. New River is one of the earliest rivers in North America. It was named a National River in 1978, and designated as a National Park and Preserve in 2021. It is wild to me to think that even after Joseph and I began our journey of crossing off all fifty states, new National Parks have been added to the list to visit.
When the time for our tour arrived, we joined the small crowd of people to learn how to strap on our harnesses and listen to the required safety rules and regulations. Then, we piled into a bus and enjoyed a quick, minute-long ride back to the gift shop we had come from to walk to the bridge.
Gazing out at the gorge and the white water rushing below, I felt my stomach sink. Heights are not normally a fear of mine, as long as my feet feel stable on solid ground. However, as soon as I feel my feet cannot safely carry me, I can send myself into a panic as I think through all of the worst scenarios. In this moment, I had an image of me crawling my way across the catwalk, and I wondered what I had gotten myself into.
Our group followed a dirt path down to the start of the bridge. Above us, the metal rattled and shook beneath the weight of the trucks and cars zooming across. The bridge sat 876 feet above the water. Before us, a half-mile long stretch of metal — the catwalk — loomed between metal beams that held the bridge in place.
Joseph went first, and I followed close behind. At my first step on the metal, everything inside of me seemed to go quiet. The tight unease in my stomach loosened. I felt light and inexplicably safe. Standing so high, at a place not many people go, to appreciate a view so many drive past without even noticing, it felt I had been awarded an amazing gift.
The view was stunning. The blue water rushed below us and wound away in the distance through rolling hills and mountains covered with thick green trees. The evening summer sun bathed the valley in golden light. The catwalk left just enough room for our feet — at any moment, we could step our boots sideways and feel the drop in our stomachs as they hung over the edge. Anytime a smidge of fear drifted in, however, it was quickly abated by our tour guide, who kept us in stitches as we walked with stories from his many years living in West Virginia. Overall, it was one of the most beautiful views I have seen, on one of the easiest hikes I have ever done. It is well worth the experience for anyone at any age.
We finished sooner than I had hoped. Despite my unease about this part of the trip, I had wished it would not end. We drove into the nearby town to eat a quick dinner at Wood Iron Eatery, a small cafe with delicious, grilled sandwiches. Feeling satisfied, we drove into the setting sun for another night of camping.
We visited two gorges on day seven of our trip, and they were both incredibly different experiences. As I fell asleep, I found myself thinking back to our sweaty morning hike, which I had thought I would love and instead I could not wait to end, and then to our walk across the catwalk, which I had dreaded but then wished could go on forever. Both brought different levels of discomfort, but I realized I never really knew what an experience would bring, whether it frightened me or not, until I tried it for myself. You cannot know what life has to offer until you are willing to step outside of your comfort zone and truly experience it.
Sometimes, discomfort really is just uncomfortable. And sometimes, discomfort can be truly breathtaking.
