130: WE WALKED WITH WYTHE IN WILLIAMSBURG

When my companions awoke on Friday July 17, 2020, it was one of those rare days where Tom didn’t have much on our agenda. I knew that my photographer had planned on arriving at our rented beach house in Avon, North Carolina by the early afternoon on Sunday, which gave us over two full days to make the 275-mile trip. I also heard my rotund camera guy mention to his wife that he wanted to spend Friday night near Williamsburg and then hit the historic city on Saturday morning before we headed towards the Outer Banks.

After we visited a couple of antique shops that were located near our Fredericksburg, Virginia hotel, we stopped at a Presidential site that I had visited in 2019 – George Washington’s boyhood home called Ferry Farm. Last year, my photographer paid the entrance fee and took me inside the reconstructed home where our first President grew up. While we didn’t need to go back to the farmhouse, Tom wanted me to pose near the fields where Washington worked and played for most of his childhood.

We arrived at Washington’s Ferry Farm at roughly 10:00am and the morning temperature was already in the low 90s. Vicki stayed in the Edge while Tom carried me to a small handful of spots along a fence that had been constructed near one of the fields. During the entire fifteen minutes that we walked along the property line, it was as though I could see young George Washington riding his horse in the field before me. In the distance, I could see the re-constructed house that had been built on the footprint of the original Washington home. Ferry Farm was where George not only discovered his love for surveying, but it was also where young Washington found his passion to cut down his dad’s cherry tree and where he once chucked a silver dollar across the wide expanse of the Rappahannock River. Keep in mind, the dollar went a lot further in the 1740s.

When we finished our walk along the property line at Ferry Farm, Tom returned to the Edge where he and Vicki found the addresses for a plethora of antique shops in and around Fredericksburg. For roughly three hours, my photographer and his wife wandered the store’s packed aisles that smelled like old people in their never-ending search for hidden treasures. In one of the shops, Tom purchased several authentic Civil War artifacts that were dug up on private land near the Fredericksburg and Spotsylvania battlefields. When the clock struck one o’clock, my companions decided to leave Fredericksburg and head to Richmond where they wanted to try their luck at seeing the track at NASCAR’s Richmond Raceway. When we arrived at the racetrack at 2:00pm, it didn’t take long for Tom and Vicki to discover they wouldn’t have the run of the place like they did in Dover. As a matter of fact, the gates were locked tight with no way to get onto the property. My photographer made a last-ditch attempt at gaining entry by calling the authorities at the track, but they quickly shut down Tom’s request to see the track because of their rules associated with COVID. With no way in, my photographer and his wife were left on the outside – standing in the scorching heat as they cussed out loud at the coronavirus.

While my photographer and his wife were disappointed after striking out at Richmond Raceway, they weren’t totally surprised. They knew before the trip began there would be times when certain sites would be closed to the public due to the pandemic. During the next three hours, Tom and Vicki “picked” their way towards Williamsburg, which was a little over 50 miles to the southeast. They stopped at every antique shop they could find; while at the same time, I stood in the camera case and grew anxious to see more Presidential sites. At roughly 5:30pm, my companions arrived at the Holiday Inn that was located about a half-mile from the Colonial Williamsburg Visitor Center. Dinner for the evening was takeout chicken from the nearby Cracker Barrel, which was followed by several episodes of the Andy Griffith Show on television. Although it was 2009 when I was assembled in China, which was over 40 years after the final episode had aired, I had grown to be a fan of Andy and Barney as well over the past seven years. That was largely due to the fact that my photographer has watched every episode over and over during that timeframe and I had no other choice but to watch it too. When the lights were turned off at about 9:30pm, I stood and wondered what Colonial Williamsburg would be like. My guess: HOT!

**********

The alarm on Tom’s phone rang at 6:30am and my companions went into their usual routine of preparing for departure. On that Saturday morning, July 18, 2020, they could take their time because we were less than a mile from our first destination and the gates to Colonial Williamsburg didn’t open until 8:45am; which was the exact time we walked into the Visitor Center. As hard as it was for me, I had to give my photographer credit because he had purchased entry tickets on-line, which eliminated the need for him and his wife to get close to other humans inside the building. Once he flashed his ticket at the door, we were on our way for what seemed to be a very long hike that took us along a winding pathway and into the former capital of Colonial Virginia.

Once we had made it to East Duke of Gloucester Street, which was the “main drag” that guided visitors from east to west through the center of the historic city, we began our self-guided tour. Since Tom had been to Williamsburg before (it was part of his Declaration of Independence Tour that he completed with Mongo in 1991), he knew precisely which sites he wanted to visit and where they were at. There were only four historic buildings that had a Presidential connection – the Capitol Building, the Governor’s Palace, the George Wythe House, and the Raleigh Tavern. At one point during our walk eastward towards the Capitol, I heard Tom say to his wife: “It seems eerie being here with hardly anyone else walking around – it’s as though we have Williamsburg all to ourselves. When I was here in ’91, there were thousands of people all trying to see the buildings; rug rats all running around bugging their parents to take them to an amusement park. This is actually really nice – thank you COVID!”

Our first stop was at the historic Raleigh Tavern, which was built in the 1730s and served as a secret meeting place for some of Virginia’s most famous patriots after the Royal Governor began messing with the House of Burgesses. Unfortunately, an idiotic arsonist destroyed the tavern in 1859. The tavern that stood before us was built on the original foundation and opened in 1932. As I stood and posed in front of Raleigh Tavern, I thought about Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, and the other Revolutionary patriots who defied the Crown and secretly met inside that building to discuss their grievances against England. It was likely that the seedlings of liberty were planted inside the Raleigh Tavern.

Finished at Raleigh Tavern, we continued our eastern hike down Duke of Gloucester Street where we could see the Capitol Building directly in front of us. When we finally arrived at the site, Vicki was so overheated that she needed to sit on a bench that was located beneath a shade tree while my photographer and I visited the Capitol. Tom carried me through the gate and onto the Capitol Grounds, which were surrounded by a brick wall. We saw several re-enactors that stood near the building – each wore face coverings and were there to answer questions and talk about the history of the Capitol.

During the time I posed for pictures at a handful of locations around the Capitol, I discovered that the building was the third Capitol to grace the site. The first Capitol, which looked identical to the one I stood near, was built in 1705 and consisted of two chambers – the Council and the House of Burgesses. Fireplaces were added to the building in 1723 to help keep the building dry; unfortunately, the Capitol burned down on January 30, 1747. Six years later, a second Capitol Building was built over the original foundation – and it was there where Patrick Henry delivered his famous Caesar-Brutus speech against the Stamp Act. As I stood near the historic structure, I thought about the famous forefathers who walked the property and stood beneath the roof, including Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, George Mason, George Wythe, and Richard Henry Lee. I found it interesting that a few days before the Declaration of Independence was signed in Philadelphia, Virginia had declared independence from Great Britain and wrote their first constitution in that second Capitol. But once the Revolutionary War got into full swing, Governor Thomas Jefferson urged his friends to relocate the Capitol to Richmond. The Williamsburg Capitol Building was last used by the legislature on December 24, 1779; then it was totally destroyed by fire in 1832. The impressive building that stood in front of me was designed to look like the first Capitol and it was opened to the public on February 24, 1934.

Reunited with Vicki, the three of us retraced our steps along Duke of Gloucester Street for what turned out to be a grueling one-mile hike to the Governor’s Palace. The heat had become nearly unbearable for my companions as there was no breeze and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. During our trek, we also noticed that more tourists had arrived in the historic town. However, the growing crowd posed little concern for Tom and Vicki as they continuously wore their masks and maintained a safe outdoor distance from everyone. There were several times during our journey that my photographer and his wife needed to take a break in the shade; while I simply enjoyed the ride in the camera case. Don’t get me wrong – the padded case was like an oven, too; but it wasn’t anywhere close to the “million degrees” that I endured when I stood on the Nixon and Hoover gravestones.

Once we arrived at the Palace Green, the three of us had our first view of the Governor’s Palace to the north. I knew my companions had grown more concerned by the number of people on the Green when I heard Tom say to his wife: “Even though it’s hot, we need to keep our masks in place and do our best to stay away from these people as much as we can. Once I get my pictures of the Palace and then at George Wythe’s house, we can find somewhere to get a drink and then get out of here altogether. It’s starting to get crowded and I’m not very comfortable with that.”

When Tom removed me from the camera case and had me pose in front of the Governor’s Palace, I was stunned by the picturesque beauty of the building. The original residence of the royal governor was built in 1706 and was funded by the House of Burgesses. While the first official resident was Lt. Governor Alexander Spotswood, the final inhabitant of the Palace was none other than Thomas Jefferson; 2nd Governor of Virginia from June 1, 1779 to June 3, 1781. Even though I learned that the original building was destroyed by fire on December 22, 1781, the re-constructed version that opened in 1934 was a close copy of the first Palace and was built in its footprint.

While the first three sites we visited in Williamsburg were all reconstructed versions of the original buildings as each had been destroyed by fire, our last stop of day was not. Located on the west side of the Palace Green was the home of George Wythe. George was a Signer of the Declaration of Independence; but more importantly, he was a friend and mentor to Thomas Jefferson. The historic home of Wythe (pronounced “with”) was built in 1754 and was originally owned by George’s father-in-law Richard Taliaferro, who gave the home to George and Elizabeth Wythe as a wedding present in 1755. As I stood on the front steps of the historic home, I thought about the incredible intelligence that once graced the interior of those brick walls. George Wythe was an accomplished lawyer who was proficient in Latin and Greek; and he not only took Jefferson and James Monroe under his wing, his brave devotion to independence helped secure our nation’s future. There was no doubt in my resin-filled mind that Thomas Jefferson had once spent some time in the Wythe House. As a Presidential bonus, we discovered that just before the Siege of Yorktown in September 1781, General George Washington used the home as his headquarters for about ten days as well. I loved it – Tom had saved the best for last in Williamsburg.

Although it was only fifteen minutes before 11:00am, the morning heat had sapped the energy from my companions. As we walked away from the George Wythe House towards Duke of Gloucester Street, I thought my photographer and his wife were possibly dehydrated. They had walked over two miles in the extreme heat and they had yet to get anything to drink. In my mind, I knew they were trying to avoid getting close to other people, but I wasn’t sure which was worse – catching the virus or dying from heat stroke. Salvation lurked around the corner as my companions found a Farmer’s Market near the intersection of Duke of Gloucester and Henry Streets. As the three of us sat on picnic tables in the shade, my photographer and his wife didn’t see anything they wanted to eat. Then out of nowhere, Vicki came up with her best idea of the trip – she suggested the three of us venture into the William and Mary Bookstore & Café where they might find something to eat; and better yet, find an ice cold beverage. Sure enough, my photographer and his wife purchased sandwiches and drinks for lunch; and best of all, there were not many people seated in the air conditioned café. That meant for the first time on the trip, Tom and Vicki had a meal in a public building; but the risk was minimal as they were seated at least twenty feet away from the closest human. From an opening in the camera case, I laughed to myself as I watched Tom, whose gray tee shirt was soaked with sweat, chug the first of his two large bottles of Artic Blitz Gatorade without stopping.

Once my photographer and his wife had cooled their body temperatures and fed their empty stomachs, they returned to the outdoor oven called Colonial Williamsburg. I thought Tom would start crying when he discovered that we could ride the shuttle bus to the Visitor Center rather than hiking back; I laughed to myself as my fat photographer would live to see another day. It was roughly 12:30pm when we got back to the Edge; Vicki immediately did her best to cool the vehicle’s inside temperature.

Even though we weren’t scheduled to arrive at our Surf and Sound beach house in Avon, North Carolina until Sunday afternoon, Tom made the executive decision to begin the trek to the Outer Banks on Saturday. His goal was to find a place to stay near the Wright Brothers Memorial at Kill Devil Hills; Tom figured we could spend the night in the same reasonably-priced hotel that he and Mongo stayed at in May of 2019. Once we traversed over the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel, however, the GPS instructed us to take an alternative route that was different than what my photographer had expected. And we weren’t alone; it seemed every vehicle on the roadway was headed in the same direction – and there was a lot of traffic. When Tom originally ‘cyphered’ the distance to the area where the Wright’s flew their first airplane, he figured it would take two-and-a-quarter hours to make the 125-mile drive. However, Siri had other ideas; and Tom’s iPhone personal assistant’s new route quickly had us bogged down in bumper-to-bumper traffic for the remainder of our journey around Albemarle Sound.

When we finally made it over the Virginia Dare Memorial Bridge and onto Roanoke Island, which was the island where Andy Griffith lived, died, and was buried, the clock had struck 7:00pm. The entire ride to Kill Devil Hills from Williamsburg, which should’ve taken a little over two hours to complete, ended up as a six-hour drive. As much as my photographer complained about the traffic, he also realized that he and his wife were lucky at the same time. Countless vehicles had run out of gas along that detoured route; which was likely due to the fact that we didn’t pass any gas stations. There were a handful of occasions when we had slowed to a snail’s pace, or were completely stopped on the road. At times, when he felt the moment was right, Tom rolled the window down and belted out a rendition of his “Squatch” call; a goofy yell that he learned from watching Bobo Frey on the History Channel’s show called ‘Finding Bigfoot’.

We had made it to the Outer Banks, although my photographer and his wife were exhausted from the six-hour ordeal that had tested their patience to the core. Even though they were hungry, my companions needed to find a place to stay; which proved to be the most shocking part of the trip thus far. Once Vicki pulled into a parking lot where she combed the sites on her phone to find the best rates for a hotel, we were stunned. There had to be something wrong; the websites must’ve all gone haywire at the same time. The price tag for every hotel on the Outer Banks was over $400 for a one-night stay; and that included most of the one-star places. I heard Tom say to his wife: “That can’t be accurate – when Bob and I were here a year ago in May, we stayed at the Travelodge for $90; and that was located nearly in the shadow of the Wright Brothers Memorial.”

Convinced he could get a more-reasonable rate in person, Tom asked Vicki to drive the Edge to the Travelodge where he had stayed in 2019. Once at the check-in desk, that’s when the reality of the situation slapped my photographer across the face. The Travelodge was getting $425 per night, and they had no rooms available. It turned out that the Outer Banks had just opened up from the COVID shutdown a few weeks earlier and people had flocked to the ocean by the carloads. It was supply-in-demand and there was nothing my photographer and his wife could do about it. Undoubtedly it was a classic case of price gouging, but the three of us were stuck unless my companions wanted to sleep in the car. Driving off the Outer Banks was not a viable option at that point as Tom and Vicki weren’t sure if the Wright Memorial Bridge to the north had re-opened yet.

At roughly 8:00pm, my companions made reservations at the Comfort Inn on the Ocean in Kill Devil Hills; the three-star hotel had a room available for $439 for the night – but that was before taxes. When the smoke cleared from the cash register, the final tally for one night was $494.98. I laughed to myself when I heard my photographer gripe as he and his wife lugged their gear up to the room: “I’m glad the guy at the desk had a mask on, but I wish he would’ve held a gun to my head, too. That would’ve made me feel better as we were getting robbed. We paid almost five hundred bucks and this surely isn’t the Ritz-Carlton. Maybe a Ritz Cracker box, but not the Ritz-Carlton.”

Tom and Vicki sat in the room and ate a pizza they had bought from a place called ‘American Pie’ that was located across the road from the hotel. It had been a harrowing day that was filled with heat, traffic, and total robbery. My companions quickly fell asleep knowing they were about to be re-united with their kids and grandkids the following afternoon. I wasn’t as excited as they were to get to the beach house. In my mind, it was shaping up to be a long, long week void of any Presidential sites. In my mind, there were only two things that might salvage my time on the Outer Banks: Orville and Wilbur!