Appalachian Days

Leaving Nashville is never easy. Trust, me, I enjoy leaving this city behind, but its traffic often refuses to budge. Its chief northbound route goes from five lanes to two and inevitably snares us, wasting an hour or more. We arrived late in Columbus, close to 2 a.m., after struggling to see through a torrent that broke open north of Cincinnati, We made our final turn west below the LeVecque Tower lights long after the last firework embers died over downtown. After a few calm-down drinks with Ben Crites, a good sleep and a brief breakfast, we turned east.

Ohio had just raised its speed limit outside urban areas to 70 mph, and the state highway looked entirely too eager to humble anyone testing the new maximum. From the Zanesville to Wheeling Island, we spied an average of one cruiser every five miles. To find a cruiser not simply writing tickets and actually helping motorists, we had to cross into West Virginia. From there we only had to follow I-70 through Pennsylvania.

Once a regular route traveled in my free time, Interstate 70 felt more and more like an afterthought, a road slammed down in a rural region. Tiny exit ramps, narrow lanes and slow speed limits wiped out the decent pace we managed since Columbus. We spun up PA 66, yet another toll road (they really love those in Pennsylvania), and pulled into the new Schaney residence two minutes after exiting.

Mitzy had homemade pizzas waiting when we arrived. The took us through the rough core of Jeannette then onto Greensburg, where I saw the double bill of Fred Rogers and the Dalai Lama speak in November 1998. Jeannette, once a major glass industry town, had hit harder times, while Greensburg still had a vibrant city core. Every bar and restaurant closed for the holiday, and we finally settled for beers and appetizers at Primanti Brothers. More rain dashed our hopes of fireworks, although a few random rockets soared above the dense canopy of trees.

Sleeping in a little, we embarked on a journey through the hills to Pittsburgh. It was the capital of Appalachia, only accessible by tunnels and the junction of its most important rivers.

But Pittsburgh has undergone a resurgence and has a number of hip neighborhoods around downtown. We stopped at the Wigle Distillery, one of many burgeoning small-batch whiskey industry. Unaged whiskey was Pittsburgh’s game in the 19th century. Wigle distilled a series of white whiskeys and gins, but only dabbled in limited barrel aging. In addition to a flight of their clear wares, Nancy and I split one of their cocktails, where the whiskey shined (no pun intended).

Across the street sat another relic of Pittsburgh’s brewing past, the Phoenix Brewery building. More than a century ago, Phoenix was among the 12 brewers that formed the Pittsburgh Brewing Company, from which Iron City became the best-known brand. There are a number of phoenix-related craft brewers around the country, but no signs of a revival in Pittsburgh.

Corvair in Strip District: Safe at this speed

From there, we wandered the lively Strip District. Nancy and I would have relocated for the fish market alone. But there were cheese and pasta shops that has anchored the neighborhood for generations. At Roland’s Seafood Grill, we went with the happy hour special, a dozen oysters and a dozen shrimp. Pittsburgh seafood comes three hours away from the Atlantic Coast, allaying any freshness fears. The seafood waited while we visited The Church Brew Works in Lawrenceville. A unique brewery, it earned a separate post.

One last bar sat in our path, D’s Six Pax

and Dogs on Regent Square, where I was introduced to an appetizer that had been missing from our lives: French fries served with melted cheese and guacamole. D’s also hosted a back room six-pack shop with hundreds of brewers, most unavailable in Tennessee or anywhere in the Southeast. Nancy and I each picked a bottle, she went with Jasmine IPA and I opted for Belgian-style triple from Pennsylvania.

It's Bert's bed, we're only borrowing it.

A curious effect of our visit was our temporary adoption by Bert, the Schaney’s Siamese cat. The second-floor guest room was of little interest to their two Labs, Abby and Lily, so Bert claimed the room for himself. Bert happily rubbed his face on our feet and grew vocal whenever we ceased pampering him.

By Saturday night, Bert was sleeping at our feet. There are few things as welcoming as a household pet. Mitzy and Nancy went to the local farmers market for lamb, but the Lamb Man had already sold out of his weekly allotment.

Saturday morning we had designs on Ohiopyle, the vast state park with numerous trails and water distractions. An old railroad right-of-way now hosted a bike path that led all the way back to Pittsburgh. Frank Lloyd Wright’s Falling Waters was between us and Ohiopyle, but on a holiday weekend Saturday, not even grounds passes were available. If you want to see that house, best to plan ahead, especially on a weekend when nobody is working.

The Youghiogheny spilled over the deceptively tall falls, which could only be run one day a year. Visitor center construction eliminated that day for 2013.Even without paddlers taking the dangerous plunge, Ohiopyle was  packed, kayakers of all skills on the upper stretches of the river and teams of whitewater boats launching into its rougher turns.

Standing safely next to Ohiopyle Falls

From a natural slide we walked down to the river then climbed into the bluffs. The old railroad trestle crossed the river, where lines of random kayakers floated some of the calmer stretches.

The air grew thick, and rain came in short storms. After a much-needed ice cream break, we headed higher into the hills. Stopping at Baughman Rock, we soaked in the amazing views of the Laurel Highlands the Ohiopyle area.

After the somewhat slippery rock, we headed deeper into the forest. We rumbled up a rutted road probably used only by rangers, pausing for a quiet moment among the trees and fern-covered forest floor. In a mile, we left behind all the tourist trappings. The end of the weekend stuck to the humid air, and we soon left the crowded valley.

Baughman Rock overlook

A quiet night slipped into a gentle Sunday. Skipping through Appalachia, we returned to Columbus and immediately turned south. Just north of Cincinnati, we stopped for Skyline Chili. When I lived in Columbus, I ate at Skyline exactly twice. Now it is part of the trip.