Weston, West Virginia Shamrock Tour®
Sometimes you bring the quiet with you on a trip. Sometimes, it’s already there. Sometimes it’s both. I brought a little quiet with me on this tour, that I’ll admit. But in this part of West Virginia, nestled in the hollers around Weston, there was also a quiet waiting for me in the thick woods.
River Bound
The quietest roads are often the ones left fallow when a new interstate is built nearby. Businesses and traffic flock to the new road, leaving the old road for motorcyclists. While I-79 is efficiently bulldozing its way across the land with all of the charisma of a boxcutter, the BMW R 1250 RS and I are on US 19, the older road that the interstate replaced, dancing with the land and rolling through town centers.
These older roads are like overgrown hiking trails, rising and falling and bending with the land. The forest grows right to the road’s edge, where homes and buildings sit as well. The road is a delicate incision and Mother Nature is playing the long game, waiting for her chance to reclaim the land.
In Fairmont, The Joe buzzes with the energy of caffeine and youth. It’s like I stepped into Brooklyn. After lunch, the road continues to twist its way through the quiet West Virginia landscape. In New Martinsville, I peer across the Ohio River to Ohio as the rain falls. Nearby, a war memorial honors local veterans, with thousands of names printed in neat columns on the long wall. Oh, the journey they must have taken just to get from here to wherever they served. And for those lucky enough to return, what stories did they bring home?
Motorcycle & Gear
BMW R 1250 RS
Helmet: Scorpion EXO-ST1400
Jacket: Klim Latitude, Klim Ai-1 airbag vest
Pants: Aerostich AD1
Boots: REV’IT! Everest GTX
Cameras: Panasonic Lumix G100, DJI Mini Pro
The land near the river is a little less tight. There are fields and small farms. The road is straight in stretches, but with each mile from the river, the woods converge more until they once again extinguish sightlines and crowd the twisting asphalt. It is a riot of squiggles back to Weston. The rain spits in fits and starts all afternoon. I stop to put on my rain gloves. The rain stops.
I’m on narrow roads where the second gear of the BMW feels a little tall. The sun is trying to make one more appearance for the day, poking a hole in the clouds to briefly fill a small holler with golden light. A spattering of raindrops sparkles in the sky before hitting my visor. The land is green with life.
Back in Weston, I dine in a busy Mexican restaurant that looks like a New Jersey diner. The place is lively and the food is good.