This is a continuation of the official account of the “2018 Purge and Connection Tour” (T-Shirts and CD’s will be available in the lobby after the show). It was a voyage of introspection and discovery that followed no agenda other than avoiding interstate highways, staying in motels that only charged $50 a night, and making major (and some minor) decisions based on the outcome of a coin toss.

Parked along a stretch of highway that circumvented Mount Logan, northeast of Chillicothe, Ohio, I found myself at the venerable fork in the road — with one route heading south to Kentucky at Portsmouth and the other heading east to West Virginia at Gallipolis. Heads: cross into West Virginia — Tails: cross into Kentucky. I tossed my all-knowing 1990 quarter into the air and observed the results. It came up heads.

I was off to West By God Virginia. Several of my good friends, with kin in the Mountain State, were quick to inform me that anyone that knows anything about the nation’s 35th state, understands the meaning and passion behind these words. Soon enough, I understood.

West By God Virginia does not have a lot of flat, wide open spaces. Settlements took root at landings along ancient rivers that sliced through the mountain valleys. Rivers provided the major means of transportation between villages and towns. Eventually, wagon paths were carved out along the riverbanks, followed by railroad tracks, and ultimately the insertion of interstate highways into the already minimal spaces between mountain slopes. I followed the Kanawha River upstream, hopscotching from flat spots on one side of the river to flat spots on the other side, eventually meandering into Charleston, the state capital. The glistening gold dome of the capital building is impressive, but nowhere near as impressive as what I was about to experience.

I consulted my trusty 2002 Rand McNally Road Atlas and noticed that US-60 rolls east out of Charleston, following the Kanawha. I also noticed that this stretch of highway was designated the Midland Trail. I didn’t know what that meant, but I did know that I didn’t need to flip my quarter to decide on following this path. The four lane roadway left the city limits and soon narrowed to a two lane paved trail that followed each turn of the river course. The mountains stood tall on my left, the river raced downhill at my right, and pristine beauty embraced everything around me. Captivated by the wilderness ambiance, I nearly drove past a small cleft, worn back into the mountain side. It opened to reveal a 40-foot tall waterfall pouring down into a short creek that flowed under the Midland Trail and into the Kanawha.

No road sign announced its location. No hint of upcoming wonderment heralded its approach. No bright lights and souvenir shops lined the roadway. Just a small gravel parking area, with space for a few cars, separated the Trail from the cascade pool. Other than that, there was no hint that the local population wanted anyone else to know about this beautiful place.

I parked, took in the majesty of the view, thought to myself, “It doesn’t get any better than this,” then continued on my sojourn up the Kanawha River. Eventually, I travelled to the confluence of the Gauley and New Rivers, which converge to form the Kanawha. The New and Gauley Rivers are argued to be the premier white water rafting waterways in the country (I have rafted on the Gauley and can attest to its reputation — it was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life). Crossing the Gauley at the aptly named village of Gauley Bridge, the Trail continued partially into the New River Gorge, before climbing up, over, and around Gauley Mountain. On my way, I passed more breathtaking waterfalls with names like Kanawha, Cascade, and Cathedral, all with the same simple, welcoming atmosphere that nonchalantly shrugged off commercial or touristy fanfare. I stopped at each to quietly and humbly commune with the Creator of all that I had seen.

Eventually, the shadows grew longer and I knew two things — (1) I did not want to be wandering around in the mountain wilderness after dark, and (2) it truly is West By God Virginia.

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.