Trippin’ With a Friend
Recently, my wife and I needed to make a trip to a small town about four hours away. A childhood friend, Reese, with whom I had stayed in contact for many years, passed away unexpectedly, and I wanted to attend his funeral service. He was the oldest of four siblings; two had passed away, and his only surviving sibling (Brenda) was traveling in from California with her daughter, to attend too.
At dinner one night in our campus dining room, I mentioned our plans to our friend, Jane, and, as it turns out, she was born and raised in the small town of Bedford, Virginia. She has a younger sister who lives there and would like to ride with us to visit her.
So, we planned to go up there on a Friday, drop her off at her sister’s home (Susan), attend the funeral on Saturday, and then come home on Sunday. This also allowed Jane to see firsthand how well our full self-driving Tesla (Sally) drives on a trip. I believe there was some apprehension on her part, but being the brave woman she is, she sat in the back seat and cheerfully engaged us in meaningful conversations all the way to our destination.
But I suspect that from her perch in the seat behind my wife, she carefully watched as “Sally” navigated her way to Susan’s, because during the four-hour drive, there were many twists and turns to be made. Fortunately, Sally did it safely as we chatted on and on.
We dropped her at her sister’s, checked into the motel for a brief rest, then picked them up and went to Bedford Station for dinner. It is an old train station building that has been converted into a restaurant, and it serves delicious food. We later learned that a train comes through Bedford about three times every night, blowing its whistle to wake everyone up. Probably, the locals just roll over in their beds and ignore the darn thing, but each time it came roaring by, it woke me up.
My friend’s funeral on Saturday (10/11/25) was a touching event. His two children, with tears in their eyes, shared heartfelt memories of their dad, and his son-in-law (Rob) gave a moving talk about his relationship with Reese. After the service, we were invited to lunch at a local eatery (MJ’s) and enjoyed food and conversation with their family. His sister (Brenda) and I had a good visit and promised to stay in touch.
After leaving MJ’s, we decided to visit the “Peaks of Otter” on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Reese often spoke of being able to see them from his front porch, so we wanted to drive up there and visit the lodge and take in the view. Naturally, I pushed the button on the steering wheel and asked Sally to “Go to the Peaks of Otter Lodge,” and off we went.
Shortly after leaving MJ’s, Sally turned onto “Jopling Road” to prepare for climbing the mountain to the parkway. To our surprise, the road turned to dirt, and dust and gravel flew everywhere. I became concerned but figured we would soon hit pavement again — that was a bad assumption! My mother used to tell my brother and me that the “Path to Hell was paved with good intentions.” I now know what that path looks like; only its name is “Jopling Road”, and it is not paved.
A road sign says that the Blue Ridge Parkway is 6 miles away. Halfway there, we met a pickup truck pulling a trailer filled with equipment. He had to back up to find a place wide enough for me to pass — another warning for me to turn around that I ignored. Then, with two miles left to get to the top of the mountain, a roadside sign proudly proclaims, “State Maintenance Ends Here.”
Looking back, I think this is where my brain took a nap, and the last message it sent me was, “Keep going, you can make it!” Sally is a sports sedan and is about 12” off the ground. The 40° incline became a cobblestone road filled with hundreds of rocks the size of a football, embedded in the ground, with no place to turn around. “Sally” had stopped driving, told me to take over; she wanted no part of this silliness.
We had no choice but to keep going, since there was nowhere to turn around. Fortunately, Sally is a four-wheel-drive car and could have easily climbed that road, except for all those darn rocks. Fear covered Jerilyn’s face like a Halloween mask, with danger lurking with any silly decision I made in trying to avoid the rocks in our path. Finally, we reached the main road, and relief invaded our bodies like a warm bath in October. Within a few minutes, we were at the Peakes of Otter Lodge, sitting at a lake, with two wedding parties taking place. After spending some time there, I approached the desk clerk and asked her how I could get back to the town of Bedford without using “Jopling Road.” The smile on her face told me she knew what we had endured.
With her instructions in my short-term memory, we got back into the car, and I instructed Sally to take us back to the motel in Bedford. As we approached Jopling, Sally turned on the signal light to make that turn, and I at once turned it off, forcing her to continue on our current path. It took us a lot longer to get back, but rest assured, Sally will never be on Jopling Road in Bedford again. Looking back, I briefly considered putting that experience in the “Adventure” category, but I’ve concluded that horror stories have their own category and cannot be an adventure. On Sunday morning (10/12), we drove to Susan’s home, picked up Jane, and after saying fond farewells, instructed “Sally” to take us “Home.” The ride home was uneventful, with a light, steady rain. Jane was a wonderful companion during our trip, and I think I’m gonna encourage her to start her own business and name it “Rent a Rider.” She just made the miles slip quietly behind us, dissolving into the air like morning mist in sunlight. We have a trip to New York planned soon and are considering asking her how much she would charge. Sometimes, you simply need someone kind to sit with you while you travel. Jane’s that type of person.
