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I-95 exits don't always deliver

December 9, 2004 12:00 am

An open McDonald’s, or anyplace where a sustaining cup of coffee can emerge from a drive-through window.

Just before the Lorton exit off Interstate 95, signs promise the roadside trifecta of gas, food, lodging.

But almost as soon as I round the exit’s 20 mph curve, I suspect I’ve been punked.

On the road again
	Reporter Laura Moyer visited dozens of I-95 exits, and all she brought back was this poetic, humorous account. CLICK HERE.

To the right, I see nothing but empty road. To the left are dozens of orange reflective barrels outlining a construction zone. Guessing, I go left.

The only light is from a gas station with a convenience store. I imagine coffee crusting on the bottom of pots that have cooked since dawn.

Web extras • Interactive time line. • Photo slide show • Discuss this series Interstate 95 in the Fredericksburg area opened Dec. 18, 1964. Today begins a three-day series about the highway and the changes it brought to the region. SUNDAY: Those who were there at the beginning recall the building and opening of the interstate and the impact it had on them. MONDAY: The new highway produced new business growth but doomed many stores along the road. Also, find out about life at the exits. TUESDAY: I–95 is now clogged much of the time. Are there solutions to this?

I push on and enter a zone of McMansions under construction on a dark and lonely road.

Feeling eerily untethered from the I–95 lifeline, I abandon my caffeine dreams. I make a left into a subdivision. A U-turn. A right.

It’s two miles back to the interstate.

Suckered again.

Interstate 95 is not a pleasure drive. Its value is that it gets us from point A to point B, as fast as is legally possible—faster if we don’t get caught.

When we grudgingly pull off on an exit, we want instant gratification. Gas. Something to eat. A clean bathroom. Maybe a place to walk the dog. And all right there, not five miles out of the way.

It should be simple, and in many cases it is.

But miserable experiences like seeking coffee in Lorton have taught me that exits aren’t always the bastions of crass commercialism the road signs promise.

There are fooled-you exits whose signs promise lavish convenience, and only after you’ve left the interstate do you find that the nearest gas station or restaurant is 1.4 miles away.

There are mystery exits that leave you befuddled—you can get off, but not back on, or at least not easily.

There are exits onto one-way city streets, and exits into rural nothingness.

Once and for all, I wanted to learn which was which. I wanted to find the good ones—simple exits with close conveniences and an easy trip back to the interstate. And I wanted to memorize the rotten ones, too, those that draw tears and bitter curses.

I drove Virginia’s stretch of I–95 in three trips, all in the past couple of weeks and all southbound: Maryland to Fredericksburg; Fredericksburg to south Richmond; and south Richmond to North Carolina.

I counted 53 exits, and I checked out all but two.

In general, I observed that all exits are ugly (except for exit 24). Most convenience store bathrooms are gross. A Wal–Mart in Emporia looks the same as a Wal–Mart in Ashland or Fredericksburg.

Northern Virginia exits are for people who live there and know what they’re doing. Anyone else should just keep driving.

Simple exits are best. When I get off the road, it’s not selection I value but immediacy. That’s why I prefer exits like Stafford (Exit 140) and Thornburg (Exit 118), where you can get off the road, fill your tank, grab a bite, then get right back on your way.

Among other things, I learned that you can get a cup of coffee in Lorton. You just have to know where.

To reach LAURA MOYER: 540/374-5417 lmoyer@freelancestar.com