Confession time

Three years ago on this very day, I wrote about a curious enigma, a potentially mystical path known as Squirrel Level Road. I’m going to encourage you to go read that post first, because it’s important to the thread. When I wrote it I was working from memory, which I pride myself on.

Or used to. You see, since that time, I’ve had to drive through the area twice, or four times if you prefer, because it was two round-trips. The first pass, I saw no vestige of Squirrel Level Road and suspected that, having drawn so much attention to it with my voluminous readership, the otherworldly properties of that curious path caused it to vanish from sight, perhaps to reappear someplace deeper in the hills. But on the return trip, I spotted the signs, big and distinct and clear, “Squirrel Level Road,” indicating that I wasn’t imagining it after all.

Except, this was not just a sign on an overpass, and not in rural Virginia, and even had its own exit. It was right at the edge of Petersburg which, while not a huge metropolis, cannot really be called “rural.” So much for my memory. And of course, with its own exit I could have stopped easily at any time to see this peculiarly-monikered footpath for myself.

I didn’t, however; a reflection of my driving habits. Even with the shortest leg of my journey ahead of me, I still had two hours of road time to go, with much, much longer on the outward portion, and couldn’t convince myself to take the time out of my trips to reassure myself that the road really existed. No, not even for the obvious excitement that a follow-up post about it would have generated. I did examine it on Google Maps, and determined that it probably wasn’t a highly traveled road after all, barely meriting its own exit, so there yet remains the idea that setting foot or tire on it might not be the wisest choice.

While I’m at it, I’ll tell you that I also found the exit in West Virginia that I mentioned in the same post, the one where a weary traveler could pray all they want but couldn’t pee. That can be found off of Interstate 64/77 right at the town (and I use that word loosely) of Sharon, West Virginia. The town was as I recalled, but it was nowhere near as far south as I remembered being for that trip, so we can see that my memory, again, isn’t what I believed it was. Getting old – but we knew that already.

Actually, I think I’m supposed to be at work right now…

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I just have to note this. After finishing this post but before I published it, I checked my e-mail and had received a bit of spam entitled, “Have tinnitus and ringing ears? Your memory could be next.”

At this point, it should go without saying that I have tinnitus, but at least I have something to blame now. Not my age at all. Nope.

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