The Governor's Palace was home to Patrick Henry and Thomas Jefferson, but not at the same
Waking from my mystical teepee tour somewhere deep within Frederickburg, Virginia, it was time to forge on and continue the southern journey through Virginia. There's an old saying that goes, "Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it." Take Cops for instance. No matter how many times it's on the tube, people still seem to get busted without wearing a shirt. Come on, people, if you're going to break the law, put on some clothes. Taking off your shirt is a dead giveaway for possession of weed, DUI or just simply driving a white van erratically. But this isn't a story about shirts; it's a story about coats-the Redcoats, or rather the colonists and the allies who overthrew them in the name of liberty. Yes, this is a story about liberty-about exploring the very foundation of our country in the very places it was founded-or something like that-on a Victory Vision, of course.
It seems our country is in an awful mess right now, and in order to prevent folks from making the same mistakes that have gotten us to where we are, I felt it was my duty to travel back in time to the 18th century and teach our forefathers the ways that would teach the fifthfathers the ways, etc. That and commit myself to the first ever American loony bin, Eastern State Hospital, which is in Williamsburg, Virginia.
On a motorcycle and bearing tons of gas and deodorant from the future, I imagined myself as the magic man with the iron horse and fresh smelling armpits. No colonial wench would be able refuse me, and all men would respect me. In these modern times, where everyone wields a crackberry instead of a cool musket, I am fairly stupid. But going back in time, now that will make me a genius. Sure, it's not like I could invent cornflakes earlier or anything, but I would teach women that they need to trim up certain things and men to wear clothes that don't make them look gay. And come on, 18th century dudes, wigs? No wonder no one can pay a mortgage. Besides, you'd never be able to see the open road with all that powder. It's a good thing our sixthfathers cleaned up their act before bikers were invented.
To put my plan into action, I mounted my time machine, the aforementioned Victory Vision, and traveled via the rustic looking, yet smooth earth-toned roads of the Colonial Parkway in the Colonial National Historical Park (nps.gov/colo) through Yorktown and up to Colonial Williamsburg. The 23-mile scenic roadway connects Jamestown, Williamsburg and Yorktown, and for its throw-back to the Colonial era it is often referred to as "Virginia's Historic Triangle." Unlike the Bermuda Triangle, it is actually a place that you want to be lost.
Colonial Williamsburg is frozen in carbonite before transport to Jabba the Hut.
The parkway with its lack of modern roadside debris, like strip malls, traffic signs, or concrete graffiti (yellow and white painted lines) really had me feeling like I was on a horse galloping through the 18th century, minus the silk breeches, leggings, frilly shirt, and cravat, of course. I let my steed buck and enjoyed the fall colors whizzing by knowing the extra tourists visiting Jamestown, Colonial Williamsburg and Yorktown, had already headed back home.
Meant to be an interpretation of a Colonial American city, Colonial Williamsburg is, the country's largest living museum and an epic roadside attraction with restored Colonial-era buildings. The effect goes beyond the architecture, as interpreters dress the part-in those damn wigs-but luckily everyone smelled nice...except for me after an encounter with a band of hippies and traveling by bike for several days. The interpreters perform speeches in the town square, and dudes like Thomas Jefferson mill about doing the nation's business and yapping about independence and such. I wanted to tell him about my stash of fireworks, and how this one time...but he was too busy signing some important document about life, liberty and the pursuit of something.
Visitors have a carriage-eye view of Colonial Williamsburg's Historic Area.
Basket weavers walking home from the market.