🌄 Pedals, Paws & Peace: A Weekend on the Virginia Creeper Trail

Saturday, August 30, 2025

Laurel Bloomery, Tennessee

For Labor Day weekend, we set our sights on a quiet corner of Tennessee, hoping to spend a day pedaling the Virginia Creeper Trail in nearby Damascus, Virginia. Finding a campground that could accommodate our RV wasn’t easy—most places close to Damascus were either booked or too small. But tucked just ten miles down the road in Laurel Bloomery, we found the Old Mill Music and RV Park. Full hookups, space for our rig, and a peaceful setting—it was exactly what we needed.

We packed up the essentials and hit the road after work Friday evening. Though we arrived later than planned, the site was easy to back into, and our setup routine is dialed in—we had everything squared away in about fifteen minutes. The air was cool, the stars were beginning to peek out, and the weekend felt full of promise.

Saturday morning greeted us with crisp air and golden sunlight. We headed into town for

breakfast before renting a pull-behind dog cart so Levi could join us on the trail. Damascus Diner was our stop, and it did not disappoint. I ordered the Woodstock— chicken fried chicken, hashbrown casserole, eggs, grits, gravy, and toast. Josh went for the daily special: a blueberry and white chocolate pancake with eggs and sausage. It was the kind of breakfast that makes you want to linger, and we promised ourselves we’d return if we ever found ourselves in the area again.

With full bellies and a dog cart in tow from the Bike Station, we set off toward Abingdon. Our goal: bike the full stretch from Damascus to Abingdon and back. The trail was alive with fellow riders, hikers, and families enjoying the perfect 57-degree morning. Levi was hesitant about the cart at first, but with a little coaxing, he settled in and rode like a champ. I’d only ever biked the upper section of the Creeper Trail—from Whitetop Station to Damascus—but that part was devastated when Hurricane Helene swept through. Rebuilding will take time. Josh, on the other hand, had explored both sections and even hiked parts of it during his days in Scouts.

The trail was stunning. We crossed old trestles and winding bridges, the kind that make you slow down just to take it all in. At Old Alvarado Station, we stopped for water and a breather before continuing north toward Abingdon. We made it as far as bridge number four before turning back—Josh was pulling the dog cart on a regular Schwinn, and his legs were starting to feel like Jello. I was on my e-bike, which made the ride easier, but we were both feeling the miles.

Back at Alvarado, we grabbed snacks and Gatorade and rested by the river. I took Levi down to the water, kicked off my shoes, and stepped into the cool, clear stream. Levi waded in up to his chest, tail wagging, eyes bright. It was one of those quiet, perfect moments—just us, the river, and the hush of trees overhead.

A few times during the ride, I let Levi out of the cart to run beside me. He was thrilled, tongue lolling, eyes locked on mine with that unmistakable doggy grin. It had been a while since we’d done that, and I could tell he was savoring every second. The trail narrowed in places, so we had to pull aside and let others pass, keeping Levi close. He got so many compliments—people called him a “good boi,” and some even said they wished their dogs were as well-behaved. At one point, Levi made friends with a sweet old cat who greeted everyone on the trail. It looked like it belonged to one of the nearby homes—well-fed, gentle, and clearly loved.

We made it back to Damascus and returned the cart with thirty minutes to spare. After loading the bikes onto the Jeep, we headed back to the campground. I teased Josh, “Want to hit the trails again tomorrow?” He gave me a look that said absolutely not. We were both exhausted—26.5 miles will do that to you—but it was the kind of tired that feels earned.

I’d planned for us to hike tomorrow, but we’ll see how our legs feel in the morning. For now, it’s time to make dinner and soak in the quiet of the evening.

Sunday, we surrendered to stillness at the campground, our bodies aching from the day before. Josh said his legs felt like jello, and mine—unused to such a long bike ride—reminded me how long it had been since I’d pushed myself like that. Rest felt like a gift we both needed.

We had ridden 26.5 miles the day before, starting in Damascus and reaching Watauga before turning back. The original plan was to make it to Abingdon, but our bodies had other ideas. That morning, Josh made pancakes, and we sat outside, letting nature hold us. Levi wandered near the stream, curious and brave. I stepped into the water a few times, and he followed, splashing beside me. Josh napped while I let the sun warm my legs. Levi rolled in the grass, chasing his ball, joy written all over him. Rain threatened briefly, but the sun always returned, peeking through the clouds like a promise.

For dinner, I grilled pork chops and corn on the cob—our little tradition—and warmed a can of baked beans. We sat side by side at the picnic table, watching the stream flow past, the quiet wrapping around us like a blanket.

Josh built a fire in the ring, and we sat close, though the flames were small and the chill crept in. I’d forgotten the marshmallows, a tiny regret.

Eventually, we curled into bed, Levi nestled between us, and I buried myself under layers of blankets.

Monday arrived with my work alarm, too early for a day without obligations. I’d hoped to sleep in, but the rhythm of routine pulled me awake. We had cereal and took one last walk to the stream, letting the campground etch itself into our memory before we packed up and headed home.

I loved this place. If we ever find ourselves nearby again, I’d return in a heartbeat.