Lynchburg, VA > Croatan National Forest, NC

I woke up in a Walmart parking lot in Lynchburg, VA, on purpose. Walmart lets RV’ers park overnight, or so I’ve heard, but I was the only one in the lot. I have an aunt and cousins in Lynchburg who I haven’t seen in over a decade. Weddings and funerals. It’s too bad, but people drift.

I’d meant to camp in George Washington National Forest, but no matter how many times I drive in the mountains, I forget it’s going to take 3 times as long as you thought, and if it’s dark, you’re gonna get angry because there is nothing to see and you’re gassing and braking, gassing and turning and braking. When it’s dark, deer love to come out and try to run you off the road or commit suicide. By the time I’d gone 100 miles twisting through bad roads in West Virginia I felt slightly nauseous and my eyes hurt from the headlights of other cars. I still had 50 miles to go to the campground, so I said screw it and started heading for a Walmart. 

A beautiful campsite at Walmart.

They make headlights too bright these days. The regular headlights now are like the brights from 15 years ago and the brights now are like staring directly into the sun. 

I met up with family and over lunch, my cousin Mike and I talked about routine. Part of the reason I wanted to take this trip was to break out of mine. I work from home, I go to the gym, I make dinner. In between I spend way too much time on my phone. I might read a bit, then, while watching Netflix I rewind Netflix because I was paying attention to my phone, texting or checking the same news sites again and again, which tell of nothing but the day’s worries and tragedies. I continue playing on my phone. I read a book and I go to bed. I do it again. 

My cousin says he’s up from 6 to midnight and he likes the routine but he understands trying to mix things up. We ate at a Japanese place and he seemed to know a lot about food and had descriptive terms for flavors. It seemed like maybe he could have been a chef in another life. It’s never too late though. Not until you’re buried on that hill.

My cousin Mike (right) and I.


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adam overland in front of a painting of a white squirrel

Hi. I’m Adam Overland, a writer based in Minneapolis. These are the meanderings of my muddled mind. I’ve written humor columns for various print publications, so naturally that’s dead and here I am, waiting for the last gasp.

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