Days 8 and 9: Old Dominion

February 11, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilard2 Comments

Editor’s note: Given limited travel opportunities these days, I decided each Thursday to post travel stories I’d written prior to starting this blog. The following is from a cross-country trip I made along the length of US 50 in the spring of 2018. I hope you might vicariously enjoy this trip while we’re all hunkering down at home. Because this is a longer trip (a week and a half), I’m going to post each of the daily entries over each of the next 10 days.

So, I took yesterday off from driving 50, and instead spent the day visiting my friend Chris and his wonderful wife Carol at their lakefront home in Moneta, which is 40 minutes outside of Roanoke (pop: 9,891) in southern Virginia. Even if you haven’t been to Moneta, you’ve seen it in the classic Bill Murray film, What About Bob? Chris shares a number of my interests, including trains, Edward Allen Poe, and Sherlock Holmes. Accordingly, we spent yesterday at the O. Winston Link museum and the Virginia Museum of Transportation. We ate a late lunch at Roanoke’s oldest (and perhaps smallest) restaurant, and then went back home to fail miserably at a game based around a Sherlock Holmes mystery.

I always feel obliged to take Studebaker photos. This 1870 Studebaker Half-Platform Wagon is at the Virginia Museum of Transportation.

Today I left Moneta around noon, and, at Chris’ suggestion, I stopped at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville (pop: 47,000) to see Edgar Allan Poe’s dorm room. It turns out that Poe had studied at UVA in 1826.

Poe’s dorm room is preserved with period furniture and references to his then-budding literary career.

Is that a pallid bust of Pallas on the windowsill?

It should be noted that the room is part of a still-operating dorm building. Poe’s room (#13, fittingly) is glassed off, but the all the other rooms are occupied by UVA students. To that point, the space in front of Poe’s current next door neighbor was littered with beer empties. I am not making this up. You’d wish that the current residents of Poe’s dorm building would show more respect for Poe’s memory. And yet, if you think about how Poe met his demise, perhaps the beer empties are fitting.

I suspect the university police told the revelers, “Nevermore.”

About 6 pm I finally make it back to Winchester, VA, whence I’d taken my detour away from US 50 on Wednesday evening. Rather than resume my driving trip immediately, I decided to just get some dinner and find a hotel for the night, and start out fresh in the morning. Now, I’ve had surprisingly good luck with my hotel accommodations all along this trip. I’ve been stopping mainly in small towns, and the innkeepers have seemed genuinely happy to see me. Today, however, I’m in a somewhat larger town, the motel is rather crowded, and to the innkeeper I’m just another traveler who’s washed up onto his doorstep. Out in the parking lot, next to my room, some other guests are drinking beer and rebuilding the engine of their Cutlass. Next to them, a group of young people has a Weber barbecue set up in the parking lot, with flames at an alarming height. It actually seems rather festive. But I wonder if any of these people is actually staying at the motel.

Since I don’t have any US 50 stories from today, allow me to share a few earlier photos that didn’t make it into previous blogs:

Ominous memorial on the shoulder of US 50 in Nevada

Windmill valiantly struggling to pump water in the Nevada desert

The Apostrophiser strikes again! (Delta, UT)

OK, now you’re caught up on my photo collection from US 50 so far. Tomorrow I should get through Washington, DC and into MD. Until then!

Sdb

P.S.” The Yaris has now logged close to 3,000 miles on this trip (with detours). There are two ways of measuring this. One is the odometer, and the other is the accretion of bugs on the sideview mirror:

Thank God Hertz didn’t ask for a cleaning deposit

Day 7: Ohio and West Virginia

February 10, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilard2 Comments

I left my motel early this morning, and was struck that, once again, I was the only guest at the whole place. Check out the parking lot:

On my way back onto US 50, I came upon the Athens Bread Company. Given that Athens is a college town, and the shop is located on a nice, upscale street, I figured I’d finally be able to get that fresh, artisan bagel that I was craving for breakfast for the past few days. I entered the shop and encountered a nice young man wearing a baker’s apron. This looked like the real thing! I asked him what kinds of bagels he had. He had none. Well, ok, how about a good scone? None. Bear claw? No. Donut? No. Well, I was really hoping to get something for breakfast. What do you have? He looked at me meekly and said that he could make me a sandwich. Like a breakfast sandwich, I asked? No, just like a sandwich sandwich. I was flabbergasted. It was 8 in the morning, and all this guy is selling is sandwiches? The whole thing was playing out like Monty Python’s cheese shop sketch, where it turns out the shop has no cheese at all. I gave up and decided I’d just get a cup of coffee for the road. I asked for a dark roast. “We have blueberry crunch.” Yes, that’s the coffee flavor he offered. I left empty handed.

My last stop in Ohio was Coolville (pop: 496). I just liked the name. I obviously failed in trying to do a cool pose in this selfie.

S-Boi makin’ sum phat rhymes…or whatever.

Before long I crossed into West Virginia. For most of the day’s drive, US 50 cut through heavily wooded, hilly countryside. It was perfect weather, and an enjoyable drive.

There were, however, very few towns to explore. One exception was Clarksburg (pop: 16,578). As soon as I entered the town I knew I was now in the South. Confederate statutes abounded, and the local courthouse had a large granite depiction of the ten commandments. Note the woman smoking next to the commandments.

Another West Virginia town of note was Grafton (pop: 5,000). I pulled the Yaris over in front of a nice-looking city block, and got out to look for a place to get a decent sandwich. A pleasant, older woman in a purple outfit seemed to appear out of nowhere, and asked me if she could be of assistance. I gave her my usual line that I’m a tourist traveling the entirety of US 50, and that was just exploring her town. Her eyes lit up, and invited me into the large brick church that was in front of us.

It turns out that the building was constructed as a Methodist church in 1873. According to my guide (whose name is Mary), the church hosted the first official Mother’s Day celebration in 1908. This was arranged by a local woman named Anna Jarvis, who was looking to honor her own mother who had died a few years earlier. After that initial celebration, Anna Jarvis pushed for an official national Mother’s Day, that would be on the second Sunday of May (which marked the date of her own mother’s death). Her efforts culminated in President Woodrow Wilson proclaiming a national Mother’s Day in 1914. Mary showed me the pen that Wilson used to sign the proclamation.

The building’s lower rooms also have many historic pictures of Grafton. The town had been founded as a major railroad junction on the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, and grew into a good-size city before declining in the late 20^th century as the rail industry slowed. Mary, who grew up in Grafton, seemed genuinely saddened by the decline. Eventually we made our way back out of the building, and Mary pointed out the old railroad depot across the street. Built in 1911, it has been out of service since the 1970s, but it’s still an impressive structure. Next to it is a large hotel that was built at the same time, as an incentive to get the B&O to locate the station there. Here’s the view of the station from the street:

The B&O railroad put the “BO” in beaux arts

And here’s the view from the railroad tracks. The hotel is on the right.

After about an hour, I made my goodbye to Mary. She invited me to attend the Mother’s Day service at the Shrine/Church this coming Sunday, but I told her I would be long gone. She gave me a look like I was an unappreciative rube. I then asked for a recommendation for lunch. She gave me several suggestions (she seems to know every place in town), and I settled on getting a “hoagie sandwich” from the food truck that parks near the abandoned depot every Wednesday. It was one of the best lunches I’ve had on this trip.

I got back onto US 50, and made my way through the Appalatians. Near the border with Virginia I saw this outhouse on the side of the road:

Yes, this whole thing is just an elaborate mailbox in front of someone’s home.

Here’s another stretch of abandoned buildings, in Virginia, that I thought was picturesque:

Remember: Every time you see a street in any of these photos, it’s US 50!

I ended my US 50 drive today at the city of Winchester, VA (pop: 27,300). From there, I took a three-hour detour south to visit my friend Chris, who moved to Virginia with his wife Carol about a year and a half ago. I’m going to take tomorrow off, while Chris and I drink Scotch and explore the area. Not at the same time. I will return to US 50 on Friday, and will resume my “blog” then.

bridges · Road trips · trains · Uncategorized

Day 6: Missouri and Indiana

February 9, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilard1 Comment

I think I’ve achieved the Zen of US 50. There’s something very freeing—what the current argot might call “in the moment” – about living for almost a week on this road. In some ways, it’s ever-changing–—passing through 12 states, four time zones, countless communities, and various climates and topographies. It reveals the diversity at least of some of America. Unlike an interstate, which studiously avoids small towns, US 50 seamlessly wends its way through the middle of communities, with houses lining either side of the road. In many communities, US 50 is literally “Main Street.”

Despite revealing enormous diversity of our country, US 50 is also a very constant companion. It’s primarily a two-lane ribbon of asphalt with standardized signage. At this point, after driving it for over 2,000 miles, I recognize the familiar “feel” of 50. One of you asked me if I need to use GPS to keep up with all the twists and turns. The answer is no—US 50 is extremely well marked. You know when you’re on it. I haven’t gotten lost once. And, as you know, for me, that’s saying something.

This morning I passed through the greater St. Louis metro area and then crossed the Mississippi River into Illinois, where the countryside is remarkably green and open. It was a very calming and pleasant drive through the state, and soon I found myself in southern Illinois. I’ve noticed that the communities (that is, at least the ones along US 50) seem to be tidy, well-kept, solid communities. This contrasts with the ghost towns of Nevada and the worn, dying communities of eastern Colorado and Kansas. In Illinois I stopped at an Amish restaurant, nestled in an Amish community replete with simple farms and horse-drawn buggies. The lunch wasn’t great, but the dessert (peanut butter pie) made it worth it. I explained to the waitress that I was traveling all of US 50. She seemed confused, not quite understanding what this entailed, and why I would do it. But she wished me safe travels anyway.

After driving through Indiana all afternoon I stopped for dinner in Lawrenceburg, which sits right on the Ohio River. The road had flirted with the River a little bit before I arrived in Lawrenceburg, so I wasn’t quite sure whether I was now on the Indiana side or the Ohio side. I asked my waitress if I was in Ohio, and she burst out laughing. “No!” she spluttered. “We’re in Indiana!” Now, maybe they don’t get many tourists, but surely it’s not that unreasonable to not know which side of the river you’re on, when you’re 2000 miles from home. Changing the subject, I asked what kind of dark beers she had on tap, and she offered me a lager (which is so light it barely qualifies as beer). Undaunted, I ordered dinner (and a milk stout). When she returned with my meal, the waitress noticed my atlas and asked where I was heading. I told her I was driving US 50 coast to coast. “50 doesn’t go coast to coast!” she proclaimed. “It’s just in Indiana!” I showed her on the map that US 50 does indeed span the country. She seemed astonished. She called to another waitress to come over and get a load of this. “Can you believe it? Our 50 starts in California!”

After dinner I did in fact cross the river and enter Ohio proper. US 50 skirts around Cincinnati, but I did get a glimpse of what can only be described as the Rust Belt, replete with rusty railroad bridges and other decaying infrastructure. Very quickly, however, the road entered hilly, forested land which felt like I was in the Santa Cruz mountains. I ended up stopping in Athens, OH for tonight.

And now, a few photos from the day:

Cool abandoned bridge, originally built in 1923, that US 50 used to run across in western Illinois.

North Vernon, IN. The age, style, and condition of the downtown buildings is typical of the towns I saw today.

Butlerville, IN. The road in this photo is US 50.

Ohio & Mississippi RR Depot in Aurora, IN. Originally constructed in 1854, now nicely restored.

Frisch’s Big Boy in Milford, OH. When I was growing up in the south bay area, there was a chain called *Bob’s* Big Boy. They even had a “big boy” statuette, similar to this one. The full story is here.

…and don’t forget to turn your engine off when you get to your destination.

bridges · Cars · Road trips · Uncategorized

Day 5: Kansas and Missouri

February 8, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilard3 Comments

Here’s a picture of the first grain elevator I saw this morning, heading east out of Larkin, KS:

And here’s a picture of the second grain elevator I saw:

Now, multiply those pictures by 100, and you get a sense of the scenery along US 50 through Kansas. Seriously. It’s flat, with lots of open space and no trees, and periodic, looming grain elevators. I suppose there’s some kind of charm to the monotony. But monotonous it was.

Breakfast was at Richie’s Café in Cimmaron. I was craving a good cup of strong, fresh-brewed, artisan coffee, a toasted bagel and cream cheese, and some good juice. The outside of the place didn’t look promising, but it was the only game in town. I entered the double doors, and found myself in a small, dark anteroom with another set of double doors. These I opened, and stepped into a large, windowless auditorium with ancient wood flooring. It looked like the place where the Peanuts put on their Christmas pageant in “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” In the middle of the room were rows of long tables surrounded by folding chairs. A group of about eight people, all of retirement age and none with a healthy body mass index, where chatting over coffee and a couple of empty plates. They evidently had been there awhile. The waitress (if that’s the correct term) brought me a menu, which I searched in vain for my artisan coffee and bagel and juice. I had to settle for a greasy breakfast taco. I was back in the Yaris and on the road within 10 minutes.

I suppose it’s fair to say that there wasn’t a lot notable about Kansas. I was looking forward to Dodge City (pop: 27,000), which is on my route, but just about all traces of the old west there are contained in museums or reconstructed facsimiles. It felt too touristy for this trip. I did stop at a grocery store in the town of Meridian (pop: 813). You haven’t truly heard laughter until you’ve asked a Kansan if they have Naked Juice.

Oh, I also made a stop to check out an old 19^th century stone arch bridge in the town of Clements (pop: 0). The bridge crosses the Cottonwood River in an idyllic setting. I think I may have walked through poison ivy to take the photo, so I hope you appreciate it!

So, that’s about it for Kansas. After I got to Emporia, US 50 again merged with an Interstate (I-35), which sped me toward Kansas City. Soon I was in Missouri. Once I left behind the congestion of KC, the drive became quite pleasant. Missouri is a greener, hillier state than Kansas.

I stopped in Jefferson City at the state Capitol, which was unfortunately being renovated. It appears to be much larger than California’s Capitol. It strikes me that US 50 goes through four state capitals as well as the country’s capital. That seems to be a testament to how important the road was when it was originally designated.

I was enjoying the drive when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a Studebaker truck parked in a driveway. I stopped on the side of the road, and asked the two old guys sitting on the front porch of a tidy brick home whether they owned the truck. One of them (whose name turned out to be Roy) claimed ownership, and came down from his porch to show it off, opening the hood to reveal the small-block Chevy engine he had dropped into it. He had bought the truck about three years ago, and as he used to teach body work at the local technical school, he had no problem fixing up the truck. Roy retired 11 years ago, and when he isn’t working on his Studebaker, he’s sitting on his front porch with his friend Dean “counting cars as they pass.”

Studebaker owners’ motto: We’d rather fix than switch. (Youngsters can learn the reference here.)

Dean lives across the street, and after I had praised Roy’s Studebaker, Dean insisted that we go over to his place to check out his 1950 Chevy convertible. We walked over, and Dean pulled the car out of the enormous, warehouse-like garage so that I could see it in the sunlight. It was a beauty. He then invited me into the garage to see his other cars (3 or 4 of them, including a Mustang convertible).

After thanking Roy and Dean for the tour, I got back in the Yaris with a bit of embarrassment, and made the final leg of today’s trip, to Union, MO (just west of St. Louis).

Road trips · trains · Uncategorized

Day 3: Utah and Colorado

February 6, 2021February 13, 2021 steveboilard2 Comments

I set out this morning around 6:30 am. I stopped at the Green River Coffee Company (in Green River, Utah), which was just half a mile from my motel. The place was empty, but I heard someone rustling in the back kitchen. Eventually a lanky woman in her early 30s emerged, looking very much like a hippie from 1969. She was cheerful, and said “If you want coffee or breakfast” [why else would I have come there??] “you’ll have to wait a few minutes while my equipment wakes up.” I assured her I was in no hurry, and observed that it was indeed still early. “I must be your first customer” I astutely noted. The woman, whose name turned out to be Becky, explained to me that the place doesn’t actually open until 7, but she gets in at 6:30 to “wake up” her equipment. “I used to get here at 5:30, in order to do my online homework using the shop’s wifi. But now I can get internet service on my phone, so I do my homework in the morning before I leave.” It turns out she’s taking an online program through Oxford (supposedly the Oxford) in English literature. And she’s going to take an in-person class in England next summer. “I’m hoping to move there permanently.” I asked what would happen to the Green River Coffee Company. Does she own it? “No, I’m just the Coffee Wench.” Thanks for the coffee. Gotta go…

Green River Cafe. Note the equipment waking up.

US 50 is still part of I-70 heading east out of Green River, so the drive to the Colorado border was pretty fast and uneventful. Shortly after entering Colorado, I came to Grand Junction, where 50 once again breaks off from I-70. I was back on the familiar, undivided, quiet road that is US 50. It was like reuniting with an old friend. The road began twisting and climbing as I moved up into the Rockies, and I admit that there were moments when I questioned whether the Yaris was up to the task. I became especially nervous as I approached Monarch Pass (elevation: 11,312 feet) where there was even some snow on the ground. Somehow we managed to get over the hump, which, incidentally, is the Continental Divide. I know that doesn’t make the pass any harder to cross, but there’s something notable about crossing the Divide. It makes one feel like they’re leaving the West. Which I guess I was.

“On top of the world, Ma!” (Edward G. Robinson)

A short time later I came into the town of Salida (which the locals pronounce “suh-LIE-duh), and stopped at Soulcraft Brewing for a lunch stop. I had the Green Chile Ale, which was just the ticket on a warm day. I asked the bartender about food, and she directed me to the “food truck” outside next to the patio. This “food truck” is a “truck” the way that a mobile home is “mobile.” The food truck was really just a trailer, permanently built in place, and when I asked the gray-haired cook/owner about it she told me “this thing never moves. I don’t even have a truck that could move it.” I suspect Soulcraft is getting around some kind of restaurant license by calling this thing a “truck.” Anyway, the “truck” owner told me that this was now her restaurant — she used to own a regular brick and mortar restaurant in Denver, but then somehow she became the dean of a university. As one does. I asked her which university, and she muttered something about an online university. Somehow this didn’t quite pan out for her, so she recently quit the academic life and bought this “food truck.” I’ll say this much for her though: She makes a delicious homemade pasta dish. I had it with my beer, sitting on the patio in the sunshine. You really can’t beat that.

Green Chile Ale, with rootbound “food truck” in the background.

I got back onto US 50, with the Arkansas River and a small railroad line stretching along on my right. It was a very pretty and pleasant drive. Now, for the most part, this trip has not been about tacky, kitchy tourist attractions. Admittedly, I’ve made that the focus of some prior trips with Ian, such as our Route 66 trip. But this US 50 trip is meant to experience a more authentic part of America. I did slip once today, though, when I saw this giant beetle beckoning me to an insect museum. How could I say no??

In the mid-afternoon I hit Pueblo, Colorado, which marks the end of my US 50 journey for today. Upon arriving in Pueblo, I took a 2-hour detour up the interstate to see my old friend Detlef Kurpanek (yes, that’s his real name). Detlef and I were friends in middle school and high school, back in the 1970s. We both had an interest in trains, each had a model railroad, and we’d ride our bikes 10 miles to San Jose to watch the commuter trains come in from San Francisco. Detlef has been living with his wife Nancy in Aurora, CO for a couple of decades now. I’m staying at his house tonight, and I’ll return to US 50 tomorrow afternoon. I’m planning to make to the middle of Kansas tomorrow.