I want to move to West Virginia.

OK, I’ll admit, those are seven inconceivable words for me.

You see, way back on the fourth weekend of October 1982, a group of close buddies and I drove my van – yes, it was a conversion van (made by “Good Times Van” by the way!) – to Morgantown to watch our glorious Penn State football team lay a whoopin’ on the West Virginia Mountaineers. Penn State won 24-0. Not a big whoopin’ mind you, but during our short time in West Virginia my van (which suffered a keying and a broken mirror), my views of Morgantown (several physical altercations) and my opposing team fanhood did not survive unscathed. 

In fact, I was so scathed that I swore never again to be a visiting team fan. Home games were fine. Neutral site games were fine, too. But to go into the den of another fanbase wearing the evil colors and logos of the hated opponent? No thank you. Hard pass.

And I held to that commitment for almost exactly 30 years. It was not until Sept. 8, 2012, when Penn State played Virginia in Charlottesville, that I broke my vow. 

One, because our kids were old enough to enjoy an away game and wanted to go on an adventure. Two, because my wife and I could visit a long-time friend who we hadn’t seen in years. Three, because we could immerse the kids in some American and Jeffersonian history while in Charlottesville. And four, because it was the University of Virginia. I mean, c’mon, how vile could they be? My vision of UVA was that they wore Sebagos, chinos and button-downs to the game. This did not inspire fear in my heart or concern for my vehicle. 

And to drive that point home, when I called the university’s ticket office to inquire about RV parking – since I didn’t see any indication where it was on their online maps – I was met with silence and then the query, “What kind of parking?” To which I responded by going into an explanation of recreational vehicles, their size and space needs and the tailgating benefits of such a comprehensive motorized package, only to realize the vision of disdain coming through the phone was bright and clear. And then the verbal confirmation, “The University of Virginia does not provide that type of parking.” There you had it. How fearsome or dangerous could a fanbase be if they didn’t even have separate RV parking? 

So, we took the minivan instead of the RV, had a great reunion with our old friend, immersed ourselves in history, checked out UVA’s athletic facilities and were treated very nicely by everyone with whom we came in contact. Of course, Penn State then lost that football game to Virginia.

But, the veil had been lifted, and the visiting team aversion had softened a bit. Not enough to run full-scale into planning multiple Penn State away-game trips, but enough that I’m fine at least considering it now. And enough that I haven’t minded being a visiting team fan at my son’s college football games the last four years. Although, to be fair, the fandom at MAC and FCS schools is nowhere near as rabid as at Penn State and its peers. 

And so it is that I find myself today in the depths of West Virginia – Princeton to be exact – and I’m seriously considering acting on those seven words at the beginning of this column. After a lifetime that has marked West Virginia as a state I’m happy to leave as quickly as I enter, on those rare occasions when I have even entered.

Since those scathing moments decades ago in Morgantown, my very-limited experiences with West Virginia have been: 

• A short work-related stay at The Greenbrier in White Sulphur Springs. If you are ever there, be sure to check out The Bunker – the declassified top-secret U.S. government relocation facility for Congress that is carved deep into the mountainside and is now open to the public for tours.  ​
• Driving down U.S. 522 numerous times to get somewhere south, primarily to avoid driving near Washington, D.C. Which I guess tells you where Washington, D.C. sits on the John Hook scale of favorite places if I’m willing to drive through West Virginia to avoid it.
• Driving on I-70 a few times to go west.

And that’s it. The sum total of my experiences and travels in one of the six states (and the province of Ontario) that shares a border with Pennsylvania. 

But as I said, here I am in Princeton, West Virginia, and here’s why I uttered those seven words at the beginning of this column. 

The West Virginia portion of my drive from State College to Princeton took me across I-68, down I-79 and U.S. 19, a short stretch on I-64 and then I-77. And I must say, it was beautiful. 240 miles of almost all mountains and valleys, a few lakes and rivers and Morgantown was the only place that came close to being urban. That’s if you can call a city “urban” when it has a population of only 30,000 and a metropolitan area population of 138,000 in a space just slightly smaller than Centre County. In other words, just like here in Happy Valley, there is a lot more land than there are people. That’s nice!

Did I mention that land was beautiful? Of course, the leaves are beginning to change so the fall foliage is starting to shine. There are extensive views along a lot of the mountaintops and the highway construction appears to have been an engineering feat in many places. 

Most specifically at the New River Gorge National Park and Preserve, where you cross the New River Gorge Bridge – the longest single-span steel arch bridge in the western hemisphere. It is 3,030 feet long, weighs 88 million pounds, and at the middle it sits 876 feet above the New River, one of the oldest rivers in North America. The New River also happens to be considered America’s best whitewater. 

I stopped in the national park assuming I was going to get some use out of my Lifetime National Parks and Federal Recreational Lands Pass, but for the benefit of everyone New River Gorge is one of the two-thirds of national parks that does not charge entrance fees. Free hiking, biking, walking, looking and relaxing. That’s a bonus we can all use. 

While there I spent time looking out across the scenic overlooks of both the bridge and the gorge upstream. Photos don’t really do it justice. The height of the bridge – taller than the Washington Monument and the Statue of Liberty combined – is so tall that BASE jumpers can easily jump off, open their parachutes, and enjoy a nice ride down to the river (“BASE” is an acronym for Building, Antenna, Span and Earth which are the four categories of objects BASE jumpers jump from). 

But because the bridge is only open to vehicles (no pedestrians or bikes), this BASE jumping only happens once a year. And that once a year is this Saturday, Oct. 21. The third Saturday in October is christened, “Bridge Day,” when they close the bridge to vehicles and open it to pedestrians. You get to experience the view you would only normally get at 65 mph. It’s West Virginia’s largest one-day festival and, because of the BASE jumping and rappelling, it is one of the largest extreme sports events in the world.

OK, let’s check some boxes. West Virginia has gorgeous scenery, wonderful views, great hiking, plenty of opportunities for fun outdoors and not a lot of people. That’s all good. But what about the people you do run into? Are they nice?

Well, I had something happen today I haven’t had happen in, well, so long that I can’t even remember. I was called “sweetie” three times today. For me, at my age, I appreciated that! 

Once when I was in a fast food place where I ordered food using the kiosk, sat down and waited for my number to be called. The woman at the counter was clearly paying attention though, because when my order was ready she didn’t call out my number, she brought the bag over to me, held it out and said, “Here ya go sweetie. Have a nice day.”

A little later, after stopping to fill up my gas tank at the Sheetz ($3.29 a gallon!), I went inside and grabbed a bottle of water and a snack. This time, instead of using the self-service checkout, I went to the counter. The nice woman behind it smiled and said, “Will that be everything sweetie?” I answered, “Yes, thank you,” whereupon she rang it up, bagged it, and said, “Have a nice day.” I was beginning to notice a trend.

This evening when I walked across the street to the steakhouse to get dinner, and as a single diner I just walked directly to the bar and took an open seat. The female bartender saw me sit down, promptly came over with a menu, set it in front of me and said, “Hi there, sweetie. Anything to drink while you decide what to order?” Of course, when I was done with my meal and paid, you can probably guess what the bartender said, right? “Have a nice night.” 

So there it is. Forty years of misconceptions and stereotypes that have made me avoid the state like the plague all kicked to the curb and stomped into oblivion by a nice drive, some amazing scenery, and a bunch of “sweeties.” Now, I doubt my wife and I will really be moving to West Virginia any time soon, but I can assure you I’ll be looking for ways to spend more time there! Like the song says, “Almost heaven, West Virginia!”