Country roads lead to holiday mood, great scenery and some culinary surprises

We've just returned from a marvellous two-week holiday in the mid-Atlantic states of America, prompted by two reasons to celebrate:  the wedding of our friends Mike and Crystal, and the conclusion of my chemotherapy.  We balanced some laid back R&R time with aggressive sightseeing and, as ever, foodie delights.  There are at least eight fresh blog entries ahead.  And though I'm writing after our return, the post dates will reflect the time we were actually travelling.
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Here's a very important discovery about Google maps:  they calculate the most direct route between points A & B, not the fastest or most logical.  With roaming charges being prohibitive once we left the UK, I'd downloaded all the maps we'd need onto my iPad.  I thought this was pretty clever until we discovered that the route between Raleigh/Durham airport and McGaheysville, Virginia, that looked straight, quick and easy was actually a series of small country roads, frequently interrupted by stoplights in tiny towns and confused by the American habit of giving one road multiple numerical designations.  It was not the ideal drive after a 7-hour trans-Atlantic (especially when one of us had never driven in the US before), but we made it, and found ourselves happily collapsing into bed at the Massanutten Resort 23 hours after leaving home.

A good night's sleep and a bit of sunshine showed off a view worth travelling for.   The Shenandoah Valley is spectacular, in a placid, gentle sort of way.  A broad, long, softly undulating valley of rich green fields, fed by a broad, lazy river, ringed by tree-covered mountains so ancient they've been worn down to really big hills.  The trees here are a particularly verdant shade of blue green, made deeper and more mysterious in the morning mist; easy to see how early settlers came up with the Blue Ridge for a name.  Small towns with a high percentage of antique shops and barbecue joints dot the landscape and country music dominates the airwaves.  Our resort's briefing even warned against feeding the bears.  America's east coast might be dotted with metropolises but clearly, it's possible to get into deep country quickly.


At just 90 minutes from Washington D.C., this is a retreat much loved by capital residents ... including our marrying friends.  They wed in an outdoor ceremony in front of an arbor that framed that luscious countryside, the bride wearing cowboy boots with her dress, the reception in a renovated (and very comfortable) barn and the feast featuring barbecue, beer and cupcakes.   With a scene this laid back and relaxed, we left the hustle and bustle of real life behind us.

We stayed at the Massanutten Resort.  Winding up the side of a mountain and covering many square miles, it's primarily time share condos with four hotel buildings in the centre.  Originally a ski resort  (it seems one of every four Virginians we spoke to learned to ski there), they've branched heavily into summer activities, golf and a cruise-ship style calendar of constant events to make it a resort for four seasons.  Judging from the crowd at check-in Friday night, and the people we saw taking sales tours of the place, they're doing well.   It's not a luxury destination ... the hotel rooms are on the basic side (think La Quinta with better views), the changing rooms at the leisure complex have concrete floors and the main restaurant combined cheerful service, with heaps of tasteless but cheap food high in saturated fats and carbs ... but at $90 a night it was convenient and comfortable.  

There's not a great deal of sightseeing in the immediate area; the place is more about the great outdoors.  We did wander to the nearest proper town, Harrisonburg, featuring a classic 19th century courthouse square, a farmers'  market and some gracious houses. Here was our first exposure to the wide porches and tall columns that define Southern residential aspiration. At the farmers market, we encountered a folk band jamming in the car park and Mennonite women (this religious community was amongst the early settlers) selling home made bread and freshly picked strawberries.  We could see why our friends like the area. 

The local food is as "down home" as the rest of the scene.  After our initial experience within the resort, we had better luck down the mountain at the Thunderbird Cafe in McGaheysville.  This was still high fat, high carbs and big portions, but the food tasted good.  So good, in fact, we ended up eating here three times in three days.  The classic American cafe menu of pancakes, omelettes, burgers, etc. expanded to include southern classics.  Country fried steak. Grits. Biscuits and sausage gravy.  (Piers' first biscuit triggered a debate that ran the whole vacation.  His argument:  Biscuits are just scones by a different name.  Mine:  They are a distinct form of bread with a different taste and texture.  We haven't resolved that one, though all locals, of course, agreed with me. )

Slightly less successful dining, though with an equally local flavour, was up the road at Log Cabin BBQ.  If we needed any more proof we were in a foreign land, we got it when we asked for a beer and the cheery waitress told us "we don't serve alcohol because this is a family restaurant."  Hmmm.  Still reeling from that shock, we were introduced to deep fried pickles.  Surprisingly tasty.  Piers' next new experience was hush puppies.  Sadly, the best part of his meal, as his North Carolina style pulled pork was drenched in so much vinegar as to be almost inedible, and the cheery waitress didn't discover his ribs were marinated in tomato until after she brought them to the table.  If the pie that ended our meal was home made ... as it really should be whenever you're eating in a log cabin ... I'd be surprised.  I wished for another of Crystal's wedding cupcakes instead.  Deeply average pie, and a decidedly unAmerican sized piece.  (So small, it was positively French.)  Their one triumph, surprisingly, was my St. Louis style ribs.  Which I'd never considered with hush puppies and fried pickles before, but this may be a Southern adaptation worth trying.

After three nights of country delights and country cooking, it was time to move on.  Let the sightseeing begin.