Pennsylvania
The Captain and I recently traveled to the old Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. The official objective was “obtain new professional clogs from the Dansko Factory Store.” Located in the little town of Jennersville, the store used to be an easy hour west of our home in Philly. Now it’s a full weekend trek. It’s worth the effort because The Captain spends most of her work days on her feet, and at the factory store she can try on as many shoes as she likes until she comes to just the right pair. The bonus is a road trip that might include any number of random routes or stops.
Friday took us east across the Penna. Turnpike to Harrisburg, and then southeast through Lancaster to Kennett Square. We departed the freeway well after sunset and didn’t see much of the rural backroads crossing through Amish country. Experienced with this kind of territory, we kept a sharp eye for the ubiquitous black horse drawn buggies common around Lancaster. (Horses through the windshield can be deadly.) It was a dark night, the roads hilly, and old snow lay on the ground, so it wasn’t a boring drive. Arriving at the hotel, we were relieved to be done with the outbound leg.
Covid-19 rules were the order of the day, and we found food limited and the hotel practically deserted. There weren’t more than a dozen vehicles in the parking lot. No matter. We slept well and got an early start Saturday. We were the first car in the Dansko parking lot and The Captain had a great time selecting a few pairs of clogs and other shoes. After an hour or so of shopping, we drove west again on our freeform wander in the general direction of home.
The first diversion was a pass through downtown Lancaster. We’d always skipped it when we lived in the area, so a quick reroute and dodging some buggies took us through the Saturday morning Farmer’s Market crowd. There were a lot of young hipsters and new parents wandering around, sporting scarves and cups of designer coffee. No parking was available on the old mill town’s crowded streets, so we elected to continue on towards Harrisburg. Maybe another day.
Just south and east of Harrisburg is the old working community of Middletown, where we elected to stop for lunch. A Veteran owned business called the Tattered Flag Brewery and Still Works offered a lunch menu that looked interesting, so we parked out back and wandered in. It was crowded with locals and was doing a brisk business in food and beer. After admiring the collection of memorabilia and downing a pretty fair cheesesteak, we were on our way again.
A few hours on, I maneuvered us onto the old Lincoln Highway for a two lane climb into the mountains. Fresh snow covered the ground and ice draped from the trees and fences. It looked like the ideal Christmas card winter wonderland, except it was late February. Thankfully the roads were clear and traffic non-existant, so we kept a reasonable pace going west. The next stop was the Flight 93 Memorial near Somerset and Shanksville.
In 2007, The Kid and I stopped at the Memorial on an early summer morning, back when it was a gravel road that ended at a guardrail over looking a scrubby piece of reclaimed strip mine. Now it is a National Park facility with paved roads, signs, and a full-time ranger on the grounds. Instead of the guard rail, there is now a massive stone memorial wall and tower, a visitors center and parking lots.
When The Captain and I arrived this time, thick snow covered the grounds and a strong wind blew clouds of glittering snow flakes from the west. Except for the Ranger, sheltering in his vehicle from the near zero degree conditions, we were alone. All of the buildings were closed for the coronavirus, but the walkway out to the viewing platform was shoveled and open. We bundled up and took the quarter mile walk as far out as we could go. The Memory Wall blocked some of the wind and made lingering on the viewing platform tolerable for a few minutes. The field still looked much the same way it did thirteen years before, and I got the same emotional response I always do when I think about 9/11. A little misty in the eye, a sniffle, and an emptiness in my gut. Sometimes I wish I could go back to September 10th. But it can’t happen. Just like we now live with a pesky virus that preys on the old and infirm, we can only achieve the new normal.
Staying long wasn’t in the cards for this visit. The cold quickly penetrated our heavy clothes and sent us back to the vehicle for warmth. We motored away, back towards civilization and on to Pittsburgh.
Neither of us knew much about Pittsburgh. I’d been there back in 1987 for a U2 concert at the now demolished Three Rivers Stadium, but that 4 hours was all I knew. The highways run around it in such a way that you wouldn’t stop there unless you had a reason. We still didn’t have a reason now, other than to say we’d been there. The Captain used some long forgotten hotel points and got us a free room downtown and we made our way into the city. The first challenge was parking. Our truck is taller than many of the downtown garages, so after a few false starts, we finally got in a garage. The hotel was located on the upper floors of a centrally located building we thought might be handy to the river or dining. Nope. We could see the Allegheny River from the room, but walking there proved to be more miserable than we were willing to tolerate. Dinner was a similar challenge. Not much was open on a Covid Saturday, so we settled for a burger at the Westin’s bar, the nearest place that was open. By the time we finished eating, the town was deserted of people. Well, we still don’t know much about Pittsburgh. Maybe we’ll try again in the summer.
Sunday morning we slept in, relatively speaking, and lazily made our way west again. We needed fuel and thought the West Virginia town of Triadelphia would be a good choice. If you’ve never been, you are missing out. The exit was built a couple of decades ago to support a super-sized Cabela’s Outdoor store. It has since grown into a bustling tourist magnet. There is nearly anything you could want located at just one highway exit. We got food and fuel, took a spin through Cabela’s, and then headed for home.
The remainder of the drive was unremarkable. Covid reduced travel had cut traffic significantly, and even the Highway Patrol seemed disinterested in tagging unsuspecting drivers. We arrived home in time for dinner and unpacked. So much for a get-a-way to Pennsylvania during Covid.