The Weekend Getaway

Sometimes, you have to do something a little nuts and unconventional so that you start to feel alive. This was my personal mantra going into 2011, and it all started with a random, spontaneous cabin retreat.

Around Thanksgiving of 2010, I met a girl. Needless to say, I wasn't looking as I had just been wholloped by a summer romance and hadn't quite come back into consciousness just yet, but these things always seem to happen when you're least expecting them. Go figure.

I liked her right away. She was sweet, smart, pretty and had a sincere kindness about her that seems to be extremely rare these days. We met briefly for the first time at Lakewood Dog Park, where I had to let Kino burn off some energy as he was driving me particularly crazy that day. Always the reliable wingman, Kino found an immediate friend in her Siberian, which naturally opened up the door for what ended up being an extremely memorable conversation. I couldn't tell you how long we talked, but I can say that I couldn't ask to see her again soon enough. And when I finally did, I could see her smile fade a bit, at which point she broke the news to me that she was leaving straight from the dog park and heading home...back to North Carolina where she had recently moved. From Cleveland. About four months prior. Once again, life's little sense of humor decides to wave its flag of irony in front of my face. As she got into her car, we agreed to look each other up on Facebook and try to keep in touch. In all honesty, I never expected to hear from her again. The very next day, a friend request showed up in my inbox.

Online chats led to lengthy phone calls, every one of which had us laughing in tears at each other's rye wit and sarcastic humor. Between the laughs however, she would tell me about her unsatisfactory days of teaching down in Virginia (she lived in northern NC, but taught elementary school just across the VA border) and I would vent to her about my unhappiness with my living/professional/all-around situation in Cleveland. Eventually, each time we would have one of these conversations, they would all end on the same idea, fantasizing about just running away for a weekend to hide from everyday life, if not just for a short time. We were joking around about how crazy of an idea it would be to actually do that together when suddenly, there was a pause...and I think the craziness of that notion didn't actually sound so crazy anymore. We obviously really enjoyed each other and both wanted to see one another again, fairly desperately. We could meet in the middle, namely central West Virginia, a six hour drive for each of us. We could both bring our dogs, go hiking...just take a weekend off from life. It was perfect.

Two months later with Kino by my side, I was driving out of Cleveland and heading south to the edges of Monongahela National Forest during one of the worst snowstorms of the season. As far as my family and friends knew, I was skipping town to concentrate on accomplishing a bit of work on my book in the remoteness of the Appalachian Mountains. I'm sure had I told them the truth, I would've been met with a mixed reaction of "you're out of your flippin' mind." or "chances are, she's a psychopath," or even a slew of approvals, and to be completely honest, I really didn't want to hear it. I was well aware that what she and I were doing was a bit unconventional. I didn't need anyone else to remind me of that and possibly put a hex on something I was really excited about. So, I kept the rendezvous aspects of the trip to myself. They'll get over it.

It wasn't until I emerged into Pennsylvania did the weather let up a bit, but every hour or so I would hit a fairly violent squall along the way, slowing down my pace and nearly blowing me off the road more than once. Six hours later of white knuckle driving and maneuvering my Jeep through the remote reaches of Appalachia, I pulled up to our weekend home. She had found a nice little cluster of private property log-cabin rentals about two hours south of the Maryland panhandle. It was remote, strikingly beautiful for late-February and absolutely perfect for what we had envisioned.

The cabin itself was incredibly cozy. With a stove fireplace accenting the corner, the living room/kitchen area stretched up the entirety of the two floors, with a set of exposed stairs climbing up to a landing leading into the master bedroom above. Underneath the steps was the entrance to the first floor bedroom and the sole bathroom, complete with a large jacuzzi tub and stall shower. As I slowly started to unload my weekend bags into the cabin, I was greeted with the comforting smell of chicken pot pie baking in the oven. We had decided beforehand to each take a meal to cook for one another over the weekend and as my partner in crime had arrived a solid two hours before me, she had plenty of time to grab a head start on the food situation.

If the goal was to emerge from this weekend retreat relaxed, soothed and ready for what was inevitably about to come, goal accomplished. Between the hiking, exploring, cooking, laughing, and ideal level of comfort that we shared with one another, I headed home feeling ready to accomplish the world. Here we were, two near strangers, taking the chance of spending a solid 48 hours with one another in a fairly intimate setting...it could've been a disaster. We could've realized straight off the bat that whatever chemistry we experienced in the dog park a few months prior was simply a product of the moment and nothing more. We could've failed to meet the high expectations we subconsciously placed on one another. We could've, we could've, we could've...had a lot of negatives to rule against us, but not a single one of them occurred. Instead, and I can't speak for her personally, but that weekend ended up being one of the best weekends I've ever shared with anyone. We took a risk and it payed off. And I missed her terribly the moment I left.

Sunday afternoon, we headed our separate ways. I went North, back to Cleveland. She went South, down towards North Carolina. Over the next few months, we would continue our phone calls, but we wouldn't see one another again. As irony decides to rear its ugly head once again, I would commit myself to move to Portland, OR the moment she decides to move back to her old life in Cleveland, OH. ...We would miss each other's departure by mere days.

Some things just aren't meant to be. Or maybe they are and we just need to be patient for them, regardless of the time-consuming obstacles that stand in our way. Regardless, we'll always have that weekend in West Virginia. That, I will never forget.