seems to me the closer i get to my birthplace, the better stuff gets for me. after a 70 mile hilly day yesterday, Nick and i settled down in Catawba Valley, VA. crashed down, faded, achille'd down, i should say, ahem. so we sprawled in the lawn of Catawba Valley Baptist Church and rocking through the walls we know it's youth Worship team practice so we wait for a break in the wailing and i step in the door "excuse me, we're bikers, can we camp out on this here lawn" beautiful vista on one side of the valley. Jeff, so it says on his shirt, says "well, ahem, let me call the pastor". i think Jeff's the leader...so no pastor but minivans roll up and calls are made and Alan Lee down the street says we can camp in his yard tonight and come on down to shower and everything.
So down we go. he's got this like cattle grate in his driveway that we tiptoe our bikes over and we plopemdown and in the house to shower. then, over left over s we (mashed potatoes, mmmsweet potatoes, green beans, stuffing, semi-sweet tea) end up shooting the breeze for over an hour with the Lee family. they are great. we now have these friends in the Catawba Valley. So i call my mom from the tent in Alan's yard and she's telling my dad "They're camping in Catawba Valley" where i used to dine as a two-year-old with my family.
So of course, now i'm in my birth-town of Blacksburg and i'm automated like a robot like moving the right ways and mouth drops out my jaw mechanical to say things to people and make friends and i don't think about any of it just let my home sweet home self do the talking and lordy it's fine.