T's Travels

I-scream

Ever start out headed somewhere only to end up somewhere else—and it’s not a bad thing? My sister and I made plans to meet at Way-Har Farms in Bernville for lunch and then go see Roadside America. Then we found out it was a day when Roadside America was closed. My sister was crushed (I’ve seen it, she has not) but that experience will have to wait for another time.

So we changed direction and decided to meet in Adamstown and have lunch at Boehringer’s Drive-In. My sister got there first and found it was all outdoor eating. Not a bad thing, just too hot for the two of us to deal with. And based on the crowded parking lot, I’d say it was not a problem for most folks! Another visit that will have to wait.

So we headed a few buildings away to Dave’s Diner, a place you might miss if you’re not looking for it. We were there after lunch time (and, sadly, after breakfast was no longer being served). It was National Hot Dog Day recently and so I indulged—I can’t tell you the last time I saw a hotdog with the accordion cut to it! Sister had a cheeseburger. In other words, diner food. The diner itself was in as good a shape as I’ve seen in the many diners I’ve visited; that was a real treat (picture is from their FB page).

Dessert? If you’ve read my blog, you know that’s not a question. In the “what a great idea!” category, Pennsylvania has come up with a new tourism game: “Pursue Your Scoops” ice cream trails, one each for western PA, southcentral PA, and eastern PA. Buy some ice cream, get your “passport” stamped, and when you get to five you win a free t-shirt. So we needed to find an ice cream location where my sister could get her stamp—she’s almost got enough for the shirt.

Thank you, internet, we found Fox Meadows Creamery just outside Ephrata. In addition to ice cream, they serve lunch and have a little farm market. Still a hot day and the line for ice cream was long. No complaints—it gave us time to decide what to get (and also to discover that they sell Shuey’s pretzels, so I saved a trip to Lebanon). After considering the S’mores and the Shoofly pie flavors (for real), I settled on a less adventurous combo of “Vine-ripened black raspberry” and “Lemon crunch” (crunch was lemon Oreos). It was lovely. Sister went local with the Wilbur’s chocolate and added mint chocolate chip, which she really liked. (Photo here is from their FB page because I'd left my phone in the car.)

And now not only is she only one stamp away from her shirt but I have one stamp for myself as well! I’m going to have to move fast—it all ends on September 2. Ice cream trail, here I come!

The Old Sled Works, Duncannon, PA

Picture it (which should be easy because it’s what we’ve been living): Days and days of gray and white—clouds and snow, snow and clouds, slush, ice, snow again. Never all that deep but definitely persistent. Cap it off with a nasty polar vortex of cold.  But just when you think it’s never going to end, it does. You are greeted by a glorious sunny Sunday. The mercury rises toward 50, snow melts all over the place, the sun is so bright it makes you squint. Gotta get out and do something!

What a great day to head to the Old Sled Works in Duncannon, PA! Based on the full parking lot, we certainly weren’t the only ones thinking that walking around an antique center perusing stuff from the 20th century (or older) was a good way to spend the day. While we’re seasoned flea market/antique place visitors (hello Renninger’s Extravaganza!), and the Old Sled Works is just across the river from Harrisburg, PA, we had never been there.

Over the years, we’ve read, been told, witnessed that eBay has had a significant impact on the local flea-market market. Too many times we’d go somewhere and it was just tables and tables of stuff that they couldn’t sell on eBay—the good items were out on the Internet. Well, you can’t have a day of walking and chatting and laughing and sharing memories with an eBay vendor. Which makes it so much more significant that the Old Sled Works is the real thing—not just a bunch of leftover junk but stands and stands (we did a lot of walking) full of household goods, furniture, tools, memorabilia. Since it’s February and Super Bowl Sunday we saw both Valentine’s decorations and football souvenirs.

That would have been enough for me. But then things got even better! There’s a soda fountain. It had been closed for a number of years and just reopened in December. Soup, sandwiches, local ice cream. Lots of authentic décor and some really cool gadgets on display. It was a long walk to get there but you’ll work up an appetite, too. The very old TVs on display were playing Three Stooges shorts so we even had entertainment while we ate.

And if that isn’t enough, would you believe small museums? If I coulda rolled in them, I woulda! Instead I just walked through them—the Old Sled Works (yes, it was once a factory), the transportation section, the antique games. I was thrilled to see pinball machines. The real kind, pre-fancy electronic controls. I hit my husband up for a quarter to play one. I didn’t do too well but then it takes a lot of quarters to get to know a machine. I didn’t care (much); it was bliss just to play. (There are also some other machines for playing, including a real Pong. Boop! Boop!)

In one very weird (to me) moment I was transported back to my college days when I came across the Alaskaland player piano. The note says it was taken out of the Colonial Park Alaskaland—I didn’t know there was more than one. My point of reference was always Altoona (ever have an Aleutian volcano? Bet you can’t finish it!).

We covered the entire place but it took a while. I even walked up the very old stairs to the second floor for a bit. I asked to see a bracelet in a case, Husb picked up a book, no big purchases but many things to consider for later. We came out into the bright sun and warmth (the car said it was indeed 50) and headed home. It won’t be long before we’re back there again. The Old Sled Works makes for a great day!

 

Duffy's Tavern, Boalsburg, PA

Show of hands—how many of you Penn Staters from the east have been to Boalsburg? I do not mean driving through on 322, I mean actually going into town. Okay, how many of you have been to Duffy’s Tavern in Boalsburg? No, not the Boalsburg Steak House (now Kelly’s) with the cow on the roof. I mean Duffy’s Tavern just off the square in the sweet little town of Boalsburg. I will admit—until recently this writer is guilty of having never set foot (or car) in Boalsburg proper.

Passing though and meeting a friend for lunch. Didn’t feel like dealing with the traffic and weather of downtown State College. I said I felt like “tavern food,” friend Patty said “Duffy’s in Boalsburg.” (She’s been there but then again she’s local.)

The building has been around since the early 1800s (history here) and was actually owned by a Duffy at one time (extra points for any readers who know the radio show of the same name!). After a devastating fire in the 1930s, the new owners salvaged what they could of the original to use in the rebuild. Today Duffy’s is a classic Pennsylvania tavern, warm and comfortable, yet with a few surprises.

Winter means soup, right? Crab bisque for me and chicken corn chowder (soup of the day) for Patty. Sandwiches: I had a hankering for grilled cheese and Duffy’s answered with quite the combination: white cheddar cheese, very thinly sliced Granny Smith apples, thick bacon, and Dijon aioli on sourdough bread. Delicious as that was, however, Patty’s sandwich was the star of the meal: she had a chivito. What, you’ve never heard of the national sandwich of Uruguay? Shaved beef, cucumber, onion, bell pepper, lettuce, tomato, and chipotle mayonnaise on a ciabatta. We could not quite figure out how the beef was seasoned but it was delicious.

You don’t dine with Patty without going full Monty—meaning dessert. Lemon cream cake? Or how about a little bourbon bundt cake? Oh no, I couldn’t! Well, maybe a little . . .

It should be no surprise that Duffy’s is now on my permanent list of options for dining in the area. I even took a little stroll in Riley on Main, a lovely home décor and gift shop right next door to Duffy’s. Don’t know why I missed Boalsburg all these years but I won’t anymore.

The Millworks, Harrisburg, PA

Who doesn’t love a good brunch? Mixing breakfast foods with lunch foods, a little cocktail, a little coffee—genius! And if you add in a little shopping and a visit to a museum, it’s perfection. No, I was not in Philadelphia or New York or even Baltimore. I was in Harrisburg, yes, the capital city of Pennsylvania, the quiet little place (at least when there are no elections and the Farm Show is over) in the middle of the state.

Miss C wanted to come to the ’Burg to see the Ansel Adams exhibit at the Susquehanna Art Museum (hurry, it ends January 21) and of course we wanted a meal. She is my “I’m going to ___ city, what are the good restaurants?” friend because she always knows the best. But she left this choice up to me. Harrisburg is full of good brunch possibilities and I was having trouble choosing until I talked to another friend, who said, “The Millworks.” She and others had been recommending the Millworks to me for a few years, it was just a couple of blocks from the museum, it was a great suggestion. “Best Bloody Marys,” she also said but that fell on deaf ears (not my thing—give me a mimosa anytime).

Easy to find (actually, almost anything in Harrisburg is easy to find), the Millworks is next to the Broad Street Market (oldest farmers market in the country!). Free parking (yea!). Industrial interior with a lot of recycled materials (read the “About Us” for the full story).  Even with the high ceiling it didn’t seem terribly loud (but this was brunch, I know, not a Friday night after-work crowd—I would assume it’s hopping then). Mimosas, anyone?

The menu made it hard to choose—numerous options out of the ordinary--but in the end I went with the scallops and grits (New Jersey Day Boat scallops, stone ground grits, arugula, poached egg). Miss C had the country fried chicken and sausage gravy biscuit (house made buttermilk biscuits, cream sausage gravy, Green Ridge Acres free-range chicken, bourbon-maple syrup). Next time I’m going for the smoked brisket tacos . . . Servings were generous but not enormous (kudos for that!). And I had apple cobbler for dessert.

Usually my reviews end here, right? Well, not this time! The Millworks is not only a restaurant and brewery, it’s also an artists’ community. Want pottery, jewelry, paintings, silkscreened clothing? They’ve got it all. What is not restaurant in the building is divided up into small studios for artists to work and sell their works. Not every artist was in while we were there but we did get to watch a potter at the wheel and talk to a jewelry designer.

When we had seen everything we could, we moved a few blocks down the street to the Susquehanna Art Museum for the Ansel Adams exhibit. His early works are on display in this former bank building; you can see the beginning of what became his iconic photographic style.

One last stop before we said our goodbyes—down Third Street to the Midtown Scholar, Harrisburg’s large, independent bookstore, where Miss C picked up a copy of Madeleine L'Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time and we both admired Lair of the Lion: A History of Beaver Stadium, written by Lee Stout and Harry H. West  (which I had the pleasure to edit last year but hadn’t yet seen in print).

And all of this in Harrisburg, PA! There are many other businesses in Midtown (e.g., see my Yellow Bird Café review) but you need to explore to find them. You can always get a good sampling by going to Third in the Burg. And  a great way to stay informed is to subscribe to The Burg, a real local newspaper—they will let you know what’s going on . . .

Gracie's on West Main, Leola, PA

It’s a gorgeous late spring/early summer day. You decide to take a drive, maybe through Lancaster County. It’s strawberry season so everywhere you go signs pop up STRAWBERRIES! ONIONS! LETTUCE! You stop, you shop, you drive on. Getting on to lunchtime you start to think about a place to eat (because even though you bought strawberries, you didn’t eat quite all of them . . . yet!). Where do you go? Some national chain on the major highway you’ve been avoiding? Nonsense! If you’re anywhere near Leola, and you don’t go to Gracie’s on West Main, you will have missed an opportunity.

I only found the place because my sister and I were meeting for lunch and wanted it somewhere between us. She is an avid Yelp user and so she said, “Do you know Gracie’s?” I’ve never even been in Leola, so no, I hadn’t heard of it. I arrived late (I had swung through Lebanon to pick up Shuey’s Pretzels for my brother-in-law [see below]) and when I found the restaurant the parking lot was full and I had to park in the back (not a problem). Gracie’s does not have a large roadside presence (e.g., no windmill on the roof). It is part of a conglomeration of businesses under one roof, not quite a strip mall, not quite a business center. What it is, however, is a really great little restaurant.

They serve breakfast, lunch, dinner, brunch, and bacon. Lots of bacon. (The menu says: “We use real butter for our eggs and toast, and rendered bacon fat for our home fries.”) Also an assortment of grilled cheese sandwiches. Yes, other sandwiches, soups, and salads, too. I debated getting the Irish breakfast sandwich (one of my favorite things to see on a menu: Breakfast all day!) but opted for a lunch item instead—the PLT (pulled pork, apple butter BBQ, lettuce, tomato and ranch dressing on toasted sourdough—shouldn’t that be PPLT?), but I skipped the ranch dressing. My drink was not my usual Diet Pepsi but a locally made cola, with real sugar but not overly sweet. Sister went for the Cobb salad and took half home.  

It came time for dessert (well, yes) and I ordered the strawberry-rhubarb Riesling crisp cake and she had the key-lime pie with a macaroon crust. We were very happy diners. I had just ordered another key-lime pie to take home to Husb when the cook showed up with a slice of her angel-food cake with strawberries and whipped cream. She said they had it left over and everyone else had had some so “enjoy!” Oh, we did. I have never had better angel-food cake. I wish I could make it that well!

Gracie’s is the kind of place if you’re not a local you may not know it, if you drive by it you may not notice it, but if you go in and have something to eat you will never forget it. I’m already ready to go back and try something else on the menu!

Note: You probably don’t know Shuey’s Pretzels either. A plain little house on the east side of Lebanon that creates pretzel heaven Wednesdays through Saturdays. Large hard pretzels in two forms: regular and beer (the latter a little thicker). Not so hard it hurts to bite them but just right. Made fresh every day; the shop often smells like heaven. And if you want soft pretzels, they’re available only on Saturdays. I have not yet had the pleasure but one of these days I will.

(Photo from Gracie's Facebook page)

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

Linglestown's 250th anniversary

This is what “local” is all about. Linglestown (outside Harrisburg, PA) is celebrating its 250th anniversary in 2015 and the main event is happening this weekend. I’ve seen volunteers put their hearts and souls into the effort, working for over a year to raise money for the festivities. Some of Thomas Lingle's direct descendants even came to take part in the events.

So far they’ve had a church service, a flower show, a very large parade, a craft fair, Native American performances and Revolutionary War re-enactors, kids’ activities, and a festival. I have heard more than one person say, “This should happen more than once every 250 years!” (Actually, Linglestown used to have an annual event.) Last night there was a beer garden and live music in town (wish that one would continue!). There are more events today—including softball games—and everything caps off tonight with fireworks. Pretty impressive for our little town.

Yesterday I walked down the mountain and into town because Notes with Nature in Mind (aka Mary the Photographer and her business partner Linda) had a booth at the craft fair at Koons Park. I couldn't believe how many people were still in town hours after the parade. The restaurants in town--St. Thomas Roasters, the Eagle Hotel, St. Thomas Restaurant, Packer's Pizza, and (the newest addition) Mellow-Minded Cafe--were packed with visitors. As I reached the park, there were more crowds at the kids' events and the craft fair.

The main street of Linglestown (Route 39), post parade . . .

Kids participating in the Native American dances at Koons Park:

While I was walking, I had time to reminisce. Although I was a child (no, really, I was) I very clearly remember when Pottstown had its sesquicentennial (that’s 150 years) in 1965. That, too, had a parade and a fair, some re-enactors. They also had a beard-growing contest among the men. I found some pictures of that week on Pottstown Parks and Rec’s Facebook page; here are a few examples.  

Linglestown is a lot smaller than Pottstown, and it's 50 years later, but events like this remind us that people still care deeply about the place they live. Congratulations, Linglestown 250!