As I mentioned before, it’s been really difficult to get out there and get some sign pictures. Vacations always allow me some roaming time, but this year, with our schedule being crazy and Hurricane Matthew and the election and the sun was in my eyes and my dog ate it, well, almost zero planning time went in to this year’s trip. Which meant my annual research into signs we might see did not happen.
We booked it on down to Daytona, and the plan was to book it on back. We got up at 4am, so by the time it was light enough for a breakfast place to be open, we were already in South Carolina. I got off in Walterboro to get gas, and what did I see next door? The ever-present fireworks stand. Only this one was equipped with neon.
I should say, this side was equipped with neon. The other side, the side where the sun was shining, was not. The neon side, however, faces the highway, which makes the most sense.
Still, good fortune. It had been so long since I had grabbed a shot of a halfway-decent sign. It got my blood going.
We passed into North Carolina, then into Virginia. Since we left earlier than most years, the trip through the Shenandoah Valley was in total daylight. Normally, we’d lose the sun before Staunton (as it did when we made our crazy ride to Wright’s Dairy-Rite), but this time we got to see a lot more.
And something passed through my mind from research past…wasn’t there a drive-in theater around here?
I had seen it from the road a few times. It was on Route 11, parallel to I-81, on a flat stretch. On the way down, since it was daylight, we could see it, but only after the exit. Normally on the way back, it was too late to take a picture. But now…
I knew what it looked like. I knew what the terrain looked like. I just didn’t know the exact location. And then, the road started to even out a bit, the landscape began to flatten out, and US 11 was visible to the west. We watched and waited, and then, there it was. I got off the highway. Stephens City, VA.
The Family Drive-In, much to my surprise, was still in operation. Not only that, but they were showing movies that night, and people were filing in. I would have loved to have stayed for the Monster-Rama, but unfortunately time and Cat waited for no man.
But as long as we were on US 11…
I decided to stay on the old highway to see what I could see. After all, some of the best signs are found on the US roads, so I figured my chances were pretty good to stumble upon something. We rolled through Stephens City, and on the edge of town, our stumbling paid off.
The motel itself was closed. I pulled the car over and got out. A man was walking along the road. He looked at me with my camera and he asked, “Are you an engineer?”
I smiled. “Photographer.”
He motioned his head at the sign. “Can you make that thing look any better?”
I said I would do my best.
Soon we were in West Virginia and sun went down. It was a good day, one that I didn’t expect. And it never would have happened if we had left at the same old time and did the same old thing.
The sun was at our backs, slowly disappearing behind the comfort of Virginia hilltops. We hadn’t said anything to each other in about a half hour. Somehow to talk would slow us down. Laura driving, me in the passenger’s side, messing with my camera gear. We had twenty-five miles to go, and the darkness was already creeping in. I had given up and had my hopes raised three or four times in the past ten minutes. Nagging doubt. I was going to miss out once again.
A week earlier: the opposite direction, another time of day. Morning, 7am. I’m driving, clutching the steering wheel. The sun was reluctant to remove itself from the same Virginia hills. It had been raining since we had left in a crazy fit of vacation-fueled excitement at two in the morning. But now, for the moment, the rain had subsided and there was a chance. Clouds had swallowed the light of the sun and the skies were still practically dark as night.
Three miles from Staunton, Virginia. My goal was Wright’s Dairy-Rite and the Stonewall Jackson Hotel, two terrific landmarks in the same basic neighborhood. Three years before, when my sister-in-law got married and they were to drive down this same highway to get to their eventual home in Texas, I suggested Wright’s as a possible stopping place. Car-hop service. Drive-In. Grand old sign. How road food used to be. I had never been there, but they stopped and enjoyed. Next year, on our way to Florida, I hoped to stop, but time and circumstance had kept me away. Ditto the following year.
I got off I-81 at US 250, despite the darkness. After all, how many times had the darkness been an illusion, and once I had reached my goal, the clouds had parted and the sun was shining bright? This is an act of faith.
By the time I had gotten to the end of the off-ramp, my hopes were already scuttled against the rocks. Rain. Not just rain. A curtain, a wall of rain. Impenetrable. No chance for a good shot. I made it to the next stoplight before I admitted the futility. Wright’s would have to wait another year.
Back to a week later: going through South Carolina, plans to stop at Bar-B-Q King in Charlotte. Laura driving. She asks me if I’m thinking about Staunton, could we actually get Staunton this time? I shake my head. I was trying not to think about it. I’ve missed out too many times to think about it. But the math works out in my head: Staunton by 5:30. Neon magic hour. Perfection, better than it would have been at 7am. I try not to think about it.
Serving You for Ears
Bar-B-Q King. I saw a bit on them on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives and knew we’d be hitting Charlotte about lunchtime, so this was ideal. I’m driving and we find it pretty easily. I pull in and everything seems familiar, and I think: my aunt used to live in Charlotte, over 30 years ago, had she taken me here? The place is awfully familiar, too familiar. I figure I’ll ask her later. In the meantime, I’ll have some great old Carolina Barbecue and take a picture or 46 of the sign.
We drive on. The taste is still in my mouth. That will have to be a regular stop, I say, and Laura agrees. The gradual climb into Virginia begins. I’m thinking about Staunton again and I don’t want to. We made good time in Charlotte and my original estimate of 5:30 has been pushed up to 5. Maybe too early. It’s going to happen, I think. Clear skies all the way.
The turn off of I-77 to I-81 and Laura’s driving again. I’m distracted from Staunton, thinking we may get there too early. I’m thinking of something else: the previous year I had spotted an abandoned motel nestled off the side of 81. Then it was too late in the day to do it justice, and it came upon us so quickly there was no way to get off the exit in time, but I had bookmarked it in my mind. And just as I think of it, I see it up ahead. It’s early enough that the sun is on it. Laura asks me if I want to go for it and by now I’ve already grabbed my camera from the back seat. “Yesss,” I say, and she pulls off.
To get in position for a shot of this is easier said than done. Although it looked like it was going to be right by the side of the road, we had to go down a hill to get to the entrance and climb back up. The sign was located at the end of a steep, steep road. Laura was nervous. The area looks untouched for a number of years. We make the climb and see that the Motel had an old restaurant attached to it, and that it has a sign, too. I sneak a shot or two before moving on.
And then, our hearts stop.Far in the distance, to the side of the abandoned lot and across from the Motel’s sign, is a pick-up truck. Flanked by another vehicle. A couple of guys milling about suspiciously. Out in the middle of Nowhere, Virginia. Could be innocent but it doesn’t look it. And I’m sitting in a parked car wielding a camera. Laura’s sense of panic hits considerably before mine. But she’s right. I don’t know what was going on but I didn’t think it was a bright idea to find out what it was. We head back down the hill.
Laura’s emotions are churning. She thinks I’m mad at her because we miss out on the Motel sign, but I’m not. I’m still thinking about Staunton but I don’t say anything. I assure her that our safety is more important. I remind her of the end of L.A. Confidential, and although Dudley Smith had it coming I wasn’t about to end up like him. She’s calmed down somewhat. But just below the surface we’re thinking the same thing: that stop may have cost us Staunton. Again.
We carry on in silence. Enter Salem. Leave Salem. Past Roanoke, which hangs us up a little bit but not near as bad as it has in the past. The sun diminishes. Two lanes through this section of I-81 and we’re riding in the fast lane. Laura breaks the silence with many words of scorn directed at the driver of whichever car or truck that gets in front of us. By now I’ve given into my thoughts and I’m looking over my shoulder, watching the sun, and Laura senses it. Still a long way, and I say what I’m thinking: “Not a chance.”
Laura has none of that. She chokes the life out of the wheel and pushes all would-be-obstacle drivers back into the slow lane with the power of her thoughts and her speech. Twenty miles away, ten. The last vestiges of daylight still hanging on. The quest is still alive and I don’t know how, but I believe it can still happen. She asks me what she needs to do and I give her the directions. We’re on route 11 in a moment and the traffic is thick. The stoplights seem to take forever and Laura is still talking ill of the local drivers.
And then we turn the corner, and a flash of neon hits my eye. We’ve done it. A scrap of light still left in the sky. Laura pulls over and I literally bolt out of the car before the power of the sun completely dies.
Nothing worth doing is easy. And now that I have this shot, it serves as a reminder of what hard work and perseverance means. To anyone else this would mean nothing and perhaps rightfully so, but we know, our eyes are open, and all we have to do is think about a chilly night in Virginia to think of what can be accomplished.
And a bonus: we were just going to head out of town, but I spotted the Stonewall Jackson Hotel in my rear view and I had to turn the car around. It was perhaps too late, and I had to crank the ISO on the K-5 to get the shot I wanted, but when in Staunton, and while the neon is glowing, I figured why not?
I should say, this side was equipped with neon. The other side, the side where the sun was shining, was not. The neon side, however, faces the highway, which makes the most sense.
The motel itself was closed. I pulled the car over and got out. A man was walking along the road. He looked at me with my camera and he asked, “Are you an engineer?”
Nothing worth doing is easy. And now that I have this shot, it serves as a reminder of what hard work and perseverance means. To anyone else this would mean nothing and perhaps rightfully so, but we know, our eyes are open, and all we have to do is think about a chilly night in Virginia to think of what can be accomplished.
