Abngdon, VA photoset @ flickr

Last year during the unexpected Washington, D.C trip, I was pulled over by a Virginia State Trooper for exceeding the posted speed limit by 10-15 mph. Fortunately, that was as far over the limit I was going as I had slowed down just before that due to traffic. I got the ticket in the mail after I returned, put the ticket in a stack of other things, and promptly forgot all about it. I realized what had happened later, after I received a letter from the Virginia DMV informing me that my driving privileges in the state of Virginia had been suspended. I was unconcerned about this, thinking that since I rarely drive up that way I had no need to concern myself. Later, though, I began to consider whether this was the right course of action. And since I had some vacation time to burn before the end of the year, I decided to go up to Virginia and take care of the matter. I told my boss the days I wanted off and called the number on the ticket to find out the whats and wheres. It turned out that instead of going all the way to Richmond or Roanoke deep inside the state -- increasing the amount of space I had to travel through the state with a suspended license -- I had to go to Abingdon, VA [official site], county seat of Washington County where I had received the ticket and only nineteen miles over the state line from Tennessee. I printed out maps and checked on hotel rooms.

In spite of the relatively short drive (7 hrs according to Google Maps, 5 - 5 1/2 hrs is a little more realistic even if you go the speed limit) I decided to leave early from work on Wednesday and get a head start on the driving. This was part of my vacation after all and I had four days to get up there and back, so I would go at a leisurely pace. If I left work at 5 or so, I could make it well past Chattanooga by 8:30 or so without even having to hurry.

I did not leave work at 5. Most of the work I had to do came in late, and when I finally left at 6 I did so with a guilty conscience, knowing I had left more work for my coworkers to take care of that I had originally intended. I filled my gas tank up on my way to the interstate and began the first leg of my journey up I-59. I made it to a little town north of Chattanooga by 9:30, checked in to a hotel and did the same ritual dance that countless travelers have no doubt done before me after being on the road: toss bags on the bed or chair, adjust air conditioner setting from "Arctic Circle" down to "New York Winter", empty pockets and take off shoes, go into bathroom and christen toilet.

There must be something wrong with me, because I kinda like staying in hotel rooms. In the detective and pulp novels that I love, hotel rooms are always portrayed as heartless and sterile places. They are used as a kind of cheap and easy symbolism for the anti-hero's disdain for modern urban life, a version of the most private and intimate place in a person's home rendered in polyester and pressboard and trial sized toiletries. Of course, those guys are also always coming back to their rooms to find gorgeous dames in slinky dresses ("When she finally spoke her voice was as smoky as a pool hall at closing time") sitting and waiting for them, an event which has never happened to me or anyone I know. So, perhaps their feelings about hotel rooms are also uncommon. At any rate, I guess I associate hotel rooms with vacations and the like, so I enjoy the times I get to stay in them.

I ate at Cracker Barrel the next morning for breakfast and got back on the road by 11, heading for Abingdon. Once again, the same as last year, I was stymied in Knoxville by traffic and construction, putting me behind. But since I had plenty of time it did not piss me off as much as it did last year. I made it into Abingdon and checked in to the local Holiday Inn Express, doing the same ritual dance upon entering this one. Since I made it into town too late to take care of my business that day, I drove around for a little while. Abingdon is a small quiet town birthed apparently around the time of the Revolutionary War. The main street area is a lovely mix of old Colonial style buildings and houses, pushed right up to the sidewalk, along with old churches, Civil war era buildings and more recent construction I think, I don't know enough about architecture to tell exactly what the differing styles were. After b.s.'ing around for a while I finally went back to my room to try to pass the time.

One of the problems with Holiday Inn Express's is that they are inconsistent in regards to their entertainment packages. You will either find an entire selection of channels with no PPV or movie channels, or you will find a smorgasbord of PPV channels with movies still in theaters, music channels and even video games you can play with your remote, but only a limited selection of channels. This hotel fell into the latter category. I could pay anywhere from $13.00 to $20.00 to watch anything from Howard Stern's new uncensored InDemand channel to Superman Returns to episodes of Friends to some good old fashioned hard core porn. On regular side of the TV channels, I had four ESPN's, five news networks, TBS, TNT, and the local stations. No Comedy Central, TLC, Discovery or any thing of that nature. So, passing the time was difficult.

After getting ready the next morning, I steeled myself, said a tiny prayer of horrified anticipation for my tummy, and walked over to the Huddle House to eat breakfast. After that, I went back to my room and, blessedly absent any unpleasantness from my diner breakfast, got ready to go back into town to take care of my ticket. I parked about a mile from the courthouse and walked. The day was clear and mild, and I had brought my camera to take some snaps while I walked.

There was a shop on Main Street called Abingdon Celtic Cottage. I went in not knowing what to expect. Thick wool sweaters and bright silk shawls hung all along and all the way up the walls of the tiny cottage. A display case contained necklaces and earrings featuring Celtic crosses and those three leafed Celtic symbols called Triquetras that the church has laid claim to as a symbol of the Holy Trinity, though they are older than the church's presence in that land. The thick smell of soaps hung in the air and a c.d. played fiddles and hand drums in the background, making me want to break out some Riverdance moves. A shelving unit held canned goods, tea and candy from across the pond. I would have taken pictures of the interior, but the shop was tiny and I was not the only customer, so I would have felt odd just whipping out my camera and snapping away. It's at times like that I really wish the was some sort of blogger ID card, like a press card, that I could wear around my neck. "It's okay ma'am. I'm just taking some photos. I'm a blogger, you see. Later I will put these pics up at flickr and then blog about this." I bought two "Ireland" stickers for my sister's boyfriend and then went on my way. I wish I could have returned and bought one of those lovely sweaters. Perhaps next time.

I paid the ticket, drove to the local DMV office, paid the reinstatement fee, and returned to my car happy in the knowledge that I was no longer breaking the law by doing so. The whole process was much quicker than I thought it would have been, so I was left with another afternoon to burn. The idea of another afternoon flipping through twenty or so channels during daytime television did not appeal to me, so I took a drive out to a local winery and vineyard that I had seen advertised on the same exit as my hotel.

The Abingdon Winery and Vineyard lay amongst steep hills, thick groves of trees and the South Holston River. I entered through the front door into a room that looked the Great Room of a ski lodge. A kindly man who looked to be in his fifties stood behind a long bar and asked me if I wanted to try some wines today. I said I most definitely would. He asked what I wanted to try, and I told him that my knowledge of wine began and ended with reading the book and watching the movie "Sideways". He smiled in a way that suggested I was far from the first person to have said that, and started me off with some dry white wines. He worked me from dry to sweet, from white to red. There was a small bowl of oyster crackers and those along with the wine made me feel like I was taking communion. After the tasting part, I bought a bottle of Riesling for my sister and a bottle of Pinot Noir/Zinfandel and a bottle of Red Hawk, a semi-dry red wine, for myself. I asked about the sign that said "Tours" and he told me where the vineyard was located and told me I could drive up there if I wanted to. I drove up to the deserted vineyard, and took some more pictures.

I went and got supper and took it back to my hotel room. My original plan had been to go back down to Main Street and eat supper at a place called the Starving Artist Cafe, a quaint little joint that looked like it might have been plucked from a small college town. But, the walk around Abingdon and the trip to vineyard had taxed me more than I thought they would (some of this is due to the cold/flu I have been fighting for the past week), and so I went back to room to eat and veg on the bed.

I drove back to Chattanooga on Saturday and spent the night there. I watched Wilco on Austin City Limits and then went to a large mall area to hang out for the evening, convinced I guess that the American Eagle, Hollister, Gap, Banana Republic and Old Navy in Chattanooga would have different things than they had here. I left after wandering for a bit, and since by now the idea of another fast food burger caused my stomach to turn, I grabbed a turkey sandwich from Jason's Deli.

I drove the final 2 1/2 hours back to Birmingham on Sunday, relishing the feeling of pulling into my driveway and dumping my stuff onto my own bed. I gave the presents to my sister and her boyfriend and they played the guessing game I had come up with about where I had gone. I had told no one where I was going or why I was going out of town, a little pleasurable mystery making. Lori guessed New Orleans, Philadelphia or Destin, Florida. Chad guessed Colonial Williamsburg, Atlanta, and New York. Since Colonial Williamsburg is in Virginia, Chad won by geographical proximity.

Anyway, it's good to be back home and about to jump into my own bed. It's good to know I won't be arrested for driving in Virginia. But, mostly, it's just good to be back in my chair in front of my computer. It's the simple things, you see.