Day 59 - Gettysburg Pennsylvania to Harrisville West Virginia

It all started today when I wanted to leave camp at the Gettysburg, Pennsylvania KOA and head west. I had a choice when I got to the park entrance: left or right? I couldn't remember just which way I had been going when I turned into the camp the previous afternoon. The right turn demanded an almost immediate left turn a hundred feet later. The left turn was simpler, just a left and go. I chose the left.

Dear reader, the scenery that came with the left turn choice was magnificent. The tiny rural road meandered like a young school boy taking his time coming home to do his homework. Twists and turns, up hill and down, the road was taking its merry old time getting us back to central Gettysburg, which is where I hoped it was taking us.

So much for that idea. As we crested a small hill and started down the other side, the tiny paved road turned into an even tinier unpaved road. Darn! Time to back up into the nearest driveway. Concetta offered the opinion that the neighbor adjacent to the road's end probably got really tired watching lost RVs turning around on their property. Never mind, turn around we did.

Once again in front of the KOA entrace we chose door number two and turned right and then left onto Knox street. Now I was sure I was headed in the right direction, though I wasn't exactly sure what direction that was. I knew I would have to make another turn in order to head toward Gettysburg, as I remembered making the turn the previous day. My plan was to access Hwy 30, the old Lincoln Highway, which I knew runs right through the middle of Gettysburg. Piece of cake.

But when we got to the "T" intersection where I knew I had to turn left for Gettysburg, we encountered a sign. The sign said, basically, left for Gettysburg, but right for Route 30, the Lincoln Highway. Now I was really confused. Should I go left or right? I knew left was basically correct. Had to be. But could the Lincoln Highway be in BOTH directions? Would a right turn make my life easier and take me directly to Route 30 without navigating the narrow streets of Gettysburg? My intuition told me to take the left, but my brain told me to go right. I followed the brain.

We passed a myriad of signs promising that we were headed for Route 30 and finally Route 30 appeared -- along with a choice. Without any indication of east or west, we got two arrows. We could turn right or left, each choice produced the same effect: you'd end up on Route 30. Since the sky had become overcast as we drove this morning, I was not able to consult the sun to see just which direction was correct. My compass was back in the coach. I decided to take a chance and follow my intuition. I turned right figuring that right just had to be west, my desired direction.

Wrong! Not a mile down the road we encountered our first road sign which said, "U.S. Route 30 East." This called for yet another U-turn, but this time we were fortunate to be passing an abandoned gas station at the time. The station had loads of blacktop on which to maneuver and soon we were headed back in the proper direction. At one point we could have taken the Route 30 business turnoff and motored through Gettysburg, but by then the thrill was gone. We kept moving.

Not counting a stop for gas and a stop at Wally World for groceries, we spent most of the morning traveling down Route 30, The Lincoln Highway, occasionally moving off the more modern stretches of America's first transcontinental road to explore earlier, bypassed sections. My plan, formulated last night while Concetta was taking her shower, was to follow the Lincoln Highway west to the town of Bedford, Pennsylvania, then grab Route 220 south into Maryland and West Virginia.

By the time we hit Bedford, Pennsylvania, it was time for lunch. We pulled off the highway and into a sort of fairgrounds with plenty of parking space for the RV. On the very corner of the property we couldn't help but notice a giant coffee pot, painted a sort of gaudy silver and red. "Was that on the Lincoln Highway," Concetta asked.

"Well," I said, "there was a coffee pot restaurant, just like that one, at one time right on Bedford's main street. But it was painted white. This is probably a replica."

Replica or not, I decided to grab the camera and go photograph it while Concetta made our sandwiches. I had only stepped out of the rig when a gentleman approached. "Are you here for the coffeepot or the races," he asked.

"Ah, coffee pot yes, races no," I told him. "We just stopped to have lunch and I thought I'd photograph it. I know that there used to be one just like this on on main street."

"This is it," the man said. "We moved it here to preserve it. We determined after some research that silver was the original color in case you're wondering why it's not white," he continued.

The Lincoln Highway came officially into being in 1913. It stretched from Times Square in New York City, to Lincoln Park in San Francisco. Not much in the way of road building took place in those early years. The Lincoln Highway was more of a set of directions on how to get from one place to another using existing roads, be they good or terrible. But as time went on road sections were built and lots of others were improved until the Lincoln Highway really came to stand for a certain excellence, at least in the east and mid-west, when you traveled the LH route across the country.

Around 1926, Federal Highways began to be numbered and all named highways, including the Lincoln, ceased to exist. In Pennsylvania where we traveled today, the Lincoln has become Highway 30. In other states it has acquired other number designations. It's fun to try and ferret out chunks of the old road as you travel. Usually, the old sections meander through the countryside and squeeze their way through tiny little towns that date back well before paved highways existed.

We turned off Highway 30, the Lincoln, at Bedford and headed south. My plan was to wander down into West Virginia until we encountered Highway 50 west, then move toward the state of Kentucky. All the country through which we traveled today was wonderful and green and we just rolled along enjoying it.

About 4:00 p.m.we started thinking about where to camp. We really hadn't seen much in the way of available camping noted on Route 50, so we really started looking in earnest.

One false alarm occurred when we saw the little blue travel trailer sign that normally alerts you to an upcoming camping opportunity. We took the turnoff, and then wandered up a steep and winding back road for a mile. The only camp we saw looked like it had space for six RVs and every space was filled. With difficulty, we backed the rig into an intersecting (tiny) street, and headed back to Highway 50.

The next blue trailer sign we saw led us up a side road and ultimately to a rather rough and tumble-looking collection of RVs, most of which appeared to have been dropped out of helicopters from ten feet off the ground. Every rig was sort of dilapidated and tired-looking and the site was full of pot holes and rutted roads. I pulled in anyway. It was a tight turn, but we made it and we jiggled and lurched our way along until I saw a couple of characters outside a sort of sad-looking travel trailer. I stopped, got out, and went over.

At first the two men ignored me, so I just stood there quietly until they finished their conversation and turned to look at me. "I didn't see an office," I said. "Can anyone have space here?"

The bigger man who was closest to me and dressed head to foot in camouflage, sort of winced. He was a head taller than me and quite a bit heavier. He had a sort of roundish, puffy-looking face that made him look unhealthy, and he sported a wispy black mustache. "Maybe if you were an oil worker," he said.

"Oh," I said. "So you have to be an oil worker to rent a space here?

Camouflage man hesitated for a moment. "Well, no," he said slowly, "I'm retired and I live here.

I thought he looked way too young to be retired, but at that point he decided to change the subject. "Where ya from, anyway?"

Thinking perhaps he was warming up to me, I told him Nevada and that really perked him up. "You folks settle that argument over them cows?" he asked, a big smile spreading over his face.

I realized right away I probably was talking to the commander of the local Minute Man chapter. "You know," I said, playing it safe, "I'm not sure who might be right in that argument."

Camouflage man nodded. He lifted the bottom of his camouflage sweat shirt and showed me the 9mm handgun he had on his belt. "We'd have no trouble settling it here in West Virginia," he said.

I had no intention of disputing that point. I nodded. "I saw the Special Forces ID on your hat," I said, hoping to play into his Minute Man bravado, even though I was certain that he'd been no closer to the Special Forces in his life than his big screen TV.

"Long time ago," he said, and grinned again. "That was back in the days when my baby brother -- he indicated the other man sitting about five feet away at a rustic picnic table -- was actually a bit lighter than me. Now I expect he's got a pound or two on me." Both men smiled broadly at me, and I figured I was probably safe enough in their company, at least for awhile.

"So," I said. "I saw a sign back on the highway for a state camp. You guys know anything about that?"

"Sure do," camouflage man said. "Pretty darn nice. Ya gotta drive lots a twisty roads to get there, but it's nice."

"How far you come?" Baby Brother asked.

"We've come over 7,000 miles to get here," I said.

"Well, then," Baby brother said with a grin. "I don't reckon you'll mind a few more twists and turns."

"You're right," I said. "I'll go take a look. And thanks for your help."

At that point I beat a hasty retreat to the rig. Then, with a little back and forth maneuvering to get out of the oil workers camp, we were soon back on the highway and headed for the state camp.

The state camp turned out to be wonderful and had lots of open spaces, a very genial camp host named Joann, and just wonderful surroundings so quiet the chirping of birds is our only distraction. Incredibly, the state camp had only opened earlier this morning. We were among the very first RVers of the season to find our way here.

And that's how the day went. Lots of twists and turns and false starts. But in the end, everything came out fine. Tomorrow, well, I honestly don't know where we're going tomorrow, but if it's as interesting as today, it's going to be a blast!