2/30 – Belfast Virginia: 29/30 July 2024

After another quiet night in the woods, Terry was up with the birds and we were quickly on our way. We followed the Blue Ridge Parkway, which was a much nicer road than Skyline Drive – if you ever have to make a choice, go for BRP – being smoother, with a higher speed limit (45 mph) and frankly better views.

We followed it down to Roanoke, where I was going to try to find a bike shop to tighten the steering head bearings. This proved harder that expected as bike shops here, generally, are closed on Mondays. We retired to a café for breakfast and while eating I was fortunate to find a shop that was open and made an appointment to go there in an hour.

Eric at Roanoke Cycle Sports couldn’t have been more helpful. He is clearly a vintage motorcycle enthusiast, and his shop holds an eclectic collection of old bikes: Triumphs, BMWs, BSAs, Hondas, Jawas (yes Jawas!) Royal Enfields, and even a Harley. In no time, and once again at no cost, we were on our way towards Lebanon, our stop for the night.

Our journey was uneventful apart from an altercation with a most unpleasant manager of a service station shop. When I complained that the ham and cheese panini I had just bought was not, in fact panini, but a soggy toasted sandwich, he became quite aggressive. He informed me that his was how panini were made throughout the world, and when I asked had he ever been outside Virginia, he threatened to physically remove me from the shop. Never one to back down, I replied that I would like to see that, before making my exit with my soggy sandwich. Two minutes later he came onto the forecourt and told me to leave. When I refused to do so before finishing said soggy sandwich, he actually called the police. When we left about 10-15 minutes later, no sirens were audible.

Route markings in the US are weird! One route suddenly sprouts another number, so for a while you are on two roads at the same time. Then one branches off to become a third and the first continues as the second, before becoming the first again. Somewhere down the line the third reappears only to finally become the second. Confused? Well, this explains why we ended up taking a detour of more than a few miles on our way towards Lebanon.

The result was that we ended up getting caught in a downpour and took shelter in a disused gas station. Here I booked our room for the night and lost my bank card, which I discovered when in the motel. Notwithstanding, we dined well on frozen lasagne reheated in the microwave before retiring with a plan to retrace our steps in the morning to look for my card.

Tuesday 30 July didn’t so much dawn as crawl out of the darkness, and then only partially. The clouds were ominous when we first ventured out and by the time we were ready to move, were blacker than the ace of spades. We prophylactically donned wet gear, just in time for the heavens to empty, so we returned to the hotel lobby to wait it out.

We shouldn’t have bothered as we had not gone far when the rain started again and continued fro the next two hours as we tried to find that disused gas station. The aforementioned route numbering only compounded the poor visibility. In any case, we eventually found it he station, but not my bank card.

Since we were already soaked, we decided to head straight to Belfast rather than back to the hotel to dry off. Fortunately, the weather improved, and we had a very pleasant ride along Route 80, which we later learned is nick-named The Back of the Dragon. Route 80 is about 20 miles of narrow, twisty, country road with numerous hairpins. The Americans are keen on giving notable roads a name, and this one takes its name from a more infamous road, the Tail of the Dragon, which has 318 curves over 11 miles and is reputed to be “America’s No 1 motorcycle and sports car road”; there is also, apparently a “Claw of the Dragon”. I have been asked repeatedly if I planned to ride this Tail, and always answered in the negative, as I have ridden many roads with many hairpins before; now I can say, “No, I’ve ridden its back 😊already!”  

Belfast, Russell County, Virginia (Tue 30)

We arrived in Belfast by riding down Belfast Mills Road, Arriving at a t-junction, there wasn’t much to see. A chat with a man who had been sitting on his porch directed us to another house, where we met up with Ben Bundy.

At first he seemed a little reticent, grumpy even, but when I explained my purpose, he became quite animated and was happy to share stories he had heard growing up in the very house he now lived in.

One anecdote he shared concerned the arrival of his ancestors in the area. Three brothers White came to the area with some wagons, pulled by mules and laden with alcohol. These they traded for land from the Horton family, who owned it by virtue of a grant from the English king, Great Grandma White married a Buddy, who was Ben’s great Grandpa.

Another tells that the Hortons were all doctors and during an infamous family feud between the Hatfields and McCoys, one of them rode in a raid and captured a McCoy daughter. He allegedly “besmirched” her and then returned her to her father. Taking his leave, Hatfield stopped to drink at a nearby river, and was shot dead by Daddy McCoy from his porch.

Ben Bundy could have talked to us all day. His love of and attachment to the land was evident; he said he was never more than 3-4 days away before he wanted to return, and when his parents wanted to give up working the land he was only too happy to move back to the house and carry on farming. Now though, I think he is ready to pass on the baton; “I have some work to do with the cattle,” he said, “I’ll do that this afternoon, or maybe I’ll leave it till tomorrow.”

As far as the name is concerned, the area was named Belfast by one Sammy Duff, from Belfast, Northern Ireland. Duff bought land from one of the earliest settlers, Daniel Smith and when a name was sought for the newly established Post Office, Duff named it Belfast Mills, and the surrounding area subsequently became known as Belfast. Coincidentally, the mill was designed and its construction supervised by another Belfast man, Ed O’Connor.