Where Time Runs Straight
Where Time Runs Straight
- Photo essay by
- Lara Ajami
I came to the W&OD Trail to clear my head, nothing more. But a few minutes in, I slowed down—not from tiredness, but because the trail felt like it was holding a story I didn’t know. I realized I wasn’t just walking; I was walking through history.
This 45-mile greenway, often called the "Skinniest Park in Virginia," is a living monument to that layered past. The shift in pace—from a steam engine's roar to a quiet run—is profound.
Now it’s a smooth, active route—runners, families, dogs, bikes everywhere you look. But it’s perfectly straight line gives it away. You can almost picture a railroad sitting exactly where the asphalt is now.
Every discovery here feels like a personal excavation. The peeling paint and rust on the old markers look like wrinkles in time — reminders of the railroad that once carried people and goods from the D.C. area into the western parts of Northern Virginia, helping the region grow and expand.
The landscape contrasts sharply. A preserved wooden depot stands beneath the towering lattice of modern high-tension power lines. Here, I see the project's theme clearly: two generations of power transmission, existing side-by-side.
The original rail solved 19th-century logistics; the new infrastructure solves the 21st. The constant is the enduring, uninterrupted need for connection, even if the method has changed.
I pause by a deeply weathered mile marker, reaching out to touch its flaking paint. These posts, once critical for railway operations, are now silent sentinels watching over people focused on fitness.
The narrative is clear. The W&OD is more than a trail; it’s a living cross-section of American evolution. This trail is proof that in America, nothing is ever truly abandoned, it's simply reborn.
I came to the W&OD Trail to clear my head, nothing more. But a few minutes in, I slowed down—not from tiredness, but because the trail felt like it was holding a story I didn’t know. I realized I wasn’t just walking; I was walking through history.
This 45-mile greenway, often called the "Skinniest Park in Virginia," is a living monument to that layered past. The shift in pace—from a steam engine's roar to a quiet run—is profound.
Now it’s a smooth, active route—runners, families, dogs, bikes everywhere you look. But it’s perfectly straight line gives it away. You can almost picture a railroad sitting exactly where the asphalt is now.
Every discovery here feels like a personal excavation. The peeling paint and rust on the old markers look like wrinkles in time — reminders of the railroad that once carried people and goods from the D.C. area into the western parts of Northern Virginia, helping the region grow and expand.
The landscape contrasts sharply. A preserved wooden depot stands beneath the towering lattice of modern high-tension power lines. Here, I see the project's theme clearly: two generations of power transmission, existing side-by-side.
The original rail solved 19th-century logistics; the new infrastructure solves the 21st. The constant is the enduring, uninterrupted need for connection, even if the method has changed.
I pause by a deeply weathered mile marker, reaching out to touch its flaking paint. These posts, once critical for railway operations, are now silent sentinels watching over people focused on fitness.
The narrative is clear. The W&OD is more than a trail; it’s a living cross-section of American evolution. This trail is proof that in America, nothing is ever truly abandoned, it's simply reborn.
