On my first day back, I had a party to go to. Unlike most parties that happen in the evening, this one started at 9am. So, vowing to attend and not wanting to do so in a car, I hopped on the Vespa and attempted to ride the 30 or so miles to Montour Preserve.

After about two blocks, I hear this rumbling coming from my rear tire. Turns out that it’s my rear tire. Go figure.

I rode it back and checked it out. It was mostly out of air.

The soapy water trick worked and even blew a large bubble, just for fun!

A flat, eh? I remembered the night before, only a few hours after arriving home, something felt uneasy in the rear wheel. I assumed it was just in my head. But no. I must of gotten a tack in my tire at the Chinese Restaurant.

I was able to ride over 11,000 miles in 12 weeks without having any real problems. But the moment I get home, I catch a flat.

Luckily, or so I thought, I had a tire plug kit under my seat. I had never even used it. It was purchased for the trip, “just in case.” I was more than a little amused that the day after I get back… or really, the night I got back, I got a flat.

I wheeled it into the garage and plugged it, following the directions.

And in about five minutes, the tire was plugged, reinflated and ready to roll!

Now, what I should have done was tested it for leaks. Why I didn’t, I’m not sure. I just figured that I plugged it the right way. That was dumb of me.

But no matter. I headed out of town on PA 304 and then took County Line Road for about a mile until the balance began to switch. The ride, to pitch. And suddenly the tire started to unhitch. And just then the bitch, to satisfy an itch, left be stranded by the roadside thumbing for a hitch.¹

Yep. The tire went flat and the plug was gone. Since the tire was now off the bead, there was no way to replug it and inflate it with the little bike pump I always carry.

Now, if I could digress into explaining how this wouldn’t happen if I had just stayed with vintage. When I rode the vintage Vespas, I always carried a tire patch kit. But since the tires were tubed and had split rims AND were easy to take off, I could remove the tire, split the rim, throw on a new tube (I always carried extras) and ride away.

This was not the case.

I had to call for a tow. For a flat. This was lame. Even if I could somehow carry a spare, changing it is such an amazingly huge and clumsy ordeal that it would be nearly impossible (or completely impossible in my case - as I’d find out later).

The tow company said that they would be there in a couple of hours. And with time to kill, I checked out the cemetery that was my host on this lovely summer day.

Many of the graves were of children. In fact, there was an entire family buried there. They had three kids, none of them lived past the age of three.

Only one Civil War soldier was buried here. He died in 1861 in Washington DC, but I couldn’t read how or why because the stone was so deteriorated.

Though the cemetery was well carried for, I did a little maintenance myself, putting a vase upright here, weeding a bit there, righting a headstone or two. What else was I going to do to keep busy?

Well, finally the tow truck arrived and we loaded up the scooter. I’ve never seen how they did this before now and I was pretty impressed. He strapped the front wheel to this little cart thing and the cart to a winch and it pulled the scooter up the flat bed.

I was only five miles from home. I could practically see the house from here. This was frustrating.

I was more than a little amused at how the night I finished an 11,000 mile cross-country ride, taking horrible dirt roads, parking in hundreds of parking lots, even being swept off the road into a ditch during a Missouri rain storm. I never needed a tow. I never caught a flat. The ride, more or less, was 11,000 uneventful miles. And then literally 20 miles after returning home, unpacking my gear, I pick up a nail or a tack in the parking lot of the Chinese restaurant. Over night the tire went flat, I tried to fix it the same way I would have tried to fix it on the road and now it was off the rim and on the back of a roll back tow truck.

None of this made a whole lot of sense. It was like I was supposed to break down. I was overdue, but something held it off until the day after my trip, when I was a mere five miles from home. Yes, thank you. I should be thankful. Sort of hard to be, of course. But at least I know I should be.

And the state of affairs now is that a plate that goes over the wheel is somehow stuck on and though I’ve tried, I cannot remove it (and thus cannot remove the wheel). I’ve changed tires a few times before. This has never been the case. They’re tough to remove, but not impossible. I’ll tackle it again today.

Here’s a write up, with pictures on how to change a tire on a modern Vespa. This, like many modern car/motorcycle/scooter things, is far more complicated than need be.

This whole ordeal threw off my day by a good four hours. AND I had to take my car everywhere I went. It reminded me again of how much I really dislike driving. The entire time I longed to be on two wheels.

So if I can remove this plate thing (which I am pretty sure I can), I’ll have to take it to Mechanicsburg and get the tire replaced. Thankfully, they’re open on Mondays.

I said that I was going to make a final post. This isn’t it, it’s just a little aside. Thought you might find it funny. Or ironic or something.

1. Sorry about this, but I couldn’t resist. [↩]

I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Rati, Dwija and I were up till well after 1am. I wish I could have stayed longer.

But this morning, I woke up in a familiar place for the first time in nearly three months (well, if you don’t count the day before… hm). And that was pretty nice.

I packed up my stuff, ate a small breakfast and said goodbye to two amazing people, promising to be back a couple of times before leaving for Seattle.

The plan was to stick to the back roads. First, National Road. I did it for a bit. There was no fanfare crossing into Pennsylvania. I sneaked in the back, I guess. Not even a sign. Nothing, really. I was going to take a picture of my triumphant return, but nope.

No big deal.

Route 40/National Road is usually pretty nice. But today it was busy and as soon as I got into PA, people started to yell at me.

Seriously. I don’t know what it is about this crummy state, but I haven’t really had anyone just yell at me this entire trip. But in PA, several shirtless men in trucks yelled at me. Maybe it was Shirtless Yelling Man Day or something.

I had to take the interstate a couple of times. Not had to, really, but did. But I didn’t linger too awfully long. I even did a little exploration of the town of Brownsville. A few months ago, I passed through it on a Sunday evening. It was dead. So I figured that I should go back and get some better, daytime pictures of it.

Today, I rode through it and it was actually busy. Not the businesses, of course. Those are boarded up. But Main Street was stacked with cars. Oh, and stacked with shirtless guys in trucks yelling at me. This happened twice.

It was also here that I saw one of the paint by numbers that I’ve been looking for. It’s unofficially titled “Touchdown Jesus.” It was in the window of a storefront that may have been turned into a church or something. The sign read: Travels with Jesus. I’m not really sure what it was, but seeing Touchdown Jesus made my day. I wish it were for sale. But nobody seemed to be around.

I rode on.

Around Uniontown, I headed north to US 30. I had around 160 miles under by belt and was beat. The day’s rest at Rati and Dwija’s helped a bunch, but I’m still really spent. I considered taking the interstate, but stuck with the Lincoln Highway.

At an overlook, I met two motorcyclists, one who had ridden up from Fort Worth, Texas. They were brothers, Ray and Warren (I think). Ray was the traveler, visiting Warren and the rest of his family. We chatted for a bit, exchanging road stories.

Oddly enough, that invigorated me and allowed me to push on towards New Berlin.

It didn’t, however, keep me off of I-99. I was going to take US 522 north, but decided to shorten the trip a bit and take the newish I-99. It’s funny how afraid I was of interstates before this trip. And though I didn’t take many during it, the few that I took make the ones we have around here seem easy and carefree.

I took the superslab to near State College and then US 322 to PA 45, roads I’ve taken many time before. It was easy to just zone out.

After about an hour and a half of all that, I rolled into New Berlin, my hometown.

I could go on about how everything seemed so much smaller, but honestly, it all just seems the same. And it seems like I’ve only been gone a few moments. Nothing much, if anything at all, has changed.

That’s not really a bad thing. It’s almost like time stopped for me to make this trip. Sure, it was April when I left and it’s nearly August now, but still, a few months in a small town makes very little difference.

There wasn’t anyone to greet me when I arrived home. Just like there wasn’t anyone to see me off. I’m very ok with that. It seems fitting. I don’t like big to-do’s. I left and came back to very little attention.

And to make things even more normal, the first thing I did was had bad Chinese food with Sarah. Just like I did the night before I left.

So here I am. Back in Pennsylvania after twelve weeks of scootering around the country.

Thanks a bunch to everyone who helped out along the way, to the folks who gave me directions, to the folks who gave me a place to crash.

And thanks to everyone who read this. I’m not really sure why you’d bother, but I’m glad you did.

I’m planing on making one more post in the next couple of days… so stay tuned.

Here are my pics.

Miles today: 360
Miles total: 11,052

So the grand total is 11, 052. If you add in the miles via that horrible PT Cruiser (1,976 miles), it’s: 13,028. I’ve traveled over 13 thousand miles since I left. That’s pretty fun.

Today was cold. I think this may have been the longest cold ride I’ve ever taken.

I woke up at 6am and checked the outside temperature. 36 degrees. Things would need to warm up a bit before I’d get rolling. So I finished packing up and tying things down to the scooter. I stepped away from it and thought, “what am I doing?”

This is ridiculous. And that’s the theme for the whole day. What I’m about to do is making less and less sense.

By 10am, the temperature had risen to a whopping 48 degrees. I hoped on the bike and pulled out of the driveway. I noticed that the front end was wobbly. Through town, at slow speeds, it would wobble. I wasn’t sure if it was my nerves or the front end. I’m still not sure.

Before heading south on PA 104, I hung a left and dropped in on Nikki who was staying at her folks’ house. I traveled Route 66 twice with her and it was fitting to at least say hi/bye to her before taking off to see it by myself (a concept I’m not fully ready to face).

As New Berlin disappeared in my rearview mirror, the cold bit into me. The sky was over cast and offered no warmth. But in no time, I hit US 15 south, skipping old alignments, wishing I could be riding them instead of this 4 lane chunk of super slab. But I had to make time today.

Wheeling is about 350 miles away. I got a late start because of the weather, so there was no time to stop - even to eat.

That is, except at the BMW Motorcycle dealership in Mechanicsburg, PA. I wanted to get a helmet. I looked around a bit, tried on a few and finally picked out a silver Nolan. It’s the bee’s knees. I handed my old helmet to the parts guy and asked him if he could dispose of it.

I hate asking people to throw stuff away for me. When I ran the bookstore, people were always asking me to throw things away for them. I always found it rude. Always. But here I was asking some guy to throw away a helmet on my behalf. He did. Thank you, sir.

Seven hours to go.

Normally, the trip from New Berlin to Wheeling takes six hours. Normally, I’m in a car on an interstate. But on a scooter, no matter how fast it can go, you only do about 40mph average. All the starts and stops, the fueling up, my complete inability to take turns at speed, add up.

After buzzing through Carlise, I mistakenly took PA 34 south. I backtracked and found another road that went to Shippensburg. PA 174 is indeed a fine little road. Hardly any traffic. From Shippensburg, I took US 11 to Chambersburg and from Chambersburg I spend the next 80 miles on the Lincoln Highway, US 30.

I adore the Lincoln Highway through Pennsylvania. West of Chambersburg is great. I found some unmarked older alignments, but took no pictures.

The gloves I was wearing were huge snow gloves. It was cold. At this point, the temp was around 51 degrees. Huge gloves are a hassle to put on and take off. So taking a picture would require more effort and time than I could presently afford.

I road through McConnellsburg, Breezewood, Everett and Bedford, wanting to spend time in all of them, but unable to stop for more than gas and a quick (though failed) picture of The Coffee Pot just outside of Bedford.

Just after Bedford, I began to think that I had missed the turn off for PA 281 South. Luckily, I continued to press on, even though my “gut” told me I had passed it. I got a little worried, but figured if it were true, I could take Lincoln Highway some other road, take that south and follow 40 into Wheeling. To my surprise, my gut was wrong and 281 was waiting just for me.

When planning my trip through Pennsylvania, I looked for a “scenic route,” finding one in Jim Mountain Road. Yes, there is a mountain named Jim. And Jim has a road. Jim’s road was pretty special. Thirteen miles of smiles!

And though there were smiles, by this time, I was ready to be done for the day. I was cold, the temperature hadn’t creeped up too much and I was tired. Beat, really.

By the time I road around Uniontown (I have vowed to never stop foot nor wheel inside that horrible place), catching PA 21 to the West Virginia boarder, I was exhausted.

It doesn’t seem like it should, but riding takes a lot out of you. The upside is that you sleep really well at night. The downside is that you want to sleep right NOW.

I wasn’t sleepy - falling asleep on a bike is not for me, but I was ready to not be riding. However, at this point, it was a race against the daylight. I wanted to pull into Rati and Dwija’s, just south of Wheeling, by 7pm. I’m insanely punctual. You’ll see.

PA 21 is an old road. There are pot holes and twists and turns and some really very beautiful scenery. The entire day, I’ve had to deal with twisty roads. Most motorcyclists/scooterists love the twists. I do not. For some reason, I mentally block my ability to lean. I am always afraid the wheels will slide out from under me. Of course, they wouldn’t, but nevertheless, I’m scared of sharp turns. I slow down to 35 and lightly lean, sometimes throwing my foot out in the direction of the turn to act as a counter balance. The people stuck behind me are thrilled.

Fifty miles of PA 21 later and I’m at the border of West Virginia and the lamest three miles of crappy road ever invented. PA 21 magically turns into WV 891. It’s a three mile stretch of road connecting PA 21 to US 250 - the windiest road in the universe.

The speed limit on US 250 is 55mph. I have no idea how you are supposed to achieve that. There are no straight stretches. None. It is 100% curves. Most riders would love it. Again, I did not.

Lucky for me Palace Road was not too far away. And a mile down that was Rati and Dwija’s house. It’s been like my home for the past few months. And it was really nice to be here. I was welcomed with smiles and was finally warm (it got up to 60 somewhere around Uniontown - probably hotter there because Uniontown can burn in hell).

For the next two days, I will be hanging out here. I hope to see a friend or two and maybe I’ll even write about it.

My next stop is Auburn, Indiana. Nothing special there, it’s just 300 miles away from here and 200 miles away from Joliet (via Chicago).

Today was hard. Much harder than I expected. I’m completely exhausted and am now wondering if I can actually pull this off. Too many more days like today and I don’t see how I can. Fortunately, most days are much shorter and on much less twisty ground.

And that sums up today. Thanks for reading.

Check out my pics.

Miles traveled: 350ish (not sure, too tired to check)
Miles Total: 350ish (not sure, too tired to check)

Ending location: Near Wheeling, WV

High temp: 60
Low temp: 48

Things I forgot: Phone charger - so my phone is turned off right now. If you’re trying to call me, you won’t get through because the phone is turned off. So don’t try. Well… you can try if you like, you know, leave a funny message on my voicemail or something. Sure, you can do that, but really, I won’t answer because I don’t want to run down my crappy battery. I’ll get a charger soon. Sorry.

Today was a very long driving day. Even longer than the first day. Today I drove 750 miles from Cookeville, TN to home.

Along the way, we did the entire 105 or so miles of Skyline Drive. Much of today’s drive was interstate and basically eventless. However, Skyline was really nice and I’m glad we did it.

Here are my 18 pics from today.

And here are Smartz’s 15.

We arrived in Chicago in effing record time. Our departure was at 430am. I slept from about midnight to 330am. Goodsleeperic.

The drive itself was rather uneventful, as would be any drive through Western Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana. It was I-80 all the way! God, this was so exciting.

I did fall asleep at the wheel once. I love it when I do that. It kept me awake though. Until about right now. I’m in a hotel room in Joliet, Il. Where is Joliet, you ask? It’s a bit south of Chicago. The Blues Brothers had some affiliation with Joliet prison, if I remember correctly.

So basically, since I’ll be doing Route 66 in a few weeks, I’ll spare you the play-by-play. Instead, I offer you the pictures I took today. Hey, that rhymes! I should SO be a poet!

Here are the pics from today!

And here are those from Smartz.

I’ve been trying to ride a bit to get used to riding a bit. Tuesday I did 200ish miles, from here to Altoona and back again.

Yeah, I was just in Altoona. And yeah, I saw some things that I had already seen. But I also saw things that I missed. And mostly, I just had a good ride.

The night before, I printed out the directions and that morning I taped them to my scooter. This was also a dry run for how things will work on Scoot 66. The taping of the directions to my headset will be a daily ritual. Most days I’ll be able to fit everything on it. Some days will require some changing midway through.

I left around 11:30am. It was still pretty cold. The thermometer on the scooter read 48 degrees. However, the thermometer reads about 2 - 5 degrees warmer than it actually is. As I rode through Mifflinburg, it climbed to 50. But as I made my way through the hills of the west end of Union County, it dropped to 44.

I’ve always liked the ride between Mifflinburg and State College area. It’s quaint and the road has changed little since the late 1700’s. There is even a mile marker from 1798, preserved with a plaque. It claims there’s another five miles west, but I couldn’t find it. The original road ran from Youngstown (Mifflinburg) to Old Fort (just south of Centre Hall). It’s kind of surprising that two mile markers remain.

I’ve driven and even ridden the section between Mifflinburg and Boalsburg (just south of State College) many times. However, the section of Route 45 that extends west from Boalsburg to its western terminus in a town called Water Street was entirely new to me.

Route 45, after it crosses the Bald Eagle State Forest, is straight and flat until it reaches Boalsburg. Then it runs through hills and over streams, eventually twisting through a one-lane railroad underpass.

With Route 45 behind me, I got to test my directions. One thing I realized is that GoogleMaps, which I used to map out this excursion, isn’t entirely accurate. Thankfully, I’ve got an ok sense of direction. GoogleMaps tells me that Route 45 goes to US 22. That’s not true. They’re connected by Route 453. I didn’t know that, but figured it out.

Having just come through the mountains to an even higher elevation, I was cold. Really cold. It was 1pm and the temperature hadn’t climbed a bit. My brain was mostly focused on the cold and I got a bit lost.

There was some confusion heading through Hollidaysburg as well. Things on a map and things in real life are often two very different things. No amount of planning can change that. Routes 22 and 220 have been drastically changed since the last time I was through here. I was looking for (and found) Old Route 22.

There’s an even older alignment that I missed due to me being a bit confused. It’s now called Foot of Ten Road and runs by the foot of the Number 10 incline plane of the Allegheny Portage Railroad. This is a pretty fascinating thing which I’ve never really looked into. Someday, I guess.

Old US 22 heads west through Cresson, my first destination. Last time I was through here I stopped in Gallitzen to look at a couple of train tunnels. I was also looking for Vampire Road, but simply couldn’t find it. Since then I had rechecked a map and knew exactly where it was. I was within 20 feet of it last time.

This time, I drove the entire two mile length of it. What does it have to do with Vampires? Beats me. I’d love to find out. What’s weird is that the fine folks who live along Vampire Road seem to not care that it’s called Vampire Road. I mean, if I were blessed with an address of “Vampire Road,” I’d proudly proclaim it. These folks have basically named their driveways things like “Meadowbrook Road” so that the sigma of “Vampire Road” will haunt them no more.

Whatever. These people are dumb.

No trip to this neck of the woods would be complete without a stop at Horseshoe Curve. By this time the sun was out and I was warming up. Just as I pulled in, I heard the rumblings of a train. Sure enough, just as I parked my scooter, a train came in from the east.

This time, the museum was open. I poked around in there a bit and picked up a time table for when the trains were coming through. This place was busier than I thought.

Another train passed as I was climbing the stairs. Also, climbing the stairs showed me (yet again) how amazingly out of shape I am. Thanks, stairs!

Up top, at the park where you watch the trains, four old guys sat talking about railroading and the curve. I didn’t join them. Part of me wanted to, but I just kept to myself.

I moved to the rear of the park and heard a train whistle in the distance. A few minutes later I heard rumbling, but couldn’t tell if it was coming from the east or the west. It got louder and I thought I was hearing an echo as I swore (to myself, though I would have sworn to the four old guys if I had the chance) that the sound was coming from both the east and the west.

A few minutes later would prove me right.

I had the wonderful (to me) fortunate of seeing two trains passing each other at Horseshoe Curve. Now, I realize that pretty much nobody reading this is all super excited about the opportunity to see two trains passing each other at Horseshoe Curve. And that’s fine. I totally understand that. But for me, it was the bee’s knees. Why? I have no idea. But I dug it quite well.

After that excitement, it was quite awhile until another train showed up. During that time I thought it would be fun if I called Sarah to see if she could see me on Horseshoe Curve’s web cam.

No such luck. They have it set so that you can see the trains quite well, but simply can’t see the people watching the trains. This is a bad things since half the fun of watching trains is watching the people who watch trains.

Horseshoe Curve was closing and it was time for me to start heading back. I put my camera in my pocket, hopped on the bike and rode away.

Heading into Altoona, I noticed that my camera was in my pocket. This was a bad thing since it can easily fall out of that pocket. Usually, it’s in my glovebox. I needed to get gas, so I figured I’d just move it to the glovebox when I stopped.

And when I stopped, I stuck my hand in my pocket… and no camera. SHIT! That’s right, it fell out somewhere in the streets of Altoona. I gassed up, hopped back on and retraced my steps. After a few turns, what did I see? That’s right, my camera lying face up in the middle of the street. I pulled over, picked it up. It was pretty beaten up. Luckily, it’s got a metal body. It survived. Everything worked just find on it. I was very amazed.

What didn’t amazing me, however, were the ridiculously craptastic directions GoogleMaps gave me to get through Altoona. I got very very lost. The roads I was told to look for didn’t exist and the ones that did exist, weren’t named what I thought they were going to be named.

I knew which direction I needed to be heading in, so when I took PA 36 North, after a few miles, I realized that it was bearing to the west a bit too much. I turned around and somehow found a road called Old Sixth Street. Old roads are a love of mine (have you noticed?), so I took it north as far as it would go. I knew I was a bit west of where I needed to be, but I wasn’t getting any wester, so I seemed to be paralleling my intended route.

My next stop was the town of Bellwood. Old Sixth went right into it! So all I had to do was find the road I needed and I’d be back on track. Without too much hassle, I found the road, PA 865 East. I took that, dipped under the new I-99, took a left and was on a steep cliff-side road on my way to Fort Roberdeau, a fort from the late 1700’s.

According to GoogleMaps, there is a road called “Hobbit Hollow Road” just off of the road I was on. Saddly, many of the roads weren’t marked. Maybe next time I’ll do some more exploring.

A few miles later and I got to the fort. I had been there before, or so I thought, but had no real recollection of it looking like this. It was really well done!

To my dismay, the fort wasn’t open. I couldn’t even get inside the stockade. It opens May 1. Maybe someday I’ll see it. Last time I was there, it was just a tall stockade with nothing much around it. I didn’t even look like the same fort. Hm. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’m thinking of something else. Who knows.

The sun was dipping lower in the sky, so I had to hurry home.

In my haste, while retracing my steps, I took a wrong turn. Again, I knew it was a wrong turn a few miles after I took it, but saw that I was going in the right direction, so kept going. I should have come out at Bellwood, where I began this side trip. But instead, I came out perhaps six miles north, in near Tyrone. I saw a sign pointing me to Tyrone and I was soon back on my original road, in this case, the Appalachian Throughway.

Construction upon I-99 has really messed everything up. However, I didn’t get lost again. I thought I was lost, but it turns out that I wasn’t. Go figure!

Pennsylvania certainly doesn’t make things easy on me. I was following PA 144, south from Bellfonte, heading towards Centre Hall, when I saw a sign telling me that 144 South goes straight… and goes right. What do I do here?

Well, what I did was went straight. Going right just didn’t seem, well, right.

And what do you know, I was right. In very little time, I was on PA 192 heading east back to Mifflinburg. The temperature was again dropping, especially as I climbed the mountains near Halfway Dam.

By the time I got home, nearing 8pm, I was fully chilled. Not quite cold, but the coldness was setting in. After 200 miles I was ready to call it a day.

If you’d like, you can see the rest of my pics here.

[And now the exciting conclusion of the “Thursday was the longest day ever” trilogy!]

I knew I was running short on time. I had told Rati that I would be there around 7pm. My initial figuring was that this trip would take me 14 hours. For some reason, I reassessed that and said that it would take me 12. It was looking as if 14 would be a bit closer to reality.

I was six or seven hours away from my final destination. Antietam wasn’t my last stop for the day, but it was my last long stop. The rest would be mostly driving.

The driving would mostly be on Old National Road. I made my way through Hagerstown. From here on out, Civil War history was mostly behind me.

Large cities, like Hagerstown (ok, not really large, but it was larger than anything I passed through today), don’t mean much to me when traveling these back roads. Sometimes I’ll even bypass them. I did that a bit with Hagerstown, but before I knew it, I was back on Alt Route 40.

There were no scheduled stops now. I would pull over wherever I saw something worth pulling over for. A bridge or a historical marker or an old alignment that was long-ago bypassed. It’s the way I travel. And after you’ve done it, it’s difficult to pull the car back onto the long, boring super slab of an interstate. Very difficult. And so even though I was running late and the interstate was, at times, mere yards from me, I stayed true to the old National Road.

Unfortunately, I did have to jump on the interstate for a bit. I-70 is laid right over the old National Road. However, before I was giving this displeasure, I searched out an old fort (which was gated and closed) and found an old cemetery.

And I mean old. The newest grave was from 1823 or something. Many of the graves were marked only with an unmarked river stone. I’m not sure if there was a town here or perhaps this was from the fort or the railroad (which was nearby). Many of the markers were damaged, most of them by time.

Farther west, just after leaving I-70, I was able, for the first time, to navigate Sidling Hill via US Route 40. Ironically enough, the abandoned Pennsylvania Turnpike tunnel (Sideling Hill Tunnel) I had visited on my way to Pennsylvania a week or so prior was dug through the same hill, 20 or so miles to the north. The interstate now cuts a huge gap into the mountain. The Old US Route 40 (National Road) takes the long way around. It’s a beautiful drive and i encourage anyone to take it.

After many more gorgeous miles of National Road, stopping here and there to read a sign or two, driving through Cumberland (the old start of National Road) and Frostburg, I drive by and turn around for a really fun looking bridge. Are you shocked? No?

Castleman’s River Bridge is quite the structure. It was built in 1813 and was the largest stone arch in America at the time. It was used for about 100 years and then retired. And though it was getting late, I stopped, walked across it to a weird little village of log cabins that must be something touristie during the warmer months. Traveling in March has its blessings afterall!

Shortly after the bridge, I crossed into Pennsylvania. National Road/Route 40 cruise up into Pennsylvania before crossing the West Virginia panhandle and Wheeling. And shortly after crossing into Pennsylvania, I pass Fort Necessity. For the record and for what it’s worth, let me say that I know nothing about Fort Necessity. It was a fort during the French & Indian War. There was a battle there. That is my entire knowledge of it. I’ll hopefully be revisiting the fort in the near future.

However, farther up the road I came across a sort of place of pilgrimage for National Road folks. Here lies General Edward Braddock. He was the leader of the British forces during the French and Indian War. He is also the guy who carved out “Braddock’s Road,” which later became the basis for National Road and US Route 40. Basically, this is the fellow who started it all.

Braddock started in Cumberland, just like National Road. His objective was a fort near Pittsburgh. Unfortunately, he met an untimely death in an ambush near what is now the town of McKeesport, PA (in 1755). His troops, in retreat, carried his body to the location where I now stood and buried it in an unmarked grave under his road. George Washington, who was fighting with Braddock, performed the ceremony.

The grave remained unknown until 1804 when road workers found it and reinterred it a short distance to where he lies today.

The road is still very visible in this location. Much of the long ago abandoned trace is visible in farmer’s fields and through woods. Sadly, much of it is gone.

And now it was really getting dark. I had no chance to stop at anything from here on out. I passed through and got very lost in Uniontown, PA. I hope it never darkens my path again.

However, just after Uniontown was Brownsville. Brownsville looks like a bomb hit it. It was nearly full-on dark when I passed through it, but I will most definitely be back. National Road drags you to Brownsville’s downtown. Every store is closed. Every single one. It was almost like driving through the largest ghost town I had ever seen.

Darkness had fully set in.

Upon Washington, PA, I entered the Interstate and drove quickly to Wheeling, West Virginia. My home for about a week.

Thanks for reading along. I’m sorry that it was so long-winded. I know most of it is history related and I know that it doesn’t appeal to many, but thanks for putting up with me.

As a reward, here are all of the pics from Thursday.
All 172 of them.
Click!

[This is part one of two (I think).]

Well, maybe not. But I was traveling from 7am till 9:30pm. That’s right, 14 and a half hours. And it was pretty amazing.

I love traveling before the sun comes up. And while I didn’t have much driving time in the early dawn, it was pretty great. Though, honestly, I don’t remember much about the beginning of the trip until I was through the Harrisburg area. That’s weird. I have no memory of how I got to Harrisburg. Odd.

Anyway, let me introduce you to my traveling partners.

They were with me in the bus and now they’re with me in the Yaris. Fun! There is also Chicken Puppet, but I didn’t get a pic of him. He was hiding or something.

My first stop was Gettysburg. I know, I was just there, so I don’t really know why I felt compelled to hit it again, but it’s on the way and how could I not?

I visited the first day’s field: the 11th Corps line and McPherson’s Barn. I had a great-great, etc grandfather who fought with the 150th Pennsylvania right in front and around the McPherson Barn. So it’s a pretty special place for me. Oddly enough, I had never jumped the fence to see it up close. But oh I did today. It’s not illegal or anything, but still.

I also stopped at a plaque that I didn’t see before. I don’t think it’s that new, but I’ve never seen it. It was for Camp Colt, the World War II era tank training camp that was right on the battlefield. That was pretty interesting. And the 8th Ohio Monument. Their story at Gettysburg is one of my favorite.

From Gettysburg, I took old Route 15 South to Emmitsburg, Maryland and Mount St. Mary’s. There is a grotto there that I’ve visited a few times before. It’s great. No, I was never Catholic or anything, but it’s always moved me. There’s a huge golden statue of Mary that you can see for miles and mile around. And behind her, there’s a walkway with the stations of the cross.

Towards the end of the walkway, there is a small pond and a spring. There’s also a chapel and a statue of Mother Elizabeth Ann Seton, she’s the patron saint of Catholic schools. And of Maryland. Yep, the whole state.

It’s all very peaceful and awe-inspiring. Sure, it’s got some of that 60’s Vatican II cheese that Catholicism seems to be overcome with. But all in all it was great.

There’s not a whole lot to do there, so I moved on. I took Old Frederick Road to Frederick, Maryland. Both Old Frederick Road and US Route 15, a mile or so to the west, existed prior to the Civil War. The Union Army used both on their way to and from Gettysburg in 1863.

Along the road, I saw a “Civil War Trails” sign. Whenever I see one of those signs, I usually turn off and read whatever plaque it there. Sometimes it’s nothing. Sometimes it’s a whole battle. This time it was just a bridge. But oh it was a covered bridge. All the plaque said was that Meade, the Union General at Gettysburg used the bridge and had a headquarters in a near-by town. Interesting, but I would rather have heard about where the headquarters was.

I took a by-pass around Frederick, MD and found Alt US 40 West. I love Alt 40. It’s the old Route 40. National Road. Love it? Oh yes I do.

I took National Road (which isn’t so well marked in this part of Maryland) to Middletown and then turned off for Burkittsville, the home of the Blair Witch! Well, not exactly. The reason I was going there was because there was a part of a rather big Civil War battle (Battle of South Mountain) that took place there.

Above Burkittsville is Gathland State Park and the Appalachian Trail. I spent a bit of time there. I really love this place. Yes, the apex of the Battle of Crampton’s Gap (this part of South Mountain) occurred here. There’s a small park with ruins of the an old estate that used to be there (this was his land). Also, there’s a huge arch monument dedicated to Civil War reporters.

Just north of Crampton’s Gap is Fox’s Gap. A battle took place here as well, part of the Battle of South Mountain. This was a small battle, basically a holding action to allow the Confederates to consolidate their forces. Nevertheless, two generals, one on each side, died. Gen. Garland on the Confederate side and Gen. Reno on the Union side. There are monuments to each, but the Reno Monument is much larger.

The ground around Fox’s Gap is much the same as it was in the mid 1800’s. The same can almost be said about the gap just to the north of Fox’s, Turner’s Gap. National Road has gone through there for quite a long time. The road is a bit wider now and there’s a church built by the wife who invented the gun that was on the USS Monitor.

And just north of Turner’s Gap is the first Washington Monument. This was built in 1827 and used as a signal station during the Civil War. It had fallen down quite a bit, but was finally restored by a CCC camp (Civilian Conservation Corps) during the depression-era. And now it’s a state park. You can climb up the thing (through a staircase) and see three states and a bunch of cool stuff.

There are moments in my travels where something will happen that will make all of the long hours of driving worth it. While I was up top of the Washington Monument, a father brought his seven year old daughter to the top to take a look. He asked her is she was having an ok time. She got a really excited look on her face and exclaimed, “THIS PLACE IS AWESOME!”

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[to be continued tomorrow…]

Growing up, I had always heard stories of a town just north of Allenwood (which is about 25 minutes away from my hometown), that was taken over by the US government in World War II and turned into a huge munitions factory. I never gave it much thought and had never tried to find it, but as it turns out, it’s true and while most of the town is gone, it still makes for a fun trip.

In the spring of 1942, residents were evicted by eminent domain from 163 farms and 47 other properties in Gregg Township in Union County and Brady, Clinton, and Washington Townships in Lycoming County. The village of Alvira in Gregg Township disappeared.[29] Alvira was founded in 1825 as “Wisetown” and had 100 inhabitants by 1900. Although the inhabitants were told they could return after the war, almost all the buildings seized were razed. Only some cemeteries and the nearby “Stone Church” remain.
Read more here.

I got a little lost on my way there. I had directions, but the way to get to Alvira wasn’t on them. I figured I could remember road names. I am really bad with this. How I got to Alvira is like this:
Take Route 15 North from Lewisburg. In Allenwood, take a left on PA 44. PA 44. After about a mile, the road will “dog-leg” to the left. Following this road straight will bring you to the White Deer Baptist Church. This was the southern edge of Alvira. The church is still functioning has weekly services. There’s also a cemetery. The road, I believe is the original PA 44. When the government moved in, the road had to change. Thus the weird “dog-leg.” It’s all speculation, but hey, why not?

Anyway, the directions. 15N to Allenwood, left on 44, then after about two and a half miles, a right on Mill Road. Take Mill Road for about a mile and a half and you’ll find yourself at the intersection of Mill and Alvira Roads. Take a right on Alvira Road and you’ll come into the old town.

The first thing you’ll see is a chicken coop. It’s in pretty good condition and looks like it might be something that was built for he workers at the TNT factory. Less than 100 yards down the road I came upon my first munitions storage bunker. The government supposedly built 149 of these bunkers. Many still remain if you care to walk the old “streets” of Alvira.

All the houses of the town are gone. They were destroyed for the TNT factory and storage. And I can’t really tell which of the “streets” were original and which were made by the government for the facility. But there is definitely a grid-like system of streets going on here. Here is a link to GoogleMaps satellite shot of Alvira. You can clearly see the grid of streets. Unfortunately, these can’t be driven. It’s all state hunting lands now. You have to hike in and hike out. And be really freaking careful during hunting season. I simply wouldn’t go there then.

While the first bunker I came across was locked up, probably used as storage for the Fish & Game Commission, the second one, just as accessible, was open to the public and shitty graffiti artists. Now, normally, I’m a huge fan of good, artistic graffiti, sadly, it’s not the case at Alvira. But inside the bunker it was really fun. Your voice would echo and every sound was amplified. I even got a recording of me stomping my feet while chanting “Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna.” I’m kind of weird sometimes. You can listen to my Hare Krishna Stomp! if you like.

On top, as shown in the right-most picture, there was an air vent.

I think I saw six or seven bunkers. Most of which you could get into. In one of them, I saw the Stubbs and Propane had already been there. Stubbs and Propane are two guys from the local punk scene. I’ve not seen them or talked to them in years, so it was nice for a kind of little hello.

Down the road just a bit, lies the Alvira Cemetery. There are actually two cemeteries here. And one church foundation. I’m not sure if the church owned both cemeteries or just the one behind it. The northern cemetery, which seems to be the newest of the three in town, is best preserved. It’s the most out in the open and looks just like a normal cemetery. The last burial in it seems to be from the 1940’s, but I could be wrong about that. I didn’t spend too much time in that cemetery, because I caught a glimpse of an older one, just south of the newer one.

All that is left of the church is the foundation. I believe this is the Messiah Church. The cemetery right below this church was much older than the one to the north of it. Also, it’s a bit more secluded, which means more damage to grave stones. It’s really a shame that people can’t just leave well enough alone, but that’s how it is, I guess.

Only about a quarter mile south of what could be the old Messiah Church lies the remains of the Washington Presbyterian Church and cemetery. And also a couple of bunkers. This also marks the end of public access to the road. The Federal Correctional Institute, Allenwood or “Allenwood Prison Camp” as it’s lovingly called by locals, has a fence up so that we can’t get in and inmates can’t get out.

Remember the White Deer Baptist Church that I mentioned near the top of this post? The road that it is on connects to this road - it’s the same road (possibly old 44).

This cemetery was pretty fun. It had some really old grave markers in it, including a couple from the Revolutionary War and some from the War of 1812.

There was also a really fun one from the Civil War. It was a large slab with names engraved on top of it. Between the names (husband and wife, I think) was a little bronze plaque. You can click on the picture to read it.

The roof of the prison could be seen just over the hill northeast of the cemetery. And while there are TNT storage bunkers dotting the “streets” here, the actual TNT factory lies on the other side of the fence on prison property. It is now part of their farm and used to store prisoners.

I had always wanted to go to Alvira and wish I knew more about the town. Surprisingly nobody seems to have written a book about it. The story is a good one, it’s weird that nobody has ever done it.

Oh, the story of Alvira. I got sidetracked and forgot to finish it.

This is from the book Pennsylvania Ghost Towns; Uncovering the Hidden Past by Susan Hutchison Tassin

Alvira boasted a blacksmith shop, school, post office, several shops and three churches - Baptist, Presbyterian, and Messiah. In time, an auto repair shop and a baseball field were added to the area. The towns people were a close-knit group and tended to stay long-term in the area. In fact, the owner of the auto repair shop was the last remaining resident of Alvira. He finally left in June 1942, when a tornado tore the roof off his home.

The United States had entered World War II a few months before talk of building a munitions plant reached the residents of Alvira, in the White Deer Valley. On March 7, 1942, a town meeting was called, held in the Stone Church in nearby Montgomery. Government officials at the meeting explained the plans to build a munitions storage facility in Alvira, which would mean taking over fifty farms. The 8,000 acre buyout happened quickly. Within a week, the issue was decided, leaving some residents outraged and fearful.

Petitions were circulated by some, decrying the project and its impact on the residents of the valley, but to no avail. The secrecy surrounding the project worked against the locals. it was considered dangerous to discuss the details of the proposed munitions factory, as they might fall into the wrong hands. The fight to stop the government’s decision fell on deaf ears. … In all, 177 homes were abandoned and destroyed in Alvira.

The government decided to build an enormous $15 million trinitrotoluene (TNT) factory to supply the army with explosives. The proposed plant would employ more than 10,000 workers in the building phase, and then 4,000 to actually manufacture the TNT.

A bus ran between Alvira and Williamsport to transport workers. A trailer park was set aside nearby to house employees. Storage bunkers were built to hold the explosives. The storage huts, which resemble concrete igloos, were built with thick walls, designed to explode upward rather than outward in case of accidental explosion. … It appeared that the government was prepared to produce an enormous quantity of explosives, and that the people of Alvira had done their patriotic duty by leaving the area.

… It turned out the War Department did not have the voracious need for TNT that the government had expected. The TNT factory was abandoned after functioning for just a short time, and the storage bunkers were emptied. By late 1945, all work had stopped….

This left the former residents scratching their heads, wondering why they had been forced to leave their lifelong homes, which were subsequently destroyed. Why had such an expensive, destructive undertaking been such a folly? …

Any rancor that remains rests in the broken promises that were made to the residents of Alvira. When they were told of the decision to demolish their town to build the munitions plant, the homeowners were also told that when the need for TNT ended, they would be given first rights to buy back their original lands. This never happened. Instead, the land was kept by the federal government to build a prison, with portions sold to the state of Pennsylvania for game lands.

And that was my trip.

I then did some exploring on Old Route 15 north of Williamsport and a bit of Route 6 from Mansfield to Troy, but I won’t bore you with those incredibly geeky details.

Thanks for reading along.

If you like, you can see a gallery of the 78 or so pictures I took of Alvira and the 15 to 6 trip (but mostly it’s Alvira). You can view that by clicking…. here.

Friday, with nothing better to do, Smartz and I decided to head to Jersey. The original plan was to go to Asbury Park and Iselin (basically “little India”) and drive back to Central PA.

To get to Asbury, I was told by GoogleMaps to take I-80 to PA 33 (which is now basically an interstate). While on PA 33 I saw a sign for Easton, PA and remembered this amazing little two-lane that went along the western bank of the Delaware River, PA 32. We drove through Easton, past the Crayola Crayon Factory, and picked up PA 611, which PA 32 shoots off of.

611 and 32 narrowly wind along the Delaware River and Delaware Canal. Now, I’ve never really been a big fan of canals. I’m more into trains and railroad. But still, a canal is historical, so I do have a certain thumping in my heart for them.

We were being tailed by another, more hurried, motorist, so I decided to pull over at a little state park made for the Delaware Canal Lock. There was basically no explanation for what it was that we were seeing, so I can’t really tell you what we saw.

The Delaware Canal tow path (where the mule pulled the boat) is mostly a walking/biking path. Parts of it were closed due to flooding, but you should be able to walk or bike much of its length. I believe there is also such a thing on the Jersey side, right across the river, but I’m not sure.

This site, Locks Number 22 & 23, had a few old houses, a few picnic tables and some signage explaining how the canal worked and how long it was in operation. A nice diversion, I’ve always wanted to stop at an old canal lock. No reason, really. Just did.

The road, PA 611, turned west and to stay along the river, I turned leftish on to PA 32. Originally, I assume, this was all the same road. PA 32 was thin and windy and pretty fun to drive. However, it gave me quite a scare when it went from a narrow two-lane with traffic able to move freely in both directions, to a weirdly narrow one-lane that use to be two. See?

There were no signs or anything like that to let me know that it was now a south-bound-only road. I basically freaked out. “What the hell?! What if a car comes from the other direction? What do I do?!” But a quick check in my rear view mirror assured me that it was now a one way road. The north-bound traffic were detoured around the wash out. They don’t appear too eager to fix this.

The houses along PA 32 are either really expensive or really run down. All are fun to look at, I suppose. There wasn’t much room to pull over to take a picture. But one house that I was able to capture really caught my eye. It was a small two story house on stilts, right up against the road and the river. I’d love to live in a house like this and can’t really imagine what it would cost. In one sense, you are guaranteed that you will be flooded. That would drive the value down. But you’re right up against a river in a nifty little house. That would drive the value up. Who knows.

Like our north-bound friends, we did have to detour around a washout. The detour took us past countless gigantic houses, most of them new. This was real excess. I didn’t take pictures and I realize that I should have, but think of a huge house, one that just makes you sick and then double it. The detour took us, all the poor people, on a parade tour of Bucks County’s most obnoxious homes. Maybe this was all part of their plan.

We passed through New Hope and there crossed over into Jersey. Once in Jersey, we took the route along the river, NJ 29, to where George Washington crossed the Delaware for a Christmas night (in 1776) surprise attack on some drunk Hessian soldiers. Go, George, Go!

The state park dedicated to it had some fun old houses and told the story, through signage, fairly well. There was also a really tiny bridge, just large enough for two cars to pass without hitting, that spanned the Delaware River into Pennsylvania. We walked across that and saw where ol’ George launched his 2,400 soldiers from on that chilly Christmas night.

Rather than finding the Jersey Turnpike or the Garden State Parkway or some other interstate, I decided that we’d drive across Jersey using nothing by a crappy Rand McNally Atlas and my sense of direction.

Shockingly enough, I was able to pull it off. We got lost a few times and, to be honest, there wasn’t much to see. But it was nicer than fighting for your life on the Turnpike.

We rolled into Asbury Park and the first thing that I noticed was that the Metropolitan Hotel was… gone. It used to be this amazing hotel. But now it’s a pile of rubble. Folks were trying to save it. I heard that it was saved. But I guess not. The 1960’s addition still stood, but the original, very majestic looking original structure was gone. I’ll have my old pics of it up shortly, but for now, check it out here and here.

We drove a block or two farther to near the Casino and parked. I knew that much of the Casino had been torn down. And again, I’ll have my own pics of it up shortly and will do a “before and after” post about Asbury.

So much of it is gone now. They’re building condos and folks are moving in (I guess). But so many of the old buildings that most thought were blights were the reason I went there.

There are a bunch more pics in the gallery linked at this end of this post.

Asbury Park used to really do it for me. And, of course, I’ll keep going back to check the “progress,” but this trip was kind of a downer.

Anyway, we were getting a bit hungry, so decided to head up to Iselin to get some wonderful Indian food.

We got there and a couple of the places were I used to go were shut down. There was one “Desi” vegetarian place, but it was mostly not Indian food. Just stuff like veggie burgers. The other places mostly served South Indian food, which might be amazing, but I have no idea what any of it is.

We ate at a place called Food Land and it was crap. Horrible. Such a let down! Luckily it wasn’t really expensive. God. It was crap. The samosas were ok, but I asked for Aloo Gobi and got peppers with potato. It came with a paper plate full of lettuce with two slices of tomato. Seriously. Why bother? Why not just not have a “salad”?

They were playing some particularly crappy Bollywood music videos. I really don’t get it. Does the whole culture not get how cheesy they are?

Oh, and just because you’re not white doesn’t mean that you’re black. Ok? You’re just not. Dear India, knock it the hell off, ok?

All in all it was a fun trip with crappy Indian food. Come to think of it, it was the second fun trip with crappy Indian food in a row.

I took the interstates back to central PA. It’s dark, nothing to see, so why not?

I’m really having a blast doing all this traveling and all these day trips. Woo!

OH! And here are all the pictures from Jersey!