Well, it turns out there was a reason why we were driving counter to all the rest of the traffic as we left Mt. Vernon: we were going the wrong way! We were actually headed straight into D.C. on a Friday night, instead of heading west OUT of D.C. to our fine abode in Sterling. However, navigatrix cum laude found a three-state map of the Carolinas and Virginia in one of Katie’s door pockets, and ascertained that if we continued north of the George Washington Memorial Parkway, we would eventually hit something that would take us to I-495, which is the inner beltway loop. We’d be coming in at the south part of the loop and could follow it west and then north to Highway 7. 7 goes west out of D.C., and from it we could take 28 south, find Old Ox Road and be home free, so to speak.
We followed that plan, found 7 west (which looks and acts like a freeway in those parts), and realized with the clock pushing 7:00 PM that we were both quite hungry. Not to worry: Scott had given me a generous meal allowance, and I decided that this was the night for us to splurge and enjoy our one non-fast-food dinner. We weren’t aware of any Golden Corrals in the Greater D.C. metroplex, but Katie, who could subsist for a semester on chicken fingers, said that Italian sounded good, “like maybe. . . Olive Garden!” That sounded good to me, too, and just then one of those nifty blue signs announced “FOOD NEXT EXIT.”
As we exited, I noticed that there were arrows indicating food to the right or the left.
Katie: “Which way do you think we should turn?”
Me (scanning rapidly): “Uh. . . how about left?”
She turned left and we started looking for food. Usually, when one exits a freeway at a ramp announcing FOOD, one can see the Golden Arches or the KFC bucket or something like that just a few blocks from the freeway. We did not see any such. In fact, the road we turned left onto (four-lane, divided, like all roads in northern Virginia) looked dark and neighborhood-ish. However, we were optimistic. Perhaps we’d have to travel a bit, and beyond the residential stuff, we’d come to the colorful neon stuff. I said, “Let’s go about a mile. If we don’t find any food by then, we can turn around and go back, because it said FOOD to the right, as well.”
We went a mile. We couldn’t believe that there had been no food thus far; surely it would appear just over the next hill. Lots of people how lived in the residential areas off this four-laner were coming home from work. There were stop lights every few blocks. Traffic was not zipping merrily along. We were probably averaging 28.7 miles per hour, and the situation continued to look bleak, when what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a pair of gold arches, so high and so clear.
Neither of us wanted McDonald’s; we wanted REAL FOOD, but just past that lone fast food joint was a Safeway! Aha. The mystery solved at last. There was FOOD to the left, but it wasn’t food-served-ready-to-eat. It was the kind of food that you bought, took home, cooked and then ate. Well. 7:30 was coming upon us and trust me, neither of us was about to cook that night!
We turned around and very slowly made our way back to the Highway 7 overpass. Now that we were heading “to the right,” we were sure to find lots of restaurants just waiting to take my plastic. At least we can claim to be eternally optimistic, because we drove three miles that direction before coming upon anything edible at all, and what we found at the three-miles-to-the-right point was a Giant, which is another supermarket. So, my analysis had been correct. In northern Virginia, the blue highway signs that say FOOD NEXT EXIT mean that a grocery store is located an unknown number of miles off the freeway at that exit. Now you know.
Hungrier and somewhat discouraged, we plodded back to Highway 7 and got on in the westerly direction. It continued to be a divided highway, but I guess we were entering yet another city. (Cities, towns, villages, and incorporated areas are strung like pearls along Highway 7. It’s basically one big long metro area, with occasional signs indicating that you have entered a different jurisdiction. ) It may have been Tyson’s Corner, and no, I don’t know what Tyson did there or which corner he did it on.
So, we’re tooling through Tyson’s Corner and it’s nighttime, and the area is like those places just a few blocks removed from downtown in major cities. The buildings are high, but not skyscrapers. It looks like downtown, but there’s no parking along the streets. There are fancy boutique type shops in the ground-level floors of some of the taller buildings. It’s a night life kind of place. And suddenly on the far left corner, in the first floor of what looks like it might be a hotel, IS AN OLIVE GARDEN!!! As I live and breathe.
The traffic dodging queen zipped into the left lane, whipped around a corner and into a parking garage and there we were. It was quarter to eight, and neither of us could truly believe that after driving and steadily searching for food – any food! – for over an hour, we had stumbled upon the one restaurant Katie had wanted most. Yes, we were in jeans and t-shirts, but yes, we strode right in like we owned the place and had a very nice meal. And yes, Katie had chicken. And cheesecake minus the raspberry sauce for dessert.
So, full and happy at last, we did continue our drive west, and after much more time we did come to our hotel, where we did play a grand game of Hail to the Chief which I lost miserably, and it was to all a good night, during which Katie slept ten hours and I slept something less than that.
