The Glebe

The other day I went to a place in Mathews called the Glebe. No, that is not a typo, I did not mean the Globe. The Glebe.

The picture above is a soybean field and Someone's outbuilding down the Glebe. I did not trespass on Someone's property. I was standing in the middle of the road and used the zoom lens. I promise.

The trespassing part came later. I came to a dead end and some lady pulled up behind me. I was turning around in her driveway, and she was not budging until I rolled down my window. She wanted to know if I was lost. She was polite, but suspicious, even (or perhaps especially) after I told her I was taking pictures of the soybean field. People just don't understand.

Below is the historical information pertaining to the Glebe. This is the only way you will get anything factual from this post, because all the rest is piffle, which is a word I had never seen before discovering Foolery's blog. I lead a very sheltered life.

Most of what is written here on a daily basis is just that: piffle.

The Glebe is a section of Mathews that, back in the Whatever Century (for facts, please click on the photo above), supported the minister of Kingston Parish. Over time the land was sold off but the name still stuck. The Glebe refers to the area, and Glebe Road refers to the best drag racing spot in the county. Not that I have ever done that. As far as you know.

There are two things that immediately come to mind when I think of the Glebe:

1. Driving Very Fast
2. Basketball Practice

Glebe Road, which connects Route 198 to Church Street, is one of the flattest, most perfect straightaways in the county. I have This Friend who, whenever she drives down Glebe Road, feels compelled to gun it, floor it, punch it, and put the pedal to the metal. This Friend only does this when (a) she is not traveling with any children and (b)there's nobody else on the road. This Friend is rarely without children as passengers, so she doesn't get to do this as much as she'd like.

This Friend lives in a fantasy world most of the time, though, and she dreams about buying a suped-up hot rod (convertible) that is LOUD. She dreams of an imaginary starting line where she revs the engine in anticipation of the signal to go. Then, she is off like a bullet, hair blowing straight back, madly and wildly shifting gears leaving all her competition in the dust. Although because the road is so narrow, there really wouldn't be any competition. This Friend really has an active imagination.

And a secret desire to be a combination roller derby star and race car driver.

The other memory of the Glebe relates to basketball practice, when we would go joy riding down there just after school and prior to practice. There was lots of speeding, especially over this one dirt road that had a cavernous hole - we loved to bounce over it, dust flying everywhere, bumpers and other car parts scraping the road. We'd spin wheels, do doughnuts, throw bottles at road signs, and spend a lot of time in this little place called StupidityCausedByTeenageHormones-Ville. To get there, you have to pass through West Peer Pressure and bear left at YourMummaWouldDieIfSheKnewWhatYouWereDoing.

Thank goodness I don't visit those places anymore. But I do get the urge now and then to race down Glebe Road. Don't tell anyone.