T's Travels

Hotels of the Past, #39

The Hotel Belvedere in Apollo, PA, burned down a couple of nights ago. I have driven past it many times without giving it a thought beyond "boy, that building is huge!" It was a commanding presence even though it's been vacant a long time. I'll let the Dark Matters & Mysteries blog fill you in a little more.

Cambridge Springs, PA

Before people had hot tubs in their backyards . . . before beauty salons advertised “day spa” facilities . . . even before many people had indoor plumbing . . . the only way to sit and soak in hot water was to go to a hot spring. So that’s what people did.

As Europeans settled across what became the United States, they began utilizing the hot springs used by Native Americans. Doctors sent their patients to bathe in the hot springs and drink the mineral water known to cure everything from psoriasis to dyspepsia. Hot springs were curative.  Hydrotherapy—still used today for stiff muscles—was very popular.

By the second half of the 1800s, however, the springs became recreational as well as medicinal as resorts sprung up. While many Pennsylvanians have heard of Bedford Springs, probably few are familiar with Cambridge Springs, a small town on Route 6 between Erie and Meadville in the northwest corner of the state. At its peak Cambridge Springs had “more than 40 hotels, spring houses, and rooming houses” serving the masses coming to bathe and recreate. At the height of the fad “eight trains a day” brought visitors to the town.

As Mary the Photographer and I drove across the metal bridge over French Creek and into town it was hard to imagine that this little town was once so bustling. Our destination was the Riverside Inn, the last operating vestige of Cambridge Springs’ resort heyday. Most of the old hotels are gone, victims of fire or the Great Depression. The Riverside continues on as a hotel, restaurant, and dinner theater.

We found the Riverside just off the main drag. This great Victorian lady sits among trees near the creek, its wraparound porch stretching leisurely on either side of the front entrance. It was easy to picture women in big hats, sitting in rockers on that porch, fanning themselves on a hot summer day. Mary and I walked inside to the large lobby, past the sweet Victorian touches such as a fainting couch and love seat, looking for the restaurant for lunch.

Once we were seated by the lace-covered window I looked around the room we were in—the dining room is very large, just like one would expect in a resort. We were having a late lunch so there weren’t many people there. I could just imagine the waiters running back and forth between the kitchen and the guests, trying to serve the hot, hungry crowds. Our server, however, had the freedom to relax with us and we had a nice conversation about the history of the Riverside.

With its warm décor it was harder for me to imagine this building as any sort of a medical facility but they had doctors on staff and did offer what they called “electrical treatments” in addition to the springs. Obviously trying to quell anyone’s concerns about the medical side (or maybe just to reel more guests in), a doctor employed at the resort assured potential guests that “there is nothing at all at the Riverside to remind one of the unpleasant features of a sanitarium." With that I would agree.

After lunch we had a good opportunity to look around the inn. Down the hallway from the dining room was a large glass case with Victorian costumes. On the level beneath us was the dinner theater, where a bus group was watching a comedy—we could hear them laughing, which I understand, is the best medicine. The dinner theater operates all year, with a wide range of plays and holiday events bringing visitors to town.

We drove out of town looking for other signs of the Cambridge Springs of 1900. Our server had said that a few other structures had been hotels but they don’t stand out among the buildings. The town was also home to Alliance College, which welcomed President William Howard Taft at its dedication in 1912 and closed in the 1980s. In 1904 Cambridge Springs hosted a chess tournament at the Rider Hotel (lost to a fire in 1931), which led to a chess move being named for the town.

Today Cambridge Springs is a quiet little place where presidents and chess players are just memories. But the Riverside Inn can still remind visitors of the glory days.

Photo by Mary Brenner

Colorado, Day 3: A lost railroad found

We checked out of the hotel and headed west on 285. Our goal was Gunnison by nightfall but otherwise we had no plans beyond following the dotted (scenic) line on the map. Route 149 ran right through Creede and so did we—it just felt too early to stop. Passed through some great views (I’ll let the photos speak for themselves):

At Mount Baldy Cinco we stopped to look a little while.

At the bottom of the mountain was Lake City, clearly a very popular summer vacation spot and the headwaters of the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River. It looks like a place I’d enjoy staying for a few days . . .

It was getting near lunchtime and so we started to look for a good picnic spot. Shade was essential, seating by the water would be a bonus. Just as we rounded one curve on 149 I saw a little sign that said “Campground,” so we turned in. Drove down a gravel road, past a number of tents next to the Lake Fork. Further on, at a stop sign was another sign, pretty much warning us not to go any further if we had trailers, were nervous about landslides, or basically didn’t know how to drive. To my husband “Not safe to drive here” means “Welcome!” So of course we kept driving.

But it didn’t seem treacherous. There were plenty of pullover places if a car was coming in the other direction. The Lake Fork was on our left and the mountain on our right kept getting steeper and rockier. Some of the rocks seemed to have been cut, which we thought was odd. Finally we found a group of trees on the riverbank, some large rocks perfect for picnicking. Watched the water flow, wondered if people whitewater around there. Even though there were people here and there along the way, I felt we were really in our own little world. That’s one of the nice things about picnicking.

After lunch we continued driving because Husb. The canyon (it was now a canyon) became narrower and we noticed historical markers on the mountainside (I told you Colorado is good about labeling things). Turns out the road we were driving on was formerly the railroad bed for the Lake Fork Spur of the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad between Sapinero and Lake City. A number of markers tell the story of the railroad. We walked a small trail that led us past the rocky foundations of housing used by railroad management during the building of the railroad; they didn’t look like all that much but they beat where the workers slept—they often huddled under trees at night, not having structures in which to sleep, even through the winter. The existence of the railroad explains why some of the rocks looked hand-cut; they were!

Eventually the driving stops in a parking lot. We walked beyond that just to see how far the trail goes. The water slowed down and then nearly stopped, full of tree debris. We couldn’t see much farther but the last 20 miles of the 35-mile railroad bed are now underwater. When I came home and looked it up, I found out this is called the “Lake Fork Spur Scenic Drive.” It’s the scenic drive equivalent of a small museum—you may think it’s not much from the outside but once you do it, you will be so glad you did.

If you do this drive, and you come back out to the stop sign, and you see a sign that says “Route 50 15 miles” if you turn right, and you think, “Oh, I want Route 50, I’ll take this,” think about this first. It’s 15 miles on top of the mesa. That may be what you want, but then again . . . it goes on and on. At the end we found ourselves on the west side of the Curecanti National Recreation Area, with Gunnison (still our destination) to the east. A little highway driving, witnessing a dump truck lay a lot of rubber to avoid hitting a line of cars stopped for construction (the car at the end of the line actually moved because the driver thought he might get hit, which was a smart move—the same truck had passed us doing at least 80 mph), and coming into Gunnison.

As we drove down the main street of Gunnison we saw a sign on a roadside stand: HATCH CHILES. Yes indeed it was chile season. People in Colorado (at least the section we were in) set up stands and roast chiles by the side of the road. Husb had brought me a large bag a few years before from a trip west (yes, I know, some wives get nice jewelry when their husbands travel, but I couldn’t have been happier to get the chiles). We were hoping to score again on this trip. In Alamosa we saw a TAKING ORDERS FOR POBLANOS sign but we weren’t going to be in town when they roasted. So we stopped at the sign in Gunnison and told the woman we’d be back the next afternoon for a half-bushel of roasted hatch chiles.

Then we went in search of a hotel room. Trip Advisor #1 was the Inn at Tomichi Village, an independent establishment just outside town. Clean, quiet, reasonably priced. Done. And we had no regrets. Dinner at the High Alpine Brewing Company—very creative pizzas and nice brews. We wandered around town a little, looking at the artsy little shops and restaurants. Gunnison is a nice place to find yourself (not as in “find yourself,” but as in “hey, I’m in Gunnison, Colorado! Nice little town!”).

We slept that night dreaming of chiles and mountains. One more day to go . . .

Next . . . once again off the track . . .

Colorado, Day 2: Walkin' in the sand . . .

The next morning—the big one! I strapped on my hiking boots and we arrived at the dunes at 9:30 ready to go. To get to the dunes everyone must cross Medano (pronounced MED-a-no) Creek. During June and July the creek runs at full capacity and people play in the water and the sand just like they’re at Wildwood, New Jersey! But in late August the creek runs at little more than a trickle so we could cross it without getting more than the bottom of our boots wet.

First dune, easy—up and down. Second dune, not so easy—up and where can I go that’s not down? Third dune, how to cross it—stick to the ridge? Walk on the slope? Whoa, is that too steep? Hiking the dunes takes thought and consideration in where to step and what direction to go. We were lucky in that it had rained the night before and so more sand was firm than the day before. We also had no wind so there was no blowing sand.

I probably made it halfway before I said, “Good enough! Yay me!” Husb went all the way, as I knew he would. Until he was nearly at the top we could still hear each other and once he got to the top I could still tell it was him and could see him wave at me.

Coming down the dunes is much more fun (a little dip, a little slide) and faster. In no time at all I was back in the parking lot to retrieve my sneakers (still drying out from Zapata Falls) from the roof of our car. As I waited for Husb I watched families head toward the dunes, carrying little sleds (they say you can sled down the dunes but I never saw that in action). Hiking boots was a good choice in footwear for climbing; I can’t imagine trying it in sandals.

After such a triumph we decided to go to the Sand Pit picnic area to have our lunch. Looked like an easy hike, 1.5-mile total. But the trail was full sun and soft sand. I felt like I was at the beach except there would be no ocean at the end to reward me for the effort. When we reached the picnic area we saw it was also in full sun. Eventually we found shade under a tree and had our lunch, then took the road back to our car, passing the (unmapped) very pretty Ponderosa Pine picnic area looking so cool under the trees.

By the time we reached the car we could see storm clouds in the distance, so a scenic drive sounded good. The Los Caminos Antiguos Scenic Byway runs in a square from Alamosa east to Fort Garland, south to San Luis, and west to Romeo, where you can go north (back to Alamosa to complete the square) or south to Antonito. Mount Blanca, one of Colorado’s 53 fourteeners (I learned what that means on this trip) rises in the northeast corner of that square, a solid, anchoring landmark.

We watched the vegetation change subtly as we drove, shades of green and gray and brown. At San Luis there is a Stations of the Cross monument, with a walkway up the hill and a crucifix on top. As the rain came, we approached Manassa and one of my trip’s highlights—the birthplace of boxer Jack Dempsey, considered one of the greatest heavyweight fighters ever to step in the ring. I was so excited that when Husb stopped the car I ran across the road in the rain and never took a picture of the actual building (the one here is from someone else).

Inside, the walls are covered in Dempsey memorabilia. In the midst of it all I met Michelle Richardson, who has been tending the Dempsey homestead for 18 years and was very happy to tell me the story of the Dempsey family’s struggles and how Jack became the breadwinner through his success in the ring. My regular readers know no trip to anywhere is complete without a visit to a small museum. Jack Dempsey’s Birthplace was just what I needed!

Our final stop of the day was back in Alamosa at the visitors’ center. We weren’t sure whether to stay longer in the area or move on. The man I spoke with was quite helpful and recommended a drive to the west, up to the town of Creede and beyond. We had heard that from a friend as well, so that’s what we decided to do. Back at the hotel we told the woman at the front desk that we’d be checking out in the morning. This is the difference between booking with an independent and a chain hotel; we could change our reservation with little notice. I still completely support staying at independent places (which, as you will see, we did for the rest of the trip) but for this part, the chain hotel was perfect.

The end to this perfect day: dinner at Calvillos, which according to more than one person we spoke to is the best Mexican restaurant in Alamosa (and there are a lot of Mexican restaurants in Alamosa!). Tamales for me, combo for Husb, green chile sauce all around, it was as good as any Mexican restaurant we have ever been to.

Next . . . a lost railroad . . .

Colorado, Day 1: Somewhat Rocky, somewhat high (but not "high")

Some people plan their vacations down to the minute—they create an itinerary, make reservations for every night, choose their restaurants in advance—and then don’t deviate from that plan. Other people are more freewheeling, maybe knowing their route in advance but not knowing where they’ll spend a night or even if they’ll stay on the road they thought they might take. Neither group is wrong in their approach.

I, my dear fellow travelers, fall somewhere in the middle. I will choose a destination, know (pretty much) how I am going to get there and what I might like to do, and definitely have a pretty good idea of where I’m spending the night. Activities are separated into “want to,” “have to,” and “if there’s time . . .” I just finished a vacation based on “have to (but want to),” a family wedding in Colorado. Because it was the end of the summer, I could convince Husb to take the entire week and we could vacay a little before the big event.

For our trip Husb had decided (his “want to”) we should go see the Great Sand Dunes in southeastern Colorado. I had never even heard of the place but what the heck. I made reservations for us in Alamosa, at a chain hotel (this will be important later). We started out in our rental car (a little “yow!” for the price of a 4WD car in Denver) heading south down 285 toward the vast San Luis Valley (which is about the size of Connecticut!).

Scanning the radio dial (because of course we listen to local radio when we travel) we found 97.5 “Hippie Radio.” And then we found the hippies. Colorado is very helpful in showing what is along the road, or off the road, with signs and arrows. We saw a sign for Crestone Brewing Company and so we turned left. Went past a marijuana place (my first!) and kept driving toward the mountain in front of us. It seemed like forever (especially when the police car, lights flashing, came up behind us, but then he passed us by). Finally we came to a tiny hamlet named Crestone. Brightly colored buildings, a few shops, a motel. A vibe that made me turn to Joe and say, “So this is where all the hippies went.” Turns out I was kinda right. For the uninitiated, Crestone is considered “the Shambala of the Rockies.”

Never did find that brewery but Alamosa was not much farther down the road. We checked into our hotel and went in search of dinner. San Luis Valley Brewing Company sounded good. Typical bar menu, typical local beers EXCEPT for Valle Caliente—a beer with a chile kick. I had to try it and loved it: a lighter beer with a warmth to it, went very nicely with my Portobello wrap. We chatted with our server (also bar manager), Evan Roberts, a bit and somehow got around to “where are you from?” Turns out he grew up about 30 minutes from where we live. Alamosa, Colorado, is a long way from central Pennsylvania.

After dinner we wandered through the downtown—despite the Walmart on the edge of town, there is a JC Penney’s on the main street, as well as a number of local businesses. Train tracks run right through town; we saw some very cool old train cars from the San Luis and Rio Grande Railroad.

The next day, unfortunately, I had to get some work done before we could go out on the dunes, so we didn’t get there until nearly noon. FYI to people who want to experience climbing the Great Sand Dunes, it is best not to start out just as the sun is getting hotter. While the sand is cool morning and evening, daytime can be blistering (150 degrees, they say).

So we did the visitor center, complete with video, and then decided to go to Zapata Falls, a much cooler experience. Three miles of rough road and a quarter-mile hike uphill. (If that sounds awful, go no further.) But it wasn’t awful and we were shortly looking at the creek. Falls, you say? They actually inhabit the cave upstream. To see the falls, you have to get your feet wet! I said brrr, no thank you. Husb walked as far as he could without getting wet and then, figuring he was so close, went all in. I watched him disappear into the cave. A few minutes later he came out and motioned me up. He said, “It’s worth it. Come on.” So I did. Yes, worth it!

Afterwards, in dry shoes, we stopped at the Oasis (little restaurant outside the park), where I had a chile burger. (I didn’t mention—it’s chile season in Colorado!)

After that we took another trail, nicely shaded and all uphill so Husb went on out ahead of me. I had some trouble adjusting to the altitude and just couldn’t keep up. We hydrated conscientiously the entire trip but there were times when I just couldn’t catch my breath. So we hiked up Mosca Pass separately, which gave me some nice time to rest and watch nature around me. No snakes, no wildlife beyond a squirrel or two, but what concerned me was the dark gray clouds sneaking into my sky.

By the time I heard the first crack of thunder, Husb was back by my side and we headed down the trail. Storms in that area, they say, can come up quickly. They can also be misleading in direction and intensity. We got a little rained on before we reached the car but nothing serious. The entire week was like that—storms came and went, some wetter than others, but nothing to ruin our plans.

Next . . . the Great Sand Dunes . . .

Judy's on Cherry (and the Pagoda), Reading, PA

Unusually warm November weather brings the temptation to play hookey from work (winter is out there somewhere!) and get out on the road. Mary the Photographer, of course, is retired so for her it’s just taking advantage of a gorgeous late fall day. So that’s what we did.

I took the shunpiker's route from Harrisburg to Reading—weaving up and down country roads, sometimes on Old US 22, sometimes not. Once we were on 422 I started reminiscing about taking that road to Hershey as a kid. I pointed out where my father was so pleased to buy us all 15-cent hamburgers, how we never got to eat at the Ranch House Restaurant (still there!), and all those other landmarks of my memory.

In Wernersville I noticed an old building with a mansard roof, many windows, fancy entrance; it was obvious it had been a hotel in the late 1800s. Then we saw another one, and another one. I didn’t know of any business in Wernersville that would have required that many hotels, so once I got home I looked it up. At the turn of the century (late 1800s-early 1900s) Wernersville had been a resort town, like Cambridge Springs and Jim Thorpe! (Far more recently it had also been home to the Gosselin family, but until the day there’s one titled “Terry the Writer and Mary the Photographer,” this blog doesn’t cover reality shows.) Today the Heidelberg Heritage Society is headquartered in Lerch Tavern, on the main street of Wernersville. Looks like I’m going to have to make a trip back there one of these days . . .

But I digress. This was supposed to be a non-work day. Mary and I were headed to Reading. Plans included lunch and a visit to the Pagoda because Mary (gasp!) had never been there. With a little research I found a restaurant in center-city Reading that sounded perfect. As we drove through West Reading, though, I thought about ditching it in favor of one of the many little restaurants that lined Penn Avenue, where people were sitting outside enjoying the day and their meals, but I didn’t. I had selected this place on Trip Advisor reviews and what I was in the mood to eat. Judy's on Cherry was it.

We found the restaurant pretty easily, with parking right out front. The building had been a farmers’ market; the brick exterior and wooden floors remain, as well as the high wooden ceilings. The atmosphere is inviting and warm (maybe it’s that hearth-fired oven); I like that it doesn’t look like anywhere else I’ve ever eaten. The menu has some unique qualities as well: butternut squash soup with crab and curry, “Cowboy Ciao” (smoked salmon, arugula, bruschetta tomatoes, couscous, roasted corn, nuts, dried fruit, pesto buttermilk dressing), and “Mediterranean Mezze Tasting Plate” (chickpea, garlic ground almond and yogurt, and fig black olive tapenade, roasted red pepper, feta and thyme relish, crispy flatbread).

Speaking of that flatbread, our server brought us some just after taking our order. It was warm and delicious. I resisted eating more than one slice, though, because I had already ordered the butternut squash soup and mini crab salad sandwich combo. Mary chose the Enraged Penne Pasta (spicy plum tomato sauce with fresh basil and parmesan cheese), which went very well with the flatbread. The food was delightful—my soup smooth but not too creamy, the crab sandwich a perfect size for a side, plus a little salad of greens with a very light dressing. I could have stopped there and been quite happy.

But on the other side of the wine list was the dessert menu. I had to look. And there, right in the middle of the list, was “Mrs. Wesner’s Coconut Layer Cake.” What could I do? A really good coconut cake is very hard to come by. So often they are bright-yellow, tough, oily concoctions with inches of fluffy sugar troweled on and a smattering of coconut on top just so they can call it “coconut cake.” Based on my lunch, though, I thought maybe, just maybe, this one would be different.

I’m so glad I did. It was the best coconut layer cake I have ever eaten. It tasted like I had made it (and wouldn’t I like that recipe so I could). The cake itself was laced with coconut, the frosting was delicate (not too thick or too sweet), it was perfection. I thought about taking some home, but it wouldn’t have done me any good—that too would go away (be eaten, possibly by my husband) and then I would still have to drive back to Reading for more. So it will live in my memory (and some day I will be back in Reading . . .).

As we left the restaurant, I told Mary to look up the street. There, looking down on us, was our destination, the Pagoda. A short ride later, we were on Duryea Drive, headed up. Warm fall day, enough leaves still on the trees to make it pretty. On the way up I told her about Charles Duryea testing his cars on that very road by having his daughter do the test-drive (see my first book). We rounded one final curve, and Mary finally got to see the Pagoda that I’ve raved about for so long. It was closed (it’s open weekends so you can buy souvenirs and climb to the top) but there were many people outside enjoying the weather and the view of Reading. I never get tired of it. After that we drove the rest of the way up the mountain to the Fire Tower and where the hotel was (see my next book [almost done, I swear!] for that history) before heading down again toward home.

What a great way to spend a day off—driving the countryside with a friend, eating at a really nice restaurant, and catching waves of both history and memories. I will be back at work tomorrow but the mellow from today will stay with me. Everyone needs to play hookey once in a while.

Photos of soup and Pagoda by Mary Brenner

Hotels of the Past (#38)

And we're back to Harrisburg for this one. According to my research this massive hotel sat on the northeast corner of Second and Strawberry streets--yes, right where the Harrisburg Hilton is today.

I found this hotel through an unusual route. In working on my family genealogy I did some research on the Robert Lamberton family, a very prominent Pennsylvania family in the second half of the 1800s. A Dickinson graduate and local attorney, Robert Lamberton was named president of Lehigh University in 1880. (History people, stay with me. The rest of you are free to look at the pictures and then move on.)

Robert's wife was Annie Buehler, one of six children of William Buehler, who at one point ran his family's very respectable Buehler's Hotel in Harrisburg. This is the hotel Charles Dickens stayed when passing through Harrisburg during his first visit to the United States in 1842 (to read about where he stayed in York, see Hotels of the Past #31).

Text from the historical marker in Harrisburg (I'll have to go take a picture of it one of these days):

On the site directly across the street stood the Eagle Hotel, a three-story brick structure opened by George Buehler in January of 1812. It was here that Charles Dickens stayed when touring America in 1842 during which time he authored American Notes and in which he praised the hotel's proprietor. The Eagle Hotel was enlarged under the new ownership of the Bolton family in the early 1860s when it was renamed the Bolton Hotel. At that time, a series of neighboring townhouses that had earlier been joined together to form the Eagle were capped with a fourth and fifth floor and adorned in Second Empire architectural styling. Both the Eagle and the Bolton represented popular destinations for noted individuals and politicians of the 19th century. The building was demolished in 1990 to accommodate the development of the adjacent Hilton Harrisburg.

By 1915, when the postcard was sent, the hotel was advertising itself as "the Commercial man's best friend" and "the only Family Hotel in the city" (guess that makes it the Hampton Inn of its day).

An article that appeared in the Harrisburg Telegraph on January 6, 1928, describes some of the history of the Buehler Hotel/Bolton House:

 

Why was I following this trail even though I'm not at all related to Annie Buehler Lamberton? My great-great-grandmother, Mary Spain, an Irish immigrant and widow who lost all three of her children when they were young adults, was the cook in the Lamberton home for 40 years. I can only imagine the relationship those two women--Annie and Mary--had, but I would love to know more.

Hotels of the Past (#36)

Harrisburg, our dear state capital, has always seemed to have a dearth of downtown hotels for some reason. There was a time, however, when hotels dotted the streets and innkeepers had to compete for business from those wanting to stay in the city.

I found this postcard for the Columbus Hotel in Harrisburg on Cardcow--not exactly enticing to this 21st-century observer (in fact, that innkeeper's face is a little creepy) but maybe at the time it made them stand out. Once I saw the back I was amazed the postcard made it to its destination (I needed Google to figure it out):

So what happened to the Columbus Hotel? Like so many similar buildings at the time, it fell victim to a fire in the early 1900s (although I doubt most fires were started by an explosion in a neighboring hat store).

The Shoe House, York, PA

I can’t believe this but when I changed blogs I lost my original piece about the Shoe House in York, PA. Well, this will give me another chance to tell you how wonderful it is! I wanted to include it in my first book on small museums, but in its past incarnations the Shoe House never really qualified as such—it was more roadside America post-World War II architecture tourist attraction. Now, finally, it is what I have always believed it was meant to be.

Mary the Photographer and I haven’t been on the road much lately (not nearly enough!) so there hasn’t been much to write about. Today, though, we decided it was time to open the sunroof and head somewhere. When I found out that she—proud native of West York, PA—had never toured the Shoe House, I couldn’t believe it. I had to right that wrong. When I lived on the east side of York, I took every house guest I could to see it. If it wasn’t open, I just pulled the car up so they could look at it.

The Shoe House was built in 1948 by the Shoe Wizard, Mahlon Haines. Quite the entrepreneur, he owned a shoe company and used every opportunity to promote his business—cosmetic mirrors, fans, pencils—but his most ingenious idea was to build a shoe for people to stay in. Hence the Shoe House, a three-bedroom, two-bath architectural wonder, a honeymoon haven for lucky couples chosen by Haines.

Cosmetic mirrors (from author's collection)

I often toured the house in the 1990s and 2000s, as friends came to town and I said, “You have to see the Shoe House!” Tour guides and the accompanying stories changed as the house changed hands. At one point Haines’s own granddaughter owned it. Some of my favorite tours were done by Ruth Miller, who was passionate about York County history and feared that if she didn’t rescue it someone else would buy it and move it out of town.

Today the Shoe House is owned by Melanie and Jeff Schmuck. In addition to Beck’s ice cream, Melanie has added other goodies, all for sale in the heel, a cheerful spot with tables and photos of the Shoe through history. The tour starts in the wonderfully decorated living room and ends in the kitchen; I won’t give it all away, but visitors should take the time to look at the photographs on the walls, the artifacts on display (what makes it a "museum"). One shadow box contains a metal box, a pencil, and some cosmetic mirrors gifted to the Shoe House from a 90-some-year-old neighbor who said she watched the Shoe House being built! Photos include pictures of some of the first honeymooners in the Shoe.

The latest incarnation of the Shoe House is both popular and loved; when Mary and I visited, we were with a woman who was pleased to have recently found one of the Shoe Wizard’s metal boxes at a flea market. We had to wait for a tour to finish and there was another group right after us—on a weekday! It was a gorgeous day and we spent time talking with Melanie and walking around outside to take pictures. After our tour, we treated ourselves to a wonderful lunch at the Blue Heron, just down the road. (El Serrano is right nearby as well!) If you haven’t filled up on goodies, either one is an excellent choice. But you have to see the Shoe House!

Photo of kitchen by Mary Brenner

Allegheny Street Bed and Breakfast, Hollidaysburg, PA

Life can bring a lot of changes, both good and bad. Through it all we just keep on truckin’, looking for those moments that bring sun and light into our lives. (Philosophical start for a travel article, no? Well, I’ve been traveling a lot for business lately and the drive gives me time to think.)

On to something very pleasant. I had to go to Penn State Altoona for work and dear Husband joined me because he was invited to give an Earth Day talk to the students. As has happened a lot lately, it seems, the major chain hotels in town were full. I considered the Grand Hotel (so long ago it was a Sheraton, and then a Ramada—presently under renovations) but I also knew of the Iron Corbel Bed and Breakfast in nearby Hollidaysburg, and since I’m doing this book it was the right choice. I had never stayed at the Iron Corbel so, I thought, this would be my chance. As sometimes happens with these businesses, though, it has changed owners and name. I booked two nights at what is now the Allegheny Street Bed and Breakfast.

When I was a child and we visited my grandparents in Altoona, the name “Hollidaysburg” sounded like a fun place to me but it was never a destination, just somewhere to pass through on the way to the Meadows in Duncansville for frozen custard. For this article, of course I read up on the history. According to the National Register of Historic Places, “Hollidaysburg evolved from a tavern stop along the Huntingdon, Cambria, Indiana Turnpike. Completion of the Main Line of the PA Canal in 1832 and the Allegheny Portage Railroad two years later set off a burst of development that lasted through the early 20th century.” By 1892 the town was well enough developed to get this comment in a Blair County history: “Hollidaysburg is a pretty and healthful town, with well shaded streets, and would make a very desirable summer resort.” Over 100 years later it’s still very pretty and a nice place to walk around to look at old homes.

And that’s where the Allegheny Street Bed and Breakfast comes in. Innkeepers Richard and Jyoti (he’s from Pennsylvania, she’s from India) welcomed us into their home, a large yellow Second Empire–style house built in the mid-1850s and at one point owned by the prominent McLanahan family. We stayed in a front room on the second floor (see the Dorothy Day room on the website), spacious, quiet, and comfortable. (I peeked into the other rooms—also very large!) I can see why businesspeople often stay there—it would be a good place to get some work done or unwind. The large public rooms on the first floor would be perfect for family reunions or other group gatherings.

Reviewers have raved about the breakfasts and with good reason. We came downstairs to a beautifully set table and at each place a bowl of fresh fruit--blackberries, strawberries, blueberries on a nest of honeydew—quite welcome considering how spring just refuses to arrive. French-pressed coffee for me on the side. This was followed by bowls of heavenly steel-cut oatmeal. You might not think of oatmeal as ever being “heavenly” but this was made with milk and just a little brown sugar, cooked long and slow (we know this from talking to Jyoti), and it was truly the best I’ve ever had (in fact, I had it the next morning as well!). On the side was a small platter of meats and cheeses. Cold cereals and yogurts were also available. After our oatmeal, Richard was ready to make us eggs but we were already quite happily full.

My second morning I had a long talk with Jyoti about—among other things—the history of the house, Hong Kong (where they had lived for many years), and the beautiful little town of Hollidaysburg where they have now settled. As I was leaving, she packed a container of fresh fruit for my trip home (loved it!). Jyoti and Richard are the perfect sort of innkeepers; they give just the right amount of attention for a guest. And they make sure you never leave hungry!

Above: Photo of dining room after my breakfast