Living in Washington, DC, is not like living in Beijing, China. There are a million differences (and a few similarities to be covered another time, not least the traffic). Perhaps the most telling for me is the difference in hiking.
I loved, and lived for, Beijing’s wild mountains and the Great Wall. Nothing compares to that. Nothing can. Near DC, it’s rural, rather than wild; it’s hills, rather than mountains. But it’s well-suited to hiking with a kid. And it’s pretty enough to make it a welcome break from the city.
(All these trips were done in 2019)
As we observe the stay-at-home order from the DC government, it seems much longer than a year since we did most of these late-winter and spring trips around the city. By this point in 2020, I’d planned all kinds of awesome camping trips and day hikes. Not to be.
But when things open again, Washington DC will still be wrapped up by two states – Virginia (VA) and Maryland (MD). Each of these has slivers of nature set aside in State Parks or reserves. In the map below you can see some of them. I discovered them mainly by looking on Google Maps for “green bits” then building my research around the names that popped up. The further west and northwest you go, the more there is (including West Virginia, WV). But within two hours of driving the choices are little bit limited.
It was still winter when we first arrived in DC. After 13 years in Beijing, we’d got into the habit of getting out of the city every weekend. Even before we realised we’d barely explored DC, we were doing the same: hitting the road with a boot (I mean, trunk) full of hiking gear and heading for the hills. After a while we cottoned on to the fact that DC wasn’t the polluted megapolis Beijing was, and we slowed down a bit. But as a result of that ingrained, almost genetically hard-wired “get me outta here” approach, we saw quite a bit last spring. In retrospect, given we’re doing literally nothing this spring, that’s a good thing.
The drill was always the same. Thursday night I’d plan on google maps; Friday night or Saturday morning very early I’d take the yellow line out to Reagan airport and pick up a car. We’d hit the road, have a great day – usually with Thai in Front Royal or Chinese in Rockville on the way back – then I’d dump the family at home, drop the car off about 10:30pm and catch the subway home. Sometimes there’d be a cold beer in the fridge for me; usually the girls were sound asleep.
Maryland
Maryland trips came first – our very first excursion was to South Mountain State Park northwest of the city. The Appalachian Trail, one of America’s premier long-distance hiking trails, runs through there on its 3,500 km long, winding journey from Maine in the far northeast of the US to Georgia, the last state before Florida. That trail is legendary, so I wanted to check it out.
That part of the trail, on that day, was a little disappointing. It was pretty, for sure, but the “moderate” difficulty rating was a major overstatement. The kid was only just four, and she walked it easily. There were a lot of hikers there, and the trail was wide and well-prepared – great for the casual hiker but not what we had grown to love, bushbashing our way around the hills behind Beijing. That said, the dried up forest, the carpet of dead leaves, and even the rocky outcrops really reminded me of the terrain around our old farmhouse in Hebei Province.
Catoctin Mountain Park was similar, but less crowded. It’s quite close to South Mountain State Park and we went there twice, doing two different loops. The terrain is similar, as are the paths, but we were getting into the groove of easy, gentle walking. Treating it as a day in the hills and letting the kid roam in the forest gave it a meaningful purpose that didn’t leave our hikers’ instincts too disappointed. Besides, there was the Taipei Cafe in Rockville on the way home.
 Great Basin NP |
 Lunar Crater |
 Wheeler Peak |
Virginia and West Virginia
The rest of our excursions were in Virginia or West Virginia. We dropped in at the Skyline Drive in the famous Shenandoah National Park, buying an annual pass to US National Parks only to leave it in the rental car! Better hiking was found nearby – a favourite spot was Signal Knob, near the little town of Front Royal. Signal Knob was more remote, and we barely saw any other hikers. The place was teeming with ticks, as we were now well into Spring, and the kid had one on her head when we got home. Another crawled out of my gear and I felt it climbing on my arm in bed the next morning – disgusting, and a valuable lesson learned. We didn’t actually make it up to Signal Knob itself, and I’d planned to return this spring to do it. Oh well.
In May last year I had the kid to myself when Yon went away for a conference. I’ve always found the best way for both kid and me to cope with that is to get away too. The first day, though not technically hiking, was kind of cool – we saw a flying display at the airbase at Andrews, near DC. The kid was intrigued because I’d built up the Blue Angels and Thunderbirds display teams for her, based on my enjoyment of airshows as a kid (and adult). But standing on the tarmac waiting for ages for anything to happen, as this airshow sadly made us do, was trying for my patience, let alone for hers. The jets did their thing, and we left on the shuttle bus back to some sports stadium where our car was waiting.
A huge downpour hit just as we stepped off the bus, so I picked her up like a rugby ball and we sprinted the half kilometer to the car. We still faced a nearly three hour drive to Strasburg VA (not to be confused with Strasburg PA). Thank heaven she fell asleep. We arrived at the Hotel Strasburg at about 8:45pm, starving and exhausted.
The bar was still open. I popped my head in to say “please don’t close we need food”, then we quickly changed in our room. I ordered two burgers and a big salad, and, as a special treat for kiddo, a fruit juice. I got two big beers. Hey, I deserved it after all that driving (not to mention the idiocy that took place at the car rental that morning). We talked about the jets, and watched sports on the TV. What a day. I ate both the burgers, and I toyed with the idea of a third beer but by then I could barely keep my eyes open.
The Hotel Strasburg is reportedly haunted. It’s certainly old and creepy. Later the next day, the kid told me a little story. “Dad”, she said, “I heard something funny last night and I woke up”. We’d slept in the same bed, and I had no memory of her waking, not least because after that long day, I was deader than any ghost haunting this building. “When I looked up, I saw a dark shadow”.
Blood runs cold.
I looked at her. She didn’t seem at all concerned. “It was really big and …” (here it comes!) …”it looked like a giant carrot”.
Ah. Blood warms up.
“I realized it was just the curtain so I went back to sleep, that’s funny isn’t it?”. Hilarious, kiddo.
I’d picked this place so we could visit Seneca Rocks, another hour or so from Strasburg, across the state line in West Virginia. It was still foggy, but not raining. We had a fantastic Dad-Daughter hike up to the rocks, pretty easy even for her. The fog parted briefly so we could at least see the tiny village down below, and we wisely chose not to proceed up the last narrow rocky ridge in the wet conditions. The kid’s gutsy but we both recognise her limits (the sign saying “do not proceed past this point – people have died” helped too, although it’s the kind of sign I have a habit of ignoring).
After the climb, we needed lunch. There were a couple of pretty dismal general stores where I couldn’t find anything I was willing to put in my own mouth, much less feed my child. We had a good lunch upstairs in a weird but friendly little restaurant, and then it was time to head home. As I was packing the kid and our stuff in the car, I noticed two young dudes in a crappy old Fiat. They had been watching me as they appeared to drink a beer, engine idling. One of them called out to me in a classic American movie stoner voice:
“Dude, I like your Pumas!”
Thanks, I said.
“You’re welcome!”
Summer arrived and it was time for camping. Our good friend from California joined us and we camped at a place called Fridley Gap, near Harrisonburg, VA. Up the end of a short dirt road, there was a path that led to a nice little camping space big enough for a few tents. We were the only people there, despite it being a weekend, and we built a nice bonfire in the provided fire pit. Our friend had brought the “fixings” for “s’mores” – something we’d heard of but never eaten. Well, now we have. And damnit if I didn’t just get addicted. These things are the worst for you – a gooshy fire-roasted sugary marshmallow mooshed between melted chocolate and two sugary biscuits. So good, so bad. I had about four before I felt like puking; the kid wisely restrained herself with one.
In the early morning, a huge thunderstorm rolled through the valley. Though this place is not the Catskills, scene of the classic Rip van Winkle, I definitely pictured strange folk playing ninepins up in them thar hills. Each thunderclap rolled down the mountain slowly, echoing off the valley walls. Somehow the kid slept right through it. I lay wide awake, in wonder, not in fear.
For Yon’s birthday, I’d organised a day-long foraging and wild food course from a local expert. We drove up to Sky Meadow State Park and left her there to discover the difference between edible berries and poison ivy. It was hot, and the kid was not in the mood for hiking, especially at lunch time. So we hit the road down to the nearest settlement and sat up at the bar for some classics – a burger for me, a little chilli bowl for her, and fries to share. She loved sitting at the bar, which may or may not have been a breach of some regulation, because every time we’ve tried it since – in DC, in Nevada, in Arizona – we’ve been told we can’t. And every time that’s happened, she’s been disgusted at the unfair, unjust, probably un-Constitutional discrimination against children who just want to eat lunch with the grown-ups. I mean, I could bring a rifle into some of those establishments but a kid can’t sit on a stool in case she looks at an alcoholic drink.
Perhaps we will make it out that way again in 2020. Who can tell? For now, I’m glad we saw so much last spring and summer. I can certainly drive from my place via the gas station back to Reagan Airport on a Sunday night, pretty much with my eyes closed. Wonder if I’ll ever do it again.
