OHIOPYLE

We have an adventurous spirit, but are saddled with indecision. We are dilettantes, touring Tuscaloosa. We are ex-patriots living in Camden, NJ. We swoon with elan, but are moldering from ennui.

Yes, the glorious days of travel are in the past fair reader. Belts are tightening and expectations are low. Tuscan sunshine, Belgian beer, London fog, Hawaiian luaus, Australian barbees, might as well throw in a side trip to Mars, will escape us this summer. But, never fear fair readers, Team VFH can find happiness everywhere and this year we are going camping. It is a cheaper way to travel, and we need to be cheap this summer, but in no way one must consider this a flawed way of traveling. I once hitchhiked and camped my way around France and though my French is severely limited, had a great time. Janet too has camped her way all over Europe and she will regale you with lengthy tales of her camping trips to Colorado and Alaska. I never tire of hearing them. And, in our relative short time together as a team we’ve already camped twice previously, once at Ricketts Glen in Northeast Pennsylvania and once at Cooperstown, NY. At Ricketts Glen we hiked the Falls Trails which features several cascades of various heights and at Cooperstown we visited the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame and the Ommegang Brewery. We had a great time at each.

With this year’s financial difficulties camping swiftly became the only option for us. We talked about Ocracoke Island and Bar Harbor, but Janet insisted on Ohiopyle. Logistics such as distance and cost were the deciding factors. The cache though of vacationing in Pennsylvania is thin though and I was worried that our experiences would be fleeting. But, now that we are in the third day of our trip I have to say that Janet knows what she’s talking about. She plans trips well and the details are never lost with her. We… or should I say she… makes Team VFH a great traveling squad.
Janet had heard of Ohiopyle State Park from a friend. There are plenty of activities here she was told, like biking and hiking and …gasp… white water rafting… Janet has wanted to go on a one or two week trip through the Grand Canyon, but the cost for that is steep. At Ohiopyle one can raft or kayak in class Class III or IV rapids or placid waters along the Youghiogheny River or Yough for short. There is a bike trail that goes from Pittsburgh all the way to D.C. with just a 2% grade. The part we are on is called the Great Allegheny Passage and it hooks up with the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Towpath in Cumberland, Maryland. Hiking trails are everywhere, and the Meadow Run Natural water slide is one of the best east of the Mississippi. There is swimming in the river right in the town of Ohiopyle and two famous Frank Lloyd Wright homes are minutes away; Kentuck Knob and the iconic Falling Water. The more we discussed it, the more Ohiopyle seemed a worthy destination for Team VHF.

To save money we took my 1999 Nissan Pathfinder. Comfy and trustworthy and with plenty of room for car camping, it is a good chariot for our escapades.

Readers of this blog may remember “Greg’s Way”. I feel the traveling is as important as the destination. This means we don’t take the Turnpike. So, instead, Janet let me drive the 260+ miles to western Pennsylvania via Route 30, the Lincoln Highway. It added 1 ½ hours to our trip, but it was worth it. We drove through Lancaster and Gettysburg and through some very lovely countryside and we largely had the road to ourselves; leaving at 6 a.m. helps. We stopped in York for a cheap but good breakfast at Lee’s Family Diner. Using Janet’s trusty new gadget, Siri, we were able to find routes to Ohiopyle once route 30 started veering northward. We got on route 31 for a while then several smaller state routes for the final leg.

When we finally arrived in Ohiopyle we were calmer and more rested than had we scurried and caromed down the Turnpike. The town has a rustic charm to it and it caters to people who want to use the river for recreation. There is a park where people wade into the river and climb onto rocks. It is an idyllic scene, although signs caution waders of the treacherous waters ahead and rope with buoys strung across the river serve as a further warning.  Right as we entered town we passed a working railroad track that is used to carry freight and another smaller trestle that was once a narrow gauge train bed that ferried lumber and then tourists from Pittsburgh 70+ miles away as Ohiopyle increasingly became a destination. The first building on the left as we entered town was the Falls Market and Department Store. Old and listing it had a souvenir shop, deli, restaurant and ice cream parlor. Outside there was a bbq smoker! Later that evening we bought some very good bbq from another stand a block away. At Falls Market We bought breakfast foods, ice and a couple of milk shakes. It turns out the bars around here don’t open until 4 p.m. We walked around Ohiopyle and along the river. From a platform set up to view the rapids we shuddered as we watched in awe at kayakers who went over a 20 foot falls, laughing and high fiving each other when they met at the bottom. I could never be that brave, or foolish, to attempt such a plunge….but knowing Janet, she will attempt to prod me in that direction. 

Ohiopyle Falls

The town has several bike and other gear rental houses. There’s a zip line course somewhere and a rope bridge. White water rafting and kayaking are very big here in Ohiopyle. Evidently the Youghiogheny River has class III and IV rapids and the lower Yough, which begins in Ohiopyle town, is the busiest section of whitewater rapids east of the Mississippi with all the people plying its waters. Janet has a trip planned for us on the lower Yough the next day.


After pitching our tent in Ohiopyle State Park, about two miles out of town, we decided to find a bar. Janet, in her infinite ability to do research, found a place a few miles out of town along Route 40 in Farmingham. That too opened at 4 pm, but we got there just as it opened. The Stone House Restaurant has a very fine selection of beers on tap served by a friendly and knowledgeable staff. We had a couple of beers, my second was a strong Farmhouse Ale, split a very tasty hamburger and headed back to Ohiopyle to rest up for our long, treacherous day on the river.
http://www.stonehouseinn.com/

Wine Not

Father's Day recently came and because the day was overcast and cool we decided against going on the Delaware in my Old Town Discovery 158 ...I call it the Cadillac of canoes... for a moveable picnic lunch. Janet did plan a lovely meal though of tomato, mozzarella and fresh basil from her garden, cold sesame noodles, tabouli, brie and crackers and brownies, but the weather was not cooperating and the river would have been a poor choice. So, we did the next best thing, we went to one of the local wineries that are near Lambertville and had a picnic there.

Lambertville is a little Delaware River town. It's about 7 miles north of where Washington and his troops crossed the Delaware on that faithful Christmas long ago. I've lived in this lovely place since 1989. For awhile I lived in a home that was built in 1860 and was right near the canal that was once used to haul coal from Pennsylvania to New York City. Idyllic, pastoral, quaint are words that readily apply to L'ville. Despite it's small size, the "city" brims with fantastic restaurants and cozy bars. Across the river from the relative decadence of New Hope, PA, Lambertville is quiet and serene. Nestled in the hills near to this town are several wineries. Years ago Team VFH attended a Garden State Wine Growers Association event in the Far Hills of Somerset County. We sampled wines from all an array of wineries, ate food, listened to music. It was a good day and over the years have visited several of the individual wineries.  http://www.newjerseywines.com/

This blog isn't going to comment on the quality of the wines offered by the area wineries, but they are certainly a joy to visit. Whenever your favorite mooch crew is stuck for an idea we think "wine not?" Our favorite has been the Hopewell Valley winery because of the convival atmosphere they create. It's basically a party there, with a band, a wood fired pizza oven and an invitation to purchase their wine, but not necessarily a requirement.You can come with your own libations and snacks if you'd like. You can sit outdoors on a deck that overlooks the grapes or inside to listen to the music. On Fathers day our first choice was with Hopewell Valley, but when we called we learned they were closed.
http://hopewellvalleyvineyards.com/hvv/

The second choice was the Unionville winery. It is more rustic and lacks the amenities of Hopewell Valley, but it is in a beautiful location down a gravel road that winds through the Sourland Mountains. The area is worth a drive as it remains largely rural to this day with 90 square miles of forest in central New Jersey. A notable inhabitant of the region was Charles Lindbergh, the famed aviator. It was from his home in the Sourland Mountain that his son was kidnapped and murdered. He and his wife had chosen the area because of it's isolation.

Well, thankfully Unionville is not that far for me, perhaps 6 miles or so from the house. We had been there once previously and purchased Port wine. Today, laden with our picnic basket, we settled on a Pinot Noir, after sampling several. We asked them to open the bottle, borrowed a couple of glasses from them and sat at tables arranged for such occasions under a glade of trees. People came and went on little tours of the grounds, but we busied ourselves with our meal as the clouds churned over the rolling hills and then the sun finally broke through. It was a unique, relaxing and inexpensive way to spend the afternoon.
http://www.unionvillevineyards.com/sites/courses/layout.asp?id=825&page=45606

my hometown

Despite all the kidding that goes on with this blog there is something to be said about home towns. They may not be exotic locales, but their familiarity and the serenity they offer makes for calm safe times. Especially as the world shrinks with the internet, it is good to remember how large it seemed when we were all younger. How big was your backyard? How great was the distance from your house to the ice cream joint around the corner? Didn't the Elysian Fields of the local park seem vast and pastoral?

I came from a gritty little city, Harrison, New Jersey. It was choked with traffic, bordered by either Newark or the meadowlands and the landfill dump sites there that rose like smelly time capsules from the swamps. We didn't have a car in the family until I was a teenager. We walked or bused it everywhere which meant we did not go very far. It was an absolute luxury to make it to the shore during the summer, usually through the good graces of an uncle. Our backyard was a forest though and our horizons were expanded when we climbed the fences to the neighbor's yards and the parking lot across the street was a latter day coliseum and West Hudson Park, though we called it Kearny Park, was our country estate and the site of countless play scenarios. 

Growing up my home town was my world. The next town was a farflung destination, another state was light years away and exotic places like Hawaii or Europe were only fascinations of 
an incredibly active mind; they only existed in books. 

Decades later and now on the downward slide of life, I was recently reminded of how joyful this small, delicate, innocent world had been and how fleeting and precious was that period of my life. Across the street from Janet's home is a ball field and during the summer her town stages concerts, perhaps 3 or 4 a season. People lay out their blankets or set up lawn chairs and listen to a myriad of music styles and the children frolic in the grass and parents sop up errant water ice from chins and chatter with their neighbors. It is all  innocent and wonderful and though this particular evening, Phunkadelphia, with their selections like "Brickhouse", wasn't really innocent, Team VFH and the collective souls of Collegeville still cooed at the children prancing to songs that implored them to shake their booty, etc. Hopefully these cartwheeling children will pass on the same simple joys of hometown activities to the next generation.

A Top Ten Day ... Just Saying....

Steve Martin once gave advice about having a lot of money.... "First," he would say, "win a million dollars".  The same advice is relevant in having a boat. First, find a friend with a boat.

That's what Team VFH did this past weekend.  And, it was the most glorious of Sundays spent on the Chesapeake Bay. Team VFH's tentacles weave through many relationships and opportunities and a dear friend of Janet's (and now mine) has a boat moored on the South River near Annapolis. We spent the day on the calm water under flawless blue skies, exploring different coves and ogling all the homes that lined the water. He had lunch at a place called Thursday's, though we avoided the crabs as they were $60 for a dozen... ouch... Evidently Hurricaine Irene last year destroyed a lot of the crab population and the price has risen accordinly. We stopped often in our meanderings to take dips in the water when we wanted to sober up or cool  down. This had to have been a TOP TEN DAY for Team VFH for something like this is far beyond our means, but the best part was we were asked to come along for the ride. We did not have to mooch.

We were guests.... imagine that.... People must like us....Just Saying...

I have rented power boats before, near Fortescue, NJ in order to go crabbing, but that was in very calm water. I could never have piloted the boat as skillfully as our host Captain Tracy. Though she said the conditions were perfect on this calm day, that there were no whitecaps, as the day progressed and boat traffic churned the water it became a bumpy ride. At first I was nervous and white-knuckled it behind the wind screen, though later in the day I was relaxing in the bow seats giggling like a kid on a roller coaster. Still, I would not want to pilot the craft, especially when the waters of the South River collided with the Chesapeake. It got very choppy. Because we were in a small boat with a shallow keel we would get slapped around if we ventured further into the far vaster waters of the Chesapeake. Kent Island shimmered in the distance and Captain Tracy said there was a whole slew of great bars over there, and that's why she was shopping for a bigger boat! So, this day we had to skim the edge of the Bay, dodge crab traps and marvel at the much bigger boats we passed. It was a very enjoyable day and we stayed out until the late afternoon. 

It's a different world down in Maryland than where I live. There is money in New York and celebrities in L.A., but in the Washington D.C. area there is power. Military, government. There's a certain charm that comes with this established elite and in Annapolis it is on full display. The boats moored in the marina, the Naval Academy hedging the town, the midshipmen mingling with civilians, the old, worn, warm taverns, the Maryland State House presiding over all from its hilltop vantage point, Main Street lined with the bars and restaurants all give Annapolis a charm not found elsewhere.

Friday we drove down for the weekend along the idyllic Route 301, and avoiding the frenetic Route 95. As we were opposite of all the commuting traffic we had an easy time going over the Bay Bridge. There is no toll when heading west. This route extended our travel time by about 20 minutes, but we were better for the lack of wear. When we arrived in Annapolis we parked the car and ate at a Mexican Restaurant along Main Street that served very strong margaritas. Afterwards we strolled down to the marina and stopped at Pussers Caribbean Grille. It was packed. Right on the water, there were several boats moored at the wharf. People on the boats were ordering drinks from the waitress. There was a guy playing reggae guitar. It was worth a stop. http://pussersusa.com/locations/annapolis-restaurant

We stayed with Captain Tracy for two nights. On Saturday, our wolf pack of three having grown to five, we drove up to Baltimore to see the Philadelphia Phillies play the Baltimore Orioles at Camden Yards. We were part of a group from Philadelphia. The fans of Philadelphia are renowned for their devotion and traveling to watch their teams play. This was a trip that had three buses complete with hotel packages, a ticket for the game, all the headache beer you can stomach, and bbq for food at a four hour tailgate party. Rather than pay for hotels we opted to stay with the Captain, but went to the tailgate party. Janet's brother and his wife met us there. We had chairs and sat in a parking lot of the Camden Pub a couple of blocks from the ball park. It was hot as blazes and there was no shade. It was around the corner from the birthplace and museum of Babe Ruth. At one point to escape the heat I went around and talked a bit with the curator. I did not go in though. http://www.baberuthmuseum.com/

Camden Yards

Oriole Park at Camden Yards, the official name, was the first of the "retro" Major League Base Ball parks to be constructed. It was completed in 1992. When I heard that this trip was in the works for Team VFH I was very happy, despite the cost. Our tab was just over $100 each, but for years I had watched games with the old warehouse looming in right field and had always wanted to go. Our seats were in the upper deck, but directly behind home plate. We were surrounded by raucous, boisterous Phillies fans, but at least we were in the shade. The game went into extra innings, but sadly the Phillies lost in the 12th when a two run walk off home run by Adam Jones ended the game. 

Natty Boh

Janet almost ran away
with this guy

Afterwards we walked by the packed Pickles Pub, the famous bar just across the street from the ball park and considered going for some "cheap ass beer", but opted to go to Quigley's Half Irish Pub for a couple of drinks before we headed back to Annapolis. We eyed suspiciously a couple of fellows in Orioles gear drinking 40 oz. Natty Boh ... National Bohemian ...a local brew...  but they were harmless, discussing the win as they sat on seats placed on the sidewalk in front of Quigley's. It was an easy day and the trip left us interested in exploring more of Baltimore. (Come on... it's just a ploy to get back on the boat... just saying....)

Down the shore

There is nothing like having friends, especially friends who live down the shore...or at least nearer the shore than where I live in Lambertville, NJ. One of Team VFH's favorite go-to places is Milford, Delaware, where Janet's dear friend and her husband have lived the past five years... Known affectionately as the Captain and BIM-mielle ... Jill and Carl have opened their home to us as well as their other countless friends and this oasis in the middle of a podunk, ho-hum little town midway between Dover and the Delaware shore points has become a favored destination for your favorite mooch crew. Indeed, visiting Delaware as often as we have has opened our eyes to the plausibility of making this state a home port for Vacations From Home. Why, just the tax situation down here is enough to convince us of the move, let alone being nearer to friends and the relative serenity of the Delaware shore. (Especially compared to NJ). 

This thinking has been quite a turnabout though for us, for despite the cost of living this is after all slower lower Delaware and with that comes a dearth of culture. All the charm that we as a couple gravitate towards is lacking here, or at best difficult to find. Films, museums, restaurants are miles away and sometimes in different states! And, the cornfield that our benefactors live in once was very bleak. We spent a New Year's Eve celebration down there and the paucity of homes and the cold, withering wind sent a chill through us and we thought never never never could we consider this for ourselves. But as the cornfield has been populated and the drive to Lewes and Rehobeth Beach seems less a chore, slower lower has become a viable choice despite the harsh winters and populations that dwindle with the seasons. Plus, sitting in the warm sand at Cape Henlopen and watching the Lewes-Cape May Ferry ply Delaware Bay, serves as a reminder that our old familiar lives are not that distant and if needed, a ready fix of urban culture can be conjured up swiftly.

Your favorite mooch crew again relied on the good graces of Jill and Carl for the Memorial Day  weekend, though we got off on a staggered start because of my work. Janet arrived Friday I while finally made it down Sunday morning. I am always amazed we get an invite from them; I always want to return the favor, but I cannot offer anything close in return. But, their hearts and generosity are as wide as their home is inviting. It is an airy three bedroom home with a large kitchen and a wet bar area where guests can and frequently congregate. With the warmer weather they also have a screened in porch and a new patio that is enchanting. Jill may not be able to spell, but she can certainly decorate and make things beautiful! It goes to show that wherever one decides to hang their hat, it can be a beautiful destination. One may have to carve out and create their beauty, but it is possible.

All work AND some play

I envy all those people with 9 to 5's ... weekends off...holidays off...vacations... all those wonderful things that I don't get working in the television industry. Oh sure, it may be glamorous to those of you watching programming. The TV is on, you're having dinner, or perhaps drinks with friends, and the game or some show is on. Perhaps you're gathered around the TV like it is some altar watching with rapt interest, but never really wondering HOW. 

It just happens. 

It's sort of like people who drive automobiles.... This brilliant machine just goes... put some gas in it every once in awhile. Get someone to change the oil? But, do you really know what goes into the machine?

Well, TV is like a machine...sort of a sausage making grinding machine. It chews up the best of us. 

Some liken the industry to a velvet tunnel. Encased in a cozy, warm control room, life on the outside doesn't really exist and years and relationships can pass without notice. Divorce rates are high among those of us in the television industry for as you're enjoying your weekends and holidays or you're sleeping in, we're working. 

When I think about the time I have spent at my chosen profession and the family events and face time I have missed, I am embarrassed. I missed a lot while encased in the velvet sausage making grinding machine. 

I am being overly melodramatic, life was never that bad, right? But, sadly, I'm still doing the same old thing.

The better and infinitely smarter half of Team VFH is already enjoying her holiday weekend. She's at the Delaware shore with friends while I'm steadfast at work. It is nearly 2:30 a.m. on Sunday. I've been at it since Saturday afternoon. Hopefully I'll be out the door within the hour and then I'll drive the 200 miles to Delaware in order to rendezvous with everyone and salvage at least part of this holiday weekend.

I'm bringing sausage for breakfast...

SPARKLE WEEK!

It is said that one man's garbage is another man's gold. Never is this statement more relevant than in my town of Lambertville, New Jersey. For the next two weeks the sidewalks of this little Delaware River town will brim with treasures that are ripe for the picking. During "Sparkle Week" anything and everything will be tossed by the citizens of this docile place as a chance do some spring cleaning. And, conversely anything and nearly everything tossed will soon be grabbed up by other citizens of the town or its environs to haul the junk off to their homes. In a bizarre ritualistic redistribution of wealth the junk in Lambertville goes round and round at this time of year finding new more appreciative homes. Frightening amounts of junk end up curbside in front of some houses, seemingly impossible amounts that could not possibly have come from some of the small houses in town. Perhaps the homeowners imported their junk? Indeed, during this week I diligently rummage through my house, basement and garage looking for things to toss and my heart swells with pride at my growing pile, but I cast a wary eye at the far larger junk piles that clog the town. I could never achieve such perfection!

Don't worry... I don't steal from other piles just to add to mine... but whenever I espy someone chortling slowly near my house to "filch" something from my nest egg of crap I am torn. On one hand I feel glad someone sees worth in what I've tossed, but then I wonder why I threw it away in the first place. I have to restrain myself from running from the house to retrieve my "collectables".  It is a familiar feeling. My first novel was about collecting to excess. You can read the first chapter of "Hi, How Are You?" online for free at: www.xlibris.com/hihowareyou.html  It's a black comedy science fiction tale. Feel free to purchase a copy and help out a starving artist... Somebody should... 

Anyway, if you do I can buy more crap to put in my house. After all it is fairly empty after this week's Sparkle week cleansing.

Now my fair readers I'll bet you're saying to yourself, ‘why am I writing about this "crap"? What the hell is going on; isn't this a travel blog?’ Well, here's the travel connection. Items not tossed during my Sparkle week frenzy are cherished reminders from my travels across this vast and varied world. Of course there are the usual items, like the rug purchased at a Medina bazaar in Tangiers after much haggling and mint tea. There’s the Australian aboriginal art, the kangaroo skin and didgeridoo. A side note to the didgeridoo, I would “play” it whenever the kids pissed me off, the awful sound (by me) could clear a room quickly. There’s the silk kimono from Kyoto and the colorful Aloha shirts from Hawaii. I have several nice pieces of pottery from Spain, Mexican art and Dala horses from Sweden. I have a fondness for Italian demitasse cups, Greek coffee mugs and Japanese tea pots. From across the United States I have several salt and pepper shakers, some wonderfully tacky and others antiques.

Yes, you can say my house is littered with the detritus of my travels. But wait, there’s more. At least with the next list of collections I didn’t spend a lot of money.

I have an extensive collection of matchbooks from restaurants, hotels and bars from around the world. Glass jars brim with the colorful matchbooks. Some are displayed on racks in little display cases. My most prized matchbook is the one from the Holiday Inn in Sarajevo of the former Yugoslavia, now in Bosnia. It is used and battered but commands a place on my display case.

Another favored travel collectables are beer glasses and mugs filched from bars around the world. Here's a tip on how to successfully steal a glass without getting caught. Go to the bathroom with your glass, as if you're going to answer the call of nature, but then emerge without it.... (the glass is in a jacket pocket… get it.) No one is the wiser, hopefully.

I also collect pins, but these are mostly from my work in the television industry. Olympic pins sit in a display case in my office.

But, by far my most cherished travel possession is the vast array of sand I have collected from around the world. I have sand from every continent except Antarctica… I had some, but it melted. Kept in little labeled bottles in a kiosk in my office is sand from several beaches in Australia, Europe, Asia, Africa and throughout the United States. I have sand from several islands in Hawaii. I scooped up some from the oldest bullfighting ring in Ronda, Andalucía. The Plaza del Toros was erected in 1785 and perhaps either Ernest Hemingway or Orson Welles trod on my very sand as they both spent some time here. I have white soft sand from Palermo, Sicily, black sand from Perissa, Santorini and red sand from Arches National Park in Utah.  I have sand from St. Kilda’s (Melbourne) and Bondi and Manly (Sydney). I have sand from the Big Island’s Kohala coast where I was blessed with witnessing migrating whales breaching. Sand from Oregon, California, Texas, Louisiana, Florida and New Jersey among others are in my collection.

My sand collection also features samples given as gifts by friends who are fortunate to travel somewhere before me. My glowing daughter, Ally, gave me sand from Normandy Beach. Friends from Australia sent me red sand from Ayers Rock, called Uluru by the Aborigines. From the gulf coast of Florida I received a gift of Sanibel Island sand by friends who recently vacationed there. And, the Royals, Adam and Lauren, mailed me sand from their honeymoon in the Canary Islands…. You would think they had better things to do!

Loved and cherished all. It’s as if a bit of the world resides with me.

No, sparkle week will never get my sand.