Swimming through History

To celebrate the birth of the United States, Chris and I naturally took a little drive. We kicked things off after sleeping in at a hotel just outside of Pittsburgh. The night before we stayed at Kennywood until they insisted it was closing time and moved on to Ritter’s, one of my absolute favorite greasy spoon diners, in the Bloomfield neighborhood of Pittsburgh. At this point we knew there was no driving back to Morgantown. I pulled up Hotwire on my iPhone and with 45 minutes before midnight, scored a ridiculously cheap 4-star hotel south of town.

When south of Pittsburgh, it is vital to stop at Two Brothers BBQ. It is a fact that the best BBQ comes from a trailer across from the volunteer fire department in Presto, PA. There is no meat they are not the masters of. I’m in love with their pulled pork nachos and their ribs. It was still early, so rather than hit the interstate back to Morgantown we decided to swing through Wheeling and take U.S. Route 250 and West Virginia Route 7 back. There are a few worthy attractions on this route. We decided to make a concerted effort to visit the Cameron City Pool.

The Cameron pool opened in 1939, the project being one of the make-work projects to put Americans to work during the Great Depression. The goals for the pool were two-fold: 1) recreation and 2) an emergency fire protection reservoir. The pool is unique in design being a walk-in pool with a semi-circular shape. It is one of the first pools of its type and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Searching the internet finds photos of the pool in use as recently as 2001 so we thought our odds were good. When we rolled into town we found a few streets closed for a carnival and firefighters using hoses and hydrants as a water feature to cool off the kids in the town. This seemed adorable and it was wonderful to see folks out and about. We made our way around the closures to the Cameron City Park, where the pool is. Unfortunately, we’re a few years too late.

The entrance to the pool was gated shut. We’re not entirely sure what happened to it. We walked up to the edge of the chain-link gate and could see the pool. It sat empty beyond the vacant pool house and concession stand. It was disappointing. Having this unique pool makes Cameron a special place not only for residents, but attracts outsiders. It made me revisit a recurring thought.

What if a group of people got together, pooled some money, and even just used the interest to make microgrants and/or microloans to help civic projects? Microfinance has been wildly successful in developing countries especially for increasing independence and entrepreneurship among women. If it works in that context I can’t help but wonderful what kind of effect it would have on civic pride, especially considering many of these projects currently receive funding through Transportation Enhancement Funds, a component of transportation funding that is increasingly controversial.

I think this is one of my new life goals. I want places like Cameron to not only be special to those from the town, but special to folks like me, with no specific connection to the place.

Take a Back Road: Morgantown – Washington – Wheeling

Part 4

Cameron takes the traveler by surprise. It is a much larger community than one may expect. It has the footprint and sprawl of a city three or four times its present size. This is due in part from the terrain, the city is tightly hemmed into several hollers of Appalachian hills and also as a relic to a time when Cameron was a greater city than it is now. Its well-preserved downtown, while largely vacant, is like traveling through time. Other civic efforts, like fixing up the old rail depot (despite the fact there are no longer any tracks) are promises that this is one town that will not lose its connection to history. It is also worth noting their public pool was a make-work project from the Great Depression, but it still welcomes the public each summer. It has a unique, beach-style design that is not particularly common.

From Cameron the trip through the hills continues. Approaching the town of Hundred, remnants of a railroad come closer and closer to the road. An old tunnel, with a portal reading “Soles,” peers over to U.S. Route 250. While sealed, the portal has survived the elements well. Things like this left behind make me crave to know more of the area history.

Hundred itself is a sleepy town that epitomizes Americana. A welcoming main street with rows of picture perfect white homes spurring off, coupled with poor cell phone service at best, and the chimes of the church bell carried on the cool air was an almost surreal experience. In Hundred we picked up the Hundred Cache on the East Wetzel Rail Trail, a trail whose length is only about 1.5 miles. It roughly travels from one end of town to the other. But it is a valiant effort based on the success of other rail trails in the state. Pleasantly, the trail follows the creek through town as it gurgles a pleasant song. It was only a short walk, but helped recharge our batteries as the pizza from Wheeling was wearing us out.

Just beyond Hundred we picked up WV Route 7, the final leg before returning home. Slaloming through natural gas pad sites we sought one final cache. Much of the day’s drive showcased the past, but the Bob Beach Bridge, while situated at the entrance to the Mason-Dixon Historical Park, is a view to the future. On a prior visit to this bridge I encountered a park volunteer who said that they had wanted an old-fashioned covered bridge. When the Department of Transportation refused, they countered with the offer for the bridge we see today. The Bob Beach Bridge is a fiber-reinforced, glue-laminated timber arch bridge with a fiber-reinforced polymer deck. Intending to showcase this unique structure our friend and frequent road trip partner, Brian, placed this geocache. With the hillside sparsely populated by briars this time of year we made the find quickly.

Despite an amazing day of adventure, we breathed a sigh of relief and finished the drive into Morgantown. Visions of future trips danced through our minds. I always think it is ideal when you’re eager to return somewhere.

Easter Lillies and Railroad Grades

No matter where you venture throughout the entire state of West Virginia, you are never far from evidence that people have been there before you. One is hard pressed to find a hollow or a mountain without an old rail grade or Easter lilies. What isn’t a result of mining is the result of the booming logging business in West Virginia during the nineteenth century. Of course, back then there was no regard for ensuring there would be trees to log in five, ten, or fifteen years and by 1920 the virgin forest was entirely gone. It is difficult to imagine the scale and the methods required to log an entire state during the late nineteenth and earlier twentieth century, but there is still once place in West Virginia where people can learn: Cass Scenic Railroad State Park.

Cass Depot, July 2009

Cass is a remote town in Pocahontas County, WV, virtually impossible to accidentally come across due to its remote location. Chris and I, with my mother in tow, set out from Elkins, WV on a July morning to find Cass and a piece of West Virginia heritage. A fine mist hovered in the air as we traveled through mountains, farmland, and quaint little towns down US-250 and over to WV-92, passing through Durbin and by the National Radio Astronomy Observatory.

While founded as a company town for the West Virginia Pulp and Paper Company (now Mead Westvaco), Cass is now a state park, featuring a fully operational logging railroad as the cornerstone of the park. Prior to logging trucks, railroads were built to move logs down the mountain to the mill. The locomotive most capable of handling the steeper tracks and switchbacks was (and probably still is) the Shay, which are geared locomotives. Cass is home to the largest collection of surviving Shays, including the #5 which has been traveling up and down the mountain at Cass since 1905.

On this day we were going to take the train up to Bald Knob, the third highest point in West Virginia. As we waited on the platform at Cass, the train approached, filling the narrow valley along the Greenbrier River with the scent of burning coal. We boarded one of the rustic cars, a flat car with a canopy and wooden benches installed, and the journey began.

For the bulk of the excursion all you see are trees and sweeping vistas of the remote Pocahontas County. The guides on the train point out all of the places where there used to be life, but nature has seemingly reclaimed all of it, everywhere you look. Imagining that this place was ever devoid of trees is asking the impossible.

Once at Bald Knob the view of the state was stunningly beautiful, but there was a twist. For all of the history in the woods we climbed through, the most noticeable feature in the valley below are the telescopes for the National Radio Astronomy Observatory. Where once there was a rowdy logging operation, science has come to find peace and serenity.

View from Bald Knob, July 2009

Back at the Cass town site, the rusted skeleton of a paper mill is being overtaken by vegetation and the houses and town only still stand because the state stepped in to preserve them before all that remained was a patch of Easter lilies and a railroad grade along the Greenbrier River.