May 26, 2006
Bluefield, West Virginia, and Grundy, Virginia

The local news reported the death of a miner, just days after five were killed in an explosion. The Senate passed a coal mine safety bill. After a commercial by a company advertising itself as the fuel-efficient car company, a segment on a contest among local schools to determine which recycled the most. Then, AAA estimated close to 40 million Americans on the road this weekend for the start of summer. I was one.

I had printed a stack of 10 Ways to Reduce Home Energy Use and asked if I could leave it in the "community info" section at the Staunton Public Library. Yes, the librarian enthusiastically exclaimed, and on the bulletin board and at the circulation desk. Perhaps I could have done more with them, but it was time to move on.

I decided to stay at a motel again for three reasons: (1) it was getting dark, and I didn't want to be searching in the dark for a place to camp; (2) I wanted to keep driving as far as I could that night; and (3) I had work to do for my job that I should have emailed in by now. But after settling in Pearisburg, Virginia, instead of work I just watched the local news.

As I traveled and tried to convince people to reduce their energy use from coal and other fossil fuels, I was seeking old Appalachian coal mining towns, to see what happens when a coal mine shuts down. First stop was Bluefield, West Virginia.

Bluefield is located in the Pocahontas Coalfield, which has been mined since 1882. Today, Bluefield reminds me of Schenectady, New York, the city I grew up outside of. Though its heyday clearly has past, there's an energy and optimism in the city. There's a sense that the people who live in this town love it and are determined to revitalize it.

I found myself drawn into the Breadman Bakery, which was in disarray but still tempted my to stray from my vegan diet and try their offerings. The owner claimed to import grain from Europe and mill it himself and pick his own berries. He asked me if I had heard of his donuts, and I had to admit I hadn't. He kept feeding me samples until I purchased a blueberry strudel and a donut. I handed him a twenty, and since there was no change in the register, he gave me the contents of his wallet.

A sign marked the location of a time capsule, buried in 1976, to be opened in 2076. I came to Bluefield expecting a town in decline. I would be curious to see it in 2076. I think it might be all right.

Then, after a night camping in Breaks Interstate Park, straddling Virginia and Kentucky, I rolled into Grundy, Virginia.

I had been thinking about how to reduce carbon emissions in one of these old coal mining towns. In a town that declined after the coal mine closed, I didn't want to push energy conservation that would reduce the demand for coal. But if I could help them drive less, it would reduce emissions and the demand for a foreign product, oil.

I would encourage them to patronize the local businesses at the center of town, rather than the chains on the outskirts. Not only would this reduce their driving, it would keep more money in their struggling local economy. I planned to compile a list of the local businesses in the town's center and distribute it around Grundy.

As I approached Grundy, a sign cheerfully exclaimed, "We're moving!" I couldn't figure out who was moving until I reached the center of town. Grundy was moving.

"Moving" is euphemistic. It suggests that the Army Corps of Engineers is picking up the city and transplanting it elsewhere. In reality, the people of Grundy are moving out because their town is being demolished for a flood control project.

The sign continued, "Pardon Our Mess Because We Want You to Have the Very Best!!! Success Comes Through Patience Pride and Cooperation."

In the center of town, all the stores were boarded up. A woman on the street told me that some had moved and some apparently had thrown in the towel. She lived just out of town, and she didn't worry because a Wal-Mart was opening in the town's place. I told her I had spent the night in Breaks Interstate Park, and she told me there was a nice park near where she lived but that a mining company had started mountaintop removal there.

A cafe advertised a free wireless connection, and I became excited until I saw that it too was closed, though just for the summer. It apparently served the Appalachian School of Law, the only thing remaining in town. I approached the Food City grocery store to stock up. Though its parking lot was full, it was closed as well.

Driving out of town, I realized that all the stores I had passed coming in were closed, except for the fast-food restaurants, Wendy's and KFC. Soon all that would remain in place of Grundy would be the Wal-Mart and the fast food. How could I tell the people of Grundy to shop their local businesses when there were none left? I resigned myself to the thought: there was nothing for me to do here. It was time to leave.

Coal is the worst fossil fuel for the environment. Burning it releases not only toxins but also twice as much carbon as natural gas or oil for the same amount of energy. But if I could succeed in reducing our coal use, would more towns face fates similar to that of Grundy?

Was it good that, after my first week on the road, I hadn't succeeded in offsetting any of my carbon emissions? It certainly was not good that I had spent much more money than I intended to, and I still didn't know how I would earn it back while on the road.

Still, it's only been my first week. I'm still figuring out how to do this. I hit the highway with a feeling of optimism. I stopped at the public library in Abingdon on my way to Asheville, North Carolina, where I would arrive just in time for the Friday-night drum circle. On the way, the oldies station was playing: "I'm a man of means by no means, King of the Road."

Click here to view panoramas of coal country.