Monday night it rained again. That was a surprise as the sky looked harmless when we went to bed at the KOA in Honesdale, Pennsylvania. Concetta had even done some of the dirty clothes, sure that only the laundry would be getting wet.
But Tuesday morning I awoke suddenly to the light drumming of pitter-pattered rain drops. Then, as I lay there listening, the pitter-patter turned into a loud pelting on the aluminum skin of the RV. I don’t think it lasted long as I soon drifted off to sleep and didn’t wake up until 6:30 a.m.
At breakfast we listened to the weather folks describe how the entire state of Pennsylvania would be getting wet throughout the day. Though the sun was shining as we left camp, we didn’t have high hopes for a good day of driving.
Things almost immediately went wrong, though it wasn’t the fault of the rain. It was the fault of my stubborn refusal to use the GPS to direct us to nearby Route 6 on which we intended to drive from one side of Pennsylvania to the other. I had initially programmed in my requested route, but when Jezebel didn’t display the route I thought was correct, I turned her off. At that point I decided to use the map provided by the KOA, which turned out to be very misleading.
The upshot was I started driving in the opposite direction that I needed to go which, we caught onto after traveling six or eight miles north and east when we should have gone south and west, or something like that. Next came a precarious reversal of direction that involved blocking both lanes of traffic on a hilltop, and backing the rig down a narrow lane. I held my breath hoping that any oncoming traffic in either direction would not surprise us in such a vulnerable position. Thankfully no cars appeared.
Once traveling in the right direction, it was a piece of cake to find our intended highway for the day, Pennsylvania Route 6. Once found, we thought we were “home free” as Pennsylvania seemed to be providing sufficient signage for us to follow, and the road was lightly traveled. This is where I should have relented and plugged in Jezebel.
We traveled Route 6 all morning with only the occasional difficulty of one-way traffic due to bridge construction. About 10:30 a.m. we neared the city of Scranton, Pennsylvania. I knew we had to be extra vigilant as a number of roads converged on Scranton, several of which were Interstates.
But everything seemed to go smoothly, and we sailed right on through north Scranton, following Route 6 signs, and before long Scranton was behind us. At the time we were enjoying the biography of U. S Grant on the truck CD player and were busily discussing the various aspects of what we were learning. No doubt we should have been paying more attention.
The road was just wonderful, a divided highway, and all seemed to be going fine. Then, at just about 11:30 a.m., we passed a sign that proclaimed “Welcome to New York.” I had missed it, but Concetta told me about it.
”That’s funny,” I told Concetta. “I don’t think that Route 6 wanders anywhere near New York.”
At the time we were just approaching a roadside rest and Concetta suggested that we pull off, stretch our legs, and try and determine if we needed to worry about anything. I thought that sounded like a capital idea, and we pulled off and parked next to a fleet of 18-wheelers.
Before checking the map we decided to get out and stretch our legs, and maybe go and check the visitor center for information. The weird thing was, as we walked around the grounds we both got the distinct feeling that we’d been there before, perhaps even recently. Then, when we got up to the visitor center patio, we recognized the landscaping and several memorial markers to fallen highway department workers.
It was then we realized that we had stopped at this very roadside rest on our way from New Jersey to Upstate New York and Cooperstown. “We can’t be in the right place,” Concetta said.
”I think you’re right,” I told her. “Let’s go back to the rig and check our maps. Something has to be very wrong.”
Once back at our “map table,” we discovered that somehow, some way we had been shunted off Route 6 going west, and had ended up on Interstate 81 going north without either of us noticing. Though Route 6 ran very close to the Pennsylvania/New York border, it never crosses out of Pennsylvania. We had driven at least 50 miles in the wrong direction!!!!
Well, there was nothing for it but to turn around and head back south. I did come up with a plan to partially salvage the disaster. I found Route 706, a diagonal road that ran from Interstate 81, just south of the New York border, and intercepted Route 6 about fifty or sixty miles west of Scranton. That would save us at least an hour over going all the way back to Scranton to catch Route 6.
From there on it looked like smooth sailing. As an added bonus, just as we were intercepting Route 6 after a beautiful drive along Route 706, we encountered a historical site that looked interesting. It was perched on a ridgetop overlook with a gorgeous valley full of tiny farms far below us. The historical marker said that the valley had been settled by French Royalists fleeing the revolution in 1793. The Frenchmen hoped to be able to rescue Marie Anionette and bring her to the valley, presumably to save her life.
Preceding ever westward on Route six, we encountered a couple of wonderful pieces of roadside Americana. Of course I’m always watching for things like old gas stations, cabin courts, and the like. But today I got a wonderful surprise. While traveling through the city of Towanda, splashing through the rain-soaked streets, we rolled right on by a vintage diner!
I was so amazed, that I immediately pulled into a loading zone a block away, grabbed my camera, and raced back to get a couple of photos. I just couldn’t believe that after an entire day of not seeing much of anything interesting, this diner would appear.
Well, there I was, snapping photos like crazy, and the owner comes out on the entrance “porch” and invites me in. “Come have a cup of coffee,” he said.
I had to beg off. “My RV is parked illegally down the block,” I told him. “And my wife is sitting in there waiting for me.”
He shrugged. “So! Bring it around back. Plenty of parking back there.”
Again I had to decline as it was getting late in the afternoon and I had no idea where I was going to find a camp that afternoon.
”Okay,” he said, “but let me take your picture in front of the restaurant.”
This we did, then I took his, then he handed me a couple of business cards. “Come back and see me,” he said. “It’s the Rose Diner.” I promised to do that, we shook hands, then I ran back through the rain and climbed into the rig.
I threw the gear shift into drive, cut off a large dump truck driver who thought I was going to sit quietly in the loading zone while twenty cars went by, and went zooming out of town. I sure would have liked that cup of coffee and a nice chat about diners, but we had to find a camp before sundown.
The next surprise came when we traveled another thirty miles down Route 6 to a town where the Good Sam book said there was a camp. As we approached the corner where Route 6 made a right turn, again I spied a vintage diner. At that moment the sun took that rare opportunity to break through the clouds and illuminated the diner so that it shone like a new penny.
I turned to Concetta and said, “I have got to shoot this one too!” I wheeled up next to the curb in another no-parking zone, turned off the engine, and jumped out of my seat and went back in the RV to grab the camera. Then I raced out of the RV door and down the sidewalk where I spent many minutes photographing the cool old diner from every angle.
Once again no one seemed to pay us any mind in the no-parking zone, so I put the camera away, and we were once again off down the highway.
Here’s where things started to get weird again. Since the camp we had chosen in the Good Sam book lay off the highway a bit, we plugged in the GPs in hopes that she’d take us there. Well, she did fine at first. But after we left Route 6, and traveled up a mountain road for about five miles, she suddenly proclaimed that we should exit that road and plunge down a dirt road that disappeared into the forest.
Needing to react swiftly, I went ahead and threw the wheel over and when flying down the dirt road for about a hundred feet. “This doesn’t feel right,” Concetta said.
”I know,” I said. “This is supposed to be one of Good Sam’s preferred camps. It doesn’t look like a road made for large RVs to me.”
We stared at the foliage-darkened road for a minute or two, then I said, “Well, let’s roll a bit further and see what it looks like. But even though I said to go on, I was nervous since there didn’t look like any place to turn around should I get further down the road and get into trouble.
Well, after we’d go on for another quarter mile or so, Jezebel suddenly demanded that we turn sharply right and ascend what looked to us like an even narrower and dangerously steep track. I tried it at first, but the rig’s rear skid devices bottomed out immediately as I turned. Then, sitting there wondering what to do, we looked up and saw a small sign about a hundred feet up the road. It was of an ATV rider and machine. We had been trying to climb an off-road, ATV track.
With some difficulty we backed around and headed toward the paved highway. Here again, as we climbed out of the depressed area of the dirt road, the rear skid devices made a horrendous crunching sound as they protested their way over the edge of the blacktop.
After that we went further up the road hoping that the accursed GPS, Jezebel, would come to her senses and give us good directions. But it was not to be. When we had traveled another five miles up the road, then turned the on GPS, she immediately demanded that we return to the torturous dirt road and have another go at it.
After that, we turned off Jezebel and returned to Route 6. I told Concetta that we’d just head further west and find whatever camp we could find, hopefully before nightfall. At that point it was nearly five o’clock.
We tried once more to leave Route 6, driving five miles into the mountains to something called “Colton’s Camp,” a state-sponsored campground. But once there, we discovered that the camp was primarily designed for folks in tents, and other small camping vehicles. No hookups were provided, not even water.
With resignation, we once more returned to the highway and kept driving. Finally, around 6:00 p.m. we finally came to a small clearing on the edge of the town of “Gaines.” Here we saw a sign announcing campsites available, though we could see no campsites, and what we could see was not very enticing. Just a rundown shack of an office at the edge of a muddy parking lot met our eyes.
Neither of us got any warm and fuzzy feelings about the camp. Still, it was getting very late, so I pulled into the drive and stopped. Looking up on the second-floor deck I could see someone watching us. “Well,” I said, “Let’s give it a try.” I got out and walked toward the building.
Then from the person who had been watching us came a cheery, “Hello!”
”Hi,” I called up to the person, I could see now she was a woman. “Do you have a camp space for the night?”
”Sure,” the woman said. “Come on up and we’ll check you in.”
When I got up on her porch, I met her coming down from the second floor deck, rolling on what was actually a large ramp built for her motorized scooter. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll take the ATV and go look at the sites. You can decide if your rig will fit in one.”
That set a few alarm bells ringing in my head, but I told her okay.
”I’m going to let you drive, “ she said. “I have MS and it’s hard for me sometimes.”
”Now I really started to get worried.”
She must have seen my trepidation because she said, “Don’t worry, it’s easy. Just let me back it off the porch.”
This she did quite expertly, and very soon we were off down a muddy trail toward what turned out to be a bunch of very, very soggy river-front campsites. I spent all my time dodging around all the mud puddles, even going onto the grass if there wasn’t any good place to navigate the road.
Now the only spaces with full hookups are over there to the east,” she said. “Floods took out all the rest.
”Okay,” I told her, and I motored toward the most eastern boundary of the camp. When we got there, I could see that it was going to take some doing to take advantage of the somewhat illogically-placed utilities AND dodge all the trees in the process.
”I’m not sure which camp to recommend," she said. “You’ll just have to look them over and decide.”
After a time I came to the conclusion that things were not going to be perfect, but I probably would be able to horse the rig between the trees, get it as close as possible to the sewer connection, and then hope that I could reach the distant water and electricity with my extra hoses and electrical cord extension. “I think I can make this work,” I told her.
”Good,” she said. “Let’s go get you checked in and you can try it.”
Miracle of miracles, I was able to pay for the space – she demanded cash, roll the rig into place on the squishy grass, get close enough to the sewer, and get everything else hooked up with no trouble. It turned out to be easy enough. Later on, Jeanie – that was our host’s name – came by and flashed us a huge smile and asked if everything was okay. I told her it was great, and then off she went. For a person who can hardly move around unaided due to her MS, I thought Jeanie had the most positive attitude that I’d encountered on this trip. She was just amazing.
So here we are with a marvelous piece of river frontage, lots of pines surrounding, and so far no rain this evening. I did get into a little trouble when I wandered off to take photos after I’d set up, found a couple of fly-fishermen that captivated my interest for nearly an hour, and forgot to turn on the propane valve so Concetta could get started on dinner. She finally had to honk the horn on the rig to alert me to the impending disaster. But aside from that, everything seems right with the world. Serendipity was in full force today, though not always in a positive direction, but still we managed to put quite a few miles on the clock, and got a whole lot closer to Ohio where we intend to visit a passel of relatives.
We did encounter one problem at Gaines – the mobile WiFi device couldn’t get a signal to save its little life. So I had to post this today. Photos will follow. If you don't see any, check back later. And while you do that, we wish you Happy Travels!
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