Staring up at Cincinnati

Paddlers and the Cincinnati skyline ... that's a paddling.

Of course I was nervous – I had not stuck a paddle in any water since August 2015, when we toured Chincoteague Bay. The last kayak float came on the shallow, narrow Piney River in central Tennessee, a far cry from the wide-deep Ohio before us.

The rented kayak didn’t help – I had to squeeze into the boat, which sat low on the water and wobbled crazily if I made any movements aside from paddling. If I capsized, I feared I could not free my legs from the boat. That thought frazzled my nerves before I took a single stroke.

Paddlefest boat launch the night before

We had anticipated the Ohio River Paddlefest for months. Nancy found the Ohio River Paddlefest in early spring. With it falling close to my birthday, it provided a good reason for a Cincinnati getaway.

The previous night we visited the put-in, when Paddlefest hosted in a pre-party in the wooded riverside park. We walked the trails where numerous paddlers camped out. Over a beer from Blank Slate Brewery we listened to some live music and dug through our goodie bags.

The calm of the previous evening left me in the chaos of launching the canoe. I couldn’t steady the boat. On the water I couldn’t even pull out my camera. Any movement rocked the boat hard. Despite the beautiful riverscape unfolding, pictures had to wait till we stopped.

Fortunately images of the terrain stuck with us – parts of Cincinnati look positively medieval, with low-slung brick buildings clinging to hills, on the church steeples reaching any height. These little neighborhoods could have just as easily soared above the Rhine or the Danube. Downtown’s skyscrapers gradually appeared as we rounded the river’s numerous bends.

Thick bands of green ran along both sides, topping some of the less populous hills, Kentucky to the left, Ohio to the right. Neither of us had taken a two-state paddle before. It’s possible on the Big South Fork, but most rivers don’t allow easy access or have as much commercial traffic as the Ohio.

Despite 2,000-plus paddlers, the river never felt crowded, aside from the occasional brush with selfie squad member determine to get two kayaks and the Cincinnati skyline in one frame. Locks and dams long since tamed the Ohio, turning wild currents into placid, lake-like conditions. Without any motorized traffic, it was perfect for paddling of any skill level.

Roebling Bridge

At Covington Landing, below the stately, 150-year-old Roebling Bridge, Paddlefest hosted a halfway party with live music and displays from the Newport Aquarium featuring ambassador animals (boa constrictor and a large, banded lizard). In a fenced area along the landing, goats grazed on overgrown foliage. The animals are part of a project to improve the landscape in public spaces around Covington. Occasionally looking up from their meal, they mostly chewed and let the shrubbery camouflage them.

Back in the water I felt better prepared for the second half. I even dared to take pictures as I stared at the Roebling bridge’s see-through deck grating. Murals decorated part of the Covington floodwall and Cincinnati’s giant sports stadiums dominated the north shore.

The goats just chomped away.

Here the bridges began to add up – First the canary Daniel Beard span that carried I-471 and the Taylor Southgate Bridge , then the Roebling, Clay Wade Bailey and Brent Spence (the double-decker I-71/I-75 bridge).

The river grew more industrial throughout its second half. When we passed a barge with a sign warning “Caution – Caustic Soda,” my brain produced Homer Simpson’s voice offering, “Mmmm…. caustic soda.” At least there were no water stops in that vicinity.

We skipped a side trip down Mill Creek that I wasn’t feeling up to (it leaves something for next year).  Could we have paddled to Indiana? Probably not, but traveling nine miles without significant strain emboldens the mind. The fest organizers made sure it was not an option - boats cordoned off the river at the trail's end, ensuring no one skirted by.

West of downtown Cincinnati

From the water the takeout point was deceptive – it seemed as if we entered a channel, but the boat was actually right there. After popping out of the tight seat one last time, I helped a volunteer carry my kayak to the trailers.

At the finish line celebration, we eagerly ate sandwiches from a food truck before jumping on a bus back to the start line. By bus, we retraced the journey down the river, covering the same nine miles on a network of highways.

After leaving Paddlefest, we adjourned to our rental for a few hours of napping. The early start time and nine miles of paddling left us mostly exhausted. Soon the afternoon sun cut through the windows and we were ready for an afternoon wandering around Cincinnati.

For dinner we stopped at Taft’s Ale House, a craft brewery that made an array of steak-based entrees. The brews were highly memorable, from a dry-hopped sour (mmm ... Simcoe and Citra hops) to Smoky Dokie, a dark wheat with smoked malt. The brewery’s reuse of the church creates a stunning atmosphere. While a smaller space than Pittsburgh’s Church Brew Works, Taft’s is equally impressive. Long wooden benches line the main hall, the bar and several brew kettles fill the front of the church. In the balcony, smaller tables fill out an area surrounding a separate bar.

Our friends Nick and Katy came down from Columbus for the evening, and met us there. Also making an appearance – a high school friend I had not seen in 15 years and the only person I actually know who lives in Cincinnati. He spotted me from across the cavernous room and stopped to talk, recommending other breweries. We would not make a visit to Rhinegeist but I familiarized myself with their lineup across several stops in Covington.

Taft’s was among many new tenants in Cincinnati’s Over-the-Rhine neighborhood. Fifteen years ago, the neighborhood was the scene of a race riots. Now it’s become Gentrification Central, affluent suburbanites fill it on the weekend and predominantly poor African-Americans still residing there.

New development was everywhere, both renovations and new construction that doesn’t quite mimic the original 19th century structures. The character changed block to block. SUVs full of wealthy suburban types swarmed for parking spots. Washington Park was a vibrant anchor for the community rimmed by gardens of herbs and wildflowers that dazzled in the late afternoon sunshine. After a stop in a cocktail bar – we arrived to find a booth open and when leaving 45 minutes later, people stood five deep waiting for drinks - we drove back to Covington to hop among its many bars and restaurants. Katy and Nick joined us for a few hours of journey through the Kentucky town's historic district.

Unlike other historic neighborhoods, Covington’s Mainstrasse Village felt a little ramshackle and gritty – in a good way. The character had not been sucked from the century-old buildings. Take Mulligan’s, a neighborhood bar among the row of trendier spots. The friendly corner bar sustained us for a drink as a parade of locals brought dogs into the bar. They socialized as well as people – some greeted each other affably, others broke into barks. There was plenty of room for working-class, neighborhood hangouts. Their patio tables ran up against the tables of trendier places, and no one minded. Cars passed slowly, as pedestrians dominated the blocks of Mainstrasse.

On our first night, we had a late dinner at Bouquet, a higher-end place with excellent entrees (best duck I ever tasted) and better desserts. It was a place I could not imagine apart from Covington, from its small, ornate bar to friendly staff to its excellent food and drinks. The human scale of Covington made it an easy base, and ensured we were never far from the river that brought us to Cincinnati.

Until next year ...