I took a left on red and sped my way down Delhi Road.
I was really excited. My spring break started by the Seton fountain, climbing into an MSJ van bound for D.C. The class for Honors Museums, Monuments and Meaning, a course that focuses on the intricacies, meaning and impact behind museums, monuments and memorials, was going on a trip to D.C. during spring break to visit just a few of its many museums, monuments and memorials.
Professors Buffy Barkley and Jim Bodle sat in the front of the van, with every member of the travel group being infinitely grateful for Bodle’s driving. Members of the class, named left to right in the accompanying image, are: me, Alyssa Meyer, Sady Hirt, Bree Cornelius, Dylan Searcy, and Sophie Hirt.
The van was filled with enthusiasm and a lot of back and forth as we made the trek across state lines. Stops along the way to D.C. included a random truck stop near the Salt River in Ohio, the Flight 93 Memorial in Pennsylvania, which carried in parts a very still feeling despite windy weather, and a Sheetz in Maryland. Between all of our talking about the memorial, our excitement to go into a real Sheetz, and the energy that carried the van one mile farther with every single photographed mountain in Pennsylvania, every single word of “Country Roads” sung in West Virginia, and every off-hand joke cracked by Barkley or Bodle, the eight-hour drive felt like an eight-hour party.
Then we got to D.C. To summarize the experience I had with my peers and professors in a brief article is a tall task, but in a word, it was unforgettable.
First off, indulging in the city and its culture was a great experience that I will never forget. Seeing the Washington Monument, the capitol building and the White House in-person was surreal. Visiting the museums in D.C. was an incredibly important experience; I learned so much from the National Museum of African American History and Culture, I didn’t even get to see most of the National Museum of the American Indian because there was just so much to see and read on the top floor alone that I stayed there during our full stop at the museum, and I could have seriously spent a full day in the massive National Art Gallery. I was particularly interested in the medieval and renaissance art from Europe in the museum, and because of that I now have 12 images of paintings of the Virgin Mary on my phone.
Secondly, the group of people I was with made this trip. Everyone was equally nerdy about seeing and learning history in the nation’s capital, everyone wanted to get plenty of pictures, and we all seemed to contribute something important to the entire trip. We collectively learned so much, created so many inside jokes and memories, and overall toured the city almost as a family. We established a routine of getting up early to eat at a small, family-owned breakfast place called Bread Furst every morning before we left for the day. Eating there with my peers at the start of each day was one of my favorite moments of the trip—just a little, consistent thing; a part of the day where we got to eat and joke and talk about how excited we are for the day ahead. Small things like that are things I’ll always remember from the D.C. trip.
There was additionally an element of this trip that only I will remember, which makes it special. As a distance runner, I really wanted to go on some long runs during this trip, and I did! One morning I started at 6:40 and ran through this crazy nature area called Rock Creek Park in the middle of the city near where we were staying, and ran just over 10 miles. Fun fact, Dylan and I would proceed to go out and “explore” later that same day after the group had gotten back to the hotel for the night—we ended up walking six- to seven miles, all the way to the White House, then Ubering back to the hotel…
Another morning, I got up extra early, took the subway to Union Central, got there around 6:40 (what a coincidence), and ran again. This time I ran a half marathon, got to run through the city of Arlington, and found a crazy bike path that looped back to our hotel. I got back just in time to grab a quick breakfast with the group at Bread Furst.
I feel like running lets you get to know a place more intimately and personally, and that rule applies to D.C. By the end of the trip, I felt like I knew how to move across a good chunk of D.C. and even Arlington without needing any sort of guidance. Starting a run in the morning before the sun has even woken up, blasting Flying Whales by Gojira in my earbuds while I dash through the city streets, added so much to my travel experience.
After parting from D.C., feeling a sort of home sickness for a home I had only discovered four days prior, I immediately went to my friend Quentin’s apartment to leave for the Southern Appalachians in Tennessee and North Carolina.
We left for a very different sort of trip. Quentin and I were going backpacking along a 20-mile portion of the Appalachian Trail over a four-day period, and it ended up being brutal to say the least. We had actually planned on 66 miles initially, but after talking to two hitchhikers from Wisconsin we had picked up, Jack and Forester, we quickly found out that’s not realistic for us and settled on a 20-mile route.
So we backpacked along the Pigeon River, right on the border between Tennessee and North Carolina. The nights were cold and uncomfortable, yet I felt a strange fulfillment as we hiked and awe at the fact that I was seriously backpacking through the mountains. While backpacking along the Pigeon River on a Friday, taking turns swapping my 20-pound bag with Quentin’s 50 -pound bag, I thought about how I was in Cincinnati exactly one week prior. In one week, I had stayed in or crossed through Ohio, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Maryland, D.C., Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, and North Carolina. It felt like a dream, which is definitely not how the nights up in the mountains by the Pigeon River felt.
Because of exhaustion, cold weather, sore backs and empty stomachs, Quentin and I mutually agreed to nope out of the mountains early and drove back to Cincinnati one day early, having backpacked a total of 14-16 miles instead of 20. But even with the rough time and our home sickness, there was plenty of fun distinct from D.C. to be had.
My favorite memory from the trip is swimming in the freezing cold mountain water of the Pigeon River—my legs and feet were completely red by the time I came out of the water. We also encountered great generosity throughout the trip: Jack and Forester helped point us to the new 20-mile trail we decided to tackle in place of the 66 mile trail we had imagined hiking, the owner of a local cafe called The Beantrees Cafe drove to her home just to grab us snack bars because she heard we were backpacking in the area, and an Appalachian Trail through-hiker gave me his emergency blanket because I was ill-prepared for the cold conditions at Cosby Knob Shelter. We were welcomed as guests by locals and fellow travelers alike.
Travel is a left turn. You have absolutely no idea what to expect, but what you are given is always unforgettable. I was given friends, culture and hospitality; it could be found in the city and in the countryside.
I hope to keep twisting and turning my way through life, to keep running down the foggiest streets I can find, and to know stories in the unknown.
Turning left on red was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.