They've all come, to look for America...

[Suu]

"Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike..." Of course I failed at presenting my best Jon Anderson does Paul Simon as soon as we hit that notorious stretch of highway.

I roadtripped my annual holiday journey to Florida this year. It's the first time I've driven the 21 hour East Coast pine swamp grand prix in 10 years. It was cheaper than flying by at least a roundtrip ticket for the two of us, Navyguy and I, and despite my ass and hips killing me for a good solid day after the trip was done, I have to say that I've never had the experience like this.

When I was a kid, my dad was strict about roadtrips. We stop ONLY every 3 hours, if you have to pee, hold it. No stopping at attractions, and STFU. This was my first chance to really do what I wanted. Granted, on the way down, we were trying to outrun a cold front that caught up to us in 14 hours when we finally stopped in South Carolina for the night at the infamous South of the Border. It was in the 70s outside and pouring buckets. We awoke the next morning at 6am to the 40s and me cursing. 8 hours left, we made it to Clearwater. Navyguy and I decided that 8 hours was a good leg to drive at a time on the way back, and that we should stretch it out over 3 days, and take our time to allow us to stop more often and shake off the annoying leg cramps from the Megalopolis traffic and working the clutch in his little standard, so that's what we did.

The first day, was ruined. An accident backed up traffic 30 miles south of Savannah, and we were stuck in the smelliest part of the East Coast outside of Elizabeth for an extra hour and a half.  For those that haven't experienced Georgia's coast, it's 50% Okefenokee Swamp, and 50% Savannah River Drainage Basin, with paper mills dotting the marshy scenery. Being downwind of a paper mill is like being within 50 miles of Roger's work toilet. DON'T. Not that there's terribly much more to see in South Carolina other than pine swamps and South of the Border billboards, we decided "fuck it" and stayed at South of the Border again. As luck would have it, we got the same room we did on the way down, only now it wasn't raining, and we had time to get food and shop for the stupid stuff they crammed into their kitschy stores. Or fireworks. Lots of fireworks. Good fireworks they don't let north of the Carolinas. So after Navyguy loaded up on enough artillery to level Rhode Island, we hit the sack, and prepared for the 2nd day of driving, which, if planned correctly, would get us past DC and Baltimore into the mythical state of Delaware, home to more corporations than people, if not Southern NJ for the night.

Stopping at some podunk town in North Carolina for a refuel, I noticed that there was a battlefield nearby. Bentonville: One of the last major battles in the Confederacy to stop Sherman's rampage through the states. I looked it up on the GPS, and it would put us 20 minutes back south. It was also still very early, like 9am, so assuming the park wouldn't even be open, I shrugged it off, but had the epiphany (but not ON Epiphany. It was a day early.) that we should check out one of the major Virginia battlefields, as there would be several along the way. I remembered seeing an exit for Manassas on the way down, so I had my sights set on that one; the one that started it all. Navyguy agreed, barring we did well through Richmond with traffic on a Friday afternoon, so off we went. Stopping at the VA border, we grabbed a bunch of Civil War trail info from the visitor's center, and I was able to determine what to do. I still wanted Manassas, and now it was clear that it wasn't on 95, instead, it was 30 mins off from our path to I-66, an HOV interstate leading right into Washington. It would put us in the lion's den of traffic at evening rush hour when we left. Surely, we could just spend an hour looking around...

We flew through Richmond like the 4th Massachusetts Cavalry, and I started to get excited. We could have gone to any amusement park in Florida, we could have gone to Virginia Beach to visit friends. Hell, we could have just stopped in DC for some touristy pics,  but no, I wanted to see an open field with some cannons, which could have been at Richmond, Spotsylvania, Fredericksburg or Chancellorsville, right off of 95. What I got was much, much more.

The exit for Manassas was severely delayed. We sat on the off-ramp without moving for nearly 15 minutes, and my heart sank. Ready to concede, Navyguy said, "Look for an alternate route. There has to be something." There was, all local, lights, it took us an hour, but we got there.

Seeing some of the period fencing from I-66, I got giddy, but also realized that I was damn hungry, so we stopped for lunch. Lunch in Manassas? May as well bring it to the ridge and see what happens. It was cold though, so we opted out of chowing on our Wendy's in the outdoors of the Virginia Piedmont, and proceeded on our way.

For those that aren't familiar, Manassas had 2 major Civil War battles, the first infamous "Battle of Bull Run" which was the start of the war after Ft. Sumter, and the 2nd, a year later, fought less than mile from the original farm. Yes, farm. The quiet farmland of the area was the site of a horrific, impassioned battle between brothers, cousins, fighting for what they believed it, yet being so unprepared to do so. It was unorganized, and pure chaos, and you can feel this tension the minute you set foot on the grounds.

It was quiet. I didn't hear or see a single bird. Just open fields with extant cannons, carts, and monuments. It was cool out, but not unbearable to walk around, but when I say that the place knocked the excitement out from within, I want you to understand exactly what I felt. It wasn't gravitas, it wasn't patriotism, it was pure unadulterated, "Holy. Fucking. Shit. People died here." It was spooky and serene. Not the place you would expect to see boys, because that's what they were, farm boys, engaging in a bloodbath. This isn't a roadside attraction, this is America at its best and worst at the same time. This is a passion most people forgot outside of Facebook arguments about Barack Obama and guns. I could have sat there on the ridge all day and stared. It was beautiful and horrifying. I was silenced and humbled. It could be the hopeless romantic history major in me, but I don't think it was.

In the end, our hour turned into 3. We could have made it 3 days, easily. The National Park service installed dozens of walking and hiking trails around the sites with markers. The joggers made me feel a little odd, but the terrain was tough, I can see why they would enjoy the workout, and possibly be inspired by the landscape as much as I was.

We got back into the car quietly, and I wasn't sure if I should cry or geek over the experience, but mostly I was silent except for getting directions back to the highway, right into DC traffic, which cost us another hour.

It was worth it.

I didn't find the America I was looking for, but I found a piece of it that people are forgetting slowly, day by day, 150 years later. They didn't have petitions to secede online in 1861, they had the true will to get up and do something.

I found America's death.

Stonewall and I.
Looking at Rickett's guns on the Union line.
The Confederate line, there's a wood cross back there. We didn't walk that far. I wish we would have.
The monument built in 1865.
Facing in the direction of 2nd Manassas, the Bull Run mountains are in the background.
Confederate mass grave site.
The Old Stone Bridge crossing Bull Run that the Union retreated over in the middle of the night during 2nd Manassas. The Confederates blew it up shortly after. It was rebuilt 20 years later during the Reconstruction.

More pics: http://s15.photobucket.com/albums/a356/theonlyang/Facebook/Manassas%20National%20Battlefield%20Park/

[P3nT4gR4m]

I want you to understand exactly what I felt. It wasn't gravitas, it wasn't patriotism, it was pure unadulterated, "Holy. Fucking. Shit. People died here."

I know what you mean. I stood on Culloden moor and had a lump in my throat when I thought about some little italian prick ordering 2000 of my countrymen to stop grapeshot with their teeth.

[Suu]

I want you to understand exactly what I felt. It wasn't gravitas, it wasn't patriotism, it was pure unadulterated, "Holy. Fucking. Shit. People died here."

I know what you mean. I stood on Culloden moor and had a lump in my throat when I thought about some little italian prick ordering 2000 of my countrymen to stop grapeshot with their teeth.

It almost knocked me on my ass, it did. Even if you don't believe in haunts or ghosts, there was SOMETHING there, a heaviness, the residual emotions of 25,000 inexperienced soldiers shitting their pants when the guns were fired. The fact that it was so damn quiet didn't help, either. Both Navyguy and Richter said Gettysburg has the same feel. Even in the height of spring, there's no birds chirping or rustling leaves, just silence.

I'll be headed to Gettysburg once the weather breaks with the scout troop that Navyguy works with. Manassas was big, but Gettysburg is massive.