I thought I’d have to dig

Angela and I have been using several methods to keep our spirits up regarding the journey ahead. The trail has mile markers, so we keep track of those (we’ve now reached mile 124, at Hancock). Another is to count folds on the map. We’ve now made it  past the fourth fold.

Honestly, I thought I’d have to dig to find history in these smaller back country towns in western Maryland, but everywhere we turn there’s another historic plaque or old building or tiny museum. This image was on a building outside the present day courthouse in Hagerstown.

We had a terrific stopover in Hagerstown (again, off trail — we rode the local bus) visiting the Washington County Historical Society, a library and museum and friendly staff all wrapped into one. The museum had the best collection of old lamps, shelves and shelves of them, each one carefully labeled, that I’ve ever encountered.

Nightfall found us in the small town of Hancock, at what I can only describe as a cat-loving (I count three so far), bicyclers motel.

Today is our first with rain. We’ll see how far we get on the map fold.

Bike hike update: It’s not as bad as all that — the rain was a few misting drops, not a major downpour. Now, the sun has come out, and we haven’t even started biking yet.

Off the trail

I knew all along that on the first leg of the journey, by following the C&O Canal Trail, Angela and I wouldn’t be on the official overland road out of Baltimore of the early 1800s.

Researching from home, I hit on the “National Road Museum” about 8 miles distant from the Potomac at Shepherdstown, WV that would enlighten me more about what led to the Road’s construction (which began in 1811). But the website here was misleading. Actually, this building is the future home of the National Road Museum, which won’t open until the fall of 2018.

No worries, we didn’t bike all that way. We’d spent the night at the luxurious Bavarian Inn, and Angela talked with an employee there who convinced management to let him load our bikes into a hotel van and shuttle us to Boonsboro, Maryland. After exploring the historic town (not the Kentucky Boonesboro — this one was settled around 1776 by William Boone, a relation of Daniel Boone), we bicycled on Rte 68 for Williamsport, to reach the C&O Canal Trail once more.

Going off trail was picturesque, difficult, and dangerous. Such gorgeous country in this southwest corner of Maryland, gently rolling hills and farms, the Blue Ridge and Appalachian mountains bordering the edges all around. We descended into the Antietam Creek valley, stopping at a park by the river long enough to witness an expert fly fisherman nab a glistening brook trout.

The Antietam Civil War battlefield gets its name from this meandering creek. In researching 18th century history, I discovered another terrible battle also occurred at Mount Antietam in 1736, a fatal skirmish between Catawba and Delaware hunting bands. On a sunny afternoon on the creek banks, it seemed impossible that either of those terrible events ever happened.

Meanwhile, what goes down must go up. Wending by bicycle out of the creek valley, Route 68 rose, dipped, rose and dipped, for twelve miles. It was also a narrow road, with no shoulder, making me very glad we were bicycling in broad daylight, and that more of the level C&O Trail lay in our future.

Confluence at Harpers Ferry

I can’t say the chill weather has let up — little pellets of snow swirled around us for most of the bike ride Monday. But Angela and I did some sightseeing anyhow, pausing at historic Harpers Ferry for lunch. I didn’t expect museums to be open since it was a Monday, not a huge disappointment, as I’m focused on an earlier era than the John Brown slave uprising and Civil War-related history.

This interpretive sign, though, had just the kind of info I’m looking for:

“Oh,” said Angela. “We are here at the same time of year as Meriwether Lewis, only a month or so later.”

I looked around at the snow-flecked air and hoped Lewis had warmer weather during his stay. Never mind. Hot soup at the Coach House soon warmed me up.

Harpers Ferry sits on a point of land at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers, and we are getting very close to Cumberland, where the Old Baltimore Road meets up with the National Road.

More fun history trivia (and biking) ahead.

At least we ate ice cream

The C&O Lockhouses are unique historic features of the C&O Canal Trail. Their name doesn’t do them justice. The word lockhouse reminds me of a former prison or mental institution. Maybe that’s why on the website they’re called Canal Quarters. Whatever. The buildings appear whenever we encounter canal locks. Some are restored and available to reserve. Truly idyllic.

Angela and I didn’t stay in any. Angela looked into it, but they were all reserved well in advance.

A highlight of the day was a stop at Rocky Point Creamery. Yum. Plus, we earned the calories via sweat equity, having pedaled over a mile off the trail to find it.

Now, we’ve made it just 5 miles south of Harpers Ferry, to Brunswick, staying at the only accommodation we could sleuth out: Travelodge.

See those white flecks on the sign? That’s not pigeon poop. That’s snow. Brr. So we’re sleeping inside.

Looking forward to reaching Harpers Ferry, West Virginia midday Monday. I’ve been told the view from Maryland of the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers, the town of Harpers Ferry nestled at the point, is worth the climb.

We’ll see. The climb to this Travelodge, pushing our bikes up steep hills after dark, was exhausting. Then again, it’s to be expected. If you’re biking along a river valley, any place away from the river is bound to be uphill. The snow, on the other hand, that’s not to be expected. But, if I have to choose between bicycling in snow or rain, I think I’ll pick the former.

And … we’re off!

Today was the first day of our long-awaited, much ballyhooed bicycle ride from DC to Pittsburgh. Wow. For starters, as Angela and I wrestled our gear into compact, waterproof panniers, IT WAS SNOWING. Not big flakes, not a lot of them, but every so often a grain-sized, frozen white form of precipitation drifted into my field of vision. I tried not to think about it.

After all I’d been through to get here, there was no way I was turning back. The bike rental people had dropped off the bikes on time, at 10:30, at the Carderock Recreation Area Pavilion. Next, according to plan, I’d returned the rental car at the airport and caught a taxi back to the pavilion.

At first, understandably, the taxi driver had trouble with my request to go to Carderock. Normally, people ask to go to residences, or buildings. I wanted to go to a park.

“But what is address?”

“Carderock Recreation Area. I don’t think it has an address.”

We worked it out. When I typed in Carderock in his GPS, the Recreation Area materialized. I didn’t ask the driver his country of origin, but if I were to guess, I’d say he came from the Middle Eastern region, of Arab derivation. (There’s a reason I’m going into this.) Following GPS, we scuttled along on George Washington Memorial Parkway, then crossed the river and got off at Clara Barton Parkway. At the exit ramp for Carderock, the driver accidentally went right instead of left. Immediately before us loomed something very military-looking, a facility protected by a guard house and a high security gate.

The taxi driver threw it into reverse.

“I think you can just make a U-turn up there,” I said, nervously checking behind us on the one-way ramp.

“Oh no, I not doing that. My friend, he stopped at a gate like that, he questioned for an hour, they almost didn’t let him free.”

I looked it up just now, we’d almost blundered into the US Naval Surface Warfare Center. Sheesh. That would have sucked.

Anyhow, with all the logistics, Angela and I didn’t start pedaling until 3 p.m., and slogged away in Maryland along a gorgeous, overflowing Potomac for the next five hours and 20+ miles. Along the way, we spotted enormous Great Blue Herons and many deer, a muskrat, a fox, and evidence of beaver (a half-gnawed tree).

But we’re in a hotel in Leesburg, VA tonight. It was just too darn cold, and besides, I can’t feel my legs. The striking part about that was, no bridge existed to cross the Potomac. We took a ferry, at aptly named Whites Ferry. But here’s the best part: no more biking tonight. Our obliging Comfort Suites hotel sent a shuttle to pick us up. Aaah.

Okay, it hasn’t been perfect

I may be turning up some gems on the research trail, but not all is rosy in paradise.

Take the weather. On Wednesday, I wasn’t checking the news, so blithely expected Tuesday’s 78 degree weather to hold. But by Wednesday afternoon on the central North Carolina coast, a cold front was delivering gale force winds. I felt them buffeting the car, but didn’t really grasp their strength until I’d bought and paid for my camp site.

It was a pretty site, but setting up the tent was problematic until I figured out I could reposition the car to block the worst of the wind. Then, as I began untangling poles and nylon, I noticed the tent stakes were missing. Somehow, this crucial item hadn’t made it into the bag. Now set up, my tent was bucking and rocking like a ship on high seas. I dove into the car to empty it of shoes, duffels, daypack, groceries, throwing everything inside the tent as ballast at the corners.

Problem solved? Nope. All the flapping and tossing of nylon made such a racket sleep wouldn’t come. After several hours, I packed up and retired to the car. Those front seats in the rental car recline quite comfortably.

In Beaufort and Morehead City, I enjoyed my time at the Maritime Museum and at the Carteret County Historical Society. (The graphic at the start of this post is from Laing’s Seafaring America found in the extensive library of the Maritime Museum.)

Later that afternoon, browsing the manuscript collection at the NC State Library in Raleigh, I found a precious “Gaelic charm” from the late 1700s — something to ward off ill fortune. Included in the file was a letter by a Scottish scholar crying foul on a fellow historian.

Mackechnie was a notoriously bad scholar who got where he did by having a [clerical] collar and talking the hind leg off every donkey in sight. He has read the charm as if it were in the classical Gaelic of a medieval medical manuscript, which it certainly isn’t.

Ronald Black, penner of the above, added that Mackechnie was now deceased. His diatribe gave me the grin of the day.

Also, at the NC State Family History library, I found three(!) books about the Scots Highlander “Barbecue Church,” an immigrant congregation cut from the same cloth as the Ohio Scots Settlement church. Speaking of barbecue — a travel tip. If you ever pass through Roanoke Rapids, NC, do not miss Ralph’s Buffet Barbecue. Mmm mmm.

Weren’t you supposed to be bicycling?

Right, I’m in the northeast at the moment with the goal of bicycling the C&O Canal Trail/GAP trail between DC and Pittsburgh in an attempt to trace the immigrant trek of one branch of my ancestry. Saturday, April 7 will kick off that journey. My blog posts then will be no doubt more sporadic as I pedal through small towns in more remote areas of Maryland and Pennsylvania.

Meanwhile, I’m scouring museums and libraries and history archives to learn what was happening on the Atlantic coast circa 1804. In my novel-in-progress, the Highland Scots immigrants first arrived in North Carolina tobacco plantation country. (One family history account notes the town of Beaufort).

On the road — following the Historic Albemarle route, I’ve spotted a few ancient ruins similar to this one — a structure once used to store tobacco. Mostly, the land is flat and swampy, but also rich in history dating back thousands of years, to the Tuscarora Nation.

My first impression of the 18th century East coast? Brick, lots and lots of it, buildings and homes and streets of it. Not that everyone could afford homes out of brick, but those who could used it liberally. I discovered this brick edifice — a former horse stables still standing since the 1700s in New Bern, NC — by following the brown road sign for Tryon Palace.

Tryon Palace?! Any brown road sign is an internationally recognized designator  of tourist information, quite often having to do with history. But in all my internet browsing, I had not landed on Tryon Palace. Perhaps a bit road weary, I wondered: Did this have to do with some kind of interactive costume museum? Mildly intrigued, I pulled off at New Bern, and Eureka! Actually, it was a whole complex of museums in a historic town — first settled by Swiss and German immigrants in the early 1700s, it became the capital of North Carolina when Governor — wait for it — Tryon ruled the colony in the latter half of the century.

Visiting the governor’s palace was all well and good, but best of all was the succinct North Carolina History Center. The complex also featured a blacksmith shop and a working kitchen. Sigh of bliss. Geek that I am, I love history museums.

Of course, Williamsburg!

It’s a bit weird visiting Colonial Williamsburg on one’s own in the land of families, retired couples, and school groups. Layer on to that the mission of book research rather than  sightseeing, and one really feels like an odd duck.

Going in, I braced myself for rehashed stories of the “founding fathers,” only to be pleasantly surprised about how much of the info centered on everyday people. “It was only a handful of elitist, highly educated men we hear about in the Revolutionary War stories,” the tour guide at the Peyton Randolph home explained, “but their experience was not that of everyday citizens.” His tour focused on Peyton Randolph’s 108 slaves, and the management of his household by Randolph’s wife, Betty. The guide’s killer fact: Circa 1775, 52% of Williamsburg residents were slaves.

At the Museum’s Folk Art Exhibit (“We have the largest Folk Art collection in the world!” enthused the woman at reception), this painting captures not only the setting, but the power dynamics of master and slave.

The Williamsburg grounds were crowded, but not so across the railroad tracks, at the quiet, pristine rooms of the John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Library. Mainly, I went in search of historic maps, and was not disappointed.

After hearing the talk about the Randolphs of Williamsburg and their slaves, on one 1731 Virginia/Maryland map I couldn’t help but notice this illustration showing both the elite British plantation owners and their slaves, the slaves included in the picture, it seems, to embellish on an idyllic image of bucolic life in the colonies.

First surprise

I awoke this morning under a leafless canopy of towering white oaks, tulips, and beech trees. Who knew about  Prince William Forest National Park? Not me, and at this point in the season, not a lot of other people, either. With 40 degree temperatures and gray cloudy skies, there were no neighboring tents nearby, a good thing because, at the early hour of 7 a.m., I accidentally set off the car alarm in my rental.

Prince William Forest National Park was founded in 1936, and is located just off I-95 near Quantico, Virginia. Now deep woods, the area has a long and diverse history. The winding, seemingly endless journey up Scenic Drive to get to the Oak Ridge Campground last night was not so scenic, but even in the pitch darkness I could tell this was a seemingly endless tract of forest. The park covers some 15,000 acres, mostly secondary growth forest.

This morning I took a brief mile hike along the Farm to Forest trail. This picture was on the interpretive trail sign at the start, the landscape now overgrown again with trees. Spring is just arriving, no wildflowers yet on the forest floor, but it’s nice to revisit the deciduous-type forest of my youth.

Cleveland’s immigration stories

I’ve long been a fan of the Cleveland Cultural Garden in Rockefeller Park. Started in the early 20th century, the lush, landscaped setting along Doan Brook features a collection of over thirty gardens representing distinct immigrant cultures: Irish, Hebrew, Lithuanian, Greek, Chinese, Armenian, German, and more. To further explore the truly diverse populations that make up the city, a good place to start is on-line, with the website “Cleveland and Its Neighborhoods.”

Or, if you’re living in the Cleveland area, I want to let you in on a series about Cleveland’s immigrant history starting this coming January. The Teaching Cleveland Institute (TCI), which offers sessions on “Cleveland history, economics, public policy, and youth engagement” is holding a series in the first quarter of 2018 called “Home Sweet Home: Cleveland’s Immigration Stories.” The course description is as follows: “This year’s TCI will focus on the immigrant experiences and how massive immigration shaped modern Cleveland. We will explore the history of ethnic communities that were created in Cleveland, their influences on the city, and connect the newcomers’ experiences to modern day immigration and migration issues in Northeast Ohio.” Sessions are held once a month in January, February, and March from 4:30pm-7:30pm. The cost to register is $100. For questions, email teachcleveland@gmail.com.