Road Live

I hopped onto the NBRT early this morning looking to get as far as I could before the predicted 98 degree heat made an appearance. In only a few miles I found myself in West Union, feeling a sense of deja vu.
The county seat of Doddridge County, West Virginia, West Union's early history was inextricably linked with the B&O. When the railroad company built a depot on the opposite river bank from the Union, a town slowly formed up around it, becoming West Union.
Times have been hard the last fifty years or so; the railroad disbanded, the mineable coal and oil was thought to have run out, and finally the garment manufacturing facility left for a cheaper foreign base in the early 90s. The community subsists almost solely on the surrounding farms, few jobs are available. There is a glimmer of hope - recent innovations in natural gas retrieval have brought once unreachable pools within grasp. The future for West Union, however, is still filled with uncertainty.
The bulk of my day was spent traveling between West Union and the town of Pennsboro, twelve miles away. Two tunnels, including Central Station, the longest on the NBRT at over two thousand feet, cooled me down whenever I neared spontaneous combustion.
I would hate to be the cause of a wildfire.
Most of the country in between was unpopulated and that meant I saw more animals, including deer, groundhogs, and rabbits. I also spotted my first possum. Well, I should say my first possum that had not previously experienced the joys of rigor mortis via contact with a passing motorist. I didn't even need to be very observant - as I sat resting the fellow just came through the bush and stopped a mere fifteen feet from me. He slowly turned away and headed down the adjacent road, no doubt late for his appointment with a bumper.
I reached Pennsboro a little after three and managed to snag the very last room at the Legacy Inn. With fifteen more miles to my credit I have now gone 494 miles since Cape Henlopen.

Escape From Newark

May 30: I rose around seven to the tap of Paul's knuckles on my bedroom door. I shook loose the cobwebs, packed up, and headed down to the kitchen, where Sharon had prepared some french toast with a dash of cinnamon and some crispy bacon, which I devoured like a ravenous beast, but politely of course - slobbering and belching were kept to an absolute minimum.
Paul had some fences to put up on their three hundred acre property and they had relatives coming to visit in just a few short hours so Sharon drove me back to the metropolis of Bristol. We parted company all too soon, but not before Sharon told me there had been a bad chemical spill just a couple years ago in the very spot where I would start the day's jaunt. I rubbed some of the grass on my face in hopes I would be endowed with some Incredible Hulk-like powers. Not the power to rip shirts though, I don't have a lot of extras.
By 9:30 I hit the town of Salem. Not the one with the vampires or the one with the witch trials. No, this particular Salem was settled in the late 1700s by a group escaping from the horrors of New Jersey. The impending future of burnt out factories and "Jersey Shore" were apparent even then.
Today you can visit Salem's Fort, a model village where you can see what daily life was like for a nineteenth century Mountaineer. One of the cabins on display there was once Paul's father's home during the Great Depression. The structure looks old enough to be from the early century, but in reality was built in 1933.
Salem's other claim to fame is the Jennings Richardson house. Jennings was one of the seventeen thousand men to serve in the US Senate along side Robert Byrd during the eight million years the elder statesmen spent on Capitol Hill.
Once past Salem the path deteriorated at times and I was forced to wade through grass reaching belt high. I now wear a classy rope belt most of the time as my pants don't fit me anymore.
Buckeye Creek meandered to the left, then the right, then back again, constantly reminding me how close, yet how far the next state is. I better make fun of Jim Tressel while I can.
The heat was oppressive today, my first day over ninety degrees. Tomorrow looks to be even worse.
I finished up at the park in Smithburg around two, with the next good place to stop fifteen miles away and out of reach. I visited the plaque in front of the old Smithton (the town's old name)railroad depot commemorating the twenty two lives lost in the flood of 1950.
The late afternoon was spent twiddling my thumbs and trimming my nose hair, until sundown when I got a surprise visit from Sharon. She had brought me dinner - a porterhouse steak, peppers, onions, potatoes, green beans, salad, and red velvet cake. I was also honored to meet her three sisters and we talked for a while as the light faded. Her sisters also made a contribution to the Wounded Warrior Project - the perfect end to Memorial Day weekend.

Happy Memorial Day! Please don't forget why I am on the road sweating my butt off every day - remember those who been hurt for our country, regardless of our politics we should always look after those who have been severely injured. Contribute to the Wounded Warrior Project today!

12 miles/464 total miles

Michael Landon vs. Angus Young

May 29: The highway is the best way to get where you are going in a hurry, right? The same truth applies to hikers. I needed to chop a few miles off the top to get to Paul and Sharon's territory before they are swamped by an incoming pack of relatives.
In order to make that happen we collaborated on a plan which sent me onto Highway 50 for eleven miles, through the heart of Clarksburg and beyond.
The first couple of miles were simple, with a large shoulder to ease my mind a bit. As I hit downtown Clarksburg my safety net shrunk and I was much closer to cars going seventy five miles an hour than I would like to be. Luckily the nerves did result in an adrenaline rush and I came as close to running as someone hidden under a backpack looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame can manage.
The dangerous bit passed quickly and I was soon enjoying the company of my good friend the shoulder. Pancaked along much of the walking surface were various forms of roadkill. I'm not going to miss the putrid rotting stench of animal corpses once I get back into the country and away from busy roads. For some reason I enjoy the odor of honeysuckle just a touch more.
Shortly after the noon hour I was relieved to see the road sign that meant my freedom: Wolf Summit. Here I departed the highway and entered the much-anticipated North Bend Rail Trail. A former Baltimore and Ohio rail bed has been turned into a trail stretching from Wolf Summit to Parkersburg, seventy one miles away.
Only four miles down the path was my rendezvous point with Sharon and Paul. I reveled in the quiet space, away from the screaming engines of trucks and automobiles. In two miles I reached the first railroad tunnel. The cool breeze emanating from within was delightful amid the mid-day heat. Strangely, I seem to have misplaced my flashlight, so traveling through the one thousand foot plus tunnel was somewhat challenging in the middle section. I made it through without falling on my rear yet again and met up with Sharon and Paul in Bristol (good luck trying to find that speck on any map).
On the ride to their house the couple showed me a library just off trail as well as a route to one of the gas stations next to the NBRT. They also regaled me with tales about the 1950 flood, which devastated Smithburg, resulting in numerous fatalities. The covered bridge there was also destroyed and swept downstream where it acted as a dam until the remnants were removed.
We arrived in their beautiful home and I almost fell asleep the moment I entered the guest bedroom and lay on the comfortable mattress. I have to stay strong though, Sharon is cooking spareribs and I am pretty excited about eating them.
Paul raises cattle for beef and Sharon is a retired middle school math teacher who still helps out with some of the math programs from time-to-time. I'm going to have to leave now, I can smell those spareribs - clearly I have better things to do than to talk to you.

P.S.: Sharon prepared a veritable Noah's Ark of food: sweet potatoes, salad with greens from their garden, spareribs, pasta salad, watermelon, applesauce, German chocolate cake, potatoes...I think you get the idea. All of it was a treat for my tongue. After the feast they took me out to a couple places of historical interest I will be visiting - I will brief you upon what I learned as the trail takes me to those spots in the coming days.
Miles today: 17, for a total of 452.

Around the North Bend

I rose just past sunrise this morning and got on the road quickly, headed toward Bridgeport, West Virginia. There is not much of note to report so far today. The terrain consisted of rolling hills and farms, followed by Highway 131, Interstate 50 and the town itself.
I did have a bit of a scare towards the end. As I walked up the sidewalk nearing my hotel I hit a slippery patch of mud and fell over backwards. The pack broke my fall and besides my pride, which I have very little of anyway, nothing was hurt. Unless something inside the pack was destroyed, which I will no doubt be delighted to discover later.
Tomorrow I will finally reach the North Bend Rail Trail, which, like the C&O, has a number of camping spots. Life will be a little simpler for a few days and I won't have to look for an angel to save me every other day. I am also excited to be meeting Paul and Sharon tomorrow night, a couple that has hiked the ADT in West Virginia from end-to-end. Of course, that is all incumbent on me surviving eleven miles of Interstate 50 on the morrow. Stay tuned.....

11 miles/436 total miles

Cynicism Etch A Sketch

I took my time getting out of Grafton, heading first to the laundromat near the hotel to move the stinky hiker gauge back to "bearable by humans." I left my digs shortly before eleven and stopped in at the 1-2-3 Cafe for a leisurely lunch.
While there I met Sam and Mary Kay who helped my Abby Normal brain decide what to have. Sam persuaded me to try the Cordon Blue (sic) panini and Mary Kay suggested the Mountaineer Nut Brown Ale to wet my whistle. I don't usually drink beer before a hike, but having not tried a local beer yet, I believed myself duty-bound to donate my liver to science for you, my inquisitive audience.
The brew has a nice hint of chocolate malt and hazelnut to cut the bitterness normally associated with ales, but not so much as to be sugary sweet, like another Brown Nut Ale, Newcastle.
For dessert I had a chocolate chip cookie just out of the oven that was nine parts chocolate and one part cookie. A perfect percentage in my eyes. Thanks to Sam and Mary Kay for the free beer and a great meal to start my day in earnest.
I headed out of town around twelve and made good time, doing about fourteen miles by six in the evening. Realizing Bridgeport was out of range given the late hour, I settled in the hamlet of Hepzibah, on the steps of the Baptist Church there. Hepzibah means "my delight is in her" in Hebrew. I wonder if the Jews of that era had my love for double entendres.
While sitting on the stoop I ran into Fritz and her friend Catherine out for a walk. Following a brief period when I scared the hell out of them, we fell into conversation about my trip. I asked if they knew the pastor at the church. They did not, but Fritz returned shortly with her husband Tim and an offer to camp on their property, which was quite close. They showered me with affection, bringing me beer, spaghetti, band aids (which I had run out of), Dr. Scholl's insoles, and a little road money.
I don't know what I've done to deserve the love shown me by the people here, but I do know I've met some folks I will never forget. If you are feeling cynical about life you need to get off your butt and walk through the country here - your attitude will quickly be readjusted. I feel like I have been playing the trust exercise with the populace of West Virginia and they have caught me every time. Except for Fort Ashby. Get your act together Fort Ashby, you are dragging down the whole state.
13 miles were eliminated today for a total of 424.

Apologies to Fort Ashby, I never really gave you a chance back in those days. I was just a foolish young man.

Mother's Day 365

The ADT wants me to go Northeast to Lake Tygart. I have a sudden fear of lakes since I started carrying the Rite Aid house brand "Crystal Lake" as my water bottles. I don't care to have an axe-wielding hockey mask-wearing psycho chasing after me.
Instead I chose to cross the Tygart River on the Covered Bridge, headed out of Philippi and towards Grafton. The new route will save me over ten miles and I can get back on the ADT just west of the town.
Winding highways were my milieu as I covered the space in between. Not the safest way, but I accomplished my goal without incident. A deer I found on the way was not so lucky, caught in barbed wire on the side of the road. As I slowly approached to see if I could free the poor animal, she shook loose of the trap. The deer's efforts to stand were in vain, however, and the mass of circling flies seemed to know what the end result of this sad affair would be.
Grateful to have avoided a similar fate, I arrived in town around five. Grafton is small, but they have a lot to be proud of, including Mother's Day. The first celebration of moms and all they do took place here on May 10, 1908. Through the efforts of native Anna Jarvis, Woodrow Wilson made the day into a national holiday in 1914. Grafton has established a Mother's Day Shrine to celebrate their role in Hallmark history.
Grafton also boasts the West Virginia National Cemetery, where veterans from several different wars are buried in two facilities. One graveyard holds soldiers from the Civil War up until WW II. The newer cemetery houses those who have passed since. The most interesting personage interred in the old cemetery is Bailey Brown, the first Union soldier to die in the Civil War. If you have to die in a war at least its nice to be first I guess. My arrival comes a couple of days too early - Grafton will be holding a huge Memorial Day parade on Saturday.
Grafton's most famous native was Clair Bee, the top basketball coach in the nation from 1931-1951, when he coached Long Island University to two NCAA titles, two NIT titles, and a 95% winning percentage. Bee still owns the NCAA record for highest win percentage.
Good Samaritan of the Day: thanks to Brenda, who drove me around the National Cemeteries and told me something of the history of Grafton.

16 miles/411 total miles

Over the Hills

May 25: I woke shortly after dawn and was almost finished packing up when Melvin arrived. I threw my bag in his truck and we headed down the hill to his house nearby for breakfast. His wife Renee, who I sadly missed since she had departed for work, had cooked us bacon, pancakes, and scrambled eggs. Melvin, who is a dairy farmer, offered me some of his recent product. Some would say milk straight from the tap is udderly delicious, but I would have to shoot anyone in the face who used such an awful pun. Melvin's son Seth also joined us - he has just graduated from high school and will follow in his father's footsteps as a student at the West Virginia University in the fall. Not that I ever beat a dead horse, but I continue to meet fabulous, generous people here.
I went on my way around eight and have had a relatively uneventful stroll. After thirteen miles all on state highways, I found myself in Philippi (pronounced Fill-a-pee), West Virginia by early afternoon.
Things got a little more exciting when I went to look for my hotel, which despite Google's claims, did not exist. I went over to the Barbour County Courthouse, where I was told that the only place to stay in town was the Bed and Breakfast just around the corner. I waited on the porch outside the B&B and telephoned the owner, but to no avail.
After an hour or two I went back over to the Courthouse to fill my water. While doing so I met an employee there, Sandy, who took pity on me and went to ask the Sheriff if my could pitch my tent behind the building. Sheriff John had no problem with that and I finally had some digs in Philippi! The Courthouse is right across from the police station, so needless to say I have never felt safer.
Philippi also has a story relating to the Wounded Warrior Project. James Hanger, a Union soldier, was struck by a cannonball while fighting Confederates at the Covered Bridge in Philippi and his leg was removed as a result. Hanger was the first amputee of the war. He went on to found the J.E. Hanger company, the biggest and oldest maker of prosthetic limbs in the U.S.
In related news, Philippi will be celebrating their part in the Civil War with Blue-Gray days in June. I miss out on all the good stuff :( For a more thorough examination of Philippi's role during the commencement of hostilities, check out this article from the Smithsonian magazine.
Later that evening I went out for dinner at the Medallion. The owner there paid for my meal when he heard about what I was doing. Later on Maria, my waitress, came by the tent and gave me a goodie bag put together by the Medallion staff. I'm putting
the remaining nine states on my itinerary on notice. West Virginia is kicking some serious ass in the TLC department.

13 miles/395 total miles