Discovering the Monongahela

April 18-20

It took about five hours to drive from Winchester, Kentucky, to Fairmont, West Virginia. There was a time when I could have driven twice as far in a day and not felt it. No longer.

It was a delightful ride, though. Very bright, not a cloud in the sky. Traffic wasn’t too bad.

I stopped a few times to stretch, eat a snack, buy fuel. Other than that, it was a straight push. The countryside is beautiful, too, hills and woods dotted with small towns and forgettable advertising on billboards.

The only wrinkle was at the end of the ride. I couldn’t find the Clarion hotel. I wasn’t sure which way to turn off the exit ramp. So I started by trying to head to the town of Fairmont. No luck that way.

There was an appliance store. They deliver refrigerators. They should know where everything is. 

As luck often has it, the man behind the counter was from another town. He used his phone to look up a Google map.

He showed me where the Clarion was supposed to be. I wasn’t so sure. It looked like I had been there already, but hey, I’m not going anywhere else. So I gave it a try.

After a couple of miles beyond the spot on the map, I turned around. I pulled into a gas station to ask for directions. 

Just as I was about to step out of the car, I looked into the rear-view mirror and saw a small sign across the road for the Clarion. It sits on a high knoll and you get to it by taking a winding narrow lane.

By a strange coincidence of trees and line of sight, you can’t see the Clarion sign from the highway.

Once I was settled, a search for places with good beer turned up the Rambling Root on Third Street in downtown Fairmont.

This was one of the homiest meals of the trip—two generous slices of meat loaf and a few half pints:

Stumptown Holy Citra was heavy on those citrusy-flavor hops, which made it reminiscent of Lagunitas but even better, because not quite as sweet. 

Greenbrier Valley Cardinal Red is a dark brown opaque Scotch style ale with a scorched-malt flavor.

Nate’s Nut Brown from Chestnut Brew Works is malty, a little smokey. It has a good bitter hit too. But its’s rich, though, and I wouldn’t want two of them in a row.

Crow’s Kaw black IPA from Weathered Ground Brewery is a heavily hopped porter. It was good, but I think the Greenbrier black IPA at Gibbie’s in Morgantown was better.

Fairmont actually has a downtown. It has several office buildings more than a dozen stories high.

The town traces itself back about 200 years to a founder with the terrific name of Boaz Fleming. It covers a steep hillside on the bank of the Monongahela River.

I crossed into the old town because I took a wrong turn that turned out to be a better one. It brought me to Jefferson Street, which runs past the impressive Beaux Arts courthouse built in 1900.

The top end of Jefferson is one of the steepest streets I recall. Traffic turns right into a narrow lane. Otherwise they’d just have to let the cars roll back downhill.

The public thoroughfare continues uphill, but it is made of concrete stairs.

Like so many towns in this area, it isn’t as prosperous as it once was. But that courthouse is one hell of a building to be sitting in a rural county seat.

It was near 70 degrees on Tuesday, but when I left Fairmont on Wednesday morning it was in the 30s and snowing. I guess everyone on the East Coast has been having similar ups and downs in the weather.

I drove to the old town to walk on the main street and take a few pictures.

It was little more than three hours on Thursday to reach the Super 8 in Chambersburg, Pa. It snowed on and off much of the time. The snow was sticking to the trees and grass at higher elevations in Maryland. 

I keep forgetting that Maryland has some high hills—well, high by New Jersey standards. A couple of mountains that I crossed on Wednesday rise almost to 3,000 feet. The peak they call High Point in New Jersey tops out at 1,800.

Wet snow had been driven by wind and clung to the sides of the trees from root to crown. It looked like an attack of some kind of white fungus. God knows I hate snow.

Chambersburg was the last stop before New Jersey. I’m glad it was only one night. The place is almost as boring as Pierre, South Dakota.

I asked Google about craft beer. There was a brewery serving beer but no food about 10 miles away. Everything else was a link from a national chain. 

I settled on one that was new to me, Texas Roadhouse. At least it had beer and served more than wraps and wings.

There was one IPA on tap. It was called In Perpetuity and I think it’s from Tree House Brewing. It wasn’t very fragrant, but it was thoroughly bitter. 

Everything else on draft was a lager, so I had a Guinness from the bottle to go with dinner.

I ordered grilled barbecue chicken. I was going to take Joanna out for steak when I got home Friday, so I wanted something different. That may have been an error. Maybe the Roadhouse is a place where you should only order steak.

The chicken breast had no skin and no bone, which means all the flavor was removed. It hadn’t been barbecued, only grilled to a dry, rubbery consistency and then covered with a thick layer of sweet red sauce. It was like something you get at a fast-food counter.

The green beans were good, though. They were cooked soft and had bits of ham in them for added interest. 

On the way back to the hotel, I went to a convenience store to pick up a six-pack. The lady behind the counter told me that this was “a dry township.” I had to go to the next exit up the Interstate.

The Sheetz at that exit also had no beer. The lady there directed me to the next Sheetz north. But that was on U.S. 11, not Interstate 81.

I passed a Wal-Mart with a grocery store and tried there. Struck out again.

The Sheetz on Highway 11 may be the only place selling packaged beer within a dozen-mile radius. The lady had to card me at the counter.

I may have been older than her father. 

I hadn’t had so much trouble getting beer since Joanna and I were in Utah. Then I had to drive 20 miles (or was it 200?) from the Dinosaur National Monument to Colorado to get it. And that may have been illegal too.

Friday brought me home without incident. 

It was another fine, bright day. Joanna and I went to Branch Brook Park in Newark to enjoy the cherry trees. They are just about at peak. At certain stretches, they were blooming so thick that we couldn’t see through them.

Thousands of trees line the park road and walks. It’s like pink and white lace. 

We walked for a half hour or so and took the picture of the day.

I’m in Montclair right now and will be going to Jersey City next week. But that trip is for jury duty so I won’t have much to write about.

But there are good bars in town, so I’m looking forward to it.

Be well, all. Enjoy your travels and stay out of dry townships.

Harry