A Perfect Storm Brewing: Biking the Virginia Appalachians
Writing by Michael Chase, Drawings by Jenny Hershey
We met Brian and his wife in Pembroke, Virginia, and struck up a friendly conversation. They live in a double-wide trailer on family land where Brian grew up. When I asked about FEMA's response to Hurricane Helene (which caused significant damage in Giles County), Brian said, "No problem, we raised hell here after FEMA messed up in North Carolina, so we got what we needed." His response surprised me, considering recent reports of still ongoing federal assistance failures by the Trump administration for Helene victims in North Carolina. Brian shared that he had worked as a maintenance technician for a military contractor at a nearby industrial park but lost his job during the pandemic after refusing the COVID vaccine. He told us the Biden administration years were the most difficult he'd experienced, adding his belief that any election without paper ballots is probably fraudulent, like he claimed 2020 was. We didn't challenge this assertion, allowing Brian to continue. Currently, Brian works in maintenance at a Virginia Tech health research facility. He mentioned the programs were run by the World Health Organization and expressed approval that their funding was recently cut. When I clarified that the cuts ($13M at the time) were related to the National Institutes of Health, Brian disagreed, saying, "I don't think so, all those labs have the serpent logo like the WHO." The conversation grew tense when I explained that the serpent symbol (the Rod of Asclepius from Greek mythology) is widely used in medicine, including by the American Medical Association, as a symbol of healing. Brian tersely replied, "I'm a Christian, and I figure those serpents are up to no good. You know how they tricked Eve." At that point, Jenny and I decided it was time to say our goodbyes and move on.
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for.
Ernest Hemingway
The route we followed began just south of Culpeper, where we parked our car. On our first night out on our bicycles, we stayed in Charlottesville. From there, we ventured as far as the West Virginia border before retracing our journey back to Roanoke. We then followed Bicycle Route 76 up to Lexington and finally returned to our starting point near Culpeper.
Cycling through Paradox
Southern comfort might be the most fitting way to describe the joy of exploring Appalachia from the saddle of a bicycle. Fabulous hills and sparsely traveled country lanes allowed our ride to become a conversation with the landscape: how sunlight filters through different patches of forest and meadows, how the air cools when one crosses over creeks, how plant life adjusts to the altitude as one climbs up or coasts down. Pedaling finds a rhythm matching the mountains themselves: up, down, across, up again. Down again. Up again, and again.
Our route followed the gentle curves of valleys where family farms have operated for generations. Nestling among the proliferating exurban homes in the Appalachian hills, weathered barns and farmhouses dot the landscape, thoughtfully placed by earlier settlers who understood the land's temperament - where water flows during heavy rains, which fields drain properly, which hillsides offer protection from prevailing winds. Their knowledge, accumulated over decades, was built on an environmental predictability that is increasingly becoming a relic of the past.
Jenny rides ahead of me on a country road in the Catawba Valley.
This strange new reality, where bone-dry drought and terrible flooding can happen just weeks apart, has become the new normal in these mountains. Many of the same roads we enjoyed on this trip were partly washed away just months back when Hurricane Helene caused flooding up to 31 feet high in some spots along the New River in Giles County. You can see where a recent landslide tore open a nearby hillside, where soaked ground just gave way, taking down trees hundreds of years old with it. Signs of destruction are everywhere: piles of wood debris after several recent floods, broken tree branches, half-buried tires, destroyed trailer homes, empty foundations, abandoned cars and houses. It's hard to tell what's leftover from recent floods that have hit the area (Buchanan County in 2022, Giles County in fall 2024 and torrential rains in early March 2025) or what's just the result of years of grinding poverty and neglect that co-exists among the tidier homes of urban commuters and summer home owners.
The riding paradise we're enjoying - perfect cool temperatures for a long ride through the stunning country - hides a troubling change. Climate data shows Appalachia warming faster than global averages, with rain coming less often but pouring harder when it does. The stability that lets people and nature set their rhythms over hundreds of years is washing away season by season. So, for as much joy as it gives us, there’s also something disturbingly sad about cycling through these ancient mountains now - knowing that the delicate balance that's made this land both livable and beautiful is under serious threat. We can't shake the feeling we're watching a crisis accelerate right in front of us that many have predicted, but few are prepared for.
We met Ty and Wendy in the Catawba region outside Roanoke, Virginia. High school friends who reconnected on Facebook after their respective divorces, they recently married, proving that old friendships can evolve into wonderful partnerships. Ty is a Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS) agent with 22 years of service. Despite being in his late 50s, he chose not to retire when he received Musk's "Fork in the Road" email, though his secretary lost her job as a probationary employee. Ty confided that he struggles with computers, finding it difficult to locate or print documents. The staffing cuts have significantly reduced his effectiveness, a source of ongoing frustration. Wendy manages her family's 350-acre ranch along the north branch of the Roanoke River, which she now leases for cattle grazing. She spoke knowledgeably about conservation efforts, particularly proud of a riparian corridor she established to protect the endangered Virginia Logperch. The funding came from what she called a "devil's deal" - an environmental settlement with developers of the recently completed Mountain Valley Pipeline (MVP). As Wendy described the corridor in detail, Ty gazed at her adoringly. "She's so smart. I definitely married up!" he said with a wink toward Jenny.
The Earth is warming at an alarming rate - not as political opinion, but as measured fact. Global temperature has increased almost 1.4 degrees Celsius since pre-industrial times, with each of the last nine years among the ten warmest ever recorded. This isn't just a statistic; it's a warning of significant changes manifesting as increasingly extreme weather across America and beyond. In mountain regions like southwestern Virginia, where the landscape already creates natural vulnerability zones, environmental hazards are intensifying: torrential downpours trigger catastrophic flooding and landslides, followed by periods of intense drought that leave the land parched and communities desperate for water - all previews of a new normal.
Yet at this critical moment, when science-based climate action and robust disaster planning are most needed, we face a troubling policy reversal. The current Trump administration hasn't just rolled back clean energy initiatives but has directly targeted organizations designed to help Americans recover from disasters. Proposals to dismantle or severely weaken the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) represent a dangerous mismatch between policy directions and our growing environmental challenges.
This combination - accelerating climate change and diminishing government support - creates the perfect brew for widespread human suffering. It's a formula that is disproportionately impacting rural and economically disadvantaged communities, including many throughout Appalachia that have already endured decades of economic hardship. When disaster strikes and federal assistance falls short, recovery becomes insurmountable for many families, perpetuating cycles of displacement, poverty, and deteriorating public health.
This photo shows a steep hillside with erosion control measures covering the buried Mountain Valley Pipeline (MVP). We first encountered the MVP while biking from Roanoke to Blacksburg through the Catawba Valley. Construction of the pipeline began in 2018 and finished in June 2024. Despite years of opposition from landowners, youth activists, and environmental organizations (including Appalachian Voices, the Wilderness Society, and Sierra Club), the project moved forward through special political intervention under the Biden administration. The Fourth Circuit Court repeatedly ruled in favor of pipeline opponents, finding that federal agencies had violated environmental laws and inadequately assessed the pipeline's impacts. Citizens fought against this 303-mile pipeline crossing West Virginia, southwestern Virginia, and North Carolina because of concerns about damage to lands, waterways, and wildlife, as well as its contribution to climate change. The pipeline's most significant environmental impact has been extensive forest clearing: 4,856 acres removed in areas home to five threatened or endangered species. Construction required a 125-foot-wide clearance, with a permanent 50-foot clearance maintained along the pipeline route. This has fragmented wildlife habitat, displaced animals, disrupted bird nesting, and caused numerous animal deaths. The Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) identified forest impact as the primary adverse effect in their Environmental Impact Statement.
The climate crisis is already a health emergency, with rising rates of heat-related illness and increased spread of waterborne diseases following floods. Mental health challenges closely accompany physical ailments as communities endure repeated trauma from disasters and the stress of uncertain futures. Without robust disaster assistance and commitment to addressing the root causes of climate change, we risk normalizing human suffering in regions most vulnerable to the dangers of weather related disasters.
The Paradox of Disaster Response
As climate disasters intensify and communities fight to recover, the debate over government's role has never been more urgent or contradictory. When hurricane waters surge through neighborhoods or wildfires devour homes, even the most ardent small-government advocates instinctively set aside their objections. No one questions federal disaster response during those desperate hours. FEMA trucks arriving in devastated towns aren't viewed as government overreach but as essential lifelines for survival.
Yet today we face a troubling paradox: Elon Musk, now leading the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), is pushing for sweeping cuts to government spending while simultaneously heading companies that have thrived on billions of dollars in government contracts and subsidies. This glaring conflict of interest hasn't prevented the Trump administration from signaling plans to dramatically scale back FEMA and federal disaster assistance programs – the very safety nets designed to protect us when nature's fury overwhelms local response capabilities.
An abandoned trailer home downstream from its concrete pad lodged between trees near the New River north of Pearisburg, VA. This trailer is about 30 feet from the river’s edge, showing how high the floodwaters rose.
The situation has evolved beyond rhetoric into concrete action. DOGE representatives have now secured access to FEMA's sensitive disaster victim data systems, while Trump has established a review council to evaluate whether "FEMA's bureaucracy ultimately hinders the agency's ability to respond." The recent budget cuts are having significant real-world effects. DOGE has specifically targeted funding that is essential for disaster response operations. In addition, several FEMA officials were released after they allocated ICE funds for migrant housing that are not part of FEMA's budget. Their removal followed criticism from Elon Musk, who made inaccurate statements about how the agency was spending its money.
This ideologically-driven approach to government reduction endangers critical infrastructure precisely when climate science warns we need stronger disaster response systems, not weaker ones. It's akin to removing fire extinguishers from a building as it becomes increasingly flammable – creating a dangerous gap between growing threats and diminishing resources.
We serendipitously met Carol Davis at a local health food store, who serves as Sustainability Manager for Blacksburg, Virginia. Carol builds strong connections with community members through her warm personality. During our visit, we found her finishing up a craft group where women were decorating Easter eggs with Ukrainian designs. Carol told us she helped to found the co-housing community on a 33 acre property we were visiting. The residents designed this community thoughtfully, clustering all homes on just 5 acres to preserve most of the land as shared space. Their community center includes a spacious kitchen for gatherings. Unlike conventional neighborhoods, they positioned parking areas away from the homes, creating an environment that fosters interaction and reduces isolation. In her professional work, Carol champions expanding solar power in Blacksburg as part of the town's climate action plan. She is currently navigating a partnership project between solar developers, utility regulators, and neighboring municipalities to create a renewable energy system for powering city buildings, including schools. Through both her community living choices and professional efforts, Carol demonstrates exceptional leadership in sustainability.
The Calculus of Compassion
When disaster strikes, our beliefs about government's role aren't just challenged—they're shattered like glass against hard reality. For decades, American politics has violently swung between deep skepticism of government solutions, impassioned calls for civic duty, and urgent pleas for collective responsibility. These competing viewpoints now burn with unprecedented urgency as climate disasters ravage our communities with frightening frequency and devastating severity.
The brutal truth is that when hurricanes flood our streets or wildfires devour our neighborhoods, we discover - painfully and viscerally - our profound interconnectedness. No individual, regardless of wealth or preparation, can possibly face these catastrophes alone. The overwhelming resources needed for evacuation, rescue, and rebuilding demand collective action at a scale only possible through unified purpose.
Yet our approach to disaster response has become not just inconsistent but shamefully hypocritical. We watch as officials who routinely condemn federal spending suddenly transform into its most desperate advocates when their own communities suffer. Small-government philosophy sounds noble until the moment crisis hammers at your door - then suddenly, national service and solidarity become the only salvation. This staggering inconsistency forces us to confront haunting questions: What does civic responsibility truly mean in an era when government retreats from disaster response? Are we cruelly placing impossible burdens on individuals and local communities to handle catastrophes that would overwhelm even the most prepared among us?
Michael Chase and Jenny Hershey take a selfie during a lunch break on what was a flooded plain near the New River in West Virginia.
Southwestern Virginia stands as a heartbreaking testament to this dilemma. These vulnerable mountainous regions face growing, terrifying risks of flooding and landslides as climate change unleashes increasingly violent weather. Simultaneously, many communities struggle with crippling poverty, lacking even basic economic resources to build resilience or fund recovery. When federal assistance diminishes, it doesn't foster self-reliance - it sentences entire communities to deeper poverty and inevitable displacement.
Recent proposals to gut agencies like FEMA come precisely when climate change demands more robust support, not less. Meanwhile, the same officials championing government cutbacks often profit obscenely from billions of dollars in government contracts - revealing not just policy disagreements but morally indefensible contradictions in our fundamental values.
Finding our way forward begins with acknowledging our shared vulnerability with unflinching honesty. Climate change assaults all Americans regardless of political affiliation. Effective disaster policy recognizes that sometimes government solutions aren't just helpful - they're absolutely essential because they mobilize resources at scales individual action simply cannot achieve. Good policy balances healthy skepticism with the profound understanding that citizenship demands we support systems protecting everyone from existential threats no individual can possibly confront alone.
Photo of the New River near Eggleston, VA. Largely unappreciated, this river is one of North America's most remarkable geological wonders, with an estimated age of at least 65 million years. What makes this ancient waterway particularly fascinating is that it predates the very mountains through which it flows, having carved its path through the Appalachian range over countless millennia. Beginning in North Carolina's Blue Ridge Mountains near Boone, the New River follows an unusual northward and westward trajectory - contrary to most regional rivers that flow eastward toward the Atlantic. The river journeys through Virginia and West Virginia before flowing into the Kanawha and ultimately the Ohio River. The New River's passage makes it not only a crucial biodiversity corridor but also a living testament to Earth's ever-changing geological forces.
Conclusion
As climate impacts accelerate with frightening speed, we face a stark choice: develop coherent disaster policies equal to our monumental challenges, or continue with contradictions that abandon communities to suffer unimaginable hardship. The question isn't whether government should respond to disasters, but how it can do so with maximum effectiveness and fundamental fairness. Until we resolve these tensions, we remain dangerously, perhaps fatally, unprepared for the climate future already devastating vulnerable regions across America. And make no mistake—soon enough that future will engulf us all.
We met Doug at a park and campground near the New River in Eggleston, Virginia. The area had been badly damaged by Hurricane Helene. Doug is a local resident who helped rescue people from their mobile homes during the hurricane. He now visits this spot regularly to enjoy the natural beauty of the landscape. Doug told us about three major floods that affected the river in just the past four years. When we asked about changing weather over time, he shared a childhood memory of having 22 consecutive snow days during one winter. He noted that snowfall has become rare in recent years. Despite working in other cities for many years, Doug eventually returned to his hometown. He finds peace and comfort in this natural setting.
Stay vigilant! Thanks for reading. If you haven’t done so, please subscribe to this blog to follow our next biking trip.
This newsletter was written by Michael Chase, and illustrated by Jenny Hershey. Unless otherwise noted, all material is the copyrighted property of the authors, including all photographs and drawings.
Jennifer Hershey’s drawings can be enjoyed on Instagram @deeofo.
Notes:
https://cardinalnews.org/2022/08/05/two-weeks-after-buchanan-county-flood-the-hardest-part-is-getting-ready-to-happen
https://storymaps.arcgis.com/stories/fcb54c51bde7480da7f065844626c62b
https://cardinalnews.org/2024/09/30/pembroke-residents-among-southwest-virginians-with-harrowing-stories-from-flooding
https://www.wjhl.com/news/local/buchanan-county-still-rebuilding-from-2022-floods/amp
https://virginiamercury.com/2024/11/08/hurricane-helene-flooded-the-radford-army-ammunition-plant-releasing-chemicals-into-the-new-river
https://www.vaemergency.gov/recover/hurricane-helene-faq
https://www.fema.gov/press-release/20241217/support-virginians-impacted-helene-continues
https://www.nrdc.org/stories/defenders-homes-hills-and-heritage-unite-against-mountain-valley-pipeline
https://cardinalnews.org/2024/07/24/va-fines-mountain-valley-pipeline-for-environmental-violations-after-another-quarterly-review/
Michael and Jenny document their climate change observations by bicycle with blog posts that are both uplifting and sobering. Jenny’s charming illustrations and Michael’s insightful writing take these stories out of the ordinary and make for a journey well worth following. If only our government leaders were as clear-eyed and wise.
Enjoyed reading about your trip and viewing the drawings and photos. Safe travels.