A Bridge, A Blowout and Change of Plans: New River Gorge National Park
New River Gorge looked like a short detour on the map. The mountainous terrain of Appalachian West Virginia made it much more of an adventure than a flat atlas lets on.
The centrepiece of the park is the New River Gorge Bridge, which sits 876 feet above the river and is the highest bridge east of the Mississippi. Before it opened in 1977, crossing the gorge required a 40-minute drive down into the valley and back up again. Now it takes less than a minute.
The park is newer than the bridge, at least in name. New River Gorge was protected as a National River in 1978 before becoming a National Park and Preserve in 2020, in part to raise the profile of the region and encourage more tourism in West Virginia.
Our first act as tourists was to open the kitchen on the back of the teardrop in the parking lot and make macaroni and cheese for the kids. Not quite the contribution to economic development that Senator Manchin had in mind.
After a hot lunch and a short walk overlooking the gorge, we headed back onto the West Virginia roads. That was when the real adventure started.
One of the Suburban’s rear tires blew out on the interstate. We unhitched the camper on the shoulder, found the tools and then hunted down the key needed to lower the spare tire from beneath the car, all while keeping five children and Poky on the non-road side. Lorelei also pulled out her violin to entertain the crew and work through her memorized Suzuki.
The discovery that the Suburban carries a full-size spare was a considerable relief.
We made it to the nearest hotel that evening and woke the next morning for another pleasant surprise: a Chevrolet dealer barely a mile away. I dropped off the Suburban for a new tire and an oil change, then Poky and I walked through the pouring rain for coffee while Amy took the kids to the motel pool. Somehow the car was ready, everyone was packed and we made the noon checkout.
Still not fast enough to beat the coming monsoon in South Carolina. Our original plan had been to continue on to Congaree National Park, but between the West Virginia roads, the blown tire and forecasts for flash flooding in Congaree’s low-lying wetlands, we decided our micro-tour of national parks probably had run its course.
We pointed the Suburban toward Texas instead, with one new tire and the distinct feeling that we had really earned that junior ranger badge at New River Gorge.
