Shenandoah National Park

After the last talk I wanted to hear I drove out west. My original plan was to stay overnight at Front Royal, which is the northern terminus of the Skyline Drive and the backbone of the Shenandoah National Park, and to enter the park first thing the next morning. Since it was only early afternoon, I decided to enter the park right away.

Before Shenandoah I visited Great Falls State Park in Virginia. This is about 30 miles outside Washington on the Potomac. There the river plunge tens of feet. Nothing compared to Niagara falls of course. The Great Falls lie on the Fall Line, which is where the relatively flat coastal plain meets the foothills of the Appalachians. Many cities have developed near the Fall Line because this is the limit of navigation from the ocean. These cities include New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, Richmond, and Raleigh.

It had been raining heavily the last few evenings so the river was muddy and swollen. A pole stood on the river bank, 20 feet above the water level. The highest water mark recorded was near the top of the pole, 10 feet above the ground. That must have been a big flood. In fact, it was such seasonal flooding that contributed to the abandonment of the Potomac canal, which runs parallel to the river, traces of which can still be seen. The Potomac canal was superseded by the Ohio and Chesapeake canal, running parallel to the Potomac on the Maryland side. Today that canal is used for pleasure boating. Signs posted all over warned against approaching the river and falls too closely. The undertow is strong and can prevent a person from regaining the surface when sucked underneath. Most of the victims had been drinking and many had been foolhardy enough to approach the falls in canoes or rafts.

Shenandoah is an Indian word meaning daughter of the stars. It is the sort of sentimental name you can use for Hollywood movies and roadside diners. At the turn of the century, what is now park land was cultivated by mountain people. When the land lost its fertility, the settlers left the mountains. The state of Virginia bought the land and made a present of the park to the Federal government. During the depression people were kept employed building the Skyline Drive. After more than half a century, the park is reverting to forest and many species of wildlife have returned. While I was there I observed deer and rabbits at close range. Feeding the wildlife is forbidden, otherwise the animals get too tame and used to handouts. Besides, they deserve better than junk food.

The Appalachian Trail runs along the Blue Ridge. It is a 1000 mile walking trail that stretches from the Smoky Mountains in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine. I intersected the trail at several places. One can start the trek in Georgia in springtime and finish up in New England by fall. Besides having physical stamina, one would have to live for days on end without human contact. Or go with someone who won't drive you up the wall. I knew two friends who went rafting down a river, a journey of 40 miles or so. By the second night, A was driving B crazy by singing the same boy scout tune over and over again and kneading a ball of sealing wax.

The park speed limit is 35 mph to protect the animals and the environment. In any case, it is hard to go faster on winding mountain roads. All along the drive are scenic overlooks with explanatory signs that explain the history of the park, the landscape or the flora and fauna. It was a very enjoyable drive for me. By nightfall I reached a campsite. US campsites cater mostly to trailers or RVs (recreational vehicles), as they are called, so amenities are primitive for tent dwellers. I had just enough time to make dinner and set up the tent before sundown. Halfway through heating the soup water, the gas ran out. It was my fault, the last time that stove was used was two years ago, on my Eastern Canada epic trip. Just enough gas to warm the water.

Retiring to bed early is fine by me, I'm tired enough. Around midnight rain descended in buckets. My tent wasn't waterproof but sheds water if nothing is in contact with the fabric. Unfortunately, my sleeping bag is touching the fabric so the water slowly seeps in. I tried to combat insomnia by listening to my walkman but the batteries ran out after a couple of cassettes. Nothing to do but try to sleep as I got damper and damper. By daybreak, I'm clammy but not cold. I escaped to the campground laundry and showered and dried out there. The morning mist was so heavy that I could hardly see 10 feet in front of the car. I am several thousand feet above sea level, after all. A couple of deer are on the grounds, fairly unafraid of humans. There is a Californian couple waiting for their laundry. They are touring the country in their RV. I gave them all the AAA maps they can use as a present. When the cafeteria opens I ordered breakfast. They burn the sausage and the eggs are awful. Served on disposable plates too. Better than going hungry anyway. Then back to collect the tent and sleeping bag.

To Pittsburgh

I'm off to the south! Got up at 8 am. I wish I had more sleep for the long drive but I had to do all sorts of trivial things. While I bustled around, the recorder transferred my favourite albums to cassette for the trip. By 11 I was ready to go. On the way out I got cash from the teller machine and filled the tank.

In the car I had two shoulder bags with clothes and documents for the conference. I had two dozen cassettes, which from experience I will be sick of after a week or so. But anything is better than commercial radio. Appropriately enough, one of the albums is Pat Metheny's Travels. I also had a couple of jettison paperbacks, books that I don't think highly enough of to read more than once and so abandon at hostels and such places after finishing. They were Jack Kerouac's On the Road and Henry James' The American. I have read neither author before, though I have seen the film The Bostonians. James is a character study writer but the society he describes is long gone. Very little of what he writes generalises to the future.

I had also camping equipment—tent, sleeping bag, sponge pad and gas stove, just in case I decided to spend a night at a park. I also packed cooking utensils. And a pillow for the occasional roadside nap. The nice thing about driving is that you can be prepared for almost anything. The problem is that one tends to overfill the car with junk. Most belongings stay unused 99% of the time. This is true of both travel and life. Oh for the spartan days of backpacking through Europe.

My initial destination was Buffalo, then westwards to Erie and south to Pittsburgh. Erie was nothing remarkable. I don't know what they make here and I didn't care. It was a typical midwest industrial town. Erie is Pennsylvania's only port on the Great Lakes and in fact the only port if you don't count Philadelphia, which is at the head of the Delaware River. Presque Isle juts out like a cashew nut from the Lake Erie shore. It is joined to the mainland by a narrow spit and curves back so much you can row across the narrow opening. I don't know if the French name means it is nearly an island or that it is near the mainland. It is also a state park. There are cycling trails and beaches. It is a warm Sunday and half of Erie seems to be here. Maybe even half of Pennsylvania, here may be the only decent beach these folks have.

Frank Ritter is expecting me at 7:30 pm so I drive on. Unremarkable country scenery, indistinguishable from New York's. The one thing you notice when entering Pennsylvania is that they take speeding violations seriously. Their signs enumerate the fines for excess speeds. Or maybe they are just more mercenary.

Frank Ritter was the chap I roomed with during my summer at BBN. Then he became a grad student at CMU Psych. He's a good sport. I once told a friend his name was really Rank Fritter but that he had a speech impediment and pronounced Frank Ritter.

I was delayed by construction on I-79. There is no easy entrance to Pittsburgh from the north. One has to overshoot the city and come back northeastwards on I-279. Once I saw the topography of the city I understood why. Pittsburgh is built at the confluence of three rivers: Ohio, Allegheny and Monongahela. The city lies on steep valley sides and pollution gets trapped. Now that King Iron is dying, Pittsburgh is more livable. But the city still has a blue collar atmosphere, lots of factory workers live here. Old-timers in Pittsburgh still call the CMU students Tech students. The local beer is Iron City and quite decent too. But back to the car. You drive up this steep slope then down the other equally steep side, all the time trying to keep in lane with mad PA drivers on both sides. You enter the Fort Pitt tunnel and emerge immediately onto a bridge high above the water! Now that is landscape. Then you drive at high speed (because you can't slow the traffic following you) along the north bank of the Mon, with a concrete wall on one side and skyscrapers on the other, looking for Forbes Avenue.

Frank had a paper to finish by Monday so we got a bite at the Big O, a fast food joint selling hot dogs, huge servings of fries, chilli and similar American culinary delicacies. The menacing looking clientele comes for free. Along one wall are a bank of hi-tech game machines and the enlightening notice: We are not responsible for any money lost on these machines. It is less dangerous than it looks, there are a couple of bouncers on duty and the cops pay frequent visits. For this genre of food, it is alright. I was tired from the drive and the lack of sleep, so I fell asleep on Frank's floor after a chat and a can of Iron City.