As a Rule, Central Virginia Doesn't Get Pizza

As a rule, Central Virginia doesn’t get pizza. That isn’t a value judgment or a mean criticism – just an observation. Pizza isn’t indigenous to Virginia, barbecue is. Pizza is indigenous to New York and by extension, New Jersey. Chicago thinks pizza’s indigenous there, too, but it’s not. That stuff in the pan may be good to eat, but it ain’t pizza.

They have a “pizza” place here in downtown Richmond that everyone raves about. I won’t name it because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. People use superlatives when they talk about it. They say it’s The Best. Let me tell you, from someone who knows pizza: It sucks.

Doughy, chronically undercooked, overpriced and soggy. They heap too much cheese and too many veggies on it. Then they don’t cook it hot enough or long enough, so all the wet percolates down into the crust. Blech. I can get a 99 cent slice from a window on the corner of 9^th Ave and 41^st Street by the Lincoln Tunnel that puts that stuff to shame.

So why does everyone around here think it’s great pizza? Simple. For the most part, it’s all they know. If you're brought up on Dominos and Papa Johns, I guess it seems ok. It’s like you think that barbecue joint in Manville, NJ is great barbecue, but people around here would probably find it repulsive and inedible.  Barbecue's an art form in Virginia, and that's a story for another day.

Anyway, to all my moaning and griping about no decent pizza, my neighbor, Adair, tells me there’s not one, but two good pizza joints in Goochland Courthouse. Now, you have to picture this town. It’s the county seat of a quaint little rural Virginia county where there are seven horses for each human. They do have a Ford dealership, a supermarket and a feed store. Their claim to fame is Cy Young winner Jason Verlander. Hard to believe they would have good pizza there.

When I started planning my ultra-marathon training, I wanted to get in some point to point runs. You can only run in so many circles before you start to crave something more interesting. Since Adair told me about those pizza joints, I figured Farm to Goochland would make a good long run with a pizza reward at the end. I laid it out on MapMyRun.com and turns out it’s exactly fifteen miles. Perfect.

The first five miles were along Miller’s Lane which you know is one of my favorite running roads. But once I hit River Road, it was virgin foot territory. Oh, I have driven it plenty of times, but seeing the terrain from behind the wheel of a Teutonic tarmac hound and from the shoe-leather express are two very different perspectives. There are a lot more hills along that stretch of road than I remembered. I admit I walked on some of them.

Kim met me around mile seven to reload the fluids. I had come around a bend and looked up at a sudden and steep hill that was preceded by a narrowing of the road with guardrails on either side. I looked back to see if I was going to get squeezed by traffic and there she was in the dually. A perfect excuse to stop and rest before taking on the climb. She agreed she’d come back out in an hour and meet me in town. I don’t think she saw me walk on that hill, but I did.

By the time I reached the Route 522 intersection, my quads and glutes were twitching and my legs really did not want to work. I never got winded, not once. Cardio has always been a strength. Six weeks from now my resting heart rate will be about 48 and blood pressure 90/55. I’m sure we’re not much above that now. Anyway this was the farthest I have run since 2004, and I was not ready for it. But then again, you never are ready for the first time – you just make it happen.

I got up the hill past the bridge that cuts across the James River to Powhatan County and was excited to see the speed limit drop to 35. The end was near. There’s two parts to Goochland Courthouse. The old part and the new part. The old part comes first, and one of those pizza joints is in the old part. As I ran past, it looked deserted. I was really disappointed and worried that I shouldn’t have done this on a Sunday.

Much of running is mental, and I was in the mental stage. The stage where your body says, “I wanna quit,” and your mind has to refuse. So I really wasn’t worrying too much about pizza I was just trying to keep going. I saw a sidewalk on the other side, so I crossed the road by Wells Fargo. The County Administration Building was straight ahead. Fifteen miles was just past it on the right, and I could see my stopping point so I just kept going.

I beared (bore?) to the right at the fork in the road past the Admin building, went a few yards and quit. It really felt wonderful to stop. My legs were very weak and did not want to hold me up. I thought about sitting down, but when I looked over my left shoulder, there was Kim. Perfect timing as usual. We’re good like that. I actually had to pull myself into the truck.  

I have news for you: Adair's right. Rocco’s Pizza in Goochland is not just the best pizza I’ve had in nine years of Virginia, It’s damn good pizza for anywhere. Remember those bar pies we used to get at Bucky’s in Finderne or Chitch’s in Bound Brook? It’s like that. Thin crispy crust. About 14 inches across. Cooked in a really hot oven, so you can put a lot of cheese or veggies on it and it stays crunchy on the bottom.

We had really cold draft Buds, too. Kim had a cheese steak she said was fine. She said the real test for her is the eggplant parmesan. Maybe I’ll go out there Wednesday night and get her an eggplant parmesan and me another Hand Tossed Rocco’s Special for take out. I’ll drive this time, though.