Motion sickness on a Sunday drive

Apr. 17—It was somewhere near the outskirts of Frost in Pocahontas County when the idea hit me.

I decided to pretend like I was driving.

I wasn't, of course.

I was the passenger.

And I was sick.

No surprise there. Ask just about anyone who has been on a car ride with me since just about birth and they'll verify, I don't do curvy roads well. Heck, sometimes I don't do the interstate well.

At least not as the passenger.

So when my boyfriend and I recently decided to go for a Sunday drive, I packed Tums, Pepto and a ginger ale.

I knew what would happen. This isn't Kansas. The driveway was probably the straightest part of our 5-hour trip, which took us through Greenbrier and Pocahontas counties, into Virginia and back.

But we needed to get OUT.

So off we went.

And I know it probably doesn't help anything, but I always try to tell my head and stomach when they'll get a break from the curves, but we left that afternoon with no destination in mind.

----According to the Cleveland Clinic, "Motion sickness occurs when your brain can't make sense of information sent from your eyes, ears and body."

The symptoms of motion sickness, according to the Cleveland Clinic? Cold sweats, dizziness, fatigue, headache, irritability, inability to concentrate, increased saliva, nausea and vomiting, pale skin, and rapid breathing or gulping for air.

I don't think I had cold sweats.

And has the Cleveland Clinic been spying on me? For my whole life?

Most of those symptoms had already begun to attack by Hillsboro.

Have you ever been to the birthplace of Pearl Buck?

I've driven by it many times and jotted it down as a destination for a future story location. But I've never been.

I'll have to do that. Even if it's just for myself, not for newspaper Michelle.

Along this portion of the drive, we passed several places where I have done stories though, or at least roads where I've turned off — or gotten lost — en route to a story.

Pocahontas County is home to a lot of talented artisans, and I've been fortunate to spend time with many of them through the years.

On those occasions, however, I tend to drive myself so I don't arrive as carsick as I was when we hit Marlinton.

That's where I asked to stop for a few minutes so I could plant my feet firmly on unmoving ground and breathe.

My dad loved Sunday drives when I was a kid. We always hit back roads in Fayette County.

I was always sick.

It was kind of like that.

We still weren't sure where we were headed when we left Marlinton, but I remember seeing a sign for Minnehaha Springs and thinking of a former coworker who grew up there and still posts beautiful Facebook photos from her family home.

I grew up in southern West Virginia, but there's so much I haven't seen.

It wasn't too long after this when the idea to pretend I was driving hit me.

I wondered what it was that prevented me from getting sick while driving. I thought how much quicker I spiral if I read in the car — or even on a treadmill.

I decided perhaps it was something to do with my eyes? It was worth a shot anyway.

So somewhere near Frost — home to Frostmore Maple Sugar Farm, where I visited for a story a few years ago — I decided to concentrate on the road as if I were the driver.

And you know what?

I think it helped some.

When I told my boyfriend what I was doing, he said, in typical and honest fashion, "I don't even watch the road that much."

At least one of us was.

Though it helped some — and I (barely) resisted the urge to fake steer — I was still grateful to touch ground again at Cass.

I will admit that was my first trip to Cass — some southern West Virginian I am — which is also on my story list.

There weren't any trains there, but we masked up and went inside the depot/gift shop.

I haven't been inside many stores in the past year so this was kind of a toe-dipping moment.

Not to say that it was crowded. It was just us and a few other people, most notably two female travelers who were asking about pawpaws, something I have never had.

Is that another story?

After we left the depot, we walked around some rental cabins out back and I decided Cass definitely needs to move up on my list.

With that, and a few more breaths of fresh air, we set off again.

As an aside, how in the world do people navigate those roads in the winter? Or do they just stay put?

I never realized Cass and Green Bank are so close together.

Even when I did a story at Green Bank a few years ago, I never realized Cass was just a few minutes away.

So, yes! I ruined the surprise here, but I have been to the Green Bank Observatory. And even though I'm terribly afraid of heights, I've stood atop the Green Bank Telescope — 450 feet in the air.

Now how did that not make me sick? The Cleveland Clinic can chime in at any time here.

We didn't go to the top of the GBT that day. We just got out of the car and walked around a bit, but it's so beautiful and peaceful out there.

There is something magical about the sound of silence.

It was 5 p.m. by that point though, and even though no part of my body wanted to make the drive back, we had to.

At least that's what I was told.

And even though I wasn't feeling well, on the way back I knew where we were and how much longer I had until I was out of that prison.

Until he decided he didn't want to drive "that boring road."

So we headed off toward Monterey, Va.

I knew that road, too. Pre-Covid, we were regulars at the Highland County Maple Festival each March. If you like maple sugar — if you like all things maple! — you should check it out sometime.

When we made that turn, I knew we weren't going to be home any time in the near future.

That's probably about the time I gave up on passenger seat driving. It's exhausting to drive when you're not the driver.

We didn't actually go to Monterey that day as we turned toward Hot Springs, Va., home of The Homestead Resort instead.

This is another place I've wanted to do a story on. On a personal level, I've also wanted to soak in the Jefferson Pools, which, according to the website, are currently closed for rehabilitation.

Another for the list.

Speaking of Thomas Jefferson, I knew he frequented the area during his life, and we happened upon another of his favorite spots somewhere between Hot Springs and Covington, Va., where we finally — and mercifully — hit the interstate.

On a curvy stretch of country road, out of nowhere, was a massive waterfall.

We turned around to see it.

According to the roadside sign, in 1781, Thomas Jefferson called Falling Springs Falls, which falls over a rock, 200 feet into the valley below, "the only remarkable cascade in this country."

Of course, "this country," to Thomas Jefferson was 13 colonies so Falling Springs Falls didn't have much competition. Still, it's pretty and I'm sure it was quite beautiful 240 years ago before man had his way with the area surrounding it.

When we got back in the car, I leveled a threat.

We were going home or someone was getting hurt.

I was done.

I even still felt bad the next morning.

That's not to say I didn't enjoy the trip. I absolutely did.

It was a beautiful day in beautiful southern West Virginia, and even a piece of Virginia, too.

And it was nice to be out.

But when we do it again, I'm either driving or we're getting one of those drivers' education cars with two steering wheels.

Now there's a story!

— Email: mjames@register-herald.com