Straight Run Home

Sept. 14-16

It’s a little more than 200 miles from Salem to Hagerstown. I drove almost straight through. 

I only had to stop a couple of times to keep my knee from seizing up.

First stop was Starbucks in Harrisonburg, Va. It’s just off the Interstate and across the road from one of the gates to the James Madison University campus.

I had been watching the signs for food and drink at each exit along I-81. I passed a lot of them and didn’t see a single reference to Starbucks.

Do the signs ever include Starbucks? I could be passing them right and left.

After a while, though, a Starbucks mermaid made the list published at the roadside. What's more, Starbucks had taken out a couple of billboards south of Harrisonburg. 

I had no cause for concern. When there's a Starbucks, it's about as hard to miss as Wall Drug.

I didn’t need coffee, though. I had to use the wifi. 

That morning, the notes on how to get to Comfort Suites in Salem were a few scribbles to myself in a notebook, and they looked funny.

Was I really supposed to leave I-81, drive six miles on I-70, and then another mile and a half on U.S. 40? Why did I put myself so far out of the way? I couldn’t remember. My handwriting is so bad that I could have been misreading my notes.

So Thursday morning, I remembered everything else, but forgot to confirm the directions with Google before checking out. That’s why God created Starbucks and put them everywhere: So fools like me won’t get too far lost.

The directions on the screen at Starbucks were the same as those in my notes. 

At the second stop of the day, also in Virginia, there was an interesting sign in a men’s room stall: Automatic Flush. Please Don’t Kick.

It must happen often enough that they have to put up signs. 

My Google directions got me where I was supposed to go. It was out in the suburban sprawl. Malls, gas stations, chain restaurants, motels, and little else on both sides of the highway. Like most of my dwelling places these days.

In the room, I checked the internet for places to drink beer and eat. There were a Texas Longhorn and a unit of a regional chain called El Ranchero within a half mile of me. 

They were both reachable on foot, a rare luxury in a neighborhood like. It was raining at the time, so that made the prospect of a walk less inviting.

Then I noticed 28 South. It was a few miles away, in the historic section of Hagerstown, at 28 South Potomac St. The address in old town gave me a kind of moral obligation to go there. 

In general, old towns anywhere will have the interesting sights. 

And 28 South had duck tacos.

U.S. 40 runs into the old town, where it divides. Westbound is on one one-way street; eastbound is on a parallel street. 

The streets are lined with brick townhouses, most of which seem to be well kept. There are strange signs on every block: No cruising 7 p.m.  - 2 a.m.

I’m not sure what that means. Did people make it a practice to drive up and down the city streets endlessly until the bars closed?

There were “no trespassing” signs on many of the doors.

It wasn’t till I parked the car in a lot and walked that at least one of the concerns was apparent. There were I don’t know how many homeless drunks lining a six-block walk.

This was hands-down the cleanest and neatest Skid Row I’ve seen.

The food and brew at 28 South made the entire detour to Salem worthwhile.

The duck tacos have chunks of duck breast, dressed with baby kale, bacon, and a plum barbecue sauce. They taste as strange as they sound, and they’re excellent.

There were no local brews at the pub, but there were some that were unfamiliar to me. 

I tried Arcadia Road Crew, an IPA out of Kalamazoo.

It was unusual in that it had neither the pine-like flavor of most IPAs, nor did it have a citra flavor, as many American IPAs do. It was mildly fragrant, but the aroma was savory rather than floral.

Unusual, for sure. I might take that one again if I run into it somewhere.

The crab cake was the real deal. 

Crab cakes can be disappointing. Even on the Maryland shore, you can get a patty that's mostly meal flavored with meat ground way too fine. The result is a starchy, unpleasant mush.

The crab cake at 28 South has large lumps of crab, barely held together by a bit of binder. They are browned top and bottom with a thin, crisp crust. There is paprika, and maybe Cayenne too, in the mix.

They came with a salad topped by a maple fig dressing. That was strange and lucky too. It was slightly sweet, working perfectly with the spicy crab.

Escutcheon Plimsoll IPA from Winchester, Va., had a touch of citra, but it wasn’t overwhelming, so that was good.

A stop at 28 South would give me incentive enough to revisit Hagerstown. 

I stopped for bottled beer at a store in town. But it is set up mainly to cater to the homeless.

There was a lady with a cart inside asking the man at the counter which quart beer was a dollar and change. 

On the way out, I almost ran into a man. We hadn’t seen each other coming. No harm done, though.

He was with a friend who was standing away on the sidewalk, almost as if he didn’t want to be seen by the storekeeper. He wore an uncut gray beard and a bushy head of gray hair under an ancient baseball cap.

He seemed friendly enough, even called me “buddy” when I nodded to him. 

I wonder what was up. Maybe he had acted up enough to get him banned from the place.

There was no local brew at the second store on the way home. The owner said the place focuses on wine.

I was able to get a six-pack of New Belgium Fat Tire, one of the outstanding ales from Colorado. 

Saturday was smooth sailing home. I was in Pennsylvania shortly after 10 a.m. and back in Montclair a little after two.

I had a date to take Joanna out to dinner and didn’t want to keep her waiting.

Be well, all, and don’t forget to check your directions.

Harry.