RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD: TRAVELOGUES

Let's Go Roaming Down a Road

2011-08-16T07:22:00.001-04:00

All journey's begin with the first steps. We will see where our steps lead us in the days ahead. Just click on one of the destinations as they appear and be off on a road to travel.

PHILLY ON THE GO

2010-04-19T19:43:00.000-04:00

Phlashing Over to Boat House Row

2010-04-01T16:55:00.000-04:00

One way to get from one end of town to the other. $2 for a ride or for $5 you can ride all day, get on and off when and where ever. (Of course, now that doesn't apply to the misses and me. Senior Citizens ride free. Sometimes it pays to get old.)

The Philly Phlash (the letter F is replaced on all Philadelphia keyboards with Ph, you know.) is a phlash indeed. Part tour, part transportation and part thrill ride, it is aptly named. Just remember those bars from floor to ceiling at the corners of the seats serve a purpose. Grab hold and hang on when those drivers whip about the corners or around the traffic circles. Wheeeeeeee!

We phlashed across center City in record speed and exited alive on a path down to Boat House Row. You may have seen pictures of Boat House Row across the river and all lit up in lights outlining the little shacks where the shells and other boats are stored.

It makes for a pleasant place to take a quiet walk. It deceives you, making it hard to believe you are in the sixth largest U. S. city. You walk along and can see the Schulkyll River that runs along the western side of Philly.

Across the river is the Schulkyll Expressway or as it is sometimes known, the world's largest parking lot. As to the name, it has nothing to do with kylling anything. I always struggle with spelling Schulkyll, but the Delaware indians originally called it, Ganshohawanee (rushing and roaring waters). When an explorer for the Dutch West India Company, Arendt Corssen discovered it, he renamed it Schulkyll, which means either "hidden river" or "hideout creek". Not sure about the "hidden", seems like it is right out there in plain sight to me.

The trail down the hill is a good jaunt. there are some statues along the way to ponder over.

I forget who this gentleman is standing out with his wind-whipped cloak pointing the way. I suppose he was someone important at one time or another.

I guess his hat blew off.

This is the reservoir water works along the river bank.

This is a popular area for joggers as well as we more reasonable walkers.

Wait till those people get my age and see how their knees feel after pounding the sidewalks so hard in their youth. (Did you know that 13,740 people die annually from jogging? See, that's why I walk. Everything in moderation.)

So let's not hurry down this path, but enjoy the sights and sighs along the way.

You know, like stopping to smell the roses or drinking in the beauty or something.

You may be greeted by a vanguard of ducks as you get nearer the actual Boat House Row.

Hmmm, I believe my wife had duck for dinner that night.

We are coming up to the area now.

There is a small boat out on the inlet.

You probably thought we left all those food places behind, didn't you, but it appears that even here is a place to get something to munch upon.

Well, it takes energy to row those skiffs and shells along.

They have a lot of college competitions out along this stretch of river. You often see them from the Expressway. It gives you something to do while waiting for the traffic jam to clear.

We chose to walk back into town. The pathways back are as peaceful and pleasant as those down to the Row.

You are skirting the Fairmount Park, one of the largest city parks in the country, if not the largest. It covers 10% of the city land, 9200 acres.

Philly has a bunch of smaller green spots throughout, such as Washington Square and Rittenhouse Square. Nice places to sometimes just sit for a while, if you don't mind pigeons for company.

This path takes us up and around the back side of the marvelous Philadelphia Art Museum.

If you come to Philly try to schedule time to visit its museums. This one has some great works as well as architectural and furnishing displays, and old suits of armor.

See, more joggers.

They better watch that Phlash or we might hear a load splat and they'll be phlattened.

We're getting back into town along the Kelly Drive heading toward the Benjamin Franklin parkway.

That guy's name keeps popping up, he must be some big shot around here.

One of my ancestors, Hugh Meredith, was Ben Franklin's first printshop partner. Hugh was a bit of a drinker and gad-about. His father, Simon, thought Young Ben could be a sobering influence, so he staked Ben to starting his own printing business if he made Hugh his partner. How did it work out? Well, as you see there is a Benjamin Franklin Parkway, but not a Hugh Meredith Parkway. Perhaps there is a Hugh Meredith Alleyway, he probably found him self in a few alleys after the taverns closed for the night.

Eakins Oval, named for Philly artist Thomas Eakins, most famous for the painting, "The Gross Clinic". He did a lot of studys of human motion to perfect his art, but it seems to have been an excuse to spend an exorbitant amount of time photographing and painting nude young men in various athletic endeavors.

You'll find some of his work in the Art Museum behind the Oval. Just do a Rocky jog up the steps, but be careful not to become jogging death 13, 741 for the year in the process.

It is so lovely along these drives, one is tempted to just keep on walking, but there are some places to visit in this area.

There is one I had passed many times in my life working and living in the city, yet had never stopped in to visit and it is right along here.

This time we decided to pay it a pop in.

This is the Rodin Museum.

Auguste Rodin (1840-1917) was a french sculptor of some renown, in fact, he is considered one of the all-time greats.

His most famous work is "The Thinker". You can see "The Thinker" thinking just through the trees on the right side.

What is he thinking about?

Probably why he is sitting here along a big road being stared out at by these people when he hasn't a stitch on.

"Where did I leave my clothes? And why?, may be occupying his thoughts.

Be prepared as we enter the museum, Rodin might have been a great artists, but he apparently had difficulty sculpting clothing.

(By the way, that is the back of my wife's head at the bottom center of the picture.)

Here is a little closer look at "The Thinker". He is probably thinking he's glad it is summer and not winter.

This is the entryway into the museum, a door sculpted by Rodin. It is called the "Gates of Hell".

You sure you want to follow me in here now?

Rodin did a lot of busts of famous people. They line the rooms to stare back at you.

I'm not certain who my wife is trying to stare down. I think the guy on the end is Socrates.

Here is a writer whose works I have read. Victor Hugo, who wrote "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" and "Les Miserables".

I've read both and I read the complete "Les Miserables", not the more popular abridged version.

I loved the musical. Victor Hugo didn't write that though.

Several of Rodin pieces seem to suffer from some kind of affliction that keeps them stooped. I don't know what it is. Maybe they just feel bad always being in the nude.

This is Rodin's version of John the Baptist.

It looks more like some guy hitchhiking a ride and I sure an not picking him up.

Here is a room devoted to much smaller pieces. These don't have the roughness of the larger statues. They are very smooth and detailed.

But still no sense of modesty.

Exiting the museum you have a nice view of this reflective pool before the gate.

Now, you might be wondering what a French Sculptor has to do with Philadelphia?

Not anything really. The museum was a gift to the city from Jules Mastbaum, who was one of the early movie theater magnates. He was a collector of Rodin and gathered the largest assembly of works outside of Paris. Mastbaum (1872-1926) was a Philadelphia resident.

I was just thinking (with my clothes on) you might like to know.

Wish I could take you now to some of the other great museums in this area, The Franklin Institute and The Natural Science Museum, but it is getting near dinner time and we have reservations at the Buddakkan.

So we are waiting here at the Phlash stop to catch a quick and bouncing ride back to our hotel to change.

May not look like much from the outside, but the inside is awesome.

Some photos from the Buddakkan website:

Like this couple, we got a table next to the glass enclosed indoor waterfall.

I believe I had that day the Pan Seared Filet Mignon with black pepper ponzu and wasabi creme fraiche.

My wife had the Pan Roasted Duck Breast, roasted garlic, five spice jus, corn and scallion spoon bread.

I believe we shared a side of Chinese eggplant and garlic sauce.

I had the Banana Tower for desert - a crisp cookie tower filled with rum-glazed bananas and caramel cream with chocolate and caramel-rum sauces

Just a warning, the restaurant is expensive (like you couldn't guess) , but wasn't as expensive as I had expected.

You know what, as I finish this, it is getting toward dinner time and I am getting hungry. Probably going to Duffer's tonight. Far, far, far less expensive than Buddakkan, but a nice cozy place to eat and have a conversation.

All photos by the author, except the last four of the interior of Buddakkan.

Two Street

2010-04-01T15:28:00.000-04:00

Philly has a bit of everything, old and new, educational and entertaining, and a multitude of eclectic and exotic eateries. We like to stay in the older historic hotels, like The Independence Park Hotel down on Chestnut just before Two Street (Second Street).

"The Italianate structure was designed in the early 1800’s by local architect Joseph Hoxie, who was best known for his work on the city’s churches.

Original Property Opened: 1856"

Just in the blocks around the Hotel are several interesting restaurants. Some of our
favorites are:

Cuba Libre Restaurant and Rum Bar on Second with the illusion of dining in the middle of a piazza in pre-Castro Havana surrounded by Latin rhythms.

You can start with the Papas Rellena, then some Black Bean Soup (one of my favorites) or if you are into seafood the Sopa Levanta Muerto, which means "Raise the Dead". Get a small plate entree such as Albondiga Camaquey so you can enjoy sides of Moros y Cristianos and Maduros. Finally, if you have room, Torta de Chocolate y Dulce de Leche and a tiny cup of potent Cafe Cubano.

On the other side of the street, not far away you'll fine Cafe Spice where you can savor the cuisine of India. Go whole hog (though you won't find any pork products on the menu) native. Start with Aam Paneer to wet your appetite and some Dal Palak Shorba soup. For an entree try a Malai Kabab with sides of Jeera Aloo and Baigan Patiala along with some Roomali Roti bread. Finish it off with a dessert of Gulab Jamun. Hmmm! It really is good.

A couple blocks south on east Chestnut is the Eulogy Belgian Tavern where you can eat in the Coffin Room off a casket. Yeah, that's right. You must get reservations early for that uh...table.

If beer is your thing, I guess this is your kind of place with 300 international and domestic brews and 27 on tap. beer isn't my thing, I come for the food.

So lets start with an Asparagus Ardennes. I usually get a soup, but it is always a soup du jour, so you have to wait to get there to know what it may be. It is the same with deserts. I'm going to say let's keep things light with a Saffe du Cercuiel, you can add chicken, shrimp or beef if you want it a bit heavier, but I always want to save enough room to enjoy their Beneluxx Belgian Frietjes.

You got to realize, though, these are but three of many restaurants along Two Street or just off it on Chestnut and Market. There is something for every taste and pocketbook.

TWO STREET ENVIRONS

This was Sunday. Weekdays the street won't be so empty.

Market Street from 2 St.

Oldest post office Started by Ben Franklin, on Market.

Market on Sunday Morning. The sidewalk is crowded with sidewalk diners and strollers on a Saturday Night.

Part of Jeweler's row

Some of Market Cafes

Me and the "Watch Man" on Jeweler's Row.

Summer in the City

2010-04-01T09:27:00.000-04:00

My wife probably has an even greater affinity to Philly than even I. Her parents didn't have to take her on buses and trolleys and trains, oh my, to visit Santa. She was born in the city and lived there until about Jr. High. Even then they moved to a suburb not much more then an extension of the city, Drexel Hill in Upper Darby. Her great great grandfather came from County Armagh (Contae Ard Mhacha), Ireland, the Seat of St. Patrick, hisself. It is in the province of Ulster. Armagh is actually a Northern Ireland County, but sits on the border of Eire (Republic of Ireland). The southern part of the county is known as "The Bandit Country", being a stronghold of IRA support. He left Ireland and came to America, but we don't know at what age, and ended up a Policeman in Brooklyn. Her grandfather was born somewhere in New York State and moved to Darby, Pa. Her grandmother was a Native American, we believe from the Creek Tribe. It was a great family secret no one talked about and my wife didn't learn until later as an adult that she was one-quarter native American, which means her ancestors beat mine here by a lot. It is hard for us to understand being ashamed of your heritage, but prejudices often hung heavy in this country's past.

On her maternal side she is mostly German, Raabs, Schnells and Hartensteins, whose families lived in the Philadelphia area known as Germantown. She is probably a good reflection of the cities mixed heritage, especially joined with me.

I am mostly British stock, heavy on the Welsh and Scot, with some Irish and a little Swiss-German on the side. My ancestors on my dad's side were originally Quaker, and arrived in 1683 on land called the Welsh Tract, deeded to a group of Welsh Quakers by William Penn.

Anyway, this ancestry we share gives us some historic ties to the great city of Philadelphia.

And yes, Gigi, summer in the city does beat with a different vibe.

Philly has a lot of festivals and happenings and lively scenes. The picture on the left was a Celebration of African-American heritage a couple years ago in Penns Landing.

Penns landing sits on the Delaware River. You can walk to and from it over the foot bridge shown at the beginning of this post, or you can park in one of several lots along Delaware Avenue.

You can sit and watch the ships come by or even board and tour a submarine or the USS Olympia, the flagship of Admiral Dewey during the Spanish American War. You can visit the Maritime Museum.

Or you can hop a ferry and cross to Camden, NJ for a visit to the Adventure Aquarium.

You can even dine on the water if you wish. This is the Moshulu, once a ship with a long history, now a restaurant.

Since the launching of the Moshulu (pronounced Mo-shoe'-loo) in 1904, she has had a long and exciting career on the seas working the ports of Europe, South America, Australia, America and Africa. She was confiscated by the Americans in one war and by the Germans in the next. She has traveled around Cape Horn 54 times. She has hauled coal and coke, copper ore and nitrate, lumber and grain. In lesser days, she has served as a floating warehouse. In grander days, she won the last great grain race in 1939. Today, the Moshulu is the largest four-masted sailing ship in the world still afloat. (From the Moshulu Website.)

They are a bit pricey and we haven't eaten there in years, so I can't say how the food is these days.

This is a view of the city from Penns Landing from the site of the Moshulu. Delaware Avenue runs directly in front of the Landing and behind it is I-95. The red brick buildings you see in this photo line Two Street (Second Street). Just behind them is the Historic District. The tall buildings are in the Downtown Area, the business district, and past the tall buildings are the big Museums and Boat House Row on the Schukyll River.

This is looking toward the Ben Franklin Bridge, which will take you by car or train to New Jersey. The highway is I-95, which will frustrate you from Maine to Florida and all states in-between. I live just off I-95 in Delaware.

If you drive back I-95 in the other direction, you'll come to the stadium area, where football, baseball, hockey and basketball all occur, not to mention concerts, ice shows and other extravagances.

My wife heads into Citizens Bank Field, home of the Philadelphia Phillies for a Bon Jovi Concert we attended a couple years ago. On the right is Nickleback, one of the two opening bands that night.

There were a few concert goers in attendance, as you can see. A sold out stadium, so over 30,000 Bon Jovi fans.

Jon Bon Jovi is a big booster of Philly. He owned the Arena Football Team Philadelphia Soul, which won the last Arena championship before the league disbanded.

Bon Jovi takes to the stage setup in Center Field.

They played late into the night.

If you cross that South Street footbridge guess where you end up?

On South Street, duh! The infamous South Street, South Street, where all the Hippies meet.

How to describe South Street? It's a colorful, eclectic, motley, sometimes wonderful, sometimes depraved collection of multifarious shops teaming with a divergent tangle of people from raggle-taggle to hoi polloi to haut monde to gangsta chic to avant garde to just plain folk mixed in a multicultural stew we can call a snapshot of America.

About the first things you'll come to off the footbridge is Downey's Irish Pub all decked in green. Ahh and begorra, me lass and I have always enjoyed a bit o' a taste of the fare here.

I was actually brought here many year back by a boss rewarding his faithful crew with a lunch. That was the first time I was on South Street I didn't even know it.

So lets take a stroll down South Street.

Those buildings in the distance are the Society Hill Towers.

You are looking north down Second Street in an area called Headhouse Square.

Paddy Whacks Irish Sports Bar, Hikaru, Pad Thai, Tamarind, Cedar's, South Street Diner and Bridget Foy's are all restaurants tucked in and about the Square.

Bridget Foy's.

If you walk down Two Street north one block and turn right just past the Get Happy Pub onto Naudain Street you'll find some more restaurants. There is the curious Madame Saito's French-Japanese (or a little further one street over the equally intriguing Le Champigno de Tokio Sushi). In this photo the Bistro Romano stands out, but that yellow faced place next door was ZoT, another Belgium restaurant that my wife and I really enjoyed.

Unfortunately ZoT has closed, so you must go elsewhere for All the Mussels You Can Eat or some nice Kangaroo Steak, although I don't know exactly how kangaroo ended up on a Belgium menu.

One thing I can guarantee, you'll never go hungry in Philly. Even if you don't have a lot of money you can find something. I practically lived on Philly Soft Pretzels in my Hippy years as a freelance writer without much do-re-mi.

I think this is on Naudain. perhaps these places have all been on Lombard, but I kinda think it's Naudain.

South Street Diner.

Street doesn't look so scary, does it?

We're moving more into the shop area of the Street.

Yeah, I know, there is another restaurant. You people are going to think all we think about is food.

Not really, but we do eat out a lot.

Now we're coming into the heart of South Street. This was a light crowd, but it was the middle of the day. Gets much more mobbed in the evenings.

Up in the yellow circles playing the fiddle is Philadelphia native, Larry Fine.

He is better known as just Larry of the Three Stooges, the one with the wild hair. he actually started out as a concert violinist, but went into comedy instead.

You don't know the abuse I have taken over the years being a Larry. Larry the Stooge, Larry the Cable guy and perhaps the most because of Larry, Darryl and Darryl on "Newhart". Been hard to avoid the Larry, Darryl and Darryl jokes since my son is named Darryl.

My wife have often walked the length of South Street even in late evening and felt perfectly safe. There are a lot of police patrolling the area and a lot of people on the sidewalk at night. I will warn you, some shops sell stuff you don't find in your typical suburban mall. Obviously, there are tattoo pallors, but you will find several shops selling and displaying very risque clothes for both women and men. I don't know where you would even wear some of the outfits other than a burlesque stage. There are record shops, occult stores, and a large shop devoted to condoms. Like I said, this is a sometimes wonderful, sometimes depraved avenue.

All photos by the author.

1 On the Road to Roanoke

2008-07-24T10:42:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE

Day One June 21, 2008

On the Road to Roanoke

Asheville, this trip has been brewing for years, for decades. Not in my soul, but in my wife's. There is a reason which I will explain at the appropriate place. For now, just say, we went and here is a record of our 1,318.5 mile quest.

In my planning, as so oft happens, I stumbled on a restaurant I thought worth a tasting. In this case, two. One was in Asheville and seemed to be a place of renown. It is called the Flying Frog, but more of it later. The other had no comparable repute, but looked intriguing, tucked away in Middletown, Virginia and named the Irish Isle.

To get to the Irish Isle, our route diverted us off the usual interstates south and instead took us through West Virginia. We set off at 9:30 AM on Saturday, paid first the $4.00 toll to let us out of Delaware and then the $5.00 toll allowing us into Maryland, and after going through the harbor tunnel (another $3.00) in Baltimore turned toward the north west, crossed a bit of Virginia into the hills of West Virginia, making a brief stop in Harper's Ferry.

Harper's Ferry enjoys a history tied up with the abolitionist, John Brown.

Brown and his party succeeded in taking over the Armony at Harper's Ferry and seizing it's armory in October 1859. Victory was somewhat short lived and his men were pretty cut to pieces by the end. John Brown ended up hanged in Charles Town, but this made him a martyr and brought national attention on the cause against slavery.

There is much to see in Harper's Ferry for the history buff, but we were on a schedule that didn't allow us the privilege. I only pulled into the National Park here and walked up to the welcome center to the left of the page. Wasn't much right here, except tour buses you could take to the spots of interest in and around town.

I snapped the three photos here and we went on our way. These are expense pictures since it cost me $6.00 to enter this park where I took them. So far I've spent $18 to take three pictures.

Deciding we needed to move along, we left the park and went on to Middletown, a quiet little place somewhere in the upper portion of Virginia. The AAA map turned us somewhat in the wrong direction, but we quickly realized it. The lack of and civilization was a good hint. Soon we were entering the Irish Isle right dab in the center of Main Street.

It was a cozy, warm den of Celtic charm.

A pleasant young lady with short dark hair and a cherry face greeted us and sat at us at a nice table for two near the back of the front room, a nice little private nook.

It seemed so odd to fine this touch of the Emerald Isle here, but it was certainly to our delight that it was. There were a few others eating and a foursome came in after a bit. It was about 1:30 and past the prime lunch hour, I suppose.

My wife got a smoked salmon salad, deemed just right by her, and I had a very good Sheppard's pie. A man at another table told the waitress the Sheppard pie was awesome. Perhaps awesome is an overstatement, but it was a very delicious Pie and certainly this restaurant rewarded our side trip to Middletown.

After enjoying our repast, we bid adieu to the Irish Isle and began our journey in earnest, determined to get to our stopover in Roanoke before 5:00.

We had 150 plus miles ahead, straight down Route 81, where every truck in the country seems to travel. The speed limit in most of this area is 65 miles per hour and as long as one of those trucks doesn't get tangled with a another vehicle, not much to impede your way. We didn't hit any road construction on this day.

We arrived in Roanoke at 4:30 PM, and it was an easy on-off to the strip where the hotel stood up on a hill. The countryside is to the right.

We pulled in at the Fairfield Inn by Marriott North and parked near the front door. This is a transit hotel. It is a clean, quiet, nicely appointed stay over with an efficient staff. This one isn't far from the Roanoke airport.

Because it was near the airport, I expected a strip of traveler activity along the road, but instead the area was bereft of any line of restaurants, fast food or otherwise. Since things weren't so bustling here, I asked at the desk about restaurants. The clerk offered a Mexican and an Italian, and also recommended the Hollywood Bakery and Restaurant, all somewhere down the road on a crossroad.

We would decide after getting to our room. I finished check in and we went up to our top floor room, a nice room with two queen sized beds. (By the way, that white dot above the hotel in the photo on the right, is the moon.)

Looking out our window, I could look down on the hotel pool, so we were in the back.

If I looked straight out, though, there was a distance mountain and vista to stare upon.

Above are the views from our room.

We decided to look for a restaurant other than the Hollywood. I had noted one called Coach and Four was in the area and we went on a search and succeeded.

It was a good decision, excellent in every way.

My wife had the evening special, another kind of salmon dish, so she was well fished this day.

I also choose a special, the smothered filet. It was perfect, lightly smothered in mushrooms and gravy, just the right amount not to overwhelm the tender beef. It came with interesting potato croquettes and a lush mixed salad covered with a nicely chunky blue cheese dressing. We also had a mixed cheese plate for an appetiser.

A nice touch at this restaurant was you were given a little bowl with a large meatball each when you sat. These were covered with a tangy sauce. Along with this was a large wicker basket of varied crackers. A warm, fresh loaf of bread was served with the meal.

The total bill, including our cocktails, wine and coffee came to $73. To put that in perspective, a restaurant of equal quality back home would have easily cost over $100 for the ambiance, service and meal we enjoyed.

Finally, stuffed full and happy, we drove back the highway to the hotel for the very comfortable beds and a sound sleep. This was good, for tomorrow we would start to journey to Asheville in earnest.

2 Grand Plans for Grandfather Mountain

2008-07-23T12:37:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE
Day Two June 22, 2008
Grand Plans for Grandfather Mountain

Woke up thinking it must be early morning by the sunlight in the room. It was early, yeah, 1:45 AM and it was just outside lights from the parking lot. I was too comfy to get up and close the curtain, though. I fell right back to sleep.

Next time I woke it was 5:30 AM. I dressed and went outside. It was chilly. There was no where to walk around here except to circle the hotel. I snapped some pictures and went back inside to the breakfast room.

It wasn't 6:30 yet. A hotel staffer was busy setting up for the complimentary breakfast. She seemed concerned I had to wait, but I wasn't really waiting. I was sitting at a table writing in my journal and keeping away from the room so not to wake my wife. Still, she came over and told me when the coffee was ready and I was appreciative of getting a cup.

I wasn't feeling well. It had started the night before. I had a tickle in my throat and a weariness in my body much like I had a year before in Charlottsville when I got very sick and it lasted for days. I hope this isn't a repeat. I seldom get sick, why must it always be on vacation?

A couple came in and the attendant was not yet finished setting up. It was exactly 6:30 now and they looked perturbed. He was a tall gent with a slight moustache, she reminded my of George's mother on Seinfeld, even had something of the same shrill voice. They took a table back aways behind me.

The attendee finished and told me it was ready. Said nothing to the couple, so she was concerned with me alone I guess. Maybe I looked hungry. I wasn't. I seldom eat breakfast.

The couple ambled over. It was all get-it-yourself. She took a bagel and plopped it in a toaster. Next thing smoke began filling the air and she was squawking at her husband. He was pretty calm as he began explaining that she hadn't flicked a switch that made the bagel move through the toaster. She kept screeching at him to ask the attendant, who was not even there. Meanwhile the room was reeking of burnt bagel. The man finally found the proper control and moved the burnt bun out of harms way.

While they fretted over burnt toast, I poured myself a bowl of Cheerios. (Did you know Cheerios were introduced by General mills the year I was born, 1941, and were originally called Cheerioats?) I also got a V-8. I drink a half-gallon of V-8 and of orange juice a week.

I got a cup of coffee and took it upstairs to my wife. Once she was up and somewhat awake, we decided on the route. I had planned two ways to Asheville from Roanoke. One was right on down the interstate and would have gotten us there in three and a half hours. The other went to Grandfather Mountain first and added two hours on to the trip. It looked like a decent day. We choose Grandfather Mountain. Thus we were off in the foggy morning light.

The weather was fine. It was sunny and not bad temperature wise, but thundershowers were predicted for the PM. I hoped we'd get up Grandfather Mountain before any rolled in. The first trick, though, was finding Grandfather.

We had to go 151 miles down Route 81, then east a ways. We were sailing along. When you hit North Carolina, the speed limit jumps to 70. Coming down closer to our change point we did run into road construction and a lower speed limit - 60. The slow speed for construction areas here is higher than the highway speed in Delaware, which is 55. Amazing. We're still making good time and out exit is coming up next and...

and our exit is closed. There is a detour. I go off the detour and think I must move over onto the joining road. There is traffic flying along and cars fairly tight up behind me when a pickup cuts me off to go off an immediate exit where I came on. As this happens, my wife is shouting, "no, turn here, turn here", but it's too late, I can't safely do so. Now we are on a strange road and have to find a turn around point, which we do further along. We are coming back looking for the detour and can't find it.

I do another turn around and as we do my wife sees a sign for the actual route we want. We have lucked on it.

Now we are on 421 north and the directions get a bit strange.

US-421 N becomes US-421 BYP N. Drive for 4 miles. US-421 BYP N becomes US-421 N. Drive for 0.3 miles. US-421 N becomes US-421 BYP N. Drive a short distance.

I say, "I wonder what BYP means?"

My wife replies, "Bring your patience."

US-421 BYP N becomes US-421 N. Drive for 17.8 miles. US-421 N becomes US-421 S (Huh?) Drive for 2.8 miles. Keep slight right at the fork toward US-421 N. Drive for 9.9 miles. Turn left on to NC-105-EXT.

Okay, it really all looks straight ahead on the map. We'll just look for NC-105.

We drive and drive and drive. I'm not liking this. We weren't paying any mind to those mileage directions. I feel we missed NC-105 somehow. We drive and we drive and we stop. I decide to turn around and go back. As I do, my wife says the road we are passing is 221 and the map says Grandfather Mountain is on 221.

Maybe we got up to the other side somehow, so I turn onto 221. I went about a mile and a church was letting out. I pull in the lot and ask a parishioner if he knows where Grandfather Mountain is. He sends me back to the road I had been on and tells me I have to go all the way into Boone and turn left on 105. Darn, I hadn't missed it, I hadn't got to it yet.

We get to Boone ten more miles down the road. Traffic is heavy, probably all the churches down here letting out. I see 105, but go on by saying "look for a restaurant". My wife says, "there is one back there". Luckily, I find a parking spot on the street right away and we walk back to this restaurant called Melanie's.

They only serve breakfast on Sundays, but that's okay. Lots of places aren't even open. We get a table right away inside. A lot of folks are eating in the patio under beach umbrellas.

It is an eclectic place, all mismatched tables and chairs, every coffee mug different as the varied people there to sip it. It is wonderful, something like the Astral Plane used to be in Philadelphia. The wait staff are as varied dressed as the cups and it has a feel of the Hippie '60s or Beat '50s.

The food is marvelous and plentiful. Seemingly common breakfast stuff, two eggs, home fries, toast with grape jelly and stewed apples, but it has its own spin. I have a bowl of fresh fruit in yogurt and granola with my Melanie's Big Breakfast. My wife orders some kind of tofu concoction that she finds delightful but big enough to feed her for a week.

As we are noshing our way into nirvana a storm hits. Thunder, lightening, waves of pouring water, all chasing the patio diners ascurry for inside shelter. It lets up enough by the time we are draining our coffee and paying our nice low tab that we can get back to the car without getting wet.

But it is almost 1:30 and we have still a ways to Asheville. Besides I don't want to get caught up on Grandfather Mountain in a storm. I wonder if they might have even closed it now. We decide to push on to Asheville, but I have to get to the entrance of Grandfather Mountain because that is where my directions to Asheville start from.

We had some confusion finding out way to the final road, the real 221, and were going up the mountain road looking for the entrance. I though, hey, we probably would come out of Grandfather and be going the direction we are now coming from. So I turned around and headed back the way we came. Sure, if we turned right onto 221 as the directions say, this would be exactly the way we should go...unless...unless the entrance to Grandfather is on the other side of the road, then we would be going that other way...

But I cross Rt. 105 and there was a route marker telling me I was on the right track. 25 miles from here I'd hit an interstate and then clear sailing into Asheville.

Only now I found the mountains were between me and there. it was up, turn and twist, up turn and twist, then down turn and twist and so on. Finally the road leveled out again and the monsoon struck. Rain came down like a waterfall washing away visibility and beginning to flood the street. If that weren't punishing enough, it began to hail marble-sized pellets. That was the longest 25 miles I ever drove. I was grateful the storm hadn't hit when we were doing the mountain road twist 'n' shout.

Finally we reached I-40 and the drove out of the storm. The rest of the way to Asheville was smooth as silk.

3 Bedding on Biltmore

2008-07-22T20:20:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE

Day Two June 22, 2008

Bedding on Biltmore

After enduring the twisty roads of the high hills, heavy rain and hardy hail, the last 34 miles down I-40 seemed a pathway in paradise. The sky had returned to blue with white clouds instead of black. We were counting down the exit numbers.
Melanie's huge and filling lunchtime breakfasts had long kept our bellies satisfied, but as we turned off on exit 50B in the late afternoon, my thoughts were on the expected fine dining at the Flying Frog Cafe.

Other than being caught unaware by lanes that suddenly became right or left turn only, it wasn't difficult from the interstate exit to the hotel. A straight run down Hendersonville Road, which soon became Biltmore Avenue (this highway was a chameleon of name changing), and we saw the Residence Inn by Marriott up a rise and around a bend.

I'm going to sound as if on Marriott's payroll (I'm not), but I joined their frequent guest program a couple years back. Not to garner points, but because I came to really like the chain. I'm sure they have a clunker or two out there somewhere, but I haven't hit any. Every Marriott, of which ever stripe - Residence, Courtyard, Fairfield, Renaissance - we've stayed at has been perfect. They have been clean, quiet, efficient, roomy, comfortable and friendly. As long as they remain this way, I'll keep booking them. I have only diverted occasionally to stay in some historic hotel - Independence Mall Hotel, Latham, The Inn on Canal Square, Hawthorne House, Natural Bridge Hotel, Sebasco Harbor Lighthouse - or if no Marriott is available in the area.

Here was our castle in Asheville for the next few days, our bedding on Biltmore, the Residence Inn by Marriott Biltmore. Our room was on the third and top floor on the front corner. Those were our two windows on the right just below the roof in the picture.

This was the view where I parked the car. It looks north back toward where we had just come. Asheville was all business. Biltmore Avenue was wider and finer than any other street I traversed while here. The scenery outside the city was nice, but the roads were narrower and ofter twisty.

It was after four when we checked in, time enough for my wife to enjoy a bath and rest before setting off to find the famous Flying Frog for our 6:30 reservation. As I am wont to do, I set off exploring the area on foot. Ah, but walking here was limited. It was pretty much which direction of Biltmore Avenue you wished to go. I went south toward Asheville proper, around a curve and along greenery.

It was all uphill. It wasn't unpleasant to look at, but steep to step. The road was built right up to the curb of the sidewalk; that is, no gutter, shoulder or buffer zone. Since the street also had a number of gentle curves, there was a constant sense of cars coming directly at me. It was an eerie and unsettling illusion.

I saw no other walkers, but one, who came down the opposite side and then disappeared up steps built into the steep hill across from me.

I traipsed on along a stone wall not knowing my goal. The Flying Frog was in the center of the city, two and a half miles from our stay. Did I think I would walk till I found it? That would be a five mile round trip. I wouldn't have the time, even at my pace.

Walking five miles isn't unusual for me back home, but here it seemed this hill went on forever and it was now a hot and humid afternoon.

The Mission Hospital was up ahead and I made that my turning point. I would reach its border and turn about. There were once two hospitals here. One was started by the Sisters of Mercy, and the less I say about them, the better I will feel**, and I forget who founded the other, but they did eventually join and become Mission Hospital. I reached a bit beyond and started back. You can see part of the infrastructure of the Hospital here and that now my journey would be all downhill, hooray!

I returned to our very home-like room. Lois was soaking in the tub when I got back, so I snapped these photos of the suite. I don't know what was playing, but the room came with this great wide screen, flat screen TV on a swivel base allowing you to watch from anywhere you wished in the room with a full range of cable channels to choose from as well.

It had all one could need to live here: dishwasher, microwave, over and range, coffee maker, refrigerator with an ice maker. There were no ice machines in the hotel because you had them in your room. "All ice is tossed and the whole thing sanitized after the guest leaves. It takes a while for it to make new ice, so turn the ice machine on as soon as you get to your room if you'll want ice tonight. Just flip the bar up, just like at home," the desk clerk said. (By the way, all the desk clerks here were perky and seemed to enjoying answering your questions. They really did make you feel welcome.) Just like at home, except I don't have an ice maker at home. The bar looked more like a wire to me. When I flipped it I was certain it would snap and zap me. It didn't. We had plenty of ice the whole stay.

Unlike Roanoke, we had but one bed. It was king size and comfortable. Unfortunately my wife is not a heavy sleeper and has problems sleeping when someone else is in bed switching about. We sleep in separate beds at home and I wanted my wife to rest well on our trip, so I choose to sleep on the sofa here. It wasn't bad, but gee, those beds in the Marriotts are super comfortable. The things we men do for the women we love.

It was then I discovered the creatures. Over on the counter by the stove lurked the first. See it craning it's neck between the coffee maker and the toaster? And what is that hanging onto the paper towel rack? Is it a bird, a plane, a bat?

There was another in the bathroom.

They are swans. Every hand towel had been sculptured into swans. There was housekeeping art everywhere. The tissues, the paper towels, even the toilet tissue was curved and folded into flowers or fans. You almost felt guilty destroying this patient handiwork to use them.

We will leave them undisturbed for now for it was nearly six o'clock, time to start for our rendezvous with the Flying Frog.

4 The Freakin' Flying Frog Fiasco

2008-07-21T15:03:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE
Day Two June 22, 2008

The Freakin' Flying Frog Fiasco

When we go on these vacation adventures and I know we will arrive at our destination late in the day, I like to know I will have a place to eat that evening. I therefore make a dinner reservation before we set out and generally try to find a top notch signature restaurant in the area. In all my looking for our first night in Asheville dinner, I read great things about the Flying Frog Cafe. The AAA gave it three diamonds and described it this way: "Reservations suggested: The casually elegant restaurant's menu lines up a delicious combination of French and Indian dishes, which are served by friendly, knowledgeable staffers." Remember those words.

Here is how the restaurant describes itself on Open Table:
The Flying Frog Cafe is Asheville's most eclectic dining establishment! Owned & operated by veteran restaurateurs Jay and Vijay Shastri, this restaurant showcases a family rich in culture and diversity. From Europe and India, the menu is reflective of Chef Vijay Shastri's family background and his dedication to the culinary industry. Wine Anyone... Chef Vijay has been tasting & collecting wines for almost twenty years now & has acquired a wine list that would make even a seasoned wine collector green with envy. $18 - $4000 per bottle and hundreds to choose from....There is something here for everyone! If all this is not enough, you can find reviews of the Shastri's in just about every major newspaper in the country, Southern Living, Mid-Atlantic Country Journal, Nation's Restaurant News, Restaurants & Institutions, Bon Appetite, Gourmet, Washingtonian Magazine, Tasteful, Cooking Light, Attaché, several travel magazines in Europe, Singapore & Asia as well

I went to their website, which was definitely cutting-edge in design. the menu sounded great. There were no pictures of the place. I made my reservation on Open Table a month before we went. I was looking forward to it, I believed my wife would be surprised and delighted by it.
Let me say, if my wife and I have a hobby, it is dining at different restaurants. We eat out two and three times a week, and although we have several favorites we go to regularly, we are always trying new places. We have eaten in hundreds of different eateries and have not often been disappointed. We are not food snobs. We are not fussy diners. We eat in places that run the gamut of price, ambiance and cuisine. We won't knock a place because the flowers aren't the right color on the table and we are very forgiving about an occasional mistake or spill. I am someone who generally finds the positive about a place.

What you are about to read has no positives.

We left the hotel at 6:00. Since the restaurant was only two and a half miles away, this seemed plenty of time. It was, but by a hair. First was finding it. As a guidebook said, "Asheville is small, but confusing". Well put, and it did not help that several streets had no street signs.

Even when we chanced upon our destination on the corner of Haywood in Battery Park, parking looked impossible. All the surrounding streets appeared parked solid.

I did chance on a spot a few blocks from the Frog and after checking the meter to be sure in didn't expect to be fed after six, we walked quickly to not arrive too much after our reservation time.

Given the description of a casual elegant restaurant with a business casual dress code, we were wearing what seemed appropriate. I was dressed similarly to what I always wore to work in black trousers and striped shirt, the only difference being this shirt had long sleeves rather than short. My wife was dressed in a black top and jeans. The top showed some cleavage, but was not particularly fancy.

When we reached the Frog, there was a number of people seated and eating at sidewalk tables behind a bordering fence. My wife looked uncomfortable and whispered to me that we were way over dressed. Indeed, we were, like a couple wearing tuxedos to a barn dance. Chomping away at these tables was a scruffy crew of diners in wrinkled shirts and faded shorts, some looking as if a washing was a distant memory for both outfit and wearer.

We passed through this motley assemblage through the doors to the inner sanctum. There was a door to the bar on our left, with large round windows allowing us a peek at a working bartender and some TV sets above his head. Down the hallway was a stand and a door to a dining room on the right. It looked to be an entry station, but when we came to it there was no host to greet and seat. There was a young woman in uniform at the stand working a computerized machine, probably where one entered orders. She paid us no notice.

We stood waiting for the host, but none appeared. I turned to this uniformed person and asked about seating. She gave me a glance, said nothing and went back to pressing the machine. There was another young lady in civvies sitting at a back table of the dining room. She got up and exited pass us, saying as she dud, "I'm off the clock, but you looked confused. Just go in and take any seat and someone will wait on you." With that she left.

We went into this dining room, which faced the front of the Flying Frog's big windows that looked out on the corner of the block. We sat at a table halfway along the one wall. There were two women at a table about opposite us and some people down front where the room had a foot like the bottom of an L.

While we waited...and waited...I looked about. There were some painting running down the opposite wall, but otherwise the room was plain with all the ambiance of a high school cafeteria. The tables were all nondescript brown wood with chairs to match, no decoration or accouterments atop them, no clothes or setups. I did see a waitress move among the tables in the L foot.

But we sat and waited and no other wait person appeared. Finally, the waitress I had see came out way. She was walking toward our table with a smile, but instead of any, "Hi. I'm Lulu, I'll be serving you tonight", we got "somebody will wait on you in a minute" as she passed us by and disappeared.

The minute passed. No one came. More minutes piled up and there was no further appearance of any staff. We sat at a bare table waiting, no menu, no setup, no drink, no howdee-do. My wife has less patience for such ignorance than i and she began suggesting we leave. I finally conceded to her good sense and we walked out.

This was certainly one of the most incompetent restaurants we have ever entered. It can't use an excuse of being busy, for there were plenty of empty tables. I wouldn't have needed my reservation at all, I could have walked in from the street and had my choice of seating. But we didn't come for choice seating, we came to eat and that we did not do at the Freakin' Frog as my wife now dubbed it.

The coffee table book on Asheville in the hotel room, which also spoke glowing of this dive showed a picture of the dining room. In that picture the tables were covered in white clothes with setups and china. The wall was festooned with draped white curtains. Perhaps they only bring out this decor for puff piece photographs. One thing was true in the books photograph. It didn't show any wait people either. My suggestion would be the owner might want to pay a bit less attention to his $4000 wines and more to his rude, neglectful staff.

We returned to the hotel and changed. I wondered where we could go, but my always observant wife said she "saw a Texas Roadhouse along the road we came in on, let's go there."

Indeed we did and what a contrast. No pretence of elegant casual here. This was a robust place with music booming and people looking happy. A host was quick to greet us and turn us over to a fellow for seating, who asked if this was our first time there. Yes, so he handed my wife a bag of peanuts and asked if we wished to choose a steak from the display behind a counter. We preferred just to have a menu and we were given menus and seated and quickly served by a chipper young blond. It wasn't the Indian and French cuisine we had originally set out to sample, but typical roadhouse American fare, good food and plenty of it. I had the "Road Kill" with steak fries and beer cheese soup and a huge frozen margarita in a mug so heavy it took two hands to lift. Every so often with a yahoo, the wait staff would come out on the aisle and do a line dance. People around us were denim clad, bearded and tattooed, but this was a place you got served, got attended to, got made full and happy.

Now, I noticed a baseball game up on one of the TVs and it teased my curiosity. Back home people root for the Phillies or the Orioles, and sometimes the Nationals, teams all located not so far away; even some of the New York teams. What major league team did people in southwest North Carolina follow, I wondered. Perhaps the Atlanta Braves, I ventured. Well, I asked our waitress that question and got a look that said, "baseball? What's baseball?" After a moment or more of hesitation she named some team I never heard of. "Who?" I asked. "It's a college team," she said. "Oh, I meant professional, the Major Leagues." Another silent moment of thought. "I don't know," she said, "we mostly follow college, I guess."

I thanked her and ordered coffee...with cream and sugar...and left her a big tip.

5 It Takes a Vanderbilt

2008-07-20T19:07:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE

Day Three June 23, 2008

It Takes a Vanderbilt: Biltmore Estate

I woke up later than usual, perhaps because of remembering to close the curtain last night. It was now 7:30 AM. I knew immediately I was feeling better. Maybe the extra sleep took care of it or maybe that great meal at the Texas Roadhouse last night overwhelmed the bug. Yeah, that road kill steak with the fries, baked beans and salsa may have done the trick. Ah, thinking about food makes me feel like a bite, a rarity for me in the morning. Might as well try the breakfast room here and let my wife have her peace.

I went down to the lobby and they had a fire going in the fireplace and a few people sitting about the room. The mornings in these mountains came with a lower temperature than up north, the fire felt nice as I passed it. I got some fresh fruit and a coffee and sat writing in my journal.

We left the hotel about 9:30 for the Biltmore Estate. I had been hearing about the Biltmore since I announced we were going to Asheville. I figured we would spend the morning touring the Estate and even have lunch at the restaurant on site. I had asked at the front desk during my breakfast how to get there. "Go left out of our parking lot and at the second traffic light turn right and it is straight ahead."

It was easy to get to; not so easy to pay for.

We entered through a gatehouse not long after we turned at that second traffic light. Beyond the gate was a long winding driveway up a wooded hill toward another gatehouse. But before you could go through that second gate you had to go off to the left and buy tickets.

We parked and walked back to the welcoming building. Inside was a film about the Estate, which we watched briefly, but we quickly went to the next room where ticket purchases were made and got in line.

There was a model of the estate to look at as you inched along. As we did my wife said, "Did you know the ticket was $47 for a single?"

"No," Mister Expert says. "That must be some package deal. I think the tour book said tickets were $19.95."

"It's $47," she insisted.

"Let me get close enough to read the board," I said.

Above the windows was a screen that flashed different prices over and over. And there it was, One Adult Admission; $47. That meant we would be paying $94 just to get onto the grounds. (Notice how quickly I figured that out? Remember, I was once an accountant.) $94 dollars would get us a self-guided tour of the house, a stroll in the garden and a taste at the winery. For another $12.95 we could purchase a souvenir guidebook and an additional $35 would get us a carriage ride. $94 to just get it, what would lunch cost here?

Not having a Vanderbilt sized bank account, we stepped out of line. We figured if we wanted to see a rich man's ostentatious purview we could do so back in Delaware for far less. There are DuPont homes all over the place. Besides we had seen Vanderbilt's ego on display in Newport, Rhode Island at the Breakers. It had cost us $63 dollars there, but that got you tours in seven mansions with a living breathing lecturer to show you though and it included the souvenir guidebook.

We departed in such a huff I completely forgot to snap any pictures for posterity. This became my mission the next morning until my wife was awake. I drove back up through the narrow gate and winding path to the ticket parking and snapped the few photos on this post.

The place opens at 8:30 AM and as I went up the lane I hit a traffic jam of cars entering the second gateway, ticket holders all. It looked like a military checkpoint, with uniform personal checking each vehicle as it went through. I hope it was worth the small fortune to see how the old time rich lived.

You know when we turned around from Biltmore Estate I thought about this trip. We had been rained off of Grandfather Mountain, endured being lost, driven through a vicious downpour with hail, been feeling ill, been disappointed by the Freakin' Flying Frog and now deciding not to drain the wallet to see Biltmore. This was beginning to have disaster written all over it. We needed something to turn things around.

6 Village People for a Morning

2008-07-19T14:21:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE
Day Three June 23, 2008

Village People for a Morning

We came down, in more ways than one, from the ticket building of the Biltmore Estate not having chosen to purchase the inflated entry fee. But I was determined we would see something here. I didn't turn left on Hendersonville Road nee Biltmore Avenue nee Broadway toward out hotel, but went straight across. I wanted to see Biltmore Village at least.

There was this long row of stores on our right as I looked for a parking space along the street. But what was the first of these stores with my little eye did I spy?

Chico's, right on the corner fronting the row. Not just a Chico's, a mammoth Chico's, a huge colossus of a Chico's, a Chico's for the ages, grand and imperial, governing this street.

Why did I care? I am not into wearing women's clothes, at least, not yet. No, but I work part time as the stock supervisor at a Chico's and we are considered one of the larger stores, but this was beyond large, it was humongous. I had to visit.

At first I parked on the right side of the street, then noticed there was parking beneath these stores, so I went a bit further on Brook (although I didn't know it was named that at this point) and made a left in a small alley, then down into the parking garage. (Brook and that alley will play a roll in a later post, so remember them.)

We exited from an opening between steps of this wall, went up one of the stairs and into the giant Chico's. The sales floor looked twice the size of the one back home. I went and spoke to the manager, a nice and perky lady named Alison. This store was 7,000 plus square feet, she told me. Yes, it had a huge stockroom. I was too shy to ask to see the stockroom, although I would have loved a peek.

While my wife shopped (a danger I risked on entering Chico's), I went out to walk about snapping photos of the village. It was quaint, mostly boutique stores, art galleries and restaurants, over 30 of them, including the village's own church.

Here is a kind of modern upscale general store, fancier than the one my ancestor's once ran in Modena, Pa. If this was originally a general store, it probably sold more mundane products, such as harnesses and tact in its day.

Biltmore Village has a history tied to the Bildmore Estate.

This village was built by George W. Vanderbilt in the 1890s. It was then known as Best and was a planned community.

Planned communities were something of a thing in the late 1890s and early 1900s. I live next to a planned community myself, The Ardens, created in 1900 as a Utopia and based on the economic philosophies of Henry George. The Ardens today, as it always was, is home to many artists, writers, actors and crafts people.

Biltmore was not designed with the same high purpose or as part of any communal or Utopian grand plan.

Vanderbilt created Best as a "company town", a place to live for the employees of his estate, Biltmore. It was modeled after classic English country villages and filled with every thing Vanderbilt assumed people would need, schools, stores, a rail station, the church, even a hospital.

I'm sure it was all quite benevolent, yet I can't help singing the line from Merle Travis's song, Forty Pound Hammer. "I owe my soul to the company store."

I bet the original villagers never dreamed of a Chico's for their ladies apparel. Nor that shop straight ahead.

My eyes are not top of the line anymore. I came toward this spot and thought what an unusual shop, "The Yam Paradise". I guess one can get every type of sweet potato they can imagine here.

Turns out the sign reads, "The Yarn Paradise". Well, it would have made our playful cats think they were in Heaven.

I had been thinking about dinner around here after the Freakin' Flying Frog Fiasco. I saw in the AAA book a restaurant in Biltmore Village called Fig. It was described as a bistro. I though it worth a try. As I walked about these well shrubbed and tree-lined streets, I searched for it.

It wasn't this place. This was another dress shop of more modest dimensions than Chico's.

Funny how many links to your own life come to mind. They have a "Dickens Festival" in the village during the first weekend of December. On those three days this is transformed into a Victorian village with musical performers strolling about in period costume, horse drawn carriages clopping over the streets and food and concerts at every turn.

I once lived next to a small park in Philadelphia where the real Charles Dickens once visited and stood to read from his then current work in progress. I believe they hold a Dickens Festival in Clark Park (yes, real name) at times.

I am really enjoying this amble.The day is bright and blue, with a breeze. The temperature is going into the eighties, but doesn't feel hot at all. The humidity must not be high.

Perhaps it is the mountain air whispering over the rooftops and through this valley.

The brick building on the corner behind the pickup is called, Blue.

I thought it was a restaurant. The FIG perhaps? But no, it is Blue and not a dining establishment at all.

It is a jewelry store.

I'm not buying any jewelry today. (But my wife was, back at Chico's.)

This is the church that George built. It is functioning as a house of worship still. It is called The Cathedral of All Souls

It says it is "situated as the hub in the architectural 'fan' of Biltmore Village". The way it spreads in a semi-circle is indeed like the top of a fan.

It considers itself as having been designed to be the heart and soul of a community, a gathering place as "a body immersed in the life and flow of the greater community".

It certainly provides facilities for some outdoor recreation.

The Cathedral of All Souls is an Episcopal Church, not unexpected given the history of the village and the Vanderbilts.

It is an impressive building, or actually, a string of buildings that take up the whole block.

This is their statement of who they are: "All Souls is a eucharistically centered Cathedral whose life is shaped by Scripture, the Baptismal Covenant and our engagement with the world about us. it is a community where trust is present, risks are taken, and where our gifts and graces enable us to be who God knows us to be."

May it be so.

Anyway, I wander back to my wife, pay for her purchases and we go looking for lunch.

We haven't far to search. Just next door is the Depot. Now a restaurant, this was once the village train station, also built by Vanderbilt. A number of famous personages have arrived and departed from this station, such as General Pershing and Asheville's sometimes favorite son, Thomas Wolfe.

Decorated inside to give a feel of being on a train, we had a wonderful experience and good food. I had to reach the cord to turn on the ceiling fan, since the waitress was too short to reach. She was a delightful person, warm and gracious, very accommodating, so why shouldn't I accommodate her in the fan matter. Besides it was for our own comfort.

We were right in the front to the left of the entry as you face the place. The room to the right was more like a dining room, while we were as if in a dining car. The other room did have electric trains that you could run.

Lois had the grilled chicken salad. I had the soup of the day and their "famous" sloppy cheese burger, recommended to be eaten with knife and fork, with good reason. That is certainly how I ate it. It was delectable and filling with its nicely charred burger, chili, cole slaw, tomato, lettuce, cheese and pickle plus fries. I was happy.

Now I did glance out the window and the truck outside was labeled Pest Exterminators. I'm sure they were just having lunch.

We left the Village fat and happy ready now for an afternoon of daring and adventure.

I still couldn't find Fig, though.

7 Challenge of Chimney Rock

2008-07-18T06:06:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE

Day Three June 23, 2008

Challenge of Chimney Rock

After having lunch, we stopped back at the hotel and I asked my wife if she was up to going out to Chimney Rock. She was. We went up I-40 and exited off onto US-74-Alt. Sounded like another major highway, but it was not. It was a two-lane country road that we were to take for the next 17 miles. It soon turned into the usual twisting mountain road occasionally passing through some small villages and campsites. Each village was geared up to grab the tourist dollar.

We passed a place called Bat Cave. We didn't see Batman or Robin. Bat Cave is a town named for the mountain it sits on. The mountain is named for a cave. The cave is full of...well guess.

My plan had us go to Lake Lure, and then Chimney Rock, but to my surprise we came to the entrance of Chimney Rock first. As it turned out later, this was a good thing.
I turned off and we crossed a bridge. There was a sign saying Chimney Rock Entrance 2 1/2 miles ahead. Yes, 2 1/2 miles up. This was the twistiest, narrowest mountain road yet, often without guard rails. It was full of hairpin turns where your vision was blocked from seeing any oncoming cars and it was a two-way lane.
As you can see we made it. Lois is walking through the parking lot toward our destination, Chimney Rock, the tall thing jutting out like the leaning tower of Pisa.

Why the Challenge of Chimney Rock? Because all my life I have had a phobic fear of height. Now I'm going up this 316 foot rock.
When you reach the top of the 2 1/2 mile lane there is a ticket booth. The young lady told us the stairs up to the rock were closed today for maintenance, so the elevator was the only way up. I said, "fine, because I was planning on the elevator anyway."
She said, "good thing it wasn't reverse then."

The man who originally owned the Rock came to North Carolina because he had tuberculosis. His name was Dr. Lucius Morse. It was thought the mountain air cured it. He saw this rock and bought it and 64 acres of the mountain. Now I am thinking about a guy with breathing problems climbing up this thing before it even had stairs. He did and then he decided if people want to see from the top, it'd be a great idea to install an elevator. He did that too.
You get to the elevator, which goes up through the mountain, via a 198 foot tunnel. Very cool, I mean literally, very cool in the tunnel.
The elevator lets you out in, what else, the gift shop of the Sky Lounge. You can get all the knickknacks and bric-a-brac you desire here or you can buy food and glut your belly before going up the walkways to the top of the rock.

This is looking back at part of the trail we have come to go up the final stairs over a chasm to the peak of the rock. You can just make out the Sky Lounge in the center of the photo and its picnic plaza.
The State of North Carolina didn't come into possession of this site until May 2007. Dr. Morse's family owned it all these 100 years and ran it as a tourist destination, but decided everyone was better served if they sold it to the state.

This is the vista of the surrounding mountains as you walk along the entry trail. We're at an elevation of 2,280 feet above sea level at this point.
I had told my wife the road up here was similar to the mountain road I had traversed by Jeep in Colorado, except that road hadn't been paved and was narrower. It was also a bit higher at 14,000 feet.

But 2,280 feet gives you some nice views.
Walking along the trail to the Rock you are protected at places by very high metal fences. These barriers between you and oblivion get lower at you get higher. You can actually stand higher than the barriers once atop the Rock.
I'm not being bothered by my old vertigo yet. I've overcome a lot of my height problem as I have gotten older.

We paused here to look down from whence we came. Our little pumpkin car is out of sight behind the trees at the far end of the parking lot.
You can't even see the ticket booth or winding road for all the timber growing up the side of the mountain. You can just see where the driveway enters at the upper last visible part of the parking lot. It enters from the left. It looks as if a bus might be parked just beyond.

This is looking off the side of the trail as we near the last stretch before the Rock itself.

The road is US-74 that has brought us here and hopefully we will survive to take back to the hotel later.

There is a little town where you turn off for this site. They have a restaurant there called the Old Rock Cafe.

There was a small platform jutting out from the trail with a coin operated viewer. I walked out to the end to snap this photo. That is Lake Lure in the distance, our intended first stop.

Now the lake will be our second.

I didn't have any change on me so I didn't use the viewer. I think you can see pretty much what is out there without it.

Here is the little town I spoke of at the entrance up to the Rock.

It has a very original name. Want to take a stab at it?

Chimney Rock Village.

How do they think those names up?

We have reached the zenith, the top of the hill, the highest point of Chimney Rock.

It the distance is Lake Lure. The sky is blue, the day is bright, the air is fresh and the woman below me in the yellow shirt is all smiles.

I hopped about up here taking some more photos, but they didn't take. I fear this camera is starting to go.

Well, nowhere to go from here but down.

Not necessarily. To go down by the Skyline-Cliff Trail Loop, you first go up.

My wife was already a bit out of puff from the clamber up onto the Rock and had no desire to climb further up those stairs and then along a foot path by cliffs.

I was fine with that. My height-a-phobia hadn't kicked in much where we were, but I was sure it was lurking halfway up those steps.

It might have been nice to see the 404 foot Hickory Nut Falls or the locations where they filmed The Last of the Mohicans, but we opted for the ease of the elevator again.

Of course, that did entail backtracking along the trail we had come.

There goes my wife across the final bridge to the Sky Lounge and the gift shop and the elevator.

They filmed some other movies here, by the way, Stephen King's Firestarter at the park entrance and A Breed Apart at Exclamation Point. Exclamation Point was another 200 feet above where we were.

Now it was off to Lake Lure, where another movie had been filmed. Do you know what it was? All will be revealed next time on our Afternoon Adventure.

We have Arrived at Lake Lure

2008-07-17T12:16:00.000-04:00

Well we are starting to explore Lake Lure here on the Sixth of July. We'll be doing this in three parts. Today's installment is "Every thing's Ducky at lake Lure." We will follow this up, probably tomorrow with part two, "Living On the Water" and finish strong with "Storm at Sea". Hope you'll put on your water wings and join us.

And the pictures won't be shrouded in purple mystery.

8 Everything's Ducky Around Lake Lure

2008-07-17T12:15:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE
Day Three June 23, 2008

Everything's Ducky Around lake Lure

We came down off of the Chimney Rock Road and turned left back on US-74. Twenty-five miles out of Asheville is the Hickory Nut Gorge and in Hickory Nut Gorge is Lake Lure

You can see right off this is a pretty pleasant place to spend an afternoon.

We parked the car near the Meet 'n' Greet Cabin, or more correctly, the over sized ticket booth, where they also sold some snacks and soft drinks.

The counter folk were very cheery when we purchased a boat tour for 3:00. "Sue, would you give these bubbly people a ticket please," said the girl I gave my card too.

"Where to we Bubbly people go to catch the boat," I asked.

"Just down at the end of the dock," she told me.

This left us with about 45 minutes to kill until the 3:00 boat would load, so we went for a walk around the paths and byways in the park surrounding this end of the lake.

As usual, my wife keeps going as I pause here and there to snap a photo. I have a rather huge collection of my wife walking away from me all other this great country of ours.

See what I mean? I am forever quick stepping it to keep up with her, which is fine. Helps keep me in shape I suppose.

We didn't want to wander off too far given the time we had, though, so it wasn't long before we circled back nearer the dock area.

One form of entertainment around here was watching the varied species of duck and goose cavort in the water or waddle along the shore line.

There was a sign on that ticket shack door saying Duck Food - $3.00. We didn't buy any. These places got a good thing going with their livestock. The visitors buy the feed at a marked up price and keep the creatures fed and the places make a profit on the mouths they feed.

These people had a bucket of the feed and a parade of fowl following them everywhere.

As you can see, everything was ducky at Lake Lure. The little quackers were around every bend.

But the ducks were a happy group and so were we and the others enjoying this sanctuary from life's cares.

It is a complete resort here, if you wish to stay. There is a hotel and spa and even a beach running along this end of the lake. There were a number of sunbathers taking up spots upon the sand.

We found a gazebo in a shady grove to wait out the time. There was a young lady with a pug-faced dog nearby and the pug kept eyeing us and looking cute in that way pugs have.

I walked back to the ticket shack and bought a Mello-Yello to drink. I used to drink these often, but to tell the truth haven't notice the drink much back home anymore. maybe I just haven't been looking.

From our bench in the gazebo we could see the boat garage and the tour boats all lined at the dock.

Neither of us had a watch so we finally drifted over to the area where we were to meet the craft and took seats on plastic chairs set up there.

Maybe the ducks thought we had a sack of seed, for a flock followed along the shore as we walked to the boat dock.

Or perhaps they too have tickets for the 3:00 tour.

Well, soon enough we'll know and we will be out on the lake.

9 Lure of Lake Lure

2008-07-16T15:30:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE
Day Three June 23, 2008

Lure of Lake Lure

Something in my nature makes me want to get in a boat when I get near water. The tour is what lured me to lake Lure, a beautiful 720 acres man-made lake about twenty-five miles from Asheville in the Hickory Nut Gorge.

It was pleasant and peaceful walking on the pathways or sitting in that gazebo watching the ducks and geese all in a flutter, but it felt delightful to be on the actual water.

Something is different about the air when you are afloat.

There are twenty-one miles of shoreline to see, much of it dotted with interesting homes outside my price range.

The lake itself is fed by the Rocky Broad River and the water is a crystal clear blue. The temperature must be reasonable, for their were occasional groups swimming by the private piers as we passed.

I know I won't remember a third of what the skipper of Boat Number 1 told us, but I try to recall some of what she said, although I may not get it in the right place.

One of the first things she told us was she was the only female skipper of the tour fleet. She was getting married soon, but not at the lake. She had worked there five year (she was going to college in the area) and although Lake Lure was a popular place to marry, she felt it was too close to being at work.

I'll tell you a secret. All my life I kind of fancied being a tour guide. I just thought that would be such an interesting job, knowing a place well and meeting people from different places.

Anyway, here is a group of homes. Now this is living by the water.

I'm not sure if that is the island in the lake or the opposite shoreline, but i tell about the island anyway.

The Lake was brought about by Dr. Lucius Morse. Remember him, the tubercular fellow that bought Chimney Rock? He stood up on the Rock and envisioned a lake here and said "let it be written, let it be done".

The lake was named by his wife, who though the place was quite alluring, thus, Lake Lure.

Tucked here in these North Carolina mountains it is certainly alluring.

He gave her the island, but when she went there she discovered it infested with snakes. I guess when they damned up the river to form the lake, all the snakes sought higher ground and ended up trapped on the island.

Well, Mrs. Morse didn't care for the snakes. A farmer suggested to her husband that pigs liked snakes.

They brought in a herd of pigs and sure enough, after some timed passed the snakes were gone and the island was home to a lot of very fat hogs. One of the first and largest bar-b-ques along Lake Lure was held soon after. Now, there's gratitude for you.

If you look over to the left of the mountain to the right it is clouding up. A storm is moving in and we are on the far side of the lake.

Next time: Storm at Sea.

10 Storm at Sea

2008-07-15T16:07:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE

Day Three June 23, 2008

Storm at Sea

When we last left off there appeared to be storm clouds moving in toward the lake. It was beyond "seemed to be", it was a storm coming our way.

We had reached the furthest point of the tour and were beginning our curve to come back.

There was still a way to go.

The skipper was naming some of these mountain ranges, such as "Buffalo Head" and "Sleeping Woman". I don't know if this particular mountain had a moniker locally, but I named it "Snoopy on his Doghouse Roof".

The clouds were starting to get heavy above Snoopy's nose.

We were still reviewing the occupants of the shore. There were comments about how everything had to be taken up and down so many steps. Some people had been very ingenious and installed dumb waiters and such to ease the job.

There were many different treatments of sundecks and boat houses as well.

At this point the wind is picking up and so is the rain. You can begin to see the ripples on the water surface in these pictures.

Still, it isn't causing us too much discomfort. The tour continues and at this point only a drop or two reaches we hardy passengers.

This is about to change. Thunder is rumbling about the lake and lightening is streaking down along the tree line.

The skipper is hugging the shoreline, sort of half telling us about the homes and history, half looking for safe haven.

As we pass by this impressive home, the wind and rain have shifted and both are coming under the canopy. When we had set out, my wife and I were midships and several people occupied the seats in from of us.

Now almost everybody in the rows before us has abandoned them and scooted to the aft surrounding the skipper and avoiding the headwinds.

There is really nothing to do but press on.

We have heard about the man who built a small home along the shore when he came here, another person trying to find some comfort from tuberculosis. He had been told he only had months to live. He decided to build a larger home anyway and rowed day after day to gather his building material. Apparently physical exercise was good for tubercular people. He didn't die in a few months, but built his new house and lived there until he was 107.

This woman and boy were the only two brave enough to remain in the seats ahead of my wife and I. When the others deserted, I remarked, "there goes out protection."

True enough, now we were getting a lot of rain from the starboard side. My wife slid over near the aisle, but I remained at my post to snap the pictures seen here.

My one though, as I began to get soaked, was wondering how transparent the white pants I wore might get when wet.

You can see the pockmarks of the rain on the water are growing quite large. The lightening is much more frequent and closer. The wind is really at a howl.

The skipper is saying less at this point. She seems to be searching for some shelter most earnestly.

We pull around the island, and there is a cove along the shoreline into which she steers the boat.

This is actually one of the tour points, but she is considering whether to dock here and wait out the weather.

We've come to the site where they filmed the movie, "Dirty Dancing". Most of the camp resort that was here and used in the film is gone. Arsonists set it ablaze a few years back and it burnt to the ground.

The skipper is thinking of docking here and letting us take shelter on that dock with its roof, but she doesn't.

As we swing around and leave the "Dirty Dancing" site, we see a couple men and a dog in the water. They are tossing something which the dog is retrieving. The dog is having a great time.

Actually, I am having a great time as well despite getting a bit soggy.

You may have noticed that the women in front of us has moved to the far port side of the boat.

The boy with her is now down on the deck under the seat.

But we are almost back. There is the gazebo in the park where my wife and I had waited before the tour and ahead are the other tour boats lined up at the dock.

It was about here the skipper said, "I didn't want to say anything earlier, but being in the middle of a lake in a metal boat was probably not the best place to be in an electrical storm."

I had thought the same thing myself.

But a little risk of electrocution was worth seeing this beautiful spot up close and personal, I say.

When we got back to the car, another couple who had been on the tour were bailing out their car. They had a little convertible sports model and had left the top down while on the lake.

"I guess I'm not the only one going to have a wet bottom," I said to them as we got in our dry car.

11 Where is that Fig?

2008-07-14T14:52:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE
Day Three June 23, 2008

Where is that Fig?

When we got back from Lake Lure it was evening and time to consider dinner. I didn't feel like driving into Asheville and struggling to park, especially since the storms had followed us home. My wife wanted to go somewhere with a parking lot close to the door since it seemed rain was inevitable. Going to a restaurant in Biltmore Village seemed reasonable.

I still didn't know where the Fig was. I had come to the conclusion it had went out of business. I suggested a little place I had passed on the walk I hadn't taken while she shopped Chico's. It was on the corner of All Souls and Boston and called The Corner Kitchen.

She was a bit dubious about getting parking near it. We drove there anyway. As we came to the intersection where it was, a pickup pulled away from a space directly in front of its door. This was right on the corner, so we grabbed it.

The restaurant was like a little house. You entered from the front porch. Inside we were greeted and a young lady took us up stairs to a cozy room.

We had a table along the wall that afford us some privacy.

There was a larger table opposite us where about six people were eating. From their conversation, they were obviously professors from some nearby college.

This is one of the dining rooms (photo taken off The Corner kitchen website). It is not the one we were in, but is very similar. These were warm rooms with only a few tables in each.

Service was excellent and the waitress certainly got her exercise since she had to go up and down the stairs with each course.

My wife, as is her habit, had two appetizers as her meal. She had the baby Arugula Salad with toasted walnuts, shaved pears and crumbled blue cheese, and Crispy Calamari with peppers, onions, jerk seasoning and mango mayo.

I had the soup of the day and the peppercorn crusted Angus filet over smashed potatoes with haricot vert and Bearnaise sauce. It was unusual because the filet came sliced. Everything we had was very good. If I was ever down there again, I would certainly eat here.

I was still curious about the Fig, though. That evening I saw they were in the coffee table book on Asheville that was in the hotel room. It gave an address on Brook Street. I knew I had seen a sign for Brook when we were in the village. Early the next morning, I drove down to the village and discovered Brook was the main street where you turned into the village, the street Chico's and those other stores were located.

I drove down Brook past that point and it quickly led me out of the village into a line of auto repair shops and stuff like that. I turned into a parking lot at the end of the village to turn around and what did I see?

This building and halfway down the wall the word FIG.

I parked and walked over to the sign, then walked up the street in front, which was, of course, Brook.

And there is was in giant letters, Fig. How did I miss it. Remember that day we first came to Biltmore Village and I turned down a little alley to park under the row of stores?

Well, Fig was right on the corner of that alley.

At least I knew it wasn't just a FIGment of my imagination.

12 Wolfe Hunt on the Streets of Asheville

2008-07-12T22:03:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE

Day Four June 24, 2008

Wolfe Hunt on the Streets of Asheville

I had let my wife sleep in this morning. I went down to the breakfast room and tried their full offering -- well, not everything. I'm not that much of a pig. I had some scrambled eggs, some sausage links, hash browns, toast and jelly. I had a cup of coffee and an orange juice, then I took a couple cups of coffee up to the room to entice my wife to get out of bed.
I thought we could go into Asheville proper and catch the Trolley Tour. I figured we could catch the 11:00 tour, which would end a bit after noon. It would familiarize us with the lay of the land for finding our next objective and finish up in time to get lunch in town.

We should have learned by this time plans didn't go -- you know -- according to plan down here. We parked on a public lot just inside the downtown area. It was a lot on the trust system, more or less. There was no attendant. You went to a machine, not unlike a vending machine, and entered your car info and how long you wished to stay. Then you paid by cash or card. Simple enough, perhaps, but it stymied yours truly.
Step one, according to the directions, was to push a start button. I did so, but nothing started. I tried sticking my card in the slot, but that did nothing. I pushed start again with no different result. I tried again. Nothing. There is a definition that says insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I stepped back to consider pushing start again and risking insanity.
Just then three kids came to the machine for their parents who had just parked. They asked if they could go ahead. I nodded. The oldest of the three, a boy in his early teens pressed start and things lit up. He had used his knuckle. Was that the secret?
He sent one of the others back to ask mom how long. Once told he selected the period and then began to feed coins into a slot to pay the fee that had appeared in a window. But the youngest of the three, the girl, insisted she be allowed to feed the kitty. He graciously let her. She dropped a quarter, ca-chink. She pressed another coin in the slot and it stuck. It was wedged there. The girl says, "I broke the machine." Oh just great.
The older boy asks, "what did you put in there?' She shrugged. He tried to push it in, it doesn't budge. He finally takes a key or something and is able to pry it out. It is a bus token. Now she feeds the rest of the quarters -- carefully. A ticket falls from an opening and they are on their way. The father comes by and apologizes to me for them going ahead. I tell him it is all right, "I was watching how he did it."
I now press the start button with my knuckle. Nothing. This is such a strange button. It doesn't press in when you push on it. It seems just a painting on the metal. I look close. There is a tiny round eye on the upper portion of this circle. Some kind of beam to be broken. I rub a finger across it and bingo, the machine begins cooperating and five dollars later I have my parking stub. I may park in slot seven from now until 3:00 AM tomorrow morning.

We begin our looking for the Trolley Tours Ticket Office. I have a general idea, but I left the little city map I had in the car and didn't want to go back for it. We walked up and down the street I was certain it was on, but we couldn't find anything resembling a Trolley Stop. In fact, this whole morning I had not seen one trolley on the street
It was well past 11:00 now anyway. We decided to go to lunch. We passed the freakin' Flying Frog, the demon reptile, but it was closed on Tuesdays, not that we would have went there anyway.

On a corner ahead was a place called Carmel's. To there we strode.

Although they had these purple bedecked tables on the sidewalk, we prefer indoor dining. Why sit in the hot sun swatting flies and trying to ignore passersby, when you can eat in cool comfort.

This was far different than the frog had been. There was a host to lead us to a table and then a very nice waitress who came promptly to serve us.

The place was small, but bright and warm. The menu offered items outside the usual.

My wife had a large salad. I had the Soup of the Moment and a wonderful eggplant sandwich. The food was delicious and the service friendly.

We left lunch very satisfied. We had given up on the Trolley Tour. Our one purpose was to find the object of desire that had led us to Asheville in the first place. The boyhood home of Thomas Wolfe.
Again we were wandering and seeing nothing to direct us to this premier Asheville landmark. You would think they would have a sign. Are they still mad at Wolfe?

We paused across from this church to get our bearings. Perhaps we should have went inside and lit a candle.

We had to find the Wolfe memorial. This trip was 49 years in the making because of Wolfe. As a senior in high school, my wife had to do a report on the works of an American author. Somehow she ended up with Thomas Wolfe, who she knew nothing about.

She could not get hold of his books. She and her mother searched high and low, near and far without success. The library carried his works, but they were all out. Finally two weeks before the report was due, her mother found and bought two of his books in a book store, Look Homeward Angel and Of Time and the River. She learned her first fact about Thomas Wolfe, his books were huge.

She made the deadline by reading down the center of the pages and she got an A on her report. Since that day she has talked of going to Asheville to see the place Wolfe wrote about and his mother's boarding house described in Look Homeward Angel. We had to find this place.

I believed it was somewhere near the civic center and there not far from that church was the civic center.

I hurried over to the building where all those people are gathered. perhaps they would know the whereabouts of the Wolfe.

But these people were not going to tell me anything. They were in a permanent hoe down, square dancing for ever on this sidewalk.

Flatt and Scruggs played their Bluegrass melodies that only the bronze dancers heard.

The little girl swirled in perfect stillness.

This happy couple do-see-doe's in total oblivion as to our plight.

I decided to go into the civic center and inquire about the Wolfe's den.

But alas, the doors were locked and the only people were these statues who were proving of no assistance.

We headed down the street with a feeling of futility when we came to a library. It was open and surely a library would know the whereabouts of the elusive Wolfe.

I went inside and a young lady gave me directions. It was pretty simple. Turn left at the next intersection, walk straight till we reached a certain street and make another left and we would be there.

And so it was.

Here is Thomas Wolfe with the manuscript for one of his books. Note he carried it about in a wooden crate. Yes, that is one manuscript. He wrote one that was a million and half words and another of two million and a half words.

Thank heavens for Maxwell Perkins, the editor who cut his work down to almost reasonable sizes. Look Homeward Angel was 626 pages, a fairly large novel for its time. His other books were longer.

To put this in perspective, the average novel is 80,000 to 120,000 words, which generally produces a book of from 250 to 400 pages.

My novel, Gray, is 78,836 words. It probably hovers on the border between a novella and a novel.

Next time: In the Object of our Desire

13 Object of Our Desire: Thomas Wolfe

2008-07-11T19:22:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE
Day Four June 24, 2008

Object of Our Desire: Thomas Wolfe

It was a report my wife did as a high school senior that led us to Asheville all these years later. It took her until two weeks from the report deadline to get hold of any of Wolfe's books and she only then did she discover how long they were. Look Homeward Angel, the smaller of the novels she had to read was 626 pages, somewhere in the neighborhood of 200,000 words. And Wolfe's editor, Maxwell Perkins, had cut 60,000 words out of the original manuscript.

The copy pictured here was my wife's used for that report. It was published in 1957, so is now 51 years old.

The characters in the book were thinly disguised fictionalization of Wolfe, his family and the people of Asheville. My wife wanted to go see the boarding house so central in the story.

This is a replication of Mrs. Wolfe's business card. She was Thomas Wolfe mother and she owned the house and ran it.

Note that "no sick people" were welcome. Tuberculous was a major concern at the time. There is some irony in this.

You may recall I mentioned people came to this part of North Carolina believing the air was helpful in treating tuberculous. Here was Thomas Wolfe, who grew up here where such people came seeking a cure who ultimately died at age 37 of tuberculous to his brain.

Wolfe's father carved tombstones and monuments. This is the angel of the title. It was not carved by his father, but purchased from Italy.

We looked toward Wolfe's home this day and after a hard search through the confusing streets of Asheville, and guidance from a librarian, we found it.

What a contrast to the Biltmore Estate with its $47 a person fee. Here we entered a modern looking building and were greeted by a jolly man. Tickets were $1.00 per person and not only bought us a guided tour, with a living, breathing guide, of the house, but also a twenty minute movie of Wolfe's life and a leisurely amble through a museum, where Wolfe memorabilia was on display. What a bargain.

The house was sprawling. It was a boarding house, and Julia Wolfe kept adding on as well as looking for any space to plop a bed.

It is a lovely looking house, well kept up, and clean and easily seen with its sunshine yellow paint.

You enter through the front door on this porch.

In the novel, Eugene Gant, the Thomas Wolfe alter ego, climbs out that second story bay window to climb over to the window behind the little fence because of the pretty girl staying there. The guide raised the question whether Wolfe at his 6 foot 8 frame could manage such a feat, since it was claimed the story was true. I pointed out that at the time it was supposed to have happened Wolfe would have been a teenager and it sounds like something a teenager would do. Besides, Wolfe was much thinner as a young man than he was in the pictures of him we usually see, so may have been limber and flexible enough to do it.

One other thing different from Biltmore, I'm sure, is you were allowed to snap photos inside this house.

A decade ago, some teenagers threw an incendiary device through the windows of this dining room and caught the house on fire. Fortunately, the fire department was nearby and the house was saved, although this room and the ones above it were extensively damaged. They have all been restored.

Mrs. Wolfe cooked two meals a day for her boarders in this kitchen. She was a hard worker and a determined businesswoman, but with how busy running this house kept her, young Wolfe suffered from neglect.

His older brother nurtured him, claiming they had a poor mother.

This was the stove. it was heated by kindling, just like the stove my great grandmother and my Aunt Edna both had when I was a boy. I can remember their kitchens well, with the box of kindling sitting there at the ready.

This kitchen was much like their's. Man, I must be old.

This was an unusual looking piece of furniture. Apparently it was fairly common in the early days of the 20th century. There were pieces like this in a couple of the rooms.

I believe this was Wolfe's father's favorite room when he came and stayed in the boarding house. The Wolfes did have a home of their own a block or so away, but sometimes lived in the boarding house. He was an alcoholic.

This room was actually Thomas's favorite. It is the one with the bay window we saw on the front of the house. There was plenty of light in here because of the windows.

Most of the furniture in the rooms is authentic.

This was our guide. She was a very nice lady, well spoken and apparently very knowledgeable about Wolfe and his history.

She made us feel like guests and was willing to answer all questions.

All the people who we met who worked in this site really seemed to love their job and were glad we came.

The tour lasted about an hour. Here we are heading back to the museum behind the boarding house. That is my wife in the white shorts and black top.

There were a pair of Thomas Wolfe's shoes, bronzed, and embedded in the cement sidewalk that ran in front of the house. I took a picture, but for some reason the photo failed to take.

As my wife waits for me to catch up, I hope her long time desire to visit Wolfe's home had been satisfying. It was certainly an interesting place.

Now she wants to reread his books She doesn't have to read down the middle of the page now, she has no deadline. She can read every word.

And as I said, Wolfe was a man that never met a word he wouldn't write.

This is the back of the boarding house. It faces the museum.

I had never read Wolfe's novels. These were my books. From Death to Morning was a collection of his short stories. The book next to it titled Thomas Wolfe is a biography written in 1967 by Andrew Turnbull.

14 Finishing Up, the Road Home and Surprises

2008-07-10T08:53:00.000-04:00

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE

Day Four June 24, 2008

Finishing Up

My wife said she would like to go somewhere noisy and lively for dinner. I looked in that hotel coffee table book and under nightlife were two places: Westville Pub and Jack in the Wood. Since Jack in the Wood was in town, I decided to go to the Westville Pub, with its live music and its slogan, "Where the tourists will never find you."
The directions seemed simple enough, and were, except it was a bit further out than I expected and it was in a much more seedy area as well. We came finally to the street and block of the address and my wife says, "they're closed". So, I turn about and backtrack. When I say Westside Pub again, she tells me the place she saw that was closed was the West Side Bakery. Oh well, I didn't like the look of the area and wasn't certain I wanted to park there anyway. It was a place tourists didn't want to find themselves.
We drove into town to find Jack in th Wood. I never found it. I got lost in that city and wound down some narrow streets that didn't take me anywhere except finally back on to Biltmore Avenue toward our hotel.
I wasn't going to go through the find and park-if-you-can situation in Asheville again. We drove once more to Biltmore Village, our island of dining hope.
I thought perhaps the Fig, now that I knew where the Fig grew, but we decided instead on what looked a bit livelier on the sooner part of Brook Street.

La Paz, a southwest and south-of-the-border themed restaurant. (I don't know why La Paz, shouldn't it be El Paz?)

Ah, another good choice. Hospitable, happy, dark and alive was this place.

We got a booth and I a frozen Margarita.

Then we relaxed pondering the menu for our last meal here in Asheville, and North Carolina for that matter.

I'm getting old, I guess. I can't remember now what I had, except it was large and it was good.

I know I ordered a soup that was quite a bowl full and when they brought my entree I thought it was the wrong thing. I saw what I thought was meat and a large fajita in the center of the plate. There had been a meal of meat that included a fajita, but I knew I hadn't gotten that. But the meat was actually refried beans and the fajita was the meal I had ordered. I said I was getting old, give me a break, here. It was delicious but more than I could eat.

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE

Day Five June 25, 2008

Road Home

We set out at 7:30 Am to head home. My maps said it was a nine hour drive. I figured we'd stop for lunch, so that would add an hour and we might be home by 5:30 that afternoon. I thought it was a simple route back from the hotel to where we had arrived on the way down, but then discovered my directions from AAA took us home a different route, theoretically the most direct and quickest way. We had to drive through downtown Asheville again to find the roads that would get us to I-81 North.

We found our way just fine for once and the drive took us either right on or just over the Tennessee border because all the exits were for Tennessee cities. We went past the Tipton-Haynes Historical Site, but we didn't stop (sorry, Ron).

We stayed on the Interstate until we reached Lexington, Virginia, then we got off to look for lunch.

Coming down Main Street we saw this sign for the Southern Inn and a parking spot and decided to give it a whirl.

Peaceful looking town, but the traffic was heavier on this street than it appears in the picture.

We liked the little chef in the window. He looked like Parozza (probably spelled wrong) on Hell's Kitchen.

Place was nice. We took a booth in the front part. there was a larger dining room to the back and a bar opposite the wall where we sat.

Another pleasant waitress and more very good food. We found another gem.

I had the homemade pork and beef meatloaf with mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy. The soup of the day, of course.

We were very happy with our latest discovery.

As I went down a block and turned right, we passed Stonewall Jackson's house and museum. I knew it was in Lexington, but hadn't realized we were so close.

Now it was a few hundred miles of Interstate and we would be home. We were sailing along right on schedule, perhaps even a bit ahead.

Off of I-81 onto Route 66, then from there we should be a couple hours from Delaware. We just had to get onto I-495 to I-95 and straight ahead.

But it was 4:00, rush hour, when we hit the Washington DC Beltway. What a misnomer is that term rush hour. All these lanes of highway and every one in both directions bumper to bumper for the next twenty miles. And I was not certain if I had to exit from the right or the left.

I dislike the Beltway for that reason. Most of the Interstates you enter and exit from the right lane, but on the Beltway it can be inside or outside. There are stretches here with up to six lanes of traffic.

Although a nightmare of sorts, the traffic jam was less nerve-racking trying to find the proper exits than when it isn't overcrowded. Why? Because normally you have heavy traffic going eighty miles an hour. At least in this molasses you had a chance of switching lanes if need be. Believe it or not, people would let you do that if you signaled.

I found the right ramps and we were at long last on I-95 heading to Baltimore. The jam had dissipated and we were doing the speed limit right up to and into the Inner-Harbor Tunnel. But coming out of the tunnel, as soon as we passed through the toll booths, we were back in the muddle of traffic.

There is major road construction on I-95 that goes on and on and on as you leave this side of Baltimore. Once more we were in a white-knuckle crawl as the clock ticked pass that 5:30 hour when we originally expected to be home.

I told my wife there was one good thing.

"What?" she asked.

"At least, it isn't raining."

(I didn't take these traffic pictures. I got them off the Internet, but this is exactly how it was.)

NAVIGATING NORTH CAROLINE -- ASHEVILLE

Day Five June 25, 2008

Arriving Home to Surprises

We arrived home around 7:30 PM, twelve hours after we had left Asheville. Our one daughter's car was parked in the street, but our son's car wasn't in the driveway. We figured they had went out to get something to eat. I pulled in and popped the trunk.

As I began to unload, my wife asks, "Why is there a rope tied about the tree?"

The tree is at the end of our driveway.

"I don't know," I said, "maybe our son hung the dog."

We had left him to care for the old dog while we were away. Our dog is 17 and a handful in his dotage.

We then went inside. As expected, no one was there. I went down the hall and found the bathroom door locked -- both doors, the one from the hallway and the one from the master bedroom.

"Both bathroom doors are locked," I called to my wife.

"Is there a dead body in there?" she answered.

I got a screw driver and was able to jimmie the lock. Nope, no dead bodies. Then my wife shouted from the kitchen, "Do you know the tree is gone?"

We had this old, large Oak in the backyard. There was something wrong with it. I think lightening hit it at some point, but anyway it was in a bad way. Tree guys driving by would stop and leave notes they could remove the tree. We feared it might fall on the house sometime.

Back in may I had called a guy to take it down and I had expected him around June 6, but he never came. I had decided the wasn't going to do it.

He picked the Tuesday we were in Asheville to show up. My son and daughter arrived about now. My son said he woke up Tuesday, looked out the window and the yard was full of Mexicans with chainsaws. He didn't know what to do.

So what we had now was the stump and calls from the tree guy wanting to come get it ground out and his check.

I would call him tomorrow.

My wife and I went out for a late dinner at a Bennigan's, then we came home and I checked my Email and went to bed.

I was up early because of the dog. Just before 6:00 AM I tried to go on my Email again and couldn't. It didn't recognize my screen name and pass word. I called my provider and learned that at 3:40 AM some scoundrel had hacked into my Email, erased my name and password, put in their own and was sending out SPAM. This caused me a big mess, but that is another story for another post.

Meanwhile, I arranged for the tree guy to take out the stump.

And so on Friday, he came with his big stump shaver.

By now I had guessed they had their branch grinder tied to that tree when they were here to cut it down, which explained the rope left behind.

This is the owner of the tree place running his own stump remover. he had said it was large. It was.

There is another irony here. if you go back up and look at the picture of the stump you will see a plant in front of it. You can see the people who took down the tree were very careful to clean everything up nicely and to protect that plant.

Now the owner comes, grinds out the stump and completely buries that plant under this pile of mulched tree stump.

Ran over it with his equipment for good measure as well.

And I am left with this mound to deal with.

These pictures don't give a good perspective on the size of the tree, the stump or this pile left. I have included this video of me walking around that pile to give a better idea of the size.

Stumped by our return or not, we had a very interesting and enjoyable vacation in North Carolina.

Welcome to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

2008-06-17T16:54:00.000-04:00

Welcome to Gettysburg. This is a trip my wife and I took in 2005. It was not our first time in this interesting town. We had first traveled here together in 1962. We came again in 1995, but on that trip our three children were with us. Some of the pictures are from all these visits.

We came this time for several days and our motel was in the heart of the historic section. We parked the car and could get to everything by walking or tour bus. With no kids and the ease of getting to sights, it was an ideal getaway to both learn about our countries history, relax and enjoy each other.

I hope some of that joy is shared here.

Jim Thorpe and Travel is Broadening

2008-06-16T22:55:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

The Gettysburg Trip

Travel is Broadening

Travel is broadening, someone forgotten said in some distant time, but if not broadening, at least a learning experience. Lois and I finally received a vacation trip, albeit a short one, after many years of forgoing such jaunts. Before the birth of the kids, we had taken a long automobile journey most years, including our honeymoon through New England and Canada. We had a carefree approach in our youth, once setting out to Cleveland with no spare tire. We drove through the flats and mountains, the woods and the cities through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Wisconsin, Michigan, Minnesota, Virginia, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, West Virginia, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire, Kentucky and Tennessee. With the birth of Laurel we ceased our travels, except for day trips and the outing to Fayetteville, North Carolina to see Noelle graduate Special Forces School at Ft. Bragg in 1999, but that was straight down I-95.

Thus we saw this as an opportunity to be adventures of the avenues again, and I spent the week before hand designing a route through the wilds of Pennsylvania. Day one would be off to Jim Thorpe in the Blue Mountains, the town once called the “Switzerland of America”. Then after a night on the quaint avenues of once-called Mauch Chunk, we would depart for the Black Diamond Country west on Rt. 54 and then up through the Endless Mountains to Wellsboro and the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania; perhaps even see the Elk herds. From there we would run out to New Castle, Pennsylvania near the Ohio border, the western Amish country. We would return home via State College.

Day One: Jim Thorpe

You can get to Jim Thorpe by using the Northeast Extension of the turnpike, but I choose the scenic route, straight up Route 100 to Route 209 and then Route 309 into the town. We would get there in early afternoon, secure a motel room for the night, then go exploring the countryside and have dinner at the Black Bread Cafe, supposedly the choice of the natives.

We planned to set out at 10:00 AM, but we fell behind, closer to 11:00. No biggie, we had no schedule to keep. It’s an hour to Pottstown and then we would keep North, skimming Allentown and joining Route 209 somewhere west of that city. Things were sailing along just fine. You couldn’t beat the weather, clear and not yet too warm in the low seventies. Traffic thinned out well north of Pottstown and we were entering Macungie sometime after noon and getting hungry when we saw the Bear Swamp Diner sign.

Looked decent enough and I grew up on this diner food. I miss those old full menu places that used to dot the highway. I had a perfectly delicious old-boyhood lunch of vegetable soup, onion rings and a toasted tuna salad sandwich; you know those just-like-mom-made sandwiches with a pickle and chips on the side.

Now almost all the patrons about us, and the place was filled up, were old people – just like us – except I never see myself as belonging to the AARP crowd. I should get use to it, for that was what we saw on most of the trip. Guess the younger generations are too busy these days to partake of such leisurely pursuits as aimless travel.

Off of Route 100, Macungie, Pennsylvania.

The Bear Swamp Diner-Restaurant.

But enough meandering over a meal, we hit the road to Jim Thorpe in earnest. I didn’t see any sign of Route 209, but suddenly we came to the junction of Route 309. Where 209 crossed, I know not, but we did pick it up later oddly enough. Eventually we spotted a sign, Jim Thorpe – 17 miles, and we headed east down this road, which took us through Normal Square, Pennsylvania and mostly country. We hit the mountains and curly-qued our way into Jim Thorpe, swept through it and up a long climbing mountain road. Beautiful vistas off to the right and not a spot where one could pull over and snap a picture. Not a hint of a motel, either, in fact we weren’t seeing any sleeping and eating spots once out of Macungie, except for an occasional pizza shop. Everything was pizza in this landscape.

I turned around and went back down the mountain to Jim Thorpe again, this time turning up the ‘quaint main street”, which was a narrow hill climb parked solid both sides. It was a charming looking street, but the only sleepover place we saw was the Inn of Jim Thorpe, which was probably full, but who knows? There was nowhere to park and inquire. I drove out of the town going west I suppose. And you know Pennsylvania, no route signs. We crossed Rt. 609 at one point with a sign to Hazleton. After going deeper into wilderness, I turned again and returned to 609 and turned toward Hazleton. It was getting late and still no motel, hotel or squatter hovel came to view. We kept going south and didn’t see a motel until we were back in Pottstown. Thus we abandoned my well-planned scheme and decided we were no longer the wilderness bound. Oh, no, man, give us some sense of civilization, crowds or no, and the chance of finding a bed for let and a meal for pay.

Thus we ended day one by going to dinner at a regular haunt called Hennessy’s in Alden, Pennsylvania.

We went home afterward and even though late evening I got on line and reserved accommodations for the morrow and we went to bed prepared to trot more friendly environs come morning. But we learned what we wished in travel at this point of life and we enjoyed the ride, even if things didn’t work as envisioned. The North Country was truly gorgeous and we talked the entire trip, which some find amazing in a couple married 44 years.

New Direction and Discovering Lunch

2008-06-15T08:35:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD

GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Two: New Direction

I wasn’t certain finding an accommodation on such short notice was possible, but I gave it a shot through Expedia and got a room booked. It was simple; the complications would come later. (How did we get along without the Internet, anyway?)

Yes, we were going to the decisive point of American history – Gettysburg. This wouldn’t be our first visit, but we knew there were things to do in Gettysburg, including a bed to sleep in (or whatever) and places to eat.

Lois and I had first visited Gettysburg in 1962, hiring one of those Ranger-Guides who ride along in your car to tell the battle story and point out how they built the roads by following a snake. The roads are still narrow and curvy and little has changed except for the addition of a couple more museums to encourage your money to remain behind in the town’s coffers. The restaurant we favored then, we still can favor today. Actually, the area is more historical accurate now then it was back then as they continue to restore the battlefield to exactly as it looked in 1863 when the Blue and Grey clashed across the wheat fields and peach orchards and up the rugged rock hills of this little south Pennsylvania hamlet.

A few things have changed. Lois wore tank tops and blue jeans on this trip. In 1962 people toured even rugged landscapes and clambered over monuments as if it was a semi-formal occasion. But that was 43 years ago and we were callow youths. If you think the pocket book was big, you should have seen Lois’s suitcase. Look how elegant for stepping about a battlefield, the simple little black dress.
I was also fashionably dressed in black and wing-tipped shoes.
We were back again in 1995 with three kids in tow: Darryl, Noelle and Laurel.

I was wearing more
comfortable shoes and Noelle was wearing a cast for that was the year she broke her arm in gym. Notice the lack of black on the gang in red.

No kids along on this 2005 trip. Just me and my women off for time together in the tourist trap country quiet, and that suited us just fine. We drove out to the Downingtown entrance of the Pennsylvania Turnpike and took it to exit 236, getting off and driving south on Route 15, the Gettysburg Pike. By midday I had driven through town and out Steinwehr Avenue, passing an encampment at the Battle Theatre where a lady passed the troops in full regalia.

I kept going, looking for an eatery for lunch. Just outside town was a decked restaurant called the Pike that looked interesting. We asked for smoking to avoid kids if possible, but we accomplished avoiding all hope. Sat on high chairs at a high table beyond the bar, where a line of scruffy men slumped over glasses staring at the ever-present TVs in bars of our time. This table was apparently beyond all service as well. We sat and sat and sat some more with no so much as a howdy-do from the occasional waitress who came as far as the far end of the bar. We’re old now; we have no patience. We got up and left, driving back to the encampment scene we had first passed and turned into the mouth of the Gettysburg Visitor center lower section.
(I still don’t know why the flag was at half-staff.) The beauty of Gettysburg is parking is free up this drive and you can walk into the historic section from here.This is what we did, taking a short cut through this grove of trees.

Day Two: Discovering Lunch

We walked north several blocks and saw this sign saying Dobbin House Restaurant and Tavern. .
Why not give it a shot?

It was a large stone house. We figured we would see a restaurant easily enough, but could we find it? Naw. We traipsed back and forth, as did another man who was there and he finally indicated the entrance and we followed him. Do you see the flagpole to the right side of the house as you face it? (Note my shadow on the left.) There is a dark patch there just before another smaller building attached to the main house. That was a small alley that led to a door that led down curving stairs to a cool, dark basement tavern.

The only light was from the candles. This was a tavern of those times, not ours and it was packed with tables. It was fun. Mostly we listened to the swirling conversations around us, people describing someone as being as "dumb as a broomstick" and another how their priest caught them after a college pantie raid.

"Whose panties are those", asked the Father.

"Ours", the students said.

"It that case," ordered the Priest, "I suggest you put them on", which they did. (Oh, considering more recent news we could find some ironic humor in that picture, couldn’t we?)

I had a potato soup and an open-faced hot turkey sandwich like none I ever had. It was delicious, but different, being turkey breast with cheese and bacon rather than the usual gravy. We made a note of this place as we left and discovered the motel we were to stay was directly across the street.

Checking in to Peace

2008-06-14T20:33:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD

GETTYSBURG, PENNSLVANIA
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Two: Checking In to Peace

After lunch we still had time to kill until 3:00, which was check-in time. We left the Spring House Tavern in the Dobbin House basement and walked north on Baltimore toward the downtown area. We went as far as the Farnsworth House, where we hoped to have dinner later. As long as we were there, I decided to see about reservations. I walked into the garden area, where they did seating for lunch, to inquire. A couple was ahead of me and when the hostess appeared they also asked about reservations for 7:00 that evening. They were told reservations could be made in the bookstore. Hearing this I hurried away to the bookstore to beat them to the punch, just in case tables were limited.

The bookstore is to the rear of the Ghost House, where one can get Ghost Tour tickets. The place seems haunted all right, a cramped shop of bookcases with a counter attended by an elderly couple who may have witnessed the battle first hand (perhaps ghosts themselves). It was good I decided to stop. I asked for 6:30. The old lady flipped through a ledger for a moment and told me they had seatings at 6:45 or 7:15. We choose 6:45.

By the time we walked back to the car in the Visitor Center lot it was near 2:30 and we drove to the motel. I parked the little pumpkin car, as my wife calls it, under a shade tree and it stayed in that spot until Tuesday when we were ready to leave. We couldn’t have asked for a better location, everything was in walking distance and the motel was in the very heart of historic Gettysburg. You could see the edge of the National Cemetery from the back of the parking lot and the battlefield was just up the road. (The National Cemetery.)

While Lois waited in the car, I walked into the motel office to register. I made the decision on the spot to extend the stay through Monday night. This was fine, except the Expedia registration stated I had paid the first night in cash and the clerk had never seen that before and had to clear up the situation with the manager. This strange little item seemed to cause quite a bit of confusion for some reason, but having been home several days now with no duplicate billing showing up I suppose all worked out. I am not sure I would use Expedia again, however; I think I would have gotten a cheaper rate going directly through the motel chain. Nonetheless, we had a great time, so who cares?

This was a Travelodge and I have nothing but good things to say about it, from the friendliness of all the staff, to the cleanliness of the room to the quiet.
Our room door was the one just behind the second white pillar from the right on the lower floor. The truck was just there when I took the picture. It was delivering beer to the tavern across from us. The room was very spacious with two beds. Lois slept so well she wanted to steal the mattress.

Once in the room with the air conditioner turned up (since the afternoon temperature had reached into the eighties.), Lois took a nap and I took a bath. As I sat in the tub reading “Vanished Man” by Jeffrey Deaver I heard what seemed like dogs barking, somewhat muffled. I thought this was in the TV program Lois had put on. It came and went, and then Lois popped in the bathroom with a face of fury stating there were barking dogs in the room next door. Ut oh! Fortunately this was only a brief diversion. The dogs settled in and proved no problem whatsoever. We only heard them again a couple of times, once in the morning and then when the people next door left on Monday. They carried out several cages when they left. There must have been five dogs, and perhaps some cats. I would not want to travel with pets. I suggested they might be bringing up animals rescued from Louisiana (Katrina). Who knows?
Beyond the brief scare of noisy dogs, the two nights we stayed were nothing but peace and quiet and total relaxation, except for the Eagles game, which I watched on TV after my bath. This was not relaxing for the Eagles looked awful and Kansas City was beating up on them.

It was a relief to turn off the TV and leave for dinner at 6:30.

Day Two: Dinner with Battle Music

This is the basement door of the Farnsworth House. The restaurant is up the steps next to this door and its gardened stonewalls. The house was taken over by the Confederates during the battle and they had sharpshooters up in the attic window. It is believed Jennie Wade was killed by a bullet from this location. They have tours of the house and you can go up to that attic window.

We were here to eat, not tour. We had eaten here on all our Gettysburg trips. It is a beautiful restaurant, with charming dining rooms and the wait staff dressed in Civil War era clothes. Our waitress was as chippy a person you would ever find. My only regret is I meant to have the Goober Pea Soup and forgot to order it. But it is just as well because my dinner was so filling I don’t know how I could have eaten another course. They give you a plate of relishes, featuring pickled watermelon rind, surprisingly delicious. You also get bread pudding and Jennie Wade Bread. For my meal I had the Game Pie, made with duck, turkey and pheasant. It was tangy and much more than I could eat. I also had the pumpkin fritters, a real treat.

A young couple came in after us and sat at a corner table. We feel for the young man. I guess he was out of his element (and I’ve been there) for the girl ordered a full meal, but when it was his turn he only ordered the soup and a Core’s Lite beer. Poor fellow, the waitress came back and told him they were out of the beer. He ate hunched over his bowl sipping his meager meal.

I am glad we could enjoy the full features of the evening. There were times when I couldn’t have afforded any more than the soup, if that, in my own life.

One interesting feature was the dinner music. It was the sound track from the movie Gettysburg. The passage playing when we were seated was very lovely, but I pointed out to Lois that it was the music that accompanied the start of Pickett’s Charge, a fierce and bloody battle. The music played above the billowing smoke of the long lines of cannon being blasted across the fields toward the Union forces on Cemetery Ridge. The fusillade ended in the 15,000 rebels under the command of Pickett marching forward to what were the most casualty-ridden moments of a casualty-ridden battle, one that ended in defeat for the Rebs and turned the tide of war to the Union. This was the battle that lost the Civil War for the south. (Martin Sheen played General Robert E. Lee in the movie and was probably more disappointed than the general in seeing the United States actually being victorious. After all, it was a Republican President.)
This is the southern wall of the house. It carries the scars of the battle. It this photo, if you look close, you will notice several white marks. These are the result of over one hundred and forty musket shells that struck the house.

From Breakfast to the Spirit Field Pub

2008-06-13T13:39:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD
GETTYSBURG PENNSYLVANIA

OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Three: From Breakfast to Lunch

What a shock to return from dinner to hear on the news that the eagles had won. At least it was a nice note to go to sleep upon. It was a sound sleep, too. I still awakened early, as is my habit and tried to get about in the dark without disturbing Lois, who is definitively not a morning person. You know how it is when you try to be quite. I must have fallen over the desk chair five times, over a side chair twice and bumped the clothes hangers sending them rattling. Best I go out as soon as it was light enough.

Included in the room rate was complimentary Continental breakfast. This was served on a mezzanine above the lobby. I went and had orange juice, Danish and coffee. It was a pleasant area, light and airy with several tables. There was food and drink from 6:00 to 11:00 AM and they kept it stocked, which was nice. I stopped there both mornings. The stuff was spread out on counters in one corner and along one side.

I stepped out on the balcony and could see the edge of the battlefield from there. I decided to walk up the road and take a look.

The sun was just rising when I climbed the hill toward a low stonewall at the top of Cemetery Hill. Touring the battlefield was our plan for the day. I was getting a sneak peek by the dawn’s early light.

The wall was stones tossed atop one another and not particularly high. I walked along it and there was a break allowing me to step over without clambering over the rocks.

You can see some of the fortifications here. We’ll revisit this area again tomorrow. At this point I walked back and got coffee for Lois and myself.

Day Three: Spirit Field Pub

Once Lois had some coffee, she was ready to go. We waited until 10:00 because I though that was when the Tour Center would open. When we got there we discovered the first tour actually left at 9:30. The next tour was at 10:30 on the big bus and there was a Noon tour on the double decked one. That is what we wanted, with a seat on top.

By the time we had tickets it was 11:00. We decided to go to lunch at the Spirit Field Pub & Fare, right across from our room and opposite the Tour center. How convenient. There was an outside patio at the pub and you can see the driveway into the hotel just beyond some flags.

As nice looking as the patio was, we prefer indoor eating. We were the first patrons of the day and they must have had a good weekend because they were out of a lot, plus no one had the key to the beer room and a delivery of beer was sitting by the door getting warm. The person with the key lived out of town and didn’t have a phone. They had to send someone to find him. But that was not our concern. Our’s was for a fast satisfaction of hungry stomachs before we had to catch a noon bus.

They were accommodating. I had chili to start. It was a very good chili, but one of the spiciest I’ve ever had. Good thing I like hot dishes. We both had a crabmeat salad.

Here was our booth (with the yellow lamp shade.)

Battle by Bus

2008-06-12T22:35:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD

GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Three: Battle by Bus

It is unusual for us to watch the clock when eating out, but for this lunch we had a deadline of being at the bus stop by five minutes to Noon. The Pub opened at 11:00, the exact moment we approached the door and 5o minutes seemed a reasonable time to eat (after all 50 minutes works perfectly well for psychiatrists to examine your dreams), but much depends on service and speed of delivery. Our waiter was prompt, but slowed somewhat by the inventory continuing in the background of depleted victuals. For instance, Lois ordered a glass of Merlot, but he had to return after a moment to inform her they were out of that wine and give a list of available vintages.

The second anxiety is the universal fact that no two clocks ever agree on the time; was my watch closer to correct or was Lois’s very beautiful and unique Chico watch (bit of a commercial there)? Still we enjoyed our lunch in this cozy and comfy tavern albeit we skipped our usual after meal coffee (both a time and practical decision – we were about to be on a bus for two and a half hours). I did get up and go to the bar and ask for our check. Our waiter came with it and I handed him my card before even looking at the slip and off he went to enter it. When he returned he started pass me to our table with the receipt to be signed. “I’m right here”, I said and he jumped, startled.

We had more time than we supposed, besides the bus stop was directly across the street. We certainly waited more than 5 minutes for the bus to appear and unload its first cargo of tourists, and we had to wait for the driver to make a potty stop anyway.

But soon we climbed the twisting steps to the upper level and grabbed a center seat. One thing of note, our fellow travelers were certainly contemporaries, most being at least our age if not older. This seems to be the group we generally find ourselves among these days, probably the one group that has the time to do these things on a Monday morning.

Thus we moved from this station and headed down Baltimore Street into the heart of town with headphones in place. The battlefield would be explained in stereo sound, with interlaced comments by the driver. His first interjection was about road construction with the comment that “today is a classic”. He promised to keep us entertained with pertinent facts if we were delayed along the way and warned at spots he would be forced closer to the trees than he preferred so people should be prepared to duck. Ah, we were precognizant of such a risk and had left side seats,

This then is the bus ride, interjected at points with my own interesting points.

It began in center town and then out the Chambersburg Pike. This is beyond the Seminary Cupola where Buford and his advance Calvary observed the approach of the rebel forces and took the stand to slow that army’s progress until Meade could arrive with the Army of the Potomac. Here we are along the Pike. We are at the moment sitting in a road construction blockage, where one lane was closed, waiting our turn to move. There was a skirmish between Buford’s men and a Confederate Division nearby.

This is a photo taken of this same region at the time of the events by the most prominent of the Gettysburg Battle photographers. There has been little change since that man set-up his camera in these fields and snapped the landscape. We’ll be discussing this particular photographer further along the route when we have reached Little Round Top and the Devil’s Den.

We have looped around through the gathering storm of troops and turned down another road through some woods and make a full circle around the scattered fighting. I leaned out and tried to snap the identifying sign along this road, but you can see I missed it as the bus ran a bit faster here on Meredith Drive. Yes, that’s right, Meredith Drive. Brigadier General Solomon Meredith was leading the Iron Brigade along this road and engaged the enemy. Given the history of this general, he was probably surprisingly successful here.

Here is the account of that morning:

“The morning of July 1 found the Iron Brigade marching toward Gettysburg on the Emmitsburg Road. After nearing to within a mile of the battlefield, the brigade broke into a double-quick step, arriving at McPherson's Ridge around 10:30 A.M., with Meredith riding the rear of the column. In the next hour, Meredith's men enveloped Archer's Brigade, routed it with heavy casualties, captured General Archer and a substantial number of his brigade, and broke the initial charge of Heth's Division. Meredith pulled his brigade back after its successful envelopment of the surprised Confederates and was reforming his line when a shell exploded near him. According to the August 28 Richmond [Indiana] Palladium newspaper, Meredith "was stuck in the head by a fragment of the shell and stunned, at the same moment, and by the same fire, that his horse was struck by four balls and a shell, and fell dead, his body crushing the General's leg and side frightfully. The wound in the head fractured the skull and affected the brain very seriously. The fall broke several ribs and tore them loose from the breastbone at the same time, and so seriously injured the right leg that it is yet after nearly two months, greatly discolored." The battle was over for Meredith.”

Solomon Meredith, 1810-1875

UNION FIRST CORPS, FIRST DIVISION,FIRST BRIGADE (THE "IRON BRIGADE")

1,814 MEN

BRIGADIER GENERAL SOLOMON MEREDITH

This seemed to be the high point of General Meredith’s life. According to information about his life he was something of a hack in all but political acumen.

“Nicknamed ‘Long Sol’ because of his towering, ramrod straight 6'7" frame, Meredith was an ambitious man who had spent the antebellum years honing his political, not military, skills. A North Carolina Quaker with no education and no property, Meredith had walked to Indiana when he was a young man and plunged into county politics. He had the natural politician's uncanny ability to remember names and faces, and during the next twenty years, he prospered as a farmer while he served twice as county sheriff, enjoyed numerous terms in the state legislature, and won appointment as United States marshal for the district of Indiana. This last position was a political plum that resulted from his loyal service to the Republican Party, and his close personal and professional friendship with the famous "war governor" of Indiana, fellow Republican Oliver P. Morton.
When the Civil War broke out, Meredith became one of the many politicos in the army command when he used his political connections to secure an assignment as colonel of the 19th Indiana regiment. This regiment soon became part of John Gibbon's famous, hard fighting "Iron Brigade." Grumbling about Meredith's lack of ability soon started. Even one of the most generous early opinions of him, by a man in the 19th, is rather tepid: "Colonel Meredith talks right, acts right, and in fact does that very best that he knows how. I think he means well." In October 1861 the regimental surgeon reported to Governor Morton, "Our Col. has no practical sense. The officers have all found it out. Lt. Col is a good man, or we would have all gone to sticks before now. Bad administration is seen and felt throughout all the Regt. Our Col. unfortunately wants to attend to all departments down to the smallest minutiae. Of course he fails of necessity." The surgeon wrote again 18 days later: "You would be startled to hear how the officers and soldiers talk about 'Old Sol.' It seems that he is about being promoted to a Brigadier. If he is not, there will soon be a petition signed by the whole Regt. for him to resign." Another man wrote that Meredith was "notoriously unfit to command." There was a conspiracy among the men of the regiment to help Meredith get promoted to brigadier general so he would be taken away. In January 1862 an inspection of Meredith's regiment showed muskets "indifferently cleaned," accouterments in "bad condition," and the regiment generally the least well disciplined in the brigade.
“Meredith suffered a fall from his horse during the Iron Brigade's first engagement, the Battle of Brawner's Farm, fought on the eve of Second Bull Run. He recovered quickly, rejoining the brigade on its march through Maryland a couple of weeks later, and commanded his regiment in a tough fight at South Mountain on September 14, 1862. A few days later, however, when the Iron Brigade spearheaded the Union army's opening attack at Antietam, Meredith was absent. He had reported himself unfit for duty a day or so earlier, citing his recent fall and the exhaustion from the march, and had gone to Washington to recuperate and campaign for a promotion (possibly even at the White House, trading on his acquaintanceship with President Lincoln). For Gibbon, a tough professional soldier, this leave on the eve of a great battle was tantamount to desertion, especially since Meredith's stand-in was killed in action. Gibbon, however, was promoted in October to command a division in another corps, and lost his chance for retribution against Meredith. Long Sol, who by October was back in Indiana trying to drum up political support for an all-Indiana brigade, heard that Gibbon's promotion had left the Iron Brigade without a brigadier, and he began a campaign for Gibbon's old post. Gibbon, who was still intensely interested in his old command, was outraged that the army would "relieve a competent colonel [Cutler, who was in temporary command] and put that fine body of men in charge of an incompetent Brig. General [Meredith]." As was frequently the case in the Army of the Potomac, however, politics held sway. Meredith obtained the army commander, fellow Indiana native Maj. Gen. Burnside's recommendation, and corps commander Joe Hooker, himself angling for advancement and eager to cultivate Governor Morton as a patron, installed Meredith at the head of the Iron Brigade with the new rank of brigadier general. Gibbon, who was not consulted, stormed in futility at this maneuvering.
“At Fredericksburg, Meredith's first battle in brigade command, the Iron Brigade was not heavily engaged, losing just sixty-five men. However, Meredith failed to execute an order given toward the end of the day by the division commander, General Abner Doubleday, to have the brigade put out skirmishers and retire to a safer position. While there is a possibility Meredith never received the order, Doubleday was incensed to find that after two hours the order had not been carried out, and he relieved Meredith of command on the spot and replaced him with Colonel Cutler.
“The demotion was only temporary, however, and Meredith was back at the head of the Iron Brigade at the Battle of Chancellorsville, where two regiments had the demanding task of crossing the Rappahannock in pontoon boats under fire. They did so, with the loss of about 60 men, and established a bridgehead on the opposite bank. Meredith came across soon after, standing in one of the boats, swinging his hat and hurrahing. After a change of orders, however, Meredith and his men were soon pulled back across the river and did no more fighting at Chancellorsville.”

At this point, General John E. Reynolds arrived to take command, but he got little time to access the situation because a Rebel volley cut him down and killed him fifteen minutes later. Here we move along Reynolds Drive toward the railroad cut on McPherson’s Ridge. Here is where the Confederates attacked and lost 500 men resulting in their retreat. At noon, however, General Rodes road in with fresh rebels from Carlisle and General Jubel Early arrived from York. The Union was out manned and defeated and retreated back through the town to regroup. One oddity of this situation being the Confederates were attacking from the North and the Union was defending from the South.

This is a typical fence of the time along the retreat route. What is interesting is it has no post holes. It is supported by those crisscrossing rails and actually stands up better than if there were ground-sunk posts.

Here you get a good look at the headphones we wore during this excursion as well as a bit of gray mullet. More importantly you can see the Peace memorial and its eternal flame dedicated by Franklin Roosevelt in 1938. Veterans from both sides gathered here at that time, 68 years after the war to celebrate together. I remember seeing a newsreel as a boy of a parade that had a contingent of Civil War veterans. It gave me nightmares (I was very young, after all the war had been over 71 years when I was born. In fact, I guess the parade was for the 75 anniversary of the end of the Civil War in 1945 when I was four.) for these were extremely old men and many were mutilated. I vividly remember one who had a tin nose, his having been shot off.

We followed the retreat back through town and followed the “fish hook”, the defensive line that extended around Culp’s Hill, then Cemetery Hill out to Cemetery Ridge. The Confederates took position between Rock Creek and Spangler’s Spring and here things settle down for the night. In the stillness of the first day’s evening, amidst the spread out wavers of multiple campfire, men of both sides came to Spangler’s Spring for water and exchanged pleasantries like two old neighbor’s over a back yard hedge.

As for us, we pulled aside for ten minutes at this combination rest stop and gift shop on the Taneytown Pike, just two doors up from our motel. We were about to launch into the second day of fighting.

I wasn’t certain of how well my pictures shot from a moving bus would come out, so I didn’t take anymore until our next stop. This was at the crest of Little Round Top where a footpath went from the road to the hilltop. (Note the back of Lois’s exquisite Chico watch (though it time for another ad pitch for my store).

The Union had managed to command Little Round Top and this gave them a distinct advantage since they could look down on the Rebels. A pitched battle raged here as the Confederates attempted to gain the high ground and repeatedly charged up through the woods from an area called the Devil’s Den. One can see the panorama afforded the Union from this location. This shot not only gives a better idea of the distance that could be seen from here, but also comes with a personal embarrassment. Do you see those people standing atop a rock next to a statue? At the lower portion of that stone you can see a small sign, which appears as a black rectangle in this photo.

Here is the same rock in 1962 with Lois seated upon it near that little black rectangle. On our second trip in 1995 I stepped up on that rock to take a picture and a Park Ranger grabbed me. That was the first time I took notice of what it said on that little sign: Do Not Climb or Stand on this Rock.

Apparently I am the only one who gets caught doing so.

In the other direction you are allowed to climb, stand or sit upon the rocks. (That is Lois walking by on the extreme left.)

At any rate, from about the center of the top you get a good view down into the Devil’s Den area. This was the site of the bloodiest fight of the second day, so many killed here the field was named the Valley of Death and the creek that crosses through it was renamed Red Creek, because it had been literally turned that color by the amount of blood that spilled into it.

This is a photo I took of Devil’s Den looking rather placid on this beautiful October afternoon. But here is a picture taken after the fighting there that is not so placid.
TITLE ON OBJECT: Dead at Little Round Top, position of Berdon Sharpshooters SERIES TITLE: Sights and Scenes from Battle at Gettysburg
ca 1865 albumen print Museum Collection GEH NEG: 10184 81:8542:0001
NON-GEH NUMBER: No. 497
INSCRIPTION: Verso (printed): series title list designating this image to be #497
SUBJECT: people, dead

Photographer:
Tipton, W.H. American (1850-1929)
William H. Tipton Photographer 1850 - 1929

As an apprentice at the age of 12, William Tipton assisted in recording views of the town immediately following the battle. He later became one of the area's most prominent photographers. As one of Gettysburg's most influential businessmen, he served in the Pennsylvania State Legislature, earning himself the nickname "Boss" Tipton. He was instrumental in the construction of the Gettysburg Electric Railway, a trolley line that at one time passed through the cemetery's grounds.

And thus we returned to our bus to continue on through the third day of fighting which cumulated on Cemetery Ridge with Pickett’s Charge.

I took no more photos from the bus, but we will visit Cemetery Ridge and the High Water Mark in the next chapter.

Walking High Water

2008-06-11T23:02:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD
GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Two: Walking High Water

The Battle of Gettysburg lasted three days, July 1 through July 3, 1863. It may have gone to the south on the first day when Lee said to Jubel Early, “if the opportunity arises take (Culp’s) hill”. It was that little word “if”. Early was not a self-decisive type and Lee should have simply said, “take Culp’s Hill” and Early would have, but Early hesitated because of that word “if” and the Yankee’s got the high ground. The Rebs failed to gain Little Round Top on day two and it came down to one desperate maneuver on the third day, the one known as Pickett’s Charge.

I didn’t take any photos from the bus as it ran through the final stretch of the battle back to the station and we got off. We walked back to the motel, which is the brick building just beyond the tree in the center of this picture. Lois gets tired in the afternoons and likes to grab a nap. I went out for a walk, first stopping at the Dobbin House to make a dinner reservation. I had tried to call, but only got a buzzing. I went down into the tavern and asked about reservations and was told they took none in the tavern, but the dining room did, except they didn’t open until 5:00. I could make the reservation in the gift shop, which I did, where I also asked how I found my way into the dining room, since we hadn’t seen any sign of it the day before. That settled, I walked back over to Baltimore Street and up the hill to the battlefield.

There was a path marked with a sign saying High Water Mark Walk. I followed this along and in the distance could see the ridge and fields of the culminating battle from the Union side.

I walked along the low protective walls deeper along Cemetery Ridge toward that final spot where the charge had ended. The largest commitment of the Union’s 95,000 troops was lined along this stretch peering across at the Confederates encampments, waiting for some action.

Across this field on the edge of the far woods stands the Virginia Monument with general Robert E. Lee astride his horse Traveler. (I took this monument in 1995.) Lee stares across the fields toward the Yankees and at the statue of Meade also mounted upon a steed. You walk a short distance beneath his gaze into the field and imagine the battery of cannon booming on that hot July day, hoping to soften the Union resolve for the 15,000 men commanded by Major General George E. Pickett.

Down in a hollow on the other side sat a quite farmhouse where General George G. Meade had set up headquarters. Now these Generals await the final outcome of their three-days of maneuvering.

Then the cannonade paused and out of the far woods and smoke stepped 15,000 men marching to the beat of drums toward this location. Men fell out and dropped behind the barricades on the Union side to watch the slow onslaught. Other than the steady rap of the drums, it was quiet.

The 15,000 moved slowly forward. Behind these fences the other army waited. The Rebels struggled across a ditch, over fences; steady on into the now active cannon of the Yanks. Men began to fall.

Still they came, now with a yell, a charge, guns blazing from all sides, feverishly firing into each other’s line as the charge aimed at this tree and some actually reached it.

This was the high water mark for the Confederacy. 150 made it beyond the stonewall and into the Yankee position, into what was known as the “bloody angle” and somehow these few fought here for 45 minutes before being repulsed back over that wall. This clump of trees marks the high water mark and is where the Confederacy’s hopes died.

Today this stretch is marked with monuments to the units from the various states who defended this line. This is a ground dotted with these statues and markers, a sort of story telling book of stone and bronze, a long continues row of tombstones marking the long dried blood of many men.

On cemetery Hill is this plaque commemorating the charge. At one top corner of the illustration are gates. This is the entrance to the Gettysburg National Cemetery, an appropriate symbol at the end of this day. Pickett’s corps was basically wiped out in this charge. There were 172,000 soldiers at Gettysburg between the two sides. 51,000 were killed, wounded or went missing in those three days, along with 5,000 horses killed. Of those missing, some still turn up. A couple years ago a jogger saw a human finger sticking out of the embankment along the railroad cut where we began this journey down Meredith Drive. A nearly complete human skeleton was exhumed and those bones were interred in the Tomb of the Unknowns in Washington. And there are claims that on summer nights the ghosts of Pickett’s regiments are seen moving again across these fields to faint trumpet thrills in the evening breeze.

The Address

2008-06-10T22:23:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD
GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Three: The Address

On November 19, 1863, there was the dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg. Edward Everett, noted orator was the main speaker, a man who spent weeks preparing his two-hour speech. He was followed to the platform by the President of the United States

On this site Abraham Lincoln stood to make these few appropriate comments:

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.

We are met on a great battle-field of that war.

We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground.

The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.

The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.

It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us --

that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion –

that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain --

that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Companion of War

2008-06-09T20:21:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Three: Companion of War

There are those who believe in justifiable wars and there are those who say war is never necessary. You may choose what you wish, but given the nature of man and the history of the world, I would say that wars are inevitable. Whether the cause is for good or evil, whether the end results improve the lot of people or not, one thing is certain. War is never alone. It always is accompanied by a faithful companion: Death.

Step up this path and we are in the embrace of war’s companion.

Walk down this path upon these hallowed grounds in reverent silence.
These photos speak volumes.

Is it I, the drums do call?
Is that a trumpet sound?
Farewell to you, my love,
For I am duty bound.

Thus I go. Must I go?
My heart does beat and pound.
Yes, I must go, my love,
For I am duty bound.

Someday soon I will return,
Keep hope wrapped warm around,
But goodbye, I must go,
For I am duty bound.

It seems years since I left home:
Who lies beneath this mound
Upon my return, my love,
From being duty bound?

Yes, who lies here? It is I,
Returned to my hometown.
They took me up the hill
To the burial ground.

It was I the drums did call.
It was my trumpet sound.
Farewell to you, my love,
For I was duty bound.

Town Tour - Visitor Center

2008-06-08T20:56:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD
GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Three: Town Tour – Visitor Center

Travel this road going south and you will eventually come to Baltimore, thus when this pike runs through Gettysburg it is called Baltimore Avenue. As you stand here upon the double yellow line you are gazing south. To the left is the final stand of the battle, Cemetery Hill and Ridge and what gave the area its name, the Gettysburg National Cemetery. Now it is time to start a tour of the historic district of the town itself.

If we take a little side trip off to the right behind this rough stonewall, we can walk down a path just before the grounds of the Visitor Center.

It will lead us toward the south, but will circle west and then back toward the north, eventually leading to the parking lots that bordered Taneytown Road where we first parked to venture off in search for lunch when we first arrived. It is a pleasant walk. Just around the bend beyond that large tree on the right is a vista across the far-flunk fields of corn and wheat.

But halfway around this walk, we come to this round building. It is not a storage tank. It is the Gettysburg Diorama. Inside there is a giant mural painted 360 degrees around those walls that depicts the battle. It is accompanied by a sound and light show that takes you through the three days of bloodshed.

In past visits we took in this and most of the other museums and displays of the place, but on this trip we skipped all that and basically enjoyed the outdoors, the meals and the relaxation of escaping our normal routines and being away from all the everyday chores and interruptions. The structure of Gettysburg perfectly lent itself to just such an escape.

But if you have never been to this place and have an interest in American history, then I recommend you come for several days and take in every one of the museums at hand. They are all entertaining and educational. If, like us, you have done that trip, then take the walks on these streets, greet the people, ride the bus with the wind in your hair and just enjoy.

So walk around the Diorama and come back up to the Visitor Center on South Baltimore from the Taneytown Road side. You’ll be greeted with the announcement of every religious and fraternal organization in the town.

Then moving further along the drive past this sign will appear the backside of the Visitor Center, in this case just as the sun was rising over the battlefield.

You can hire a guide to ride along in you car and describe the battlefield here is you wish, see a display of artifacts, view the giant electric map or buy tickets and go on a bus to the Eisenhower homestead.

The Center opens up at 8:00 AM and you can get coffee inside as well as information and books galore about the town, , the battle, the generals or the ghosts.

There is a display of rifles from the battle in one room inside that is amazing. The line of weapons seems to go on forever and each one is different. Isn’t it amazing how much variety we men can put into an object made for killing each other?

Directly across the road from the center is the spot where President Lincoln gave his Gettysburg Address. We visited that earlier if you recall. So for now, let’s amble on past the Visitor Center and down Baltimore Avenue toward the town.

Look back at all the cars already in the Center’s lot. and this a Monday in October, out of season. You should see this place at its height around July First. Been there, done that.

Wave bye-bye to the Visitor Center. Here we go. right down the center of Baltimore Avenue.

That’s right, I stood in the middle of the road to take this shot, just daring an eighteen-wheeler to zoom up from behind and take me out. I have always been known to take chances once I get a camera in my hand.

A bit safer to stick to the sidewalks. See how monuments pop up everywhere and anywhere around here.

We are approaching the edge of town. See the steeple? Don’t be fooled, the first structure that will greet us isn’t a church at all/ Read the black and white sign as we get closer to the little parking lot and you’ll see your first impression coming in from this direction.

It’s the Reliance Mine Saloon.

It does have a unique entrance, though.

You pass that saloon and go down a slight dip and there is the beginning of some stores. You can duck through this passageway off of Baltimore and join up with the Taneytown Road, if you would so wish.

And from this point the shops take on a very charming facade that makes this a beautiful place to stroll.

Museum Row - Upper Baltimore

2008-06-07T22:16:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD
GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Three: Museum Row – Upper Baltimore

We have moved down Cemetery Hill on Baltimore Street past the edge of the Battlefield; although, the town itself is really a continuation of that battlefield. This upper part of the avenue is where the older museums of the burg exist. Newer ones line Steinwehr Avenue.

The first we encounter, discounting the Visitor Center further up the road, is the Hall of Presidents.

The Visitor Center is part of the National Park, a public building. This and the other museums are privately owned businesses. When you enter here, between Eisenhower and Lincoln a ticket booth will greet you and pay an admission to see what it contains. What it contains is a wax museum with two main displays. The main display is life-sized sculptures of every President of the United States. These are lined along a maze of rooms and hallways in groups and in order of term. At each group a narration tells of each man and his accomplishments. There is the obligatory animation Lincoln giving the Gettysburg Address to a background of the Battle Hymn of the republic, naturally.

The second display is a large room containing the wax figures of every First Lady in their inaugural gown. One curious thing about the first ladies, several look much alike, but don’t make too much of this, for it is simply that the features of some are not well known and the designer just made some general dolls to wear the proper dress with only slight variation.

Right next to the Hall is the Soldiers National Museum. This site explains all the major events of the Civil War, from Fort Sumter to Appomattox, using miniature sets much like train layouts combined with murals. Each event is explained by life-size animated characters, such as “Johnny” an orphan chained to the cellar dungeon wall as a punishment.

The building itself was Major General Oliver Otis Howard’s Headquarters during the war. (that is him astride his horse and his monument on the top of Cemetery Ridge).

The little roofed booth in the foreground of the picture of the two museums together is on the parking lot in front of the Tour Center, where we caught the double-decked bus at noon. At the lower end of that parking lot is the Jennie Wade House.

I find it funny that the Jennie Wade Gift Shop is about the same size as the house itself. It is even more curious that in 1863 a 20-year-old girl even owned and ran a gift shop!

You do get a nice tour through this little cottage, though, replete with figures of the main characters. It ends sadly in the kitchen, where young Jennie Wade, engaged to be married soon to Corporal Johnston “Jack” H. Skelly, was busy baking bread. Actually, this wasn’t really Jennie’s home. It was the home of relatives, named McClennen, who she was visiting. She was helping prepare the meal, when bullets came through the door (you can still view the holes) and one struck Jennie as she was bent over kneading the dough. It killed her and she was the one and only civilian killed in Gettysburg during the Battle. This is both tragic and miraculous. It is tragic that young Jennie was killed, but miraculous that no one else was given the fury of the three-day fight. To understand just how miraculous, recall the Farnsworth House where Lois and I had dinner on the first day. It is believed that the bullet that struck Jennie was fired by a Confederate sniper from the attic window of the Farnsworth. If you recall the one wall of that house being pock-market by one hundred and forty some bullet strikes, you can see it was amazing none of the other nearby residence weren’t also killed. (They serve Jennie Wade Bread at the Farnsworth and it is quite good, a kind of round loaf of crusty, mildly sweet bread.)

Corporal Skelly, Jennie’s fiancé, was wounded at the Battle of Carter’s Woods and died on July 12, just a bit more than a week after his sweetheart, though he never knew about her fate.

One thing I had planned to do this time and didn’t was take a ghost tour. Several places in Gettysburg have them, including both the Farnsworth House and Jennie Wade’s house. The Jennie Wade Ghost Tour is held in the basement of the house at midnight and would have been perfect to go to since the house is directly across the street from our motel. Lois wasn’t aware of this until after we left town and she thought that would have been interesting.

Well, perhaps next time.

Meanwhile, we have more of Baltimore Street to travel.

Moving along past the museums we near the bottom slope of the hill and the larger and somewhat drab building to the right center of this photo is the Holiday Inn. It clashes more with this section of town than the other motels nearby.

We come to a kind of crotch in the streets here. (By the way, I took most of these photos early in the morning, just at sunup. There were very few people on the streets at that time, as you may have noticed, just some people on their way to work occasionally. My guess is these two men may have been staying at the Holiday Inn and had just picked up some stuff from the mini mart at this triangle.) Think of Baltimore Street as part of a Y. We are on the upper portion on the left side of the Y just reaching the stem of the letter. The right side above the stem is Taneytown Road, although we will find it isn’t quite a true Y when we go up that portion. There will be a second smaller Y within and Taneytown will go off to the left and to the right will be Steinwehr Avenue.

Here is another view of this juncture in which you can see the Mini Mart (similar to Wawa or 7-11 Stores) and very convenient to our motel. I stopped in this store each day and bought a one liter cold bottle of Coke. I enjoy having a Coke in the evening and this store made me so happy. Many trips I have taken and it has been difficult to find a place one could get a cold Coke nearby.

We could have easily turned up Taneytown Road here, but instead we will continue down the stem of the Y along Baltimore Street going in the direction toward the center of Gettysburg, although we will stop short of walking all the way to the main street through here, which is Lincoln Street (Route 30).

Instead we’ll take in the more historic looking homes and shops, that border both sides of this street.

Homes and Parks - Lower Baltimore

2008-06-06T21:45:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD
GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Three: Homes & Parks – Lower Baltimore Street

Stepping down lower Baltimore Street is a step into old-time small town America. The homes have a charming look and many serve as either stores catering to the tourist or bed and breakfasts putting up those tourist for an evening.

This is the Rupp House History Center that uses interactive displays to show the visitor the culture and life of civilians of the Civil War period. The Rupps lived here in 1863 when this street was overrun with soldiers from both armies. John Rupp and his family spend much of the time hiding in basements, both their own and their friend across the street.

The Rupp House is just a few doors down from the junction where the Mini Mart sits.

Across from it are some bed & Breakfasts. They are old brick homes converted to stay-over facilities and the most notable characteristic is their porches lined with rocking chairs. One might get the wrong impression on first look and think these places are Old Age Homes. No, they are just the placid stops for vacationers and Civil War buffs on an outing. I am sure on summer evenings many of these folk congregate here, rocking back and forth and debating the strategies of the various generals that commanded troops across the surrounding countryside.

On the west side just a bit further are these shops, the Gettysburg Quartermaster purveyor of fine military goods and it’s next door neighbor offering ghost walks.

Ghost walks, ghost tales, ghost houses and ghost rooms are everywhere in Gettysburg. They even sell collections of the ghost tales told in the gift shops here and about. There are ghosts in the basements and ghosts in the attics and ghosts that still charge across the battlefield on summer nights.

Here is another house offering Ghost and Ghost Walks. This one certainly appears haunted. Their is something ghostly about the appearance of the house itself, perhaps the way it almost seems to disappear into the shadows? It sits next to the Farnsworth House and in the back is the Farnsworth Book Store with its ghostly old couple manning the counter.

Not far, and across the street is Alumni Park, a gift of the Alumnus Association of Gettysburg High School. Hear the bell in the center of this little park ring in a new day.

The brick sidewalk is embedded with the many names of the schools past members. It is a cozy little corner where you can gaze at the old homes that surround it in peace and quiet.
Crossing the intersection going north from the Alumni Park are blocks of residences, although many of these double as tour sites and private museums.

Some are quite colorful.

Some present a sudden surprise, such as this cat in the window.

This little yellow cat was very pretty, obviously well cared for and certainly content. It was still sitting there when we returned back the way we came, although it had turned its head, proving it wasn’t just a statue placed on the sill as decoration.

Just beyond the cat was the passageway between buildings that presented a nice composition. Note that the house is a designated spot on the home tour.

Lois continues ahead down Baltimore Street, but the time had come to turn back and view the other thoroughfares of this historic place.

Visit to the Village

2008-06-05T21:41:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD

GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Three: Visit to the Village

In the background is the Travelodge where we stayed, in fact that is the very section our room was in. Everything about the lodgings was excellent, except for this shared bathroom

Of course I am kidding. This outhouse sits on the grounds of “The Gettysburg Village”, a mall of shops between Taneytown Road and Baltimore Street and along side our motel parking lot. One pamphlet that mentions the Village says there are twenty shops, but on another pamphlet for the Village itself it lists seventy. It isn’t a huge mall and twenty would seem more accurate to me so I can’t explain the difference.

I don’t know when this mall came into existence. I don’t recall seeing it when we visited in the past, but perhaps in our haste to see the museums we over looked it. I give them credit for building a mall that fits nicely with the neighborhood. It has a feel of a small crossroad village rather than the shopping centers we have grown used to. I examined its paths early in the morning and nothing had opened yet.

Let’s go through this little tunnel and see what we can see.

Yee-yow!

Man, those Rebels lurk everywhere. Never know when one might attack.

Glad to escape. The yellow building on the right is the side of the Spirit Field Pub that we visited earlier.

The little round building to the left sells hot soft pretzels. Perhaps the horse is waiting for his share. Maybe I ate too well at the great restaurants about, I never stopped in here and got some pretzels for myself. Soft pretzels are one of my weaknesses.

I have no idea what this is or does.

What village is complete without a general store?

My family used to own and run a general store in Modena. The building still contains a store of some kind even today, but no longer owned by the family. (From left to right, my dad, Grandmother, Uncle Ben, Grandfather and Uncle Francy. 1931.)

Stepping back out of the mall center to the Travelodge lot and that is the Spirit Field Pub building on the corner.

In the other direction is Smith & Kringle and whatever they sell. You can see our car (the orange one) still parked in the same spot as when we arrived. Didn’t need a car back here in 1863.

Steppin' Along Steinwehr

2008-06-04T23:08:00.000-04:00

RUMINATIONS OF THE ROAD

GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
OCTOBER 1-4, 2005

Day Three: Steppin’ Along Steinwehr

We walked north from the Village on Route 134, also known as the Taneytown Road. The streets form a lot of triangles around here. Right here Taneytown Road joins Steinwehr Avenue. The view here is facing south. We are going to take the right hand street, which is Steinwehr.

This juncture, where York feeds in was a bit further down, but it illustrates how many triangles there are around here.

This was a beautiful day. It was blue sky and not too hot nor too cold, with not much wind. The whole weekend was this way.

I’m glad we went when we did, because the weekend following was rainy and miserable. The flags were by the Gettysburg Battle Theater.

The Sunday morning when we arrived in Gettysburg we drove past this site and there was an army encampment right outside.

They show an animated film inside that takes you through the battle. I’ve never been in here, so I can’t comment on the quality of the film.

Near the Battle Theatre is the Lincoln Train Museum.

Here we see a local lass stroll by in her hoop skirt. Perhaps she is coming to hear Abraham Lincoln. This museum simulates the President’s train trip to dedicate the National Cemetery and you can ride along as he composes the Gettysburg Address. There is also a toy train collection displayed inside. I have never been in here either.

I did pause to take President Lincoln’s picture. That is he in the shadows on the right. I don’t know who the other gentleman is. Perhaps it is Edward Everett.

Hey, look, there goes the Gettysburg Trolley.

Don’t forget William Tipton was one of Gettysburg's most influential businessmen, known as ‘Boss’ Tipton and he was instrumental in the construction of the Gettysburg Electric Railway, a trolley line that at one time passed through the cemetery's grounds.

With the Lincoln Train Museum receding in the distance, walk up through the lower lots of the Visitor center and back to Taneytown Road, where we can leisurely amble back to the Travelodge.