Backseat - From Where I Sit

September 2001

By: Michelle

Behind The Scenes of Virginia Wind

Sometimes you just go for a ride and some times the ride takes you to places you never expected to go. Such was the case on our ride to Philippi, West Virginia. In our usual fashion of trying to figure out where our next adventure would take us for our "job" (I love that part) of writing a Destinations article, we began searching for clues for our next adventure. As we watched a television program that briefly mentioned two mummies that were housed in a museum in Phillipi, West Virginia, Kent and I looked at each other and grinned. We knew where the next road would lead us.

In typical fashion, Kent mapped out the course. We knew it would be a long ride, 200+ miles each way but we were psyched up for it. Besides we knew West Virginia had some really beautiful mountain roads so it would be a great ride getting there. We were not disappointed. Some times the roads were so twisty that the directional arrow signs located only a few feet apart literally pointed to each other indicating more of a corner than a turn. Note: There is one big drawback to West Virginia. I am not trying to offend anyone who lives there, but there were more than a few places that I was grateful the bike was in excellent running condition, because stopping for any reason seemed like a pretty scary proposition - mummy or no mummy.

The long ride aside, we finally reached our destination and the much prized goal of our journey - an up-close and personal look at two bona fide mummies. I had no real idea of what to expect, not having ever been acquainted with a mummy other than in the movies. The experience still leaves me a bit unnerved.

First of all, never believe that a mummy can sneak up on anyone - ever. The smell is a "dead" (pardon the pun) give away! We were immediately assaulted with the potent cocktail of smells consisting of mothballs, air freshener and funk of must, mold and rot as the door shut immediately behind us, leaving only Kent and me enclosed in the tiny room. I tried to remain cool and calm and reminded myself that we had a job to do.

Regardless of my internal pep talk, I couldn't help but feel a bit suffocated and claustrophobic as narrow white tile walls and stagnant air closed in around me. It was just me, Kent and two shriveled, leathery mummies clutching cheap silk flowers in the gnarled remains of their hands, laying silently in wooden caskets under glass less than 2 feet away. (Doesn't this sound like the beginning of a "B" horror movie? This is the part where the audience would yell out "Don't go in there" to the gullible victims who always do so any way.) I was in the beginning stages of a major "freak out".

If just being in the enclosed room with the mummies was not enough, the museum curator(s) were kind enough to place a little step stool in the room so you could get an even closer look at the remains that lay over a covered up bathtub. Kent started snapping photos while I started scribbling furiously on my note pad, trying to look at everything but the eerie lifeless forms that lay before us.

The longer I stayed the less frightened I became. I began to feel sorry for the poor ladies who never found rest. In life they were plagued with insanity and in death even their remains were forced to travel the world in circuses to finally remain in a small bathroom of a museum to be gawked at by the likes of me.

Kent started reading aloud a copy of a letter posted on the wall written by one of the mummies. His soft spoken tone relayed the lady's obviously unfulfilled pitiful pleading words that clearly (and rationally) stated that all she wanted to do was to return to her family. Suddenly, I began to feel as if I was violating her privacy. As Kent continued to read words written directly from her heart, it seemed his voice was echoing louder and louder throughout the otherwise stone silent bathroom. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck beginning to rise.

Suddenly, the air conditioner cut on. At least I think it did. All I know is I heard a thud and that was more than enough for me. I was soooo outa there. I don't remember the door opening. I just know I was back in the sanctity of the museum rooms containing old sewing machines, vintage clothing and Civil War relics. As we quickly exited, the nice little lady in the museum said that she hoped we enjoyed our visit and "be sure and sign the guest book."

As we were leaving, we noted that a huge storm cloud was brewing overhead. (Nature was providing the perfect ending to our modern day horror story.) We patted ourselves on the back for successfully managing to dodge the storm several times on the way home and kept reassuring each other that we would make the entire journey without getting wet. That was not to be. Maybe it was the curse of the mummies that caused the skies to open up in the middle of nowhere where there was no place to pull over. We were riding almost completely blind as the rain continued to beat mercilessly down on us on a winding mountain road. I was terrified for the second time that day but there was nothing to do but proceed until we could find some where, anywhere to pull over.

We finally managed to find a small area under a tree to wait out the worst of the storm and put on our rain gear. (There is nothing I hate worse than putting on a one-piece rain suit after I am already soaked.) The rest of the ride was not exactly comfortable as I steamed underneath the suit while the rain assaulted us from above. I can't remember when I was happier to finally be home. Yet, I could hardly forget the experience of the day as the funky smell of the musty mummies once again wafted up to my nostrils. No, wait, maybe I shouldn't be too hasty in blaming the mummies, it could have something to do wet clothing festering under plastic rain gear for hours…Calgon, take me away!

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