When passing through Cuyahoga Valley National Park, I stayed at Shady Oaks Farm Bed and Breakfast, which I think may have been for sale.
The house was large with an impressive dining room fireplace, but what I loved most were the rooms. To get to one of them, you went down a few steps, then up a few steps into the next room, all connected, set up for children. I can’t get enough of houses with oddities like this — multiple levels on one floor, attic rooms, mysterious little slanted doors or floors that sort of thing.1
As a farm, Shady Oaks featured horses, with two or three in a pasture and a pony in the stable. The B&B could accommodate travelers with horses too. On their website, they warned fussier visitors that theirs was a working farm, so there might be equipment, hay, etc., about the place. People had complained. Between the horses and the comfortable porch overlooking the pasture and the long drive ahead, I found Shady Oaks very hard to leave.
1 My favorite was my aunt’s second floor apartment in Altoona, Pennsylvania. When you walked through her bedroom and maybe down a step or two (memory fails), you found yourself in another bedroom — in another house. Those houses have since been torn down, and I doubt their like will be seen again in our present-day bland, cookie-cutter modern housing.
Standing tall on Route 66 in Wilmington, Illinois, the Gemini Giant welcomes you to the Launching Pad.The giant is one of the Muffler Men listed at Roadside America (many with photos). You can learn “How to Identify Muffler Men.” Accept nothing less than the real deal.
I’m devastated — DEVASTATED — to find out only now there are Muffler Men variations in Springfield (here’s one and here’s the other), Peoria (Vanna Whitewall!), and Metropolis. I missed them all on visits to those towns.
But I’ll always have the Gemini Giant in Wilmington.
Not a Muffler Man, but I saw Superman in Metropolis.
And even Clark Kent, who’s more two dimensional than I expected.
With a short visit to Starved Rock planned to see bald eagles (maybe), I decided to look for a place to stay in or near Utica vs. Ottawa. I wasn’t optimistic, but to my surprise I found one only a couple of miles from Starved Rock. For some rooms, they didn’t require a two-night stay. Feeling northwoodsy (or nautical), I booked the Mackinac because it looked comfortable. I wasn’t disappointed.
I told the owners about the themed room at Ann Arbor Bed & Breakfast, including how my favorite room, the Maine Woods, earned its name and decor from the rich green carpet. They said they too named their rooms for their favorite places. They mentioned the Aspen room upstairs. Why Aspen? I must have looked puzzled. Because it’s on the top floor. Yes, I’m slow.
The Mackinac has a big gas fireplace, which we tried briefly. After dinner, we found Trivial Pursuit in one of the comfortable public rooms and played until too worn out to continue. The questions were more difficult than I remember, even in my better categories (science and nature, history, geography).
The next day we had our choice of bananas foster or eggs Benedict, along with muffins, cereal, fruit, etc. A gas fire warmed the breakfast room, which looked like it’d been decorated for Valentine’s Day. You can’t go wrong in a dining room with book-lined shelves, one fronted by a realistic morel mushroom knickknack.
The Mackinac has a large whirlpool that I didn’t take advantage of . . . this time. The room overlooks a couple of corn mazes that would be fun to try when grown. I did turn on the fireplace again and kick back in the recliner. Ahhh.
On the way out, I picked up a jar of aronia berry jam and a candle — I have enough candles for a couple of lifetimes.
It’s high time I wrote about some of the places I’ve stayed — not the chains, but bed and breakfasts, inns, and other local places.
Steeped in history, May 25 and 26, 2015
Temple Hill Bed & Breakfast, built in 1826 in Geneseo, New York, as an academy of higher education for young men, is nestled amongst older trees across from Temple Hill Cemetery, which dates from 1807. It’s a grand house, with a circular driveway that makes you feel like you’re entering an English estate on a BBC series. Why I don’t have a photo of the exterior baffles me.
The owners have a dog and some free-range cats. I stayed in the Academy Room, where I made a big thud when I fell in the Jacuzzi tub. I don’t have photos of the room either.
Although it was too early for the pool to be open, we did get a peek at the garden, complete with a tea room pagoda in progress. I’m a little fuzzy on the details as already more than two-and-a-half years have passed.
Upstairs there was an open room with books and games that reminded me of a scene early in the film Moonrise Kingdom. It was hard to leave that too, even if I didn’t have time to spend there.
It’s high time I wrote about some of the places I’ve stayed — not the chains, but bed and breakfasts, inns, and other local places.
Steeped in history, August 5, 6, and 7, 2014
Like Rippon-Kinsella House in Springfield, Illinois, Clearwater Historic Lodge is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Located off the Gunflint Trail west of Grand Marais, Minnesota, Clearwater Historic Lodge overlooks the lake and palisades, although I remember a healthy stand of conifers filtering the view. It’s also a great spot for getting outfitted for a Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness adventure.
At Clearwater Historic Lodge, I thoroughly enjoyed: a lengthy thunderstorm that started after we had carried most of our things in, watching small shapes (likely bats) flit around in the inky darkness, the view of the lake through the trees from the back porch, the view of the lake from the imaginatively named Suite A, a brief canoe outing and the view of the distant palisades before black flies ate my ankles, the gift shop, and the comfortable main room.
With places to go and things to see, I didn’t have nearly enough time at the lodge.
At breakfast I found out one of the employees was a descendant of the original owners. I think she said she had never been in a canoe. I couldn’t imagine.
A stay at Clearwater Historic Lodge forces you to give up your constant attraction to the online world. Daytime’s slow satellite connection is limited (and a guest had inadvertently used up the monthly allotment on videos). In the wee hours, access was unlimited, but the cloud cover and/or the trees, which I loved, seemed to make it erratic. You can almost get away from it all and focus on the Gunflint Trail experience you can’t have anywhere else.
Below is part of the Clearwater Historic Lodge entry for the National Register of Historic Places, aka places I hate to leave . . .
The oldest surviving guesthouse on the Gunflint Trail, Clearwater Lodge is historically significant for its pioneering, and continuing, contribution to the Cook County tourist industry.
In 1893, the Cook County Board of Commissioners finished the last stretch of road linking Grand Marais to Gun Flint, a mining community about 45 miles north on the Canadian border. Although the completion of the “Gunflint Trail” was primarily a testimony to the political power of the county’s mining interests, the road was also a boon to homesteaders who settled the area during the early 1900s.2 Among these early residents were Charles (“Charlie”), and Petra Boostrom, who, in 1916, purchased 80 acres of land on the western shore of Clearwater Lake, just east of the Superior National Forest. There the Boostroms erected a small log cabin. Over the next ten years, Charlie earned a reputation as one of the area’s foremost trappers and hunters.
During the 1920s, an increasing number of tourists discovered the woods and lakes of Cook County, and Charlie found an increasing part of his livelihood as a guide for sport hvinting and fishing parties. To capitalize on the emerging tourist trade, he and Petra constructed Clearwater Lodge in 1925-1926. Completion of the building coincided with the construction of an automobile road connecting the new resort to the Gunflint Trail. Over the next two decades the Gunflint Trail developed into a major vacation spot, and Clearwater Lodge earned a statewide reputation for its hospitality. After the Boostroms retired from the tourist business in 1945, Clearwater Lodge went through several changes in ownership until, in 1964, it became the property of Jack (“Jocko”) Nelson and his wife Lee. The Nelsons renamed the resort “Jocko’s Clearwater Lodge.” Although Jack Nelson died in 1978, his widow continues to operate the lodge as a summer resort.
It’s high time I wrote about some of the places I’ve stayed — not the chains, but bed and breakfasts, inns, and other local places.
Steeped in history, April 24 and 25, 2010
While visiting the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum in Springfield, Illinois, I stayed at the Rippon-Kinsella House, which is on the National Register of Historic Places and has a Wikipedia entry. I think I may have stayed in the Maid’s Room, the smallest of the three rooms. The house is very elegant, but what I remember most is the garden, which is lovely, and the residential area around it. The owners were charming and amused but helpful when we tried to find a restaurant in Springfield open after 9 p.m. Sadly, it sounds like one of the owners has become seriously ill, and the inn closed December 31, 2017.
In December I’d checked out Horseshoe Curve from the parking lot, but hadn’t been up to the top since September 1988 — er, 31 years ago . . . Not long after, a visitor center and 288-foot funicular were built and opened in 1992. Not knowing anything about the funicular, I was surprised to find it doesn’t run constantly, only on the hour and half hour.
We spent about 15 to 20 minutes looking over the exhibits while waiting. I appreciated the one showing how the Curve had been carved out — I’ve never been able to visualize it or how it would have looked before. Another highlighted the wreck of the Red Arrow in 1947, which killed two dozen and injured more than 100.
The funicular cabins, which were made in the Durango and Silverton Railroad shops in Colorado, ascend and descend at the same time. They pass at a circle part of the way up (or down). I expected the cabin to veer to its right, but they swing to the left to pass. Very British.
Up top the cars from the summer derailments (two!) are visible but not close. We’d picked up a list of scheduled trains at the visitor center, but am not sure we matched any that went by to it — certainly not the “Oscar” (trash train) heading west. In addition to the Oscar, we saw an intermodal plus helper locomotives returning in pairs as they do. No Amtrak — the eastbound Pennsylvanian had gone through earlier. I’d be on the westbound Pennsylvanian later in the afternoon, while it was still daylight.
While we watched the trains we found ourselves plugging our ears. One thing I didn’t remember from all those years ago was the screech of metal on metal, the wheels and brakes as they fight the curve and the incline.
It seemed fitting we got a wave from the locomotive of the last train we saw — one of the few times I’ve seen a woman engineer.
Our final shopping stops were Hillside Farm, where I bought whoopie pies, and Ridgeside Cider Mill, where V. picked up their first cider of the season and I added to my soap collection.
Years ago a relative had posted about Tytoona Cave (more formally, Tytoona Natural Area Cave Preserve), the name an awkward mashup of “Altoona” and “Tyrone.” Previously, its location had seemed a mystery to me, and December wasn’t the best time to visit it. I’d looked again recently and found out it’s connected (more or less) to Arch Spring in Sinking Valley which my cousin had pointed out to me a couple of years ago. Now I could find it easily on Google Maps — as it turns out, it’s on T495 off Kettle Road, less than a half mile from Ridgeside Cider Mill. Off we went.
There’s a slight cutout parking area, with the trail entrance marked by green barrels. Steps, some eroded, built in 2001 by the Tytoona Cave Preserve Committee and members of the Huntingdon Co. Cave Hunters, lead down into the sinkhole. Normally a stream flows into the cave, but it was bone dry. This made walking in without hiking shoes a lot easier.
If you walk far enough into the cave, you can sign a register. I didn’t make it nearly that far. I didn’t have a flashlight, and was surprised by how dark it became a short way in. It’s easy to see why people in Tytoona Cave videos wear helmets with headlamps — it’s too dark to see the low ceiling that your head will hit.
The stream bed through the sinkhole may have been dry, but there was running water somewhere in the darkness. In this video, the cave walls and ceiling amplify the sound, but I suspect the cave’s water would make a respectable noise without the help.
It felt weird and creepy to hear water rushing nearby without being able to see it. If I’d had a light, a helmet, and a better physique, I wonder if I could have gone as far as the register or even the first sump . . .
On the way out, we saw a poster about Pennsylvania bats. Short version: Tytoona Cave is not the best place to find them.
And so back to packing for the return trip on the Pennsylvanian and Capitol Limited.
First, we returned to Shaver’s Creek Environmental Center, where the buildings were open. The center has a discovery room with amphibians and reptiles.
On the earlier visit, we hadn’t noticed the raptor aviary behind the main building. Shaver’s Creek is home to a surprising variety of raptors — peregrine falcon(s?); bald and golden eagles; broad-winged, red-shouldered, and red-tailed hawks; barn, barred, eastern screech, and great horned, screech owls; and black and turkey vultures. My favorite was black vulture Matilda. I’m not sure I’ve seen one in flight ; turkey vultures are more common at this latitude. I know I’ve never seen one this close up. No photo due to the cage, but Matilda has a surprisingly sweet face attached to her bald head. The darker coloring may make them more appealing than turkey vultures to human eyes.
Before leaving, I sat by the windows overlooking bird feeders. As seems to happen to me, a hummingbird flew up, looked at me tauntingly, and flew off before I could take a photo. Typical.
Off to elk country in Benezette. This time we didn’t see any elk at the campground. We made a stop at the visitor center, where tables with local goods had been set up next to the gift shop. It was here I discovered Moonshine Chocolate . . .
At the Winslow Hill overlook, we didn’t see anything at first, but a handful of turkeys and a white-tailed deer family (buck, doe, two older fawns) appeared.
After we ate dinner at the Benezette Hotel (where none of us ordered the elk burger), this one crossed the road while following others into the woods.
In another place, we joined a little crowd watching a small herd at some distance, including nursing offspring.
In all. we counted 45 to 50 elk (or wapiti), including this last one on a rise next to the road.
When I visited Pine Creek Gorge (Pennsylvania’s Grand Canyon) in 2015, I hadn’t expected to return. My cousin and his wife suggested a trip there, so off we went. A stop in Wellsboro for lunch was my idea. After visiting Wellsboro in 2015, I’d read it’s one of Pennsylvania’s most picturesque towns. Soon after that, I’d heard about the Wellsboro Diner, which looks like an old rail car but likely isn’t. I never thought I’d be able to go there and am grateful for the chance to put away a grilled cheese and a side of cottage cheese. (I’m strange.)
Wellsboro itself seemed busy, perhaps due to a lot of road construction. I think it’s best approached from the west, where it seems like a surprise after miles of hills and countryside.
I remembered a red church on the way to Leonard Harrison State Park and asked to stop there again. A room, still in progress it appears, had been added to the back since 2015. This church is so distinctive the state park gift shop sells postcards of it. From the back of one of them:
Before entering Leonard Harrison State Park at the PA Grand Canyon, one will pass The Little Red Church. This landmark was buil in 1897, and donns [sic] eight beautiful stained glass windows. Because bricks were expensive, it was built of basswood siding with dado cuts to resemble brick. Electricity was installed in 1954.
Our next stop was Leonard Harrison State Park with its visitor center and gorge overlooks. No spring flowers this time, but the views of the now second-growth forest that’s covered the scars of 19th- and 20th-century clear-cutting are inspiring. If I lived in the area and were more mobile, I’d take the trail down past waterfalls and other wonders. (And, of course, have to take it back up.)
As we headed out, we passed a statue I didn’t remember from 2015 — a tribute to Civilian Conservation Corps workers. It appears the CCC was active all over the Alleghenies of Pennsylvania, replanting Pine Creek Gorge and building the facilities at our next destination, Colton Point State Park on the western rim.
I had not gone to Colton Point in 2015. It’s described as more “rustic” or “primitive” than Leonard Harrison — take your pick. Not surprisingly the road up to Colton Point is twisty with steep drop-offs. At the top it turned into a choice of more “rustic” roads. We looked for an overlook and found a couple of places where you could see a little through the trees. We found only one parking area nearby, and someone had managed to crowd both spaces.
We noticed the same rocky wall we’d seen from Leonard Harrison. I read later that when the trees are bare Pine Creek Gorge sports more of a western canyon look.
When we got back to the main road/entrance, we saw what I had half noticed before — a small parking lot. Across from the parking lot? A fancy overlook with a view rivaling those from Leonard Harrison across the way.
As we stood in the circular overlook, which reminded me of Letchworth State Park in New York minus the waterfall, a parade of heavy construction vehicles headed past us uphill — strange, we thought, since it was now late afternoon. We tried to imagine them navigating the narrow “rustic” roads through the trees at the top. I wondered why they were there. Rustic road repair?
We visited my parents’ graves at Logan Valley Cemetery, located across from the high school. A cousin I haven’t seen in decades had left flowers at my dad’s grave. His flag holder for veterans still has a metal medallion. The newer medallions are plastic thanks to theft. Once upon a time I was young enough to find it shocking someone would steal the flag holder from a veteran’s grave.
In Sinking Valley, this little mare and her young’un attract customers to Hilltop Farm. There’s also a wee donkey.
On to Whipple Dam State Park, which was new to me. It’s yet another part of our legacy from the Civilian Conservation Corps. As it was Labor Day and central Pennsylvania isn’t rich with beaches, a college-age crowd had gathered at Whipple Dam’s postage stamp of sand to play volleyball and stand in the relatively shallow water. Despite the crowd, the surrounding woods gave the lake and beach an isolated feeling that reminded me of Pewit’s Nest in Wisconsin.
We’d passed the road to Shaver Creek Environmental Center and stopped on the way back. The buildings were closed for the holiday, so we relaxed on the deck’s Adirondack chairs. I kept hoping to hear a creek.
On the way to the park, V. spotted a plant she thought might be teaberry (ICE CREAM!). According to the folks of iNaturalist, it’s partridgeberry. Pretty, but perhaps not as weirdly tasty as teaberry. If you can’t get teaberry ice cream, try Clark’s teaberry gum. You won’t thank me, I think. It’s an acquired taste, associated with childhood 50 years ago.