We were the only people staying in the inn part of Alexander House last night, so it's like having a whole cottage to ourselves. Bliss! In the morning I find an unopened jar of marmalade in a cupboard - yey! We love marmalade, though this jar is a bit sweet for Reg's taste. We're a bit later up this morning, but Reg still wants me to write the blog before we go out - otherwise we'll get behind. Besides which, it's still raining, and by time we're ready to go out, it might have stopped.
The skies brighten by the time I finish writing. I hang our still wet clothes on the washing line in the garden, and spend some time drying out our walking boots with a hairdryer, and then transfer them to a spot in the sun while we finish getting ready.
Today we're cycling to Monticello - the beautiful country home of Thomas Jefferson (1743 - 1826). We've been told that it might not be very safe to cycle up the steep road to Monticello - the surface is good, but it's a winding mountain road, with quite a bit of traffic. However Reg has researched the route and has found that it's used regularly by cyclists, so off we go. It's a steady but not impossibly steep climb, and I remind myself while cycling up, that it will be lovely freewheeling back down at the end of the afternoon! The cars are much more aware and accommodating of cyclists than in the UK, slowing down and giving us plenty of room, which is brilliant.
When we arrive at the visitor centre, which is about half a mile below the house (reached by frequent shuttle bus or walking) we can't find any cycle racks. We ask several people, and no-one seems to know where they are! We're sent on a wild goose chase in completely the wrong direction, after one official has told Reg,
"Well, you can't park them here!"
"I know we can't park them here! But where can we park them?"
Eventually we find the elusive bike racks, hidden by trees, really close to the visitor centre. We have soup and bread for lunch; everything is in paper or plastic containers, even the soup. The cutlery is plastic too. Although this saves on the washing up, we reflect on the implications for the environment.
We take the shuttle bus to the house as it's not long until the allotted time for our tour. It's quite expensive to visit the house - $25 each, but well worth it. The views around Monticello house are amazing, and there's an air of tranquillity and peace.
Our excellent guide tells us about the owner of Monticello. Thomas Jefferson fulfilled many roles in his lifetime, among them President of USA - but that wasn't what he wanted to be remembered for. He felt one of his greatest achievements was being responsible for drafting the American Declaration of Independence. He was it seems a man of meticulous record keeping, enormous energy, many many diverse talents and a thirst for knowledge about every aspect of life. He was very inventive, being responsible for the architectural design of the house, and also designing many quirky items in the house (among them a device that enabled him to take copies of all the letters he wrote, and a revolving book rest, which held several books at a time.
After our house tour, we're strolling in the gardens and start talking to an American lady, probably in her 70's, who ends up telling us that the love of her life came from England, and that he had something to do with Bristol. She never married, and has no relatives in Charlottesville, where she lives, and we gained the impression she was quite lonely.
"I don't know why I'm telling you all this," she says, her eyes becoming slightly misty. "I've never told anyone before, This Englishman and I only had a week together, before he returned to England. We wrote for a while, but that was it. I never forgot him. His name was Michael Kenyon, and he wrote mystery novels. I read some of his earlier novels."
We end up exchanging names and addresses and I don't know why, I say I will write to this lady - there's a sadness about her, a need for company. She hasn't entered the computer age so it will be a long-hand letter.
Back down at the visitor centre, tables are being laid for a graduation dinner; it's graduation weekend at the University of Virginia. This institution was instigated and funded by Thomas Jefferson (I did say he had fingers in lots of pies!). Beautiful flower arrangements are being set out, and students and their families are starting to arrive for the special dinner. I overhear a conversation in the Ladies "restroom":
"What did your daughter get?"
"She got a medical degree, and a PhD."
"That's cool."
"Yeah, really cool. She worked darned hard."
We've bought food for a quick tea back in the B&B, as we hope to catch the tail end of a free jazz and blues concert in Charlottesville this evening. It is brilliant cycling back down to Alexander House, but a real effort (for me, anyway!) to go out again after we've had our food.
We cycle to the concert, which is being held in a huge tarpaulin covered grassy area, right at one end of the shopping mall. There are lots of people relaxing at the concert; older people, young people, families and friends, children enjoying playing games together on a grassy bank in the far corner of the auditorium. Everyone is soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying live music.
When we get home, I google "Michael Kenyon, author" - the long lost lover of the lady we met at Monticello. He died of a heart attack in 2005: he was indeed a successful author of mystery novels. And he did have a connection with Bristol, working for some time as a reporter on the Bristol Evening Post! Wikipedia doesn't mention whether he ever married, but he eventually returned to the USA, and taught in Southampton College, New York. He became a US citizen in 1997, and lived in Southampton, New York, until he died. Should I write to our new American friend and tell her all this? Or should she keep her dream intact that he might still be alive? I think she would probably like to know.
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