The sock goes for a hike

For the last three weeks, the mere thought of my weekend plans for the past two days would have me squirming in my seat in excitement. The plan: Attend the Summer fest at one of our favorite vineyards, Sharp Rock on Sat; stay in a B&B overnight and then top off the weekend with a hike on Old Rag Mountain on Sun.

The fest was everything we hoped it would be. Music, BBQ and good wine on a nice breezy summer's day. This particular vineyard is in an idyllic setting with Old Rag Mountain dominating the background. The sock enjoyed the setting, but it was tortured throughout the fest since it had to endure KWI. My SigO still hasn't learned. Friends don't let friends Knit While Intoxicated. So, there are some pretty serious flaws on this poor ole sock, but I keep telling myself that's the way "First Sock" is supposed to be. Mostly because I refuse to Frog or Tink any of this thing. I have never worked on such tiny needles and the stitches are so miniscule I can barely see them to knit them, much less tink them. And I'm afraid if I were to Frog, I'd never be able to pick the stitches back up, so it will simply have to be one seriously screwed up sock.

After the fest, we drove into town and had a great dinner at Foti's in Culpeper, VA. The sock didn't get to come since the setting here is a tad formal and the sock was still hiding in shame over all its mangled stitches. I had Granny Smith and Blue Cheese salad followed by Duck Breast while the SigO enjoyed Strawberry Frissee with Gruyere Cheese Salad followed by a RibEye. We finished up with an apple bread pudding drenched in caramel and served with caramel ice cream. A pleasant meal, but then, Foti's rarely disappoints.

Then, it was back to the charming little B&B, Dulaney Hollow. We stayed in the loft suite. Literally, it was an old barn loft they had converted to a suite fully equipped with a kitchen, bathroom, the works.

Our room (check out the cool ceiling--wooden slats nailed over the barn's tin roof) could have slept about 4 more people, at least, but we enjoyed the quiet solitude, not to mention the outstanding country breakfast the following morning consisting of all local meats and produce; including blueberries from a local farm and sausages from Jame's Madison's farm that had been passed down from one generation to the next for six generations.

Armed with our sumptuous breakfast, it was time to attack the mountain. Still feeling out of sorts from being left out of last nights dinner, the sock was clamoring to come along, although I'm sure it would have felt differently had it been on my foot, instead of in my backpack.

We took a gallon of water between the two of us and it still wasn't enough. Old Rag is a beautiful mountain, with beautiful vistas much enjoyed by the three of us (me, SigO, sock), but there were many occasions when I stopped, hands on hips and groaned "Your kidding! This isn't the summit yet!?"

I took a great deal of pictures on the way up to the summit,

inluding these of us approaching this great rock formation.

and the SigO doing his part to keep the scenery intact; but by the time I got to the summit, I just didn't care anymore. I was hot, grimy, thirsty and ready to be heading downhill.

So, this is as close to the top as we were when the will to take pictures deserted me. And I can't imagine the sock enjoyed the trip too tremendously since I lost the energy to take it out to enjoy the scenery long, long, long before we arrived at the summit.

But, finally, we were headed down hill. Hooray! It was a happy time filled with laughing and singing...until we arrived on the fire road that never ends. Littered with sign posts supposedly placed there to give you an idea of how close you're getting to the blessed destination of your air conditioned vehicle, we would happily read that we were only 2 miles away from the parking lot; hike for a day or two (some slight exaggeration might ensue from this point onward) before finding another sign post telling us we'd only gone half a mile! Three weeks later, another sign post informed us we were within a mile of the car. I'm sure I might have been able to hear my car calling to me at this point (or at least the ice cold beer waiting in the trunk!), but unfortunately I couldn't hear much of anything over the screaming of my feet.

Obviously, we did finally make it back to the car and eventually all the way home where I was too exhausted to even contemplate picking up the sock (or even taking it out of the back pack!), so, I'm sure I've got one disgruntled piece of knitting waiting for me to come home tonight. And so ends the saga of the sock that went up a mountain and barely made it down.