The Shunpiker's Guide

The Road to Pocono Downs

2010-11-21T05:46:00.000-08:00

Champion butchers, Victorian beer barons, a lazy river ramble and some dreaded Yankee youngsters.

Up above Allentown, Route 309 is an on-again off-again two-lane blacktop that winds toward the Wyoming Valley. Shiny diners, one-horse patch towns, practitioners of taxidermy, small family farms and the aftermath of coalmines dot the landscape.

The valley is shaped like a croissant. It was carved by the Susquehanna through the folded Appalachians. And pretty much without warning, as 309 splits into a divided four-lane, a granite marker that pays tribute to a comic-strip boxing hero rises up along the shoulder. It’s Joe Palooka, known to previous generations as the “Champion of Democracy,” a cartoon pugilist created by native son Ham Fisher.

Don’t blink or you’ll miss the Joe Palooka monument along the shoulder of Route 309.

Actually, the marker tells us that this particular Pocono foothill has been named Mt. Joe Palooka, a pretty fair indicator as to the scrappiness of the area. People around here are used to gettin’ ‘er done by taking matters into their own hands.

Our destination is Pocono Downs, the racetrack home of actual living champions. Also home to a mighty fine array of local beers, summer ales, sloppy joes, shrimp po’boys, cowboy ribeyes, cheesy sliders, hummus and tzatziki, Buffalo wings, tuna rolls, pot stickers and one amazing pizza called (appropriately enough) The Italian Stallion. Yup, we can take matters into our own hands quite nicely round here.

Lest we forget, the magic of a roadtrip is what we find around the corner and over the next hill. And there are plenty of happy pastimes up ahead before the first exciting post time at the Downs. Perhaps it’s best to simply offer the intrepid racetrack roadtripper an itinerant array of activities, eateries, scenery and all matter of spontaneous whatnot – all within a few clicks of Pocono Downs. Let’s buckle up and click the hotlinks to dig in deeper. Download the map, grab the wheel and head for the hills. In the meantime, we’ll look for you around the bends and back roads.

Hartman’s Grand Champion Butcher Shop

Pull over; it’s pork!

Roadtrip rule #4: Pull over whenever we see a pig statue, because, with any luck, it means local home-smoked pork. At Hartman’s Butcher Shop, heading north on 309 in New Tripoli, the mouthwatering collection of tasty butchery treats is no baloney. Heck, they’re national champs for the beef jerky! But the real surprise is the party in our mouth they call the cheesy beef sticks. Sound advice: keep a cooler in the ragtop’s trunk.

An endless collection of pickled tripe, hot bologna, jalapeño dogs and hillbilly jerky, just to name a few deli case masterworks.

Behold: The Blue Comet Diner!
Getting closer to Wilkes-Barre along rugged Route 309, we can’t pass up the beautiful Blue Comet. As we chow down on eggs over easy and golden home fries ($1.45!), we lose count of the cars of a big old freight train as it rumbles on past. (Overheard from a confiding waitress with a fabulous beehive hairdo: “I’ll never, ever, never get married again. Now, who gets these beautiful stuffed peppers?)

A painting of the original Blue Comet,

whose tracks still run right past the diner,
hangs in the back room.

Check into a Victorian masterpiece residing in a beer baron’s mansion

Old man Stegmaier turned his German beer-brewing chops into a 19th century fortune. (And no, the place is definitely, probably not haunted. We slept like Victorian beer barons.)
Every nook and cranny of the Frederick Stegmaier Mansion is chock-a-block with gilded paintings, woven tapestries, brass fantasies, ornate wazoos, Tiffany everything and sudsy memorabilia from the Stegmaier beer fortune.

It took Joe Matteo nine obsessed years to restore this downtown Wilkes-Barre B&B into a stunning experience of true Victorian splendor. A night here in 600-thread count luxury is living as well as one possibly could in the late 19th century. Of course it doesn’t hurt to discover a luscious 21st century selection of pastries outside our bedroom door in the morning.

On tap: great food and plenty of beer at Bart & Urby’sAbout a couple dozen beers are on tap at Bart & Urby’s in downtown Wilkes-Barre, from local hero Stegmaier (their Oktoberfest is awesome) to Victory Storm King Stout. A better-than-bar-food menu with the likes of sushi-grade seared tuna, homemade empanadas and hand-cut sweet potato fries is icing on the cake.

Outlet Army and Navy sells good things cheap

How about a six-pack of “sox” for 2.99? Camo t-shirts and canvas rucksacks at bargain prices. Or sturdy Dickies workwear for a song. Also, stock up for the end of the world with a tasty variety of MRE’s said to stay fresh for 9 or 10 years. (We found the spicy penne to be not terrible at all.) This place is a hoot.

Just maybe the best chocolate milk in the entire free world.
Just outside of town is The Lands at Hillside Farms. It’s a dairy farm with a store and restaurant across the road. Cheese and yogurts and chocolate milk that’ll make you feel like a 7-year old again. A very lucky 7-year old.

Does this horse make us look fat?
We take a slow ride in the woods on the biggest horse we’ve ever seen.

John Mertz has been putting people up on gentle horses at Dear Path Stable for more years than he’d care to count. He put us up on Baron, no doubt the largest animal we’ve ever had the honor to sit upon. (John said this was the one animal on earth that might handle our girth without complaint. A hint we should drive on past the next barbecue joint we happen to see?) Old Baron paid us no mind, and seemed to enjoy his routine stroll through Deer Path’s meandering, sun-dappled trails. Our ride was a very good 45 minutes or longer – just $28 cash money well spent.
High atop Baron, we can’t help wonder what kind of conditioner he uses to keep his mane so silky smooth.

John Mertz is a very funny guy. He’ll put you in a good mood and in a good saddle at Deer Path Riding Stable. Riding our own horse is a great warm up for watching ‘em run at Pocono Downs.

In spring, the river is high and the rapids are, well, rapid. Summer waters are shallower, slower and mighty peaceful.
Down the lazy river with a paddle sure beats up the creek without one…
Off the horse and into a kayak. It’s a whole other kind of trail ride. The good folks at Susquehanna Kayak & Canoe are a short ride from Wilkes-Barre along a beautiful winding road that hugs the shoreline of the Susquehanna River. We take a van a few miles upstream and climb into a kayak and let the lazy current push us back down. Along the way we watch bass jump, hawks circle, minks slink and a gigantic bald eagle soar overhead. It’s so relaxing and quiet here, we forget to hear ourselves to think.

Youngster Yankees in a beautiful mountain bandbox.
As we’re mighty partial to the Phillies and Pirates (yup, we’re National Leaguers all the way), it’s a little weird to walk into beautiful PNC Field where the Triple A Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Yankees play ball. It’s like watching dreaded rivals of the future earn their pinstripes. Lucky for us the Pawtucket Red Sox take it to the Yanks this afternoon, but in deference to the home team fans surrounding us, we don’t holler too happily. (We reserve our vocal chords for the horses later on tonight.)

There ain’t a bad seat in the house
where the young Yankees learn their craft.
The hot dogs go down with a cold draft, too.

Tony’s in Kingston: Sandwiches and omelets with extreme personality.
Roadtrip rule #7: Avoid eating anything that’s bigger than your head. Every rule has its exception, however, and in this case it may be Tony’s Fat Bastard omelet. Many eggs envelop homemade sausage, meatballs, onions, cheese, hot peppers - all topped with some red gravy and a side of sausage. Good luck with that.

Tony’s grill master and owner: “I’m a porketta patriot.”

For our money (and for our tummies), we stick with the tried and true porketta hoagie. Owner Jimmy Zambito (son of Tony) is a madman with a spatula. The secret: grilling the long rolls inside and out. A masterpiece for your mouth. (Caveat: if you’re offended by extreme Tea Party sympathies, you may wanna order for take-out. The joint is decorated the way Rush Limbaugh sounds.)

“Probably the best
Roadfood destination
in Northeast Pennsylvania.”
– Roadfood.com

Is it a garage or a coffee shop? Yes!
Right around the corner from Pocono Downs we find Lispi’s, the weirdest and perhaps most beautiful old coffee shop/lunch counter ever. It’s attached to an auto repair shop so we might get our car inspected, our oil changed, maybe even arrange a tow. Then enjoy a cup o’ joe and maybe a cruller. Where Rt. 315 meets Fox Hill Road.

Life on the upside at Pocono Downs

There are all sorts of strategies on how to pick a horse.
We happened to like the name of this one.

It's better in groups at Pocono Downs.

When we finally make it to the track – just in the nick of post time - we meet a whole gang of friends who have the beer buckets chilled and the wings ordered extra hot. The track at Pocono Downs is a splendid oval, with a gorgeous backdrop of mountain foliage. We have a ball watching the horses’ pre-race parade and one of our railbirds is absolutely convinced that we should peel our eyes for a horse that’s pooping. (“That’s the one to pick,” he argues. “It’ll lighten the load!”)

Well, we don’t see that kind of action, but in the sixth race the number 5 horse speaks to us: Urbino Hanover, out of Pennsylvania’s own Hanover Shoe Farms. The best pacers in the world come out of that farm, so who are we to argue with success? To make a 2-minute race story even shorter, thank you, Hanover Shoe Farms. Urbino comes in like he should and we fill up the beer buckets again and still have pocket change for the roadtrip home.

Here’s to the road (and racetrack) ahead! Let us hear from you as to where you been, what you've seen, who you've met, and what you've eaten - before it's too late.

The road to The Meadows: 16,000 years of rock shelters, cherry pies, trolley cars, trail rides and a beloved father of harness racing

2010-07-31T10:27:00.000-07:00

Our roadtrip begins 16,000 years ago, after a lovely winding ride along a very rural Route 50 toward the West Virginia border. We’re en route to the last homestead of local hero Delvin Miller, known around here as the father of American harness racing. His story’s worth telling, but it’s what his brother Albert found on the family farm that drives us forward into the past.

Some years back Albert was walking his dog along the Cross Creek when Ol’ Blue chases a groundhog down its hole and digs up ancient Indian arrowheads, tools and other artifacts of social activity in the process. One dig leads to the next and – eureka –the oldest continually habitated spot by human folk on the North American continent.

The archeologists tell us people have been coming to this spot called the Meadowcroft Rockshelter for nigh on 16,000 years. (“It was like a Paleo motel,” says one of our guides.) That’s 1,600 centuries of fishing trips, hunting parties, family picnics, campfires and every manner of post-ice-age barbecues. All now protected by a dramatic wooden enclosure more Frank Lloyd Wright than pre-Clovis paleontology.

Even for us lay folk, who think the patched denim jacket we just found balled up in the back of the ragtop trunk is old, this place is a certified jaw dropper. They’ve been digging around here with tiny little razor blades since the ‘70s – which seems long enough – and they’ve gotten through about a third of the sandstone that’s given up countless prehistoric treasures.

A couple stones throw away, on this same piece of property, is the Meadowcroft Museum of Rural Life. We stroll through a frontier town, check out the squash growing in a 400-year old Indian village garden and land inside two galleries that tell the stories of the Miller brothers who put this spot on the map.

Albert was a gifted photographer, and his chronicles of old-time rural living fill a beautiful gallery. Next door, a story of one of the great sportsmen of any archeological era comes to life. Albert’s brother Delvin Miller drove his first racehorse when he was a teen, and kept at it till he died at the age of 83. The room is chock-a-block with sulkies, loving cups, regal proclamations and amazing memories. It’s a one-man hall of fame from the most romantic era of sports.

After gawking through a few generations of geological and harness racing ephemera we put images of flint arrowheads and riding silks in our rear view. We have a desire to hop a streetcar at the Pennsylvania Trolley Museum down near The Meadows Racetrack, our feature destination. (Did we mention that it was Delvin Miller himself who founded that beautiful racing oval back in ’63?)

Alas, like the best laid plans, ours is interrupted, this time by hungry happenstance along the two-lane. We do a double take at an art deco filling station now reborn as a bakery with the tastiest pies this side of the Wellsboro Diner. Their aroma fills the air, so of course we bang a uey to have a looksee.

The Pie Place has rolled ‘em out for more than 15 years now, and we cannot tell a lie: the crimson cherry pie with the lattice-work lard crust is so tempting we don’t make it out of the parking lot. We devour the whole enchilada right off the ragtop’s trunk.

Wipe the last speck of cherry filling from the corner of our smile and we finally make it to the Trolley Museum. Yup, there she is, the very same streetcar named Desire made famous onstage by good ole Stanley Kowalski. To this day it inspires cries of “Stella!” from many who happen upon this big old trolley barn.

Desire is part of a collection of more than 40 antique trolley cars, most of ‘em painstakingly restored and gleaming with nostalgia. Motorman Walt Copland welcomes us aboard for a trundle through the nearby woods and meadows. He tells stories of the bygones and answers every question with a wink and a smile.

By now the light is late-afternoon lush, and we hop off the trolley just in time for the first post at The Meadows, where our potential fortune (and a couple cold trackside brews) awaits our arrival.

This place is beautiful and bustling. Gentlemen sport Irish caps and chew pencils while they study racing forms. Kids ride on dads’ shoulders up and down the rail, pointing at one splendid horse after another. It’s colorful; a carnival atmosphere festive with families who keep Delvin Miller’s equine vision alive and trotting.

Aha! A pacer from Pennsylvania’s great Hanover Shoe Farms is listed in the first race. So we plop down two bucks on Big Time Hanover to win and then claim a spot with the railbirds down where they finish.

The bugle calls the horses to the post and the reverie raises back-neck goosebumps. The thrill never gets old, especially when Big Time Hanover comes thumping from the outside to take the lead at the ¾ mark with just enough oomph to hold on past the wire. We hop and holler and wave our winning ticket. The Hanover horse pays $4.20; the next cold beer is on the house.

We stay through the 8th, the big feature race, where we put our faith on another pacer from our favorite place. This time he’s a big fella by the name of Dagnabit Hanover. He’s won two in a row, but this evening, dag nabit, he can’t make it three. All in all, though, we did alright.

Turns out watching all those horses run around in ovals pushes our hungry and thirsty buttons. So we find happiness in the tavern room at Palazzo 1837 Ristorante, a new-school Italian in a beautiful old-school brick building just down the road apiece.

Matt Sager holds court at the bar here and mixes a varied menu of mean vintage cocktails. (His wife Susan manages their downtown Pittsburgh outpost; we make a mental note to stop and say hello.) We quaff one of Matt’s speakeasy Lime Phosphates (caution: they go down too easy) and savor a mélange of sautéed sea scallops and oxymoronic jumbo shrimp. Roadtrip dinners seem best eaten at the bar, where conversation with locals usually digs up tomorrow’s unexpected treasures. No exception this time, as Matt boasts of a wood-burning pizza oven just up Route 19 in Mt. Lebanon.

Lucky for us Il Pizziaolo is just a few clicks from bucolic Rolling Hills Ranch, where a gentle saddle horse named Forbes takes us for a morning ride through the woods. We clip=clop beneath the forest canopy and dream of driving a Hanover champion to the winner’s circle at The Meadows. After a very pleasant hour or so, we prepare to chow down on Neapolitan pizza topped with baby arugula and oh-so-thin prosciutto.

The itinerary is tight. We’ve still got a barn full of Alpacas to discover, a tour of a dairy farm to take (and their ice cream to scream about) and a night to spend at yet another working farm where we’ll help pitch hay, milk a cow and sleep like 16,000-year old rocks. But that’s a whole other story yet to tell.

In the meantime, we’ll look for you around the bends and back roads.

The road to Harrah’s: Riverfront racing, buttered burger buns and royalty-related fainting goats

2010-05-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

Listen carefully. When the horses round the first turn on the other side of the infield, the thundering hooves take on a slightly different tenor. That’s because this riverside racetrack is so close to the Delaware that the southeastern turn is actually over the riverbed, on a trestle of steel. It’s one of the idiosyncrasies that delight us about the horse course at Harrah’s in Chester.

We sail the ragtop through Boeing defense plant country to find it. Past what look like enormous centrifuges and helicopter gunship factories. And down along the waterfront ports and just this side of the looming towers of a state pen is the purple Harrah’s logo, big and bright as luck itself. We bang a left into the only racetrack where standard-bred railbirds are next-door neighbors with workaday shipyard river rats.

Upstairs beyond the whirl of the slots parlor we enter the world of the horseplayer. Big flat screens take us to exactas and trifectas the world over, and opposite this media Mecca is the great grandstand overlooking the river. Out in the sunshine a gravel oval and green infield spreads out beneath us. Chocolate brown horses pull sulkies as drivers get a feel for the surface pre-post time. A huge Shanghai freighter glides past the backstretch to unload its mystery cargo next door.

Nice to sip a cold one, ponder the program and watch the river flow. Hard to believe, but a horse named Riverboat Captain is going off 12-to-1 in the third race so we can’t help but plop down two bucks and hop on board. Turns out a good group of the grandstand faithful are with us, and they stand to holler him home to a thankful third.

“There’s pride in third place,” calls out one of our grandstand friends, brandishing his show ticket. In line to cash out, we hear scuttle among the victors of steamed dumplings, roast pork and applesauce, and perfect pink prime rib over on the casino buffet. Heck, we’re still feeling the onion/relish aftermath of a mushroom burger and junior malted from Jake’s, down off Route 202. The legendary grill joint sits right smack on the PA/Delaware border, and it’s an insurmountable temptation if you’re heading to the track from that direction. (Even worthy of going out of your way for the grilled buttered buns alone.) But that Harrah’s buffet calls to us. We find green Thai curry and butterscotch pudding that tucks in perfect between the fourth and fifth races.

By the time we collect the ragtop from the valet, our pockets feel deeper and our bellies a bit fuller. Glad it’s a quick ride over to Chadds Ford, where we walk off some buffet with a guided tour at the Brandywine River Museum.

Settled in nicely along the banks of the Brandywine, this may be the world’s perfect art museum. Certainly the most relaxed and comfortable. We mosey lush trails and hum along with the burble of the creek. It’s mighty quiet after the rumble of the riverfront trestle track. Inside the brick barn of a gallery, the life work of Andrew Wyeth, his family and other local painters offers an illustrated history of this neck of the woods.

Andrew’s effervescent granddaughter, Victoria, takes us on an insider’s journey through the paintings she knows so well. Through her unique perspective, we really get to know the cronies and characters that populate these canvases – and the rolling green neighborhood. (Imagine strolling around Giverny, gossiping about Monet in his garden with his grandkid.) It’s intimate, utterly fascinating and we feel like family.

A stone’s throw and we’re wandering about Chaddsford Winery, where we load the ragtop’s trunk with a new release of blushing rosé, perfect for our weekend brunch. Then north toward America’s Route One, and the back roads to Glen Mills and a gentlemen’s horse farm called Sweetwater. There’s a guest cottage the size of a small condo reserved for us there, with a queen bed and a king’s breakfast included.

Chris Le Vine runs Sweetwater Farm, and knows a thing or two about horses. His grandfather was Jack Kelly, legendary bon vivant, oarsman and horseman. (AKA brother to Grace Kelly, star of Hollywood, Princess of Monaco.) Jack was one of the founders of Atlantic City Race Course, where 35,000 fans would once convene to spend afternoons on the edge of their seats. It’s kinda cool to swap horse tales with the grand nephew of a princess about the sport of kings.

Chris’s father Don was a champion thoroughbred trainer, so he grew up along the backside rails of the greatest racing venues in the world. Today, his 18th century farm is home to horses, sheep, and some oddball fainting goats. One mean look or sharp sound and the goats simply fall over from surprise. Sweetwater’s our home, too, for 24 hours or so. But we see nary a mean look and hear nothing to make us wanna faint.

In fact we fall asleep to a gentle rain tapping our cottage roof and a happy little blaze dancing in our fireplace. We have visions of the coming breakfast feast: ham scones, cranberry muffins, fruit parfaits, home fries and eggs-anyway conjured up by Sweetwater cook Farrell Leo, whose morning smile is pure sunny-side-up.

We can’t stay as long as we’d like, as there are horses to saddle up for ourselves just down the two-lane at Ridley Creek State Park. And then a proper English lunch at The Whip Tavern, way out in Chester County’s horse country. But not too far out to keep us from some more afternoon harness action back at Harrah’s. As the old honky-tonk song reminds us, “Ew whee, we feel lucky today!”

Until post time, we’ll look for you around the bends and back roads.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's where to stay, what to eat, what to see. (Hit us with your own ideas, won't you?)

Harrah’s Chester Casino and Racetrack
The cool industrial architecture reflects the working heritage of the riverfront, and the racetrack runs so close to the river, part of the backstretch was built right over the water. The harness racing features some of the best drivers in the country, and the family atmosphere welcomes horse lovers of all ages. And the valet parking is free!

Jake’s Hamburgers
Does it taste so good because they grill the buns and hand pack the patties? Or because the grill jockeys still wear paper hats. One thing’s for certain: the burger of the month is a must, no matter what it is. And grab a shake that tastes as good as your 7th birthday. It’s right on the border, so you might eat your burger with one foot in Delaware and the other in PA. 16 West Chester/Wilmington Pike, Chadds Ford. 610.358.5810. jakeshamburgers.com

Mickey Vernon Sports Museum
This little oddity is a baseball lover’s treasure. Mickey Vernon grew up in these parts and became a legend with the Boston Red Sox. Wait till you see the horsehide on which Mickey collected the autograph of every ALer who played at Fenway in ‘57. Hidden inside the Brandywine Visitors Bureau, this little hall of fame honors local stars from baseball, football – even the Olympics. It’s a fun freebie, but a donation is always ‘preciated.
One Beaver Valley Road, Chadds Ford. 800.343.3983

Brandywine River Museum
Spend time with Andrew Wyeth’s portraits and landscapes and NC Wyeth’s timeless paintings for Treasure Island, Kidnapped and other classic adventure tales. Visit NC’s house and studio. And by all means ask about granddaughter Victoria’s effervescent guided tours. 1 Hoffmans Mill Road, Chadds Ford brandwyinerivermuseum.org

Chaddsford Winery
A tour of this successful winery whips up a fine thirst for a delicious wine tasting. Enjoy a picnic lunch, smell the grapes ripening on the vines and take home a case or two of the good stuff. 632 Baltimore Pike, Chadds Ford. 610.388.6221. chaddsford.com

Sweetwater Farm
A gentleman’s farm owned by the grand nephew of Princess Grace Kelly is a romantic retreat for a night, a weekend, a wedding. Innkeeper Meghan Feeney welcomes you in a house full of Kelly family memorabilia, and the 18th century barn has been restored with marble slabs originally part of Independence Hall. Wait till you get your hands on Farrell Leo’s home-baked scones. 50 Sweetwater Road, Glen Mills. 610.459.4711. sweetwaterfarmbb.com

Ridley Creek State Park
Inside one of the most beautiful state parks is Hidden Valley Farms. Saddle up on a trail ride through the woods for a morning horseback experience before the afternoon post time at Harrah’s. No matter how much a newbie you are, there’s a horse to carry you at Hidden Valley. 610.892.7260. hiddenvalleyhorsefarm.com, or dcnr.state.pa.us/stateparks

The Whip Tavern
The décor is pure horse country. The menu is English pub fare and the taproom pours local brews and UK ales. Don’t miss the Scotch egg; the most sophisticated bar food you’ve ever put in your mouth. 1383 North Chatham Road, West Marlborough. 610.383.0600. thewhiptavern.com

The Blue Pear Bistro
Small plates, big flavor. This is the casual wing of the amazing Dilworthtown Inn “gourmet compound.” Sit at the bar and chow down with the locals on smoked salmon ravioli and curry crusted lamb. And by all means have your way with the value-priced wine list. 275 Brintons Bridge Road, West Chester. 610.399.9812. bluepearbistro.com

Let's hear your tales of the two-lanes: write us a note to shunpiker@visitpa.com. Here's to the road ahead.

Ride a horse, wolf a dumpling.

2009-08-08T08:14:00.000-07:00

Take a gander at a map of the Commonwealth and you can’t help but notice that Bucks County, like Italy, is shaped like a boot. (Looks like it’s about to kick Philadelphia into Delaware County.)

Today we’re right above the densely populated toe, riding an asphalt ribbon defined by the usual suspects of suburban sprawl. Fast fooderies, muffler and quick-lube parlors, strip centers and filling stations. And drive-thrus of every stripe. This is Street Road, its redundant moniker suggesting an overeager PennDOT employee. Or a byway so pleasant and essential it had to be named twice. Today, in this case, it leads to truly greener pastures.

Up ahead is Philadelphia Park, the verdant racetrack home to the annual $1 million Pennsylvania Derby. Also to the great Smarty Jones, who before running away with two thirds of the Triple Crown, ran away with the hearts of the Philly Park track pack by winning every race here, including his first by 7 ½ lengths and his second by 15.

We like the sign that points to free valet parking. The valet likes the ‘76 Caddie ragtop and is happy to take her off our hands for the afternoon. Inside, the casino floor whirrs and jangles. We navigate aisles of slots temptation and find our way to the track outside. Before us lies a great oval raceway, its infield graced by lush, green grass and two big ponds. Ducks are in the ponds and opportunity is in the air.

We grab cold ones and appetizer hot-dogs to go with our programs, and then join the curious at the paddock. Here, jockeys consult with their mounts on the upcoming race card, and a few fans call out to their favorites. We chew the fat with one of the regulars and he offers an odd observation, quiet and out the side of his mouth.

“The number-six horse has been coming in a lot lately.”

That’s all we need to hear. The number six is a good-looking chestnut named Diamonds No More, and sure enough, our dumb-luck bet comes in. We pocket enough to head upstairs to the clubhouse restaurant. (“Upstairs, with the aristocrats,” our tipster says.) Nothing like eating on the house. Or is that on the horse?

On the menu, aristocratic crab cakes, “mile-high” fries and luscious roast pork. From our table, sweeping vistas of the track interrupted only by a 12” hi-def TV so we never miss a race while chowing down.

Second race on the card is billed “Mrs. H’s Kindergarten Classic.” Seems a whole tot class is there for the day, enjoying the green expanse of picnic grounds that run along the home stretch rail. The kids holler for their horses and join the triumphant jockey for a winner’s circle photo op. Get ‘em started early.

We end the day with a close call. A horse named Gotta Cadillac Car is running in the 10th, and with the El Dorado waiting outside for us, we just have to pick that Cadillac to win. Hopes high, he runs a solid second for about ¾ mile, and then runs outta gas on the final turn. C’est la guerre.

Time to head north, to a more bucolic Bucks County, where horses spend more time lazing around meadows than running round in circles. We’re off to Perkasie, with reservations at a B&B called Stone Ridge Farm. We cruise US 611 through Doylestown to Route 313, which laces up the Bucks County boot. In the village of Dublin we find the tiny factory where they put up the legendary Kelchner’s Horseradish. On a horse-powered roadtrip, we pull over for a no-brainer of a pit stop.

A red wood-framed building is home to Kelchner’s, where the Slaymaker family maintains the family recipes that have put this premium jerknose in a bottle since 1938. They’re a little surprised when we walk in and ask for a tour. “Oh there’s not much to see here,” says a shy employee at the counter. “But you can buy some really fresh horseradish!”

We canter back to the ragtop with a bag full of $2-bottles: classic horseradish, tartar sauce, cocktail sauce and rosy-red horseradish with beets. We can’t help but smile. Two bucks a horse at the track, two bucks for horseradish in a bottle.

Stone Ridge Farm was the dairy of Pearl S. Buck, author of novels like “The Good Earth.” What a fitting inspiration for what has become a beautiful 10-acre horse farm and B&B. Innkeeper Jackie Watson makes us welcome with amazing homemade brownies. Death by chocolate; this is living. Jackie’s a pretty well known painter, and her work – vivid impressionist oils and water colors – hang throughout the restored barn that has been transformed into a unique artistic inn.

Our room opens on a boardwalk porch rising above grazing horses gathered in the meadow below. When called to supper by a ranch hand, they stroll single file past our rocking chair perch. Not a bad place to sit with paints and a canvas.

We wake up to the smell of freshly mown grass and the sound of a few happy whinnies. (Not to mention some freshly baked scones.) Today we ride. Haycock Stables is a stone’s throw away from Stone Ridge and Lake Nockamixon State Park. This is where Joanne Moore carries on a 70-year family tradition of raising and riding beautiful Pennsylvania horses.

“Say howdy to Sam,” Joanne introduces us to our morning steed. Jeekers, he’s a big fella; we need a set of wooden steps to get up in the saddle. Sam seems happy enough to carry us for a good walk along the lakeshore, but the tastier leaves on the tree-lined trail compete for his attention.

“Just yank the reins back,” Joanne yells. “Otherwise Sam’ll eat trees all day.”

She asks if our little mounted group wants to trot, and most of us nod in wary assent. Whoa! No one warned our more delicate parts about how hard we hit the saddle on the down stroke. OK, the slow poke is fine enough for a rookie jockey.

Turns out a morning trail ride along the Nockamixon shore is the perfect lunch inspiration. And we’re oh-so close to a local favorite called Emil’s. “Don’t go to Perkasie without eating Emil’s oyster pie,” we hear more than once. So here’s a tip from experience: Emil bakes his legendary oyster pie in months that have an “r,” which we miss by 23 days. But what do we spy in a glass case on the counter but golden apple dumplings big as softballs and just out of the oven. Flaky homemade piecrust enveloping baked Bucks County apples. We take ours swimming in warm milk.

“That’s Dutchy style,” says our happy waitress. “That’s all you need.” Lesson learned: If the month has no “r,” an Emil’s apple dumpling is the next best thing. Maybe better.

So with dumplings in our bellies and horseradish in the cooler, a few saddle sores remind us of how much fun we’re having. The ragtop pulls us along US 313. We’re heading for the great Quakertown Swamp and we pass a cross street called Elephant Road. Makes us wonder what a pachyderm ride might be like, and whether Bucks County has any hidden elephant racetracks.

Maybe we’ll have a look-see next time. Until then, we’ll see you along the bends and back roads.

Ok, get out your map and scout these joints, then let us know what you've seen, where you've been, what you've eaten.

Philadelphia Park
Great horses run the Bensalem Oval. Fun people gather in the Circle Bar and chow down in the Clubhouse Restaurant. And the Picnic Grove draws families for cookouts and horse watching. Oh yeah, there’s a mighty big casino there, too. G’luck!
3001 Street Road in Bensalem, PA 19020 (www.philadelphiapark.com)

Bucks County Visitors Center
Right next door to the track is the gateway to your Bucks County roadtrip. Especially cool are the interactive exhibits inspired by creative geniuses who have resided here, such as Dorothy Parker, Henry Mercer and James Michener.

Kelchner’s Horseradish
Since 1938 this premium jerknose has been the bomb on roast beef, shrimp and, of course, in our spicy Bloody Mary. They don’t do tours, but you can meet the folks who put this genie in the bottle and buy a few right where they do. Stop by and say hello at
161 South Main Street in the village of Dublin. Call ahead if you want: 800.424.1952 or stop in virtually at www.kelchnershorseradish.com

Stone Ridge Farm Country Inn
Jackie Watson will make you comfy on her fabulous, relaxing and very romantic horse farm. Ask for a tour of her studio and check out her impressionist oils and watercolors. Then sit on the boardwalk porch outside your room and watch the horses graze below. (Jackie’s breakfast is delicious, too.) 956 Bypass Road, Dublin. 215.249.9186. www.stoneridge-farm.com.

The Country Place
This is roadhouse tavern offers terrific food, warm and happy welcomes and incredible value. Our steamed clams were buttery and fresh and our top-shelf martini was just $4.50! Check out the ribs and steak combo for less than $10. It’s hard to spend much money here, and impossible to leave hungry. 1007 Route 313 in Perkasie. Call for directions: 215.257.5994 or check ‘em out online at www.thecountryplacerestaurant.com.

Emil’s Restaurant
A great country diner in big old white house. Emil makes oyster pies only when the oysters are truly fresh. We fell hard for the homemade apple dumplings served “Dutchy style” with warm milk. Perfect for lunch after a trotting trail ride. 1710 N, Ridge Road in Perkasie. 215.257.9552.

Haycock Stables
Abe and Joanne Moore bought this farm in 1961. It’s now a popular stable for boarding and riding horses. Ideal for novices and experts alike. We love the trail along Lake Nockamixon. Western saddles make us feel like Hop-along. 1035 Old Bethlehem Road in Perkasie. Call ahead for a horse: 215.257.6271. www.haycockstables.com.

Nova Thrift Shop
We’re incurable thrift-shop scavengers. This one on the road from Doylestown to Perkasie is a dandy, and supports a great charitable cause. We found a big old oak rocker for $15 that just fit in the back of the ragtop. 1628 Swamp Road, Fountainville. 215.249.8000. www.novabucks.org.

Send us a note, won't you? shunpiker@visitpa.com. Here's to the road ahead.

A Road Trip With Happy Horsepower

2008-10-27T14:41:00.000-07:00

From Hanover to Hollywood (Casino) @ Penn National

The southern stretch of Pennsylvania Dutch Country actually lies beneath the Mason-Dixon Line. So we whistle Dixie as we head southwest toward the Susquehanna on a blacktop byway that goes by the name of Route 372.

We’re heading into horse country, to Hanover Shoe Farms, where the finest standard horses in the world are born and bred. These are the great Pennsylvania harness racers that pull sulkies better than most and win big bucks on tracks around the world.

But first, other kinds of buggies remind us that we’re still riding through Amish farmland. Endless rows of corn and farmhouses slide by surrounded by flying flags of fresh-hung laundry, all below the Mason-Dixon.

Hand-painted signs advertise brown eggs and assorted produce. And here’s the one we can’t resist: “Homemade root beer, turn right.” A few surprise stops are always mandatory on a roadtrip, including spontaneous barbecue shacks and homemade root beer.

We bang the recommended ralph and find ourselves pulling into one of those idyllic farms. Tall corn on one side of the road and a white-fenced driveway on the other lead us to a smiling young girl in full Amish regalia. She gives us a shy grin and a half-gallon of root beer. We buy smaller 12-ounce bottles too, and take happy pulls as we wave goodbye and get back on the road to horse country.

The Susquehanna is huge and wide where we cross. We leave the shore that was once protected by the Union Army, and at once coveted by General Lee’s advancing forces. If the Susquehanna had been any narrower, or saddled by a few more bridges, rebel troops would have headed east instead of being turned back toward Gettysburg. It’s a lot to think about with root beer in the ragtop, and it’s a beautiful day for a roadtrip.

Hanover’s up ahead and we’re eager to park the car and stretch our legs. This old burg makes for a good stroll. Big trees shade sidewalks and redbrick storefronts take us back a ways. Hanover’s a machine-shop town. Cigars and gloves and furniture were once all made here by Hanover hands. And of course famous Hanover Shoes, worn by the hoity-toity the world over. Today Hanover’s machinery makes pretzels and potato chips and all manner of munchies. As one sign says, “Welcome to the snack food capital of the world.”

But right now we’re hankering for horses, so we head south outta town on Highway 194. Just a few clicks and we find Hanover Shoe Farms. Pull down the lane and head toward row after row of beautiful horse barns. We tie up the ragtop and stroll through stables that smell like hay and, dare we say it, victory. Just last year Hanover horses won more than 2,100 races and pocketed nearly $25 million. See a Hanover horse running in the next race, you best think twice before betting against him.

Hanover Shoe Farms sprawls over 3,000 acres, with 40 barns and 1,200 horses at peak season. The best time to get up close and personal with the mares and foals is springtime, but the barns are open for self-guided tours year round, every day of the week. We’re amazed that we can just walk right in and stroll through this harness racing legend. It feels old-world and all right.

This horse-breeding kingdom was the brainchild of local businessman Lawrence Sheppard, who was also running the Hanover Shoe Company back in the ‘20s and ‘30s. (Hence the name, Hanover Shoe Farms.) The old family mansion still lords over the town, and has been meticulously reborn into a posh inn with a grand kitchen jockeyed by Chef Andy Little. He’s nuts (and knowledgeable) about turning local food into great cuisine. The guy loves to cook. Which works out well for us, cause we love to eat. Book a “tasting menu” and he pairs great wines with course after course of the best-of-the-fresh from what he calls the local “rock star” farms.

Maybe best of all, there’s a big old clawfoot tub with our name on it upstairs. Oh yeah.

Next morning, after some local free-range eggs and homemade wheat toast, we’re at the Utz Potato Chip factory. It’s another self-guided tour that strolls a catwalk hallway high above thousands of pounds of rolling potatoes. Now they’re taters, now they’re peeled. And zip zap, they’re sliced and fried and salted and bagged before our eyes. Men prod the produce and women bag ‘em up. Forklifts pile boxes of bags as high as they can go, and trucks pack ‘em up and hit the road to satisfy America’s hungry snackers.

We gawk and gander and can’t help but smack our lips. Lucky there’s a factory outlet a couple doors down where fresh chips go for peanuts. We load up the back seat with a couple cans of kettle-cooked and we’re off.

From Utz’s we zoom north on194, en route to Penn National, the venerable Central PA racetrack that’s now a part of the bawdy Hollywood Casino in tiny Grantville. Not too long out of Hanover and we find East Berlin, a wonder of a little crossroads with great restaurants (BBQ!) and inns and boutiques. And just the thing for a horseback road trip.

Tackroom Treasures is on the south end of town, an equine oasis full of halters, bridles, saddles, boots, bits and brushes and whatever it takes to keep a horse and rider happy. The tack shop smells like rich leather, and the hand-tooled saddles stop us in our tracks. These are high-end fashionables with real horse sense.

Just when we feel the need for a souvenir we spy the shampoo and conditioner. Sure, it’s meant for manes, but a sign above the display lures us: “For man and beast.” We go with the EQyss Avocado Mist Conditioner and Detangler, for “mane, tail and body.” Our hair’s curly and this stuff turns out to be the perfect leave-in conditioner. We whinny in delight and hit the road.

Post time is still a few hours out so we stop to claim our reservations at The Inn at Westwynd Farm. Its 30-some acres of horse farm is a little bit in the middle of nowhere, yet it’s right on the way to the racetrack.

Carolyn Troxell makes us feel like bonanza in her stylish ranch house. She points us to our own fridge stocked with cold beer, wine and sodas, and a dining room table that’s loaded with cookies and brownies she’s just pulled from the oven. “Help yourself,” she says. “I’ll make more.”

Outside, rolling fields and a big red barn are home to a couple dozen horses, an alpaca or two and at least one stubborn mule. We poke around the barn and say hello to all of them. We’re in the mood to play the ponies.

Just a short gallop later and we stride into Penn National at the Hollywood Casino. It’s a cinematic slot parlor, a warren of cavernous rooms with colossal statues and movie icons from every golden era. Gable and Monroe, DeNiro and Pacino loom over the chattering slot machines from murals and jumbo-trons.

We skip the slots and make beelines to The Mountainview, Penn National’s trackside restaurant. Yup, it has a view of the mountains, and a view of the track. And a buffet that makes us wish we had skipped Carolyn’s brownies. (Almost.)

Our table has a video screen that posts the lineups and latest odds. With two-dollar bills burning holes in our pockets, we rush to place our first bets. We’re not "track touts" by any means, but we try our best to negotiate the day’s Racing Form. We look at past performance and track conditions and jockey records. But we end up picking the horse whose name we like. We bet on Smokey Rose and Rubbernecker and Whistle Pig and yell our lungs out as they come down the stretch.

For the last race of the night we head outside, and squeeze right up by the finish line. Our last two-dollar bill rides on More Cowbell and for once we’ve picked the odds-on favorite. So naturally More Cowbell comes out the gate dead last and stays there until the far turn when he hears us screaming his name and suddenly decides to get his giddy up.

Here comes More Cowbell on the outside! We holler like crazy. (This horse is making us hoarse.) He blasts past every thoroughbred except the winner and loses by a neck. We toss our tickets in the air and shrug and grin. So close, but so much fun.

The valet brings up the ragtop and we mount up back to our king-size bed and the promise of apple pancakes in the morning. We hope for riding lessons tomorrow, but we’ll leave the racing to the pros. Until then, we’ll look for you along the bends and back roads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of everything, stop in at www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.

J& E Homemade Root Beer
Look for the signs and follow your nose to a pristine farmhouse and root beer brewery. Here’s a tip: add a little half-and-half and make yourself a “poor man’s float.” Stop by 100 Haiti Road in Quarryville. (No Sunday sales.)

The Texas Hot Weiner Lunch 38 Carlisle Street, Hanover; 717.637.7075.
The Famous Hot Weiner 101 Broadway, Hanover; 717.637.1282. www.famoushotweiner.com.
These two chilidog parlors are just blocks apart. The Texas Hot Weiner may have a finer chopped onion; the Famous Hot Weiner ladles out a kicking chili. But don’t take our word for it. Conduct your own taste test.

Hanover Shoe Farms
The best harness racers in the world start their careers on 3,000 beautiful rolling acres. You’re welcome to tour the horse barns at your leisure. Look for the sign just south of town on Route 194. 717.637.8931. Details at www.hanoverpa.com.

Sheppard Mansion
Wine, dine and make a night of it in one of 9 sumptuous guest rooms. Live like a horse breeding baron in the heart of Hanover. Kathryn Sheppard Hoar will welcome you home at 117 Frederick Street in Hanover. Call 717.633.8075 or reserve online at www.sheppardmansion.com.

Utz Potato Chips
William and Sallie Utz started cooking potato chips in their summer kitchen back in 1921. See how they do it today and grab a bag of free samples while you’re there. 900 High Street in Hanover. For tour information visit www.utzsnacks.com/tours.

Tackroom Treasures
Everything you need to horse around from head to tail. In beautiful East Berlin at 424 Abbottstown Rd. (Rt. 194) (717) 259-0571.

Hog Wild BBQ
It’s a converted garage with a wood-burning BBQ smoker out back. Tuck into Rick and Tina Gulan’s pit beef, pulled pork and hand-cooked fries. Grab extra napkins and laugh along with Rick’s jokes and Tina’s comebacks. Where there’s smoke, there’s flavor. 507 W King St. in East Berlin; 717.259.6203. Check out the review at www.fiestakitchens.blogspot.com.

Mummert Sign Company
Know those cool “antique” signs in your neighborhood bar and grill? They probably come from here. Custom made retro, with a fun showroom. Worth a looksee at 1665 Rt. 194 in East Berlin. 717.259.8055. www.mummertsignco.com.

The Inn at Westwynd Farm
32 acres of horses and happiness. Wake up to a great country breakfast and take a walk around the barn. Not far from Penn National at 1620 Sand Beach Road in Hummelstown. Tell Frank and Carolyn Troxell that we sent you. 877.937.8996. www.westwyndfarminn.com.

Hollywood Casino at Penn National
They say it’s the most exciting two minutes in sports. And it’s still just two bucks to bet on a thoroughbred. Penn National’s a beautiful track and it’s now part of one huge casino. Dine, dance and try your luck in 10 thundering races a night. Ten minutes north of Hershey in Grantville. 717.469.2211. Get your giddy up at www.hcpn.com.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

The Lehigh Valley

2008-09-05T07:03:00.000-07:00

Strumming Martin guitars and strolling Jim Thorpe

We’re north on PA 191, a short stretch of working-class two-lane alive with trucks and tractors, flatbeds and four-by-fours. They rumble past stainless diners and glazed doughnut shops. Uniform and janitorial supply houses share the road with farm stands and car lots. It’s a patchwork cocktail of rural and retail filling up the Lehigh Valley.

With us are Hank Williams and Merle Haggard. Eric Clapton’s in the backseat. And we’re all riding with the King. All manner of guitar slingers are in and out of the ragtop’s CD player as we highball into Nazareth and on to the hallowed ground where they make C.F. Martin guitars.

Here’s where Woody Guthrie’s guitar was born. As well as Paul Simon’s, and Ernest Tubb’s. No matter what kind of music, it sounds better when it comes out of a Martin flattop. Been that way for 175 years.

We meet up with a small group ready to tour the guitar works. They still make ‘em by hand here, and we gawk in awe as patient craftsmen bend and carve Brazilian rosewood just so.

One fellow holds up the most beautiful thing we’ve laid eyes on. Mother-of-pearl weaves to and fro in flowering, lacy filigree from the pick guard all the way up the neck. The edges of the instrument glitter with woven silver and gold. “It’s taken me 3 months,” he says with pride. A tourist asks, “Who’s it for?” “Can’t say,” the fellow smiles.

“How much?”

“$55,000,” comes the answer with a soft strum. The guitar sounds like golden warm honey.

We spend another hour in the Martin Museum, drooling over dreadnaughts and 12-strings. There’s Clapton’s gorgeous all-white D-28. And of course, Johnny Cash’s black one. In a room set aside for spontaneous jamming, fellow travelers break into old-timey standards. As the bumper sticker says, “It’s finger-picking good.”

Back in the wood shop, the lunch whistle sounds. We recall passing Potts’ Doggie Shop on the way through Nazareth, and head back for a couple of chilidogs with pickles and slaw. Locals love to kibitz about their dogs. Potts versus the venerable Yocco’s. Some say Yocco’s grills the better wiener, but Potts’ chili wins hands down. All we can say is they’re so good (and cheap) we grab two Potts with cheese and bacon to walk with. And peel our eyes for Yocco’s for a proper taste test.

Bethlehem is on deck, the old steel town re-imagined and alive with new energy. The historic Hotel Bethlehem is a grand dame, restored and resplendent and a very welcome home after a day on the road. Across the street, The Moravian Bookstore is one of the nation’s oldest and best indy bookshops. Voracious readers laze the day among the stacks and re-fuel at a coffee shop just beyond Nonfiction. Up the block, thank heavens, we find the Bethlehem Brew Works, with beer-battered onion rings and a righteous Belgian lambic on tap. Ah, just in time for late afternoon.

A night on the town features a picture show at the huge-screen Boyd Theater. What’s better than a fistful of Goobers and a good old shoot-em-up. Next morning grab a copy of The Morning Call and revel in huevos rancheros at Billy’s Downtown Diner. Then, top down, we hug the Lehigh River to Jim Thorpe and a different world altogether.

Back in the day, Jim Thorpe was East and West Mauch Chunk, two towns separated by the river, united by prosperity. Once thriving with natural resources, Mauch Chunk fell on hard times as the coal and timber plunder dwindled. So the Mauch Chunks bought the rights to build a memorial tomb for Jim Thorpe, the legendary Native American Olympian. And two Mauch Chunks came together and adopted his moniker. Today Jim Thorpe, “the world’s greatest athlete,” spends eternity in an enchanting town that bears his name. Charming streets, unique boutiques, oddball museums and a grand little opera house surround his unlikely resting place.

Check out the stunning Dimmick Library, opened in 1890. A sunny atrium sheds light on a collection of rare books and historical archives. Stroll across the street to the Mauch Chunk Museum and we’re back in time with a 30-ft model of the old Switchback Gravity Railroad. The old cars once carried the first tourists through these mountain passes. (Tomorrow we see for ourselves with a ride on The Lehigh Gorge Scenic Railway; the station’s at the foot of Jim Thorpe’s main street.)

Now up Broadway to the Old Jail, cool and creepy. Imagine raising a family in the warden’s quarters, just a doorway away from the cellblock. And the dungeon. And the gallows. Peer into cell #17, seared with a spooky handprint made by an innocent man hanged with the Molly Maguires. Get goosebumps. Get outta jail.

Back in bright afternoon we shrug off the prison heebie-jeebies with a sunny stroll down Race Street, narrow and cozy and old-school Europe. Mountains jut on either side to show us why Mauch Chunk was called “The Switzerland of America.”

This little street is a wonder. Tidy homes snuggle the mountainside. There’s a cute café and a restaurant called The Black Bread. The Big Creek Winery pours free sips of good reds, whites and rosés. And a little bit of heaven called The Country Cottage is home to the Blue Ribbon Pickle. Lori, “The Pickle Lady,” says howdy and tempts us with crunch from her kitchen. Wow! Garlicky burpless kirbies, pickled zucchini, dilly pole beans, and home-jarred jams and marmalade give us the grins. But look out, here comes a militant jalapeño salsa that kicks tourist butt first and takes names later. We buy a jar of everything (and two of the salsa).

Lugging jars of pickles and a bottle of sangiovese, we mosey to our room in the Broadway Guest House, tucked quiet off the main drag. Perfect for a catnap before we wake up with our mouths watering.

On the advice of a wise townie, we have reservations with Mary Macaluso and her Italian grandmother’s recipes at the ristorante that bears the family name. Macaluso’s is a favorite local haunt, nearly hidden next to a motel called The Lantern. We tuck away wild mushroom ravioli, grilled loin of veal and a rack of lamb to beat the band. Wash it down with the tasty house red and try to save room for the homemade gelati.

Tomorrow we promise to work it all off with a bike ride through the mountain trails. Maybe a white water hoot-and-holler through the Lehigh Gorge. And a nosy browse through The Emporium of Curious Goods, one of the weirder wonders in Jim Thorpe. Until then, we’re mighty happy, hunkered down with Mary Macaluso, double espressos and after-dinner cordials. Too soon it’s time to leave, so we’ll look for you along the bends and back roads.

For an illustrated map of our cruise through the Lehigh Valley strum on over to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker. In the meantime, look up these great joints along the way:

C.F. Martin Guitars and Martin Guitar Museum
For 175 years, the most beloved guitars in the world. Watch as they’re still made the same old way. 510 Sycamore St., Nazareth, PA. Find out about tours and hours at www.martinguitar.com.

Potts’ Doggie Shop
Good enough to eat two. Cheap enough to eat four. Load ‘em up at 307 S. Broad Street in Nazareth. 610.759.6600. Also at 114 W. Fairview in Bethlehem. Taste the Lehigh Valley rivalry over at Yocco’s in Allentown. Info at www.yoccos.com.

Hotel Bethlehem
Big city luxuries at small town rates. Simply superb, in gilded age splendor. 437 Main Street in Bethlehem. 61-.625.5000. Check in at www.hotelbethlehem.com.

The Jim Thorpe Memorial
On Jim’s tomb, King Gustaf of Sweden, host of the 1912 Olympics, is quoted: “Sir, you are the greatest athlete in the world.” Cross the bridge from the main downtown of Jim Thorpe over to what was East Mauch Chunk. Take North Street (Rt. 903) about a mile and a half. You can find a good map at http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=cr&GRid=1031&CRid=45203

Mauch Chunk Museum & Cultural Center
A great place to the get the whole story of Mauch Chunk and Jim Thorpe. Watch the video, explore the history. 41 West Broadway in Jim Thorpe. 570.325.9190; www.mauchchunkmuseum.com.

The Old Jail
Dig the dungeon, saunter along the cellblock, see the lingering hand print of a condemned innocent man. (It’s shudderiffic.) 128 W. Broadway in Jim Thorpe. 570.325.5259. www.theoldjailmuseum.com.

The Broadway Guest House
This is the annex of the beautiful Inn at Jim Thorpe, just down the street. We like the Inn, but we love the Guest House hideaway. It’s at 44-46 W. Broadway. 800.329.2599. www.broadwayguesthouse.com.

The Country Cottage
Home of The Blue Ribbon Pickle and some heart-pounding jalapeño salsa. Plus a shop full of crafty knick-knacks and quaint geegaws. Say hello to Lori, the pickle lady, at 37 Race Street in Jim Thorpe. 800.304.8522.

Macaluso’s Restaurant
Ask Mary what’s special tonight. If she recommends it, don’t miss it. One of the better ristorantes in the Commonwealth. Reservations are suggested, although we love eating at the bar and conversing with the locals. 570.669.9433. Just a couple miles outside of Jim Thorpe on Route 209 in Nesquehoning, PA. Start your mouth watering at www.macalusosdining.com.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Up The Lazy River Road

2008-07-12T11:59:00.000-07:00

Bucks County, from the muses of New Hope to the music of Ringing Rocks

Charlie Parker blows Scrapple From The Apple through our radio as Route 32 carries us into the artists’ and antiques colony of New Hope. Fitting, as the bebop pioneer once made a home here in this lazy river town. It’s the heart of what some folks still call “the genius belt.” Hammerstein, Buck, Meade, Michener, Perelman and Dorothy Parker are just a few of the artists who lived in these parts. Along with a portfolio of painters: impressionists and modernists and every genre of brilliance.

We see for ourselves at the Michener Art Museum, where we gaze over beautiful landscapes and watercolors of canal barges and the steam trains that still take passengers over the hills and through the Bucks County woods. Just outside the museum, a mighty locomotive begins to pull four restored luxury cars full of gawking day-trippers along the New Hope/Ivyland Railroad.

A few blocks ahead is Gerensers, the ramshackle ice cream parlor that once boasted “exotic” flavors such as Wild Rhubarb and Cherries for George. We settle for butterscotch and find the Coryell Ferry ready to cruise the Delaware River just out back.

“Welcome aboard,” shouts our river pilot, not for the first or last time today. His long flatboat pulls away from the ragtag dock, through dozens of ducks scrambling for a few tossed crumbs of ice cream cone. We’re off on a half-hour cruise, past a shoreline of sunbathing turtles and a doe and her three fawns. Looming osprey keep eagle eyes peeled for bass just below the Delaware’s surface.

Our pilot offers the mandatory life-jacket advice. “In the unlikely event that you fall overboard, we’ll toss you one of these,” he says, pulling a strap tight around his waist. “Or,” he winks, “you can simply stand up and walk carefully to the most convenient shore.” Turns out the Delaware’s no more than 3 feet deep around here, and clear as gin.

Next morning, after a good night at The Logan Inn (whose legendary ghosts fail to disturb our sleep, thanks no doubt to a couple gin-river inspired martinis) we’re heading upriver on 32, then north on 263 to a slight diversion at the old-time Rice’s Sale. Rice’s is a humongous open-air flea market, and spans acres and acres every Tuesday morning the year round. Historically an antiques and collectables market, Rice’s now may be the world’s largest dollar store. Table after table, tent after tent loaded with handbags, t-shirts, tube socks, perfume, all manner of mops and brooms and household necessities at bargain prices.

We chew fresh hot pretzel braids and window-shop al fresco on a beautiful morning. There’s just the enamel percolator we’ve been looking for. We pocket a silver sugar bowl and 12 tube socks for a fin. Then we get back to the river while the gettin’s good.

Route 32 is called the River Road for good reason. From where Washington crossed the Delaware that cold Christmas night, all the way toward the broad-backed city of Easton, 32 hugs the river shore with the sharp twists and turns of history. It keeps a lazy Delaware canal between our ragtop and the river.

Lunchtime turns up at Dilly’s Corner, a riverside shake shack where we dally over sweet little burgers and grab chocolate malts to go. Point the ragtop north, past 18th-century inns, cozy general stores, campgrounds and boat ramps where busloads of “tubers” slide into the gentle river on giant rubber doughnuts for a sleepy current cruise. We spy one group with an extra tube bobbing with a cooler of cold ones. Our kind of river rats.

Past tiny Erwinna, with its covered bridge, and past Uhlerstown, home to another. Past canal locks and waterfalls and signs warning of falling rock from the cliffs above. Our destination: weird geology.

Just past the bridge to Milford we bang a left onto Bridgeton Hill Road, then a right onto Ringing Rocks Road to a county park unlike any we’ve ever seen. Sturdy climbing shoes and a strong hammer are a must here, as Ringing Rocks Park is a moonscape of boulders, nearly a dozen acres worth, lying in stark contrast to the surrounding Bucks County woods. Good shoes help us scamper among the rocks and the hammer lets us discover the weird charm of these rocks.

They chime like church bells.

Some are chipped nearly white; a sign of popularity among swinging hammers and tire irons. Clang! Bong! We find three good ones that sound the old NBC jingle: ding-dong-ding.

Beyond this odd rock festival is a woodsy trail to a tumbling waterfall. We imagine stealthy Delaware Indians, the first humans to revel in this beautiful sight. At least three stories tall, the falls pour with a teeming head into the glen below. Reminds us that we have reservations just up the road apiece, in a country inn whose happy taproom calls our name.

The late afternoon finds us dreaming bells and boulders during a porch doze at the Indian Rock Inn. Here’s a beauty of an inn, just across from the canal. And with a suppertime river view we chow down on Chef Val’s perfect escargot. We wolf lamb chops and wash ‘em down with a bottle of red from a wine list priced as far from the city as the Indian Rock itself.

The Inn’s taproom – The Barking Dog Saloon - lures us for a nightcap, and it’s here where our arts and oddball music journey comes full circle. Local fingerpickers line up at the open mike and the evening whirls with feisty fiddle tunes, Irish jigs and bawdy parlor sing-alongs. Glasses fill for us on the house and new friends with big grins slap our backs in welcome. Goodnight Irene, goodnight.

Life is good along the river, where tomorrow there’s more to come as the ragtop looks further north. Along the way we’ll look for you around the bends and back roads.

Here's where to eat, sleep and what to see along the way. When you find something great, please share it with us. For the whole maps and a slew of photos, check us out at www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.

The Logan Inn
Chef Pete Gialias runs this 16-room inn dating from 1727. Sixteen rooms, a fine restaurant, happy tavern and great outdoor dining. Plus a central location that lets you park free and walk everywhere. 10 W. Ferry St. New Hope. 215.862.2300. www.loganinn.com

Coryell’s Ferry
Make like Washington and cruise the Delaware! You’ll find it out back of Gerenser’s Ice Cream at 22 S. Main St. 215.862.2050.

Michener Art Museum
A real treat, especially for $4. Rotating exhibits of great painters and a cool tour of the creative minds of Bucks County’s “genius belt.” Union Square on Bridge Street. 215.862.7633. www.michenermuseum.org.

Zoubi Restaurant
Andre Le Noble’s eclectic menu is a fusion of his native France, Asia and Latin America. Sounds confusing, but it’s muy delicioso. Beautiful patio dining, too. (We had fabulous politically incorrect foie gras.) 5 W. Mechanic Street. 215.862.5851. www.zoubinewhope.com.

Rice’s Sale and Market
If you can’t find it here, you don’t need it. Tuesday mornings only, no matter what the weather. Off the beaten track at 6362 Greenhill Road on the outskirts of New Hope. Directions at www.ricesmarket.com.

Dilly’s Corner
Every day along the river is a beautiful day for a Dilly Dog and a chocolate malt. Where Rts. 32 and 263 converge just north of New Hope. 215.862.5333. Learn more at www.Hollyeats.com/Dillys.

River Country Canoes and Tubes
Channel your inner Huck Finn with an inner tube. “River Dan” hauls you up river in a bus and sends you floating back to base where great barbecue’s waiting on the grill. Maybe the laziest day you’ll ever spend. 2 Walters Lane in Point Pleasant, 8 miles north of New Hope. 215.297.5000. www.rivercountry.net

Ringing Rocks Park
Bring a hammer or swing a tire iron and ring them rocks! A beautiful spot for a hike through the woods and a picnic lunch. On Ringing Rocks Road, just west of 32 in Upper Black Eddy. Check out this site for more info: www.unmuseum.org/ringrock.htm

The Indian Rock Inn
Tom and Beverly Schweder make us feel right at home. No phones, no tv, just a lazy river view and great food from Chef Val Gerischer’s kitchen. Bring your guitar or banjo and sing along with the jam session at the Inn’s Barking Dog Saloon.
2206 River Road in Upper Black Eddy. 610.982.9600. www.indianrockinn.com

The Father Road

2008-05-17T18:19:00.001-07:00

Happy motoring on the old Lincoln Highway

It was John Steinbeck who christened Route 66 “The Mother Road.” But years before we got our kicks on 66 the original American roadtrip ran from the footlights of Times Square to the grandeur of the Golden Gate. We come to think of this as The Father Road, the first cross-country two-lane, named for the Rail Splitter himself.

Welcome to the Lincoln Highway, where we’re looking for mementos from America’s original car culture. It’s here on the Lincoln where diners learned to sling hash. Motor courts grew up to become motels. Hotels took on the shapes of cruise ships. There’s a two-story shoe house. A restaurant built like a castle, “serving kings and queens.” And our first surprise: The Land of Little Horses.

Just west of Gettysburg dozens of mini-mares and waist-high stallions (not ponies!) prance and perform on a daily basis. They share a pristine farm with miniature mules, peacocks and even a single-humped dromedary. We coo at the camel and feed the little dobbins crunchies from the horsy gift shop.

A few miles past the micro-ranch a life-size baby-blue elephant poses outside Mr. Ed’s Elephant Museum and Candy Center. The aroma of roasting peanuts wafts over us as we explore a ramshackle candy land with thousands of elephant gewgaws. First, candy necklaces, molasses paddles and a zillion jawbreakers, each quite capable of doing the job. Then elephant bookends, banks, candleholders, and lookee here: pachyderm potty chairs!

With root beer barrels in our cheeks and a Jumbo table lamp in the ragtop’s trunk, we blow past Chambersburg, out where peach trees and fresh cherries replace strip malls by the bushel. Dairy farms reach for the Tuscarora Ridge, where we climb nigh on to 2,900 feet. This was the original trace for Conestoga wagons rolling westward-ho. Today we turn ridge-top hairpins and peel eyes for the signs with a big blue “L” that keep us on the Lincoln road.

For the most part, the Lincoln Highway is U.S. Route 30. But Route 30 isn’t always the Lincoln. We take the “business route” whenever the option knocks. It’s the old road, usually the main street for beautiful little burgs still alive with dress shops and drug stores, newsies and cafes.

The town of Bedford’s a perfect example, and a perfect place to explore the Lincoln’s living memory. We can’t believe our eyes when we spot the original Coffee Pot on the edge of town. Just past a dreamy art deco filling station, The Coffee Pot’s a two-story percolator that once fueled pioneering road trippers with caffeine and comfort food. Newly restored to its kitschy majesty, it has a dignified pedestal at the county fairgrounds.

In Bedford the Lincoln is a main drag lined with cheery shops and a vintage movie theater that takes us back a bit. We stroll into LIFeSTYLE, a former cigar shop with its dark mahogany shelves now full of rustic handmade pastas, olive oils, and colorful pottery. It’s all from Italy, including Stefano Ferrari, imported by his wife Sarah, a local girl who knows her way around rigatoni. They help us pick out some creamy pesto and we put on a couple pounds just thinking of supper.

A few miles later we check into the Lincoln Motor Court, one of the last of the 1940’s cottage collections to welcome happy motorists at the end of day. We’re in Number 6, with a firm queen bed, a small living area, a TV nook with a fridge, microwave and coffee pot. The bath has pink and black tiles that recall the best of times.

Debbie and Bob Altizer run the joint, and their labor of love keeps the knotty pine paneling tip-top. Color TVs arrived just a few years back. “I think there's something nostalgic about black and white,” Debbie says. “But people don't think like that anymore. Now they even want remotes." We flip ours off and enjoy a nostalgic nightcap in a little manicured grotto behind old #6.

Morning has us back in the saddle. Up the road apiece we see a sign for the Flight 93 memorial. In the middle of a rolling green meadow a spontaneous collection of flags and flowers, badges and banners pays tribute to the hijacked passengers who gave their lives on September 11, 2001. Bob Musser lives a mile from the crash site and he and his wife volunteer here just about every day. “We greet a lot of people who come to pay their respects,” Bob says. “This here’s hallowed ground.”

Not far away is another story of inspiration with a much happier ending. It’s the site of the 2002 Quecreek Mine rescue, where nine trapped coal miners were brought out of the darkness alive and well. We peer down the tiny rescue shaft, now the center of a pretty little garden that celebrates the miners’ miracle.

We have a lot to ponder on the way to Ligonier, an old fort town with its feet firmly planted in the French and Indian War and its mind set on happy visitors. An effervescent Patty Campbell greets us at her Campbell House B&B. If you don’t feel welcome here it’s your own fault. She must be curator of the largest collection of Campbell’s Soup bric-a-brac west of Camden. She gives us a room with the Campbell’s Kids hanging over our bed and discount cards for two of the town’s better eateries. Then she sends us off for one wild pint of beer.

Joe’s Bar doesn’t look like much. A brick front with a red neon “JOES” gives nary a hint of the big game menagerie inside. We order pints of lager, wander into the back room and nearly drop our suds when we see the polar bear. And the huge horned ram. And the two-story giraffe. And by gosh, there’s a great elephant’s head looming over the taproom.

Spiral stairs lead us to more taxidermy trophies: scores of beasts that met their fate tangling with Joe Snyder of Ligonier. A bar-side local tells us Joe had no room for his stuffed animals at home, so he brought ‘em down the bar to keep everybody company.

We’ve not seen anything like it, nor expect to ever again. But one never knows what’s around the next turn of the old Lincoln Highway. Heck, the largest paperweight collection in Pennsylvania is a stone’s throw away. Not to mention a museum devoted to the Big Mac, invented for better or worse right here on the Mother Road.

Until then, it’s seared scallops and pad Thai noodles at Ivy’s Café, and home fries to beat the band at Ruthie’s Diner in the morning. As we head for what’s next along the Lincoln, we’ll look for you along the bends and back roads.

Get an illustrated map of our adventure along The Mother Road, complete with photos and other goodies, when you cruise over to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker. And for more about what's happening along the Lincoln Highway, check out our friend Olga Herbert's wonderful work at The Lincoln Highway Heritage Corridor at www.lhhc.org/.

The Land of Little Horses
These little Falabella Miniature Horses (not ponies!) dance, prance and perform. The farm is a beautiful stop along the way.
125 Glennwood Drive, a couple miles south of Rt. 30 and just west of Gettysburg. 717.334.7259. See for yourself at www.landoflittlehorses.com.

Mr. Ed’s Elephant Museum
We hear there are 6000 elephant trinkets in Mr. Ed’s museum. We’re too busy stuffing our faces with fudge and peanut brittle to take a complete count. 6019 Chambersburg Road just west of Chambersburg. www.mistereds.com

The Coffee Pot
One of the landmarks of the Lincoln Highway heyday. Restored and resplendent at the Bedford Fairgrounds on the west side of Bedfore. www.bedford-fair.com

The Lincoln Motor Court
Why stay in a sterile chain motel when you can book a cottage at this little treasure? See what they meant by, “Happy motoring!” 5104 Lincoln Highway, Manns Choice PA. (Just west of Bedford.) Call Debbie for a reservation at 814.733.2891.

LIFeSTYLE
Old-world pasta, hand-made pottery, Italian coffee and chocolates. And fabulous tins of tuna in virgin olive oil. Ask about the family-style dinners at Stefano and Sarah’s communal table. Right in the heart of the main drag, Pitt Street ("business route 30") in Bedford.

The Igloo Soft Freeze
It’s an ice-cream stand in the shape of an ice-cream sundae. (We love the root-beer float.) Very Lincoln Highway! 42 E. Main St. (Business Route 30) in Everett. 814.652.2442

Flight 93 Memorial/Quecreek Mine Rescue
The 9/11 crash site is one big lump in the throat. Not far away is the rescue shaft that brought 9 trapped miners back to their families. Both places tell tales of triumphant human spirit.

Joe’s Bar
Lions, tigers and bears! A few stools are made of elephant’s feet and we drink beer out of jars. Look out for the stuffed jackalope. Maybe the best bar ever. 202 W. Main St, Ligonier.

Ivy’s Café
Local boy marries Manhattan girl. Together they make beautiful kitchen music. We love the blue cheese and walnut wantons. Great wine list with good prices, too. 201 E. Main St, Ligonier. 724.995.1050. www.theivycafe.com

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

A Day at “The Office” in The Electric City

2008-05-02T11:55:00.000-07:00

Where your favorite TV characters hang out in Scranton, PA

The fact is we don’t watch a lot of TV. Heck, we’re on the road so much it’s all we can do to catch a motel movie now and again. But whenever possible, we’re slaves to “The Office.” Maybe because it’s plain hilarious, and maybe because it takes place in Scranton, PA.

We cruise into “The Electric City” on old Route 11 just to check out the joints they talk about on “The Office.” We even have the radio in the ragtop glued to Rock 107 FM. (Remember the episode when Dwight calls the station: “Hello, Rock 107? Am I the 107th caller?”) An appropriate anthem, “Little Pink Houses,” rolls us past little brick ones built for the miners and millers and railroaders who gave this town its heyday.

Today, factories have become art studios. Old storefronts are unique boutiques. Antique pressed-tin ceilings look down upon lively pubs and steak houses. And next to the railroad yards – now the mighty Steamtown National Historic Site – is The Mall at Steamtown.

We park below and ride an elevator into the bells and whistles of a shopping paradise that often co-stars on our favorite show. Sneak a peek inside Victoria’s Secret, where Michael Scott, the office boss, inexplicably takes his female co-workers on “field trips.” Check out Nail Trix, a salon where Kelly Kapoor would totally spend every Saturday morning.

We’re tacky tourist shutterbugs until a security guard tells us no pictures inside the mall. “Except at the food court,” he points. “There’s a whole display of those ‘Office’ stars perfect for snapshots.”

Sure enough, there’s the whole cast, bigger than life. We click cardboard cutouts of Michael Scott, Kelly Kapoor, Creed (played by Creed Bratton – did you know he used to play guitar in The Grassroots?), the grumpy nerd Dwight (played by Rainn Wilson, who was made an honorary mall security guard when he came to Scranton for an “Office” convention) – even the original “Scranton Welcomes You” sign from the show’s opening credits. Among the food-court stalwarts of Arthur Treacher’s and The Lotus Express, it’s pretty cool.

Outside the food court we walk a skyway above the massive Steamtown train yards, and down into acres of boxcars, locomotives, cabooses, and lots of electric trolleys. For many years Scrantonians rode the first citywide electric trolley system in the world, hence its nickname “Electric City.”

Follow the tracks to The Trolley Museum at the other end of the yards. Inside, hop aboard an original wooden streetcar, with velvet curtains and leather benches. Imagine the clang-clang-clang. Sure beats walking.

Folks still ride these restored wonders along the edge of town, through the woods and over to the friendly confines where the Triple-A Yankees play. It’s a romantic ride through time to one gem of a ballpark.

Around the corner and high above, a blazing round sign illuminates the city’s happy heritage every night: “Scranton, The Electric City.” It’s a beauty.

Back in the ragtop, we pass the big green sign on the home of the Crystal Club Soda Water Company. (Seems there’s a can of Crystal Club Root Beer on every desk in “The Office.”) We spy the building on the corner of Adams and Mulberry that stands in for the fabled Dunder Mifflin paper company. It has a sixties kind of architectural cool, and we can’t help but snap a drive-by pic.

Swing down Washington and there’s Abe’s Delicatessen, just in time for lunch. (Have you seen the Abe’s menu stuck on “The Office” fridge?) We stand before a gleaming case of pickles, smoked fish and kosher salamis. On top, a cooling tray of noodle kugel and knishes fresh from the oven. A counterman (Abe himself?) catches our gawk and shrugs, “What’s not to like?” We go with matzo ball soup and the best whitefish salad this side of Second Avenue. Kosher deli in Scranton; who knew?

We walk a couple blocks to the Artists For Art gallery. It’s home to contemporary work from local artists, including – at least on TV - Pam Beesly, played by Jenna Fischer. AFA’s set in a row of restored brick storefronts, another intersection of hardscrabble and new-wave Scranton.

Not far from AFA we discover the favorite watering hole of “The Office” denizens. Poor Richard’s Pub, with its spicy wings, local tap beer and a waitress who calls us “honey,” is tucked inside the South Side Bowl. The alleys are booming with bowling teams of all ages, and the bright lights and neon colors are a groovy shock after the brick streets of downtown. A mural of enormous bowling balls the color of grape soda and limeade loom over the ten-pins in a pattern that suggests 1950’s linoleum on 1960’s acid. It looks as loud as it sounds, and we lace up two-tones and throw a spare or two between gutter balls and sure enough work up a lager thirst.

Inside Poor Richard’s the lights are low again, and a popular local duo called The Girlz sway gently with electric guitars. We nurse our bowling-ball elbows by bending a few with some refugees from genuine Scranton offices.

One fellow is actually sporting a t-shirt, for sale here at Poor Richards, emblazoned with a slogan from “The Office” that seems oh-so true: “Ain’t no party like a Scranton party ‘cause a Scranton party don’t stop.”

We buy a double XL and strike out from the lanes into a beautiful mountain town evening. Time to check into the majestic Lackawanna train station. The grand waiting room, adorned with marble and amazing tile mosaics from a gilded time, is now a grand hotel lobby, and we’re made welcome with uncommon opulence.

Tonight, it’s dinner at Cooper’s Seafood, an “Office” favorite. (Remember when Michael wants sushi? Dwight tells him Cooper’s has calamari.) We giggle over the corny lobster beanie with its googly eyeballs and wiggly antennae and slurp just-shucked Virginia Salts. Fresh oysters in Scranton; who knew?

Tomorrow it’s a spooky séance at The Houdini Museum and a dark trek deep inside a real coalmine. Then more live local music at The Bog, a hipster bar across from Embassy Vinyl, one of America’s last great record stores. Like the t-shirt says, a Scranton party just don’t stop. Until it does, we’ll see you around the bends and back roads.

For an illustrated map of your tour of Scranton sites made famous on "The Office," hop on over to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.

Steamtown National Historic Site/Trolley Museum
What’s more powerful than a locomotive? Lots and lots of locomotives! Ride a steam train, explore the huge old train yards, and take a jaunt on an old electric trolley. Then fix your shopping jones at The Mall at Steamtown right next door. It’s where “The Office” shops for everything. Learn all about it at www.nps.gov/stea/ and/or www.ectma.org.

Farley’s Steakhouse
Oak, brass and Certified Angus Steaks. On the episode called “Basketball,” the warehouse team played the office team and the losers had to buy dinner at this popular steak house. (Check out the homemade old bay potato chips.) 300 Adams Ave. 570) 346-3000. Farleysrestaurant.com

Abe’s Kosher Delicatessen
Hot pastrami, corned beef on rye, lox and bagels. What’s not to like? 326 N Washington Ave. 570-346-2946.

AFA Gallery
Exhibits from local artists rotate monthly. See for yourself at 514 Lackawanna Ave or take a virtual tour at www.artistsforart.com.

South Side Bowl/Poor Richard’s Pub
The favorite place to hang out after working at “The Office.” Bowl a strike, have a pint and try the spicy wings sampler. Life doesn’t get better than this. 125 Beech Street. www.southsidebowl.com. (570) 961-5213

Cooper’s Seafood
Look for the lighthouse and welcome aboard. The corny gift shot is almost as much fun as tearing into those fresh oysters and twin lobster tails. 701 N Washington Ave. (570)346-6883. www.coopers-seafood.com

Lackawanna Station Hotel
The lobby/restaurant is one of the most beautifully restored gilded railroad stations in America. The mini-suites have microwaves and refrigerators. 700 Lackawanna Avenue.
(570) 342-8300. www.radisson.com/scrantonpa

Nay Aug Park/Everhart Museum
At the top of Mulberry Street is a huge public park. There’s a pool, an animal rescue (with monkeys and an alligator) and a fabulous treehouse with a gorgeous view. The Everhart Museum has an art collection that blows us away. scrantonpa.gov/nayaug_park.html

Glider Diner
When you need a late-night fix of homemade corned-beef hash and eggs, remember The Glider is open 24 hours. 890 Providence Rd. 570.343.8036. www.gliderdiner.com.

The Houdini Museum
Houdini in Scranton; who knew? Here’s the largest building devoted to Harry Houdini, with great magic shows, scary storytelling and spooky séances in “The Psychic Theater.” The website says, “not for the feint of heart.” 1443 N. Main Street. Call for reservations: 570.383.9297. www.houdini.org or www.psychictheater.com.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Pennsylvania Wilds

2007-12-30T17:22:00.000-08:00

Where country roads lead to oil booms, simpler times and skydiving Aussies.

A roadtrip through the Pennsylvania Wilds is best plotted with county maps. We’re driving old logging roads, dirt highways through 100-year forests, navigating by the direction of sunlight through stands of black cherry hardwood. We’re dappled in the ragtop, on the way to the world’s first oil well, and looking for oil-boom echoes from the 19th century.

We find our first petroleum ghosts at a pit stop called Pithole. There’s not much left of the boomtown that was once roaring with 15,000 hard-living speculators. Pithole, appropriately, was a muddy, smelly and completely unsavory place created in a flash of oil-fueled fantasia. Hotels, saloons and yes, any number of ill-reputed houses appeared overnight in what was then and still is pretty much the middle of nowhere.

We make the short hop from Pithole’s bleak memory to the pride of Titusville: the Col. Drake Oil Well, the world’s first to bring “black gold” out of the ground. The well’s still there, 150 years later. And so’s plenty of oil, to hear the clanking pump tell it.

Our local docent, Jerry, hollers to be heard. He takes us past great oilrig parts and ancient mammoth trucks. There’s even an old nitro wagon with painted warnings of its dangerous cargo.

“They blasted rock with nitroglycerine,” Jerry tells us. “Nitro’s skittish and hauling it’s a suicide job. Any little bump in the road and boom. Never lend money to a nitro man,” Jerry chuckles.

This place is a hoot worth the holler, and we’re glad the ragtop hauls souvenirs instead of explosives as we head into Titusville proper. It’s a sweet old town, with bustling breakfast joints, a great old sporting goods store where we browse ammo and arrowhead, and a cheery motel of painted railroad cabooses. We sleep like Casey Jones in an old Pennsy rail car and wake up to whistles. Across the way the Oil Creek & Titusville tourist train steams off on a fall foliage run.

After eggs over easy we highball towards Tidioute, a dreamy village on the edge of the Allegheny Forest. Burning break pads make our nose wrinkle and the ragtop limps with luck into Chris McLaughlin’s garage. He and his pop are Tidioute’s very own Click-and-Clack, and they keep locals in well-tuned cars. Today they help a couple of strangers with smelly breaks and don’t want money.

The right front wheel comes off with a “hmmm” and an “I thought so.” A wrench turns, an oilcan squirts and our breaks are judged good to go. We tell Chris we’re lucky to find an honest mechanic so far from home, and he laughs. “Aw, we take care of each other up here. It’s still the way life used to be everywhere else.”

The whole roadtrip’s a reflection of happier, simpler times. And to prove it, Chris points us across the Allegheny River, up Route 62 a couple miles to The Simpler Times Museum. A hand-scrawled sign says “Out back, honk horn,” so we do. Soon enough, Mr. Ziegler, octogenarian founder, curator and ticket-taker ($4 each) strolls down from out back and shows us into his amazing museum.

Mr. Ziegler’s collection is a sculpture garden of beautiful antique gas pumps, oilcans, Model-T’s, cast-iron tools, decades of road signs and license plates. The gas pumps stand like palace guards at attention, with antique clock faces on heads of Disneyland colors. Paraphernalia from when gasoline seemed to come right out of these Pennsylvania woods.

We ask our antique host if they really were simpler timers. “Simpler, maybe, but not easier,” Mr. Ziegler says. “We had to work hard to sit pretty.”

Sage wisdom in our rearview, we cruise a dirt highway through the Allegheny forest. We rumble toward Kane, where we find homemade sausage and smoked cheese at Jack Bell’s old-time country store and produce/meat market. Jack’s been making homemade sausage (love the “leak log”) and canning beets and pickles and spicy marinara for 37 years. We grab some picnic goodies that marry quite nicely with a bottle of “Route 6” Chardonnay from the Flickerwood Wine Cellars down the road a piece. A little bit of tastebud heaven in the noonday sun.

With happy bellies and a winery tour, we find King’s Run Road, yet another gravel byway on the county map. We’re on the edge of the Commonwealth, up hill and down dale. We actually have to cross into New York and then down a long driveway that takes back into PA and right up the front door of Oz’s Homestay.

Some years back Ashley Easdon-Smith came here from Australia, fell out of the sky and into love with Celeine. They’re a couple of smiling skydivers, and their Homestay is actually an airstrip right out of Sky King. “It’s a homestay cause it’s our home and you stay with us,” Celeine explains.

“Have a beer!” Ash brandishes a pitcher and encourages us to fill it from the outside tap. It’s great to wash away the dirt highways of Potter County.

Everyone gathers in the great room of a restored 100-year old barn. Ash and Celeine live in the basement, and upstairs are a couple of roomy rooms with log beds, fit for a hobbit, and hand-hewn by Ash himself. Ash lords over the kitchen, and piles enormous prawns on plates of steaming linguini, tosses a salad the size of St. Louis and urges us to eat, drink and try to get a word in edgewise. The table is crowded with family, friends, neighbors and guests. Every night’s a dinner party at Oz, and every morning’s an Australian breakfast shines as the sun reflects on the Cessna parked outside.

We opt out of the offered skydive, and with cries of “chicken” in our ears, head for Eldred, where we gawk through a perfect little museum dedicated to the Big One, WW II. And to Smethport, home of toyland’s timeless Wooly Willy, and where we find a spooky county jail and a two-headed calf. But that’s a whole other story, best told in a whole other roadtrip.

Tonight, back to Oz’s Homestay, where Ash makes tenderloin tips and Celeine swears she won’t throw us out of a perfectly good airplane if we clean our plates. Until then, we’ll look for you on the bends and back roads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of everything, stop in at www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.

Col. Drake Oil Well Museum

Col. Edwin Drake and his sidekick driller, Uncle Billy Smith, started the oil industry right here. The gooey stuff is still coming out of the ground, and the museum’s a slick way to spend the day. On the outskirts of Titusville, and on a very cool website at www.drakewell.org.

Oil Creek & Titusville Railroad

Take a ride through the Pennsylvania Wilds on a great old passenger train. The forest views along the Oil Creek are just beautiful. Call 814.676.1733 or hop aboard online at www.octr.org.

The Caboose Motel

Every room’s an actual caboose, beautifully restored. Check in as Choo-Choo Charlie and see if they give you a weird look. On Perry Road right next to the Oil Creek & Titusville Railroad. Call for a reservation at 800-827-0690.
Missy’s Arcade Restaurant
The quintessential small-town breakfast and lunch joint. Where locals gather over buckwheat cakes and talk about how the Rockets did this season. (They love their high school sports up here.) 116 Diamond Street, Titusville. 814.827.8110.

Chris McLaughlin’s Garage, Tidioute

If you need an honest mechanic, Chris is your guy. Ask anyone in town where to find him and he’ll point to all the good places to visit in and around Tidioute.

Simpler Times Museum

Just a few miles north of Tionesta, along the Allegheny River on Rt. 62, is a wonderland of how life used to be. Remember gas pumps that looked like robots? Model-T’s and Mustangs? Rotary phones? One man’s collection is a whole world of nostalgia. Simpler times, simply not to be missed.

Bell’s Produce and Flickerwood Wine Cellars

Jack Bell’s opened his incredible deli and produce market 36 years ago. His homemade sausages, smoked cheeses, home-canned pickles and sauces can’t be found anywhere else. Grab a basket lunch and head up the street to Flickerwood Wine Cellars. We enjoyed a picnic lunch from Bell’s with a bottle of Flickerwood’s best. Bell’s: 401 N. Fraley Street in Kane, PA. Order online at jackbellsmeats.com. Flickerwood: 309 Flickerwood Rd in Kane. www.flickerwood.com.

Smethport: The Home of Wooly Willy

When the old man put us in the backseat with our Wooly Willy, it was miles before we asked, “are we there yet.” They still make Wooly Willy, the original iron man, in Smethport. The old county jail and historical society is worth the visit, too. Keep your eyes peeled for the two-headed calf – believe it or not!

Eldred WWII Museum

During the Big One, the Eldred munitions plant supported our troops. Today the story of WW II is beautifully told at this perfect little museum. Be prepared for the lump in your throat. 201 Main Street, Eldred. www.eldredwwiimuseum.net.

Oz’s Homestay B&B

You don’t have to jump out of an airplane to have a great time at Ash and Celeine’s unique B&B. You’ll be welcomed as old friends, eat well and laugh out loud. Come by car or plane or parachute. Call 814.697.7218 or jump online: www.ozhomestay-huntinglodge.com.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Harrisburg Jaw Droppers

2007-11-13T06:36:00.000-08:00

Morning in the Senate, a few innings with the Senators and rollin’ on the river in the capital city

About the first thing we do in Harrisburg is drop our jaws. We’re in the state capitol building, and it’s a gilded age glory if ever we’ve seen one. We stand beneath the high rotunda and spin like a top. Around us it’s all golden glamour, blinding brass, marble this and granite that. Magnificent Mercer tile mosaics illustrate the lives of farmers and steelworkers, glass blowers and coal miners, teachers and revolutionaries. It’s the story of America itself, and it’s beautiful.

We climb marble stairs and horn in on one of the free guided tours already in progress. We learn that Teddy Roosevelt dedicated this grandest capitol in the country on its opening day in 1913. He proclaimed it “priceless.” Our tour guide tells us that it was actually about $13 million worth of glorious craftsmanship.

Compound the interest and account for inflation and today even a billion isn’t enough to build this uncommon monument to the laws of common men.

A peek into the House of Representatives and we gasp at grandeur. Across the way we exhale just in time to spasm again at the splendor of the Senate. Fabulous chandeliers shed light on the chambers below our peanut-gallery perch and we imagine ourselves holding forth, orating, and perhaps yielding with reluctance to the gentleman from Potter County or Mercersburg. We’re starring in our own fantasy version of Mr. Smith Goes To Harrisburg and loving every minute.

But we have a full day ahead, with a ballgame, a river to run and a belly full of feed-me-now. So we heed the sage advise of an ample local legislator and make a quick stop a couple blocks north of the Capitol. Here’s the Old Original Jackson House, home of what might be the best burger between two rivers. Dave Kegris has been slaving over a hot grill here for a good while now, and he’s pretty serious about what comes off it.

“Why do people settle for frozen patties!” Dave rails. He starts with a big scoop of fresh ground sirloin, like a XL meatball. It flattens out over the flames but stays juicy in the middle. Dave’s pretty ornery about his burgers, and it pays off with a need for extra napkins every time. He’s stubborn about his rolls, too. Every day a fresh truckload trundles in from a venerable South Philly bakery. (Don’t even get Dave started about the difference between sauce and gravy.) And if you’re really serious, order up a burger with the aged sharp provolone from the Italian Market. Close your eyes you can see 9th Street.

With a bag of the best from the Jackson House, we head to City Island to watch the Harrisburg Senators host the Rock Cats from New Britain, Connecticut. The local nine aren’t faring well (losers of their last seven) but inside their island bandbox the sun is warm, the beer is cold, and every day’s a brand new ballgame.

City Island sits in the middle of the Susquehanna, a river city park that’s just blocks from the Capitol and a stone skip from the swinging restaurant row of Second Street. On the west side is a concrete “beach” with a long bathhouse that once played host to hundreds on a weekend afternoon. Nowadays fewer folks worship the sun on this stretch, no doubt because of the party armada moored at the marina on the other side. Sunshine rains on more than 1,000 pontoon boats here. These floating-patios-with-motors are perfect for the shallow river; many are complete with couches and barbecues and hi-fis that send sound waves across the weekend water.

The fifth inning and the Senators’ lanky right fielder lopes after (and misses) another pop fly. We nod along as his manager chews him out from the dugout. It’s double-A ball and a perfect place to watch ‘em learn the perfect game, especially when they start tossing free hot dogs and t-shirts into the stands.

We say wait-till-next-year and skip out early behind the outfield fence and find the little shack with the green kayak on top. It’s Susquehanna Outfitters and Steve Oliphant and Jill Miller, partners on the river as well as in life, take us away from it all, just minutes from here. We leave City Island for islands in the stream, in the middle of the Susquehanna, the Capitol’s rotunda still in full view.

Not far upriver we paddle through a collection of small islands formed 100 years ago by coal spilled from barges, when the river brought America’s energy down from upstate mines. They feel like they’ve always been here; they feel Jurassic compared to the shoreline bustle.

Jill is ahead in her kayak; we’re back with Steve in a long canoe. It’s so quiet and the water is clear as gin. “A lot cleaner than when these islands were built outta coal. We gotta keep it this way,” Steve says. We glide close to Wade Island, the largest colony of nesting egrets and night herons in Pennsylvania. Ducks float along side and cormorants peel their eyes from nearby perches. Baitfish leap from the shallows. We can’t believe how beautiful.

Steve reads our mind. “There’s so much wildlife, so close on this river. And the more you love it and enjoy it, the more you’ll fight to protect it.” An eagle-eyed osprey with a wingspan big as our canoe soars overhead in agreement.

We land back at City Island just in time to walk across the Market Street Bridge with the straggling remnants of the ballpark faithful. It’s time to head upriver to our jazz-age mansion bedroom waiting at The Milestone Inn, where miraculously, the architect found a way to give every room in the house a river view.

We need a shower and time to reflect on such an eclectic day. Later, we dig into Osso Buco, glorious Bolognese and an adventurous (and reasonable) wine list at Char’s Bella Mundo. These people know how to cook and it’s without a doubt our favorite restaurant in “the ‘burg.” Tomorrow it’s the National Civil War Museum and a big appetite for exploration among the bars and beaneries of Second Street. And Steve and Jill wanna take us on a bike ride, which they promise to be as inspiring as our river run. Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of everything, stop in at www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.

The State Capitol

It’s our own Versailles, spectacular and inspiring like a great piece of art, and that it is. The rotunda itself weighs an astonishing 52 million pounds. And you thought the governor just had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Guided tours are free; check out www.thecapitol.com for a great introduction.

The Original Jackson House

Outrageous hamburgers, real cheesesteaks dripping with gooey goodness and everything on real South Philly rolls. Hand-cut French fries, too. Get your order in early. They’re only open for lunch, and when Dave’s done cooking for the day, you’re outta luck. 1004 N. 6th St. 717.238.2730.

The Harrisburg Senators

Catch the farm team of the Washington Nationals at cozy Commerce Bank Park on homey City Island. Every seat’s great, the hot dogs are hot (and the sausages spicy) and you can’t beat the price. Check the schedule at www.senatorsbaseball.com. Or ring ‘em at 717.231.4444.

Susquehanna Outfitters

Steve and Jill know the river like a pair of Susquehanna Huck Finns. Paddle a canoe or a kayak, count the egrets and enjoy the serenity. Then take a “greenbelt” bike ride through the parks surrounding the capital city. Who knew? Stop by their shack on City Island, visit www.susquehannaoutfitters.com or call 717.234.7879. Tell ‘em we sent you.

Pep Grill

Every roadtrip needs a good dive bar for an afternoon tap beer and a jukebox classic. This is ours. 209 Walnut St, and yep, the Pep’s online: www.pepgrill.com.

The National Civil War Museum

You can spend a whole day exploring America’s official Civil War museum. Fascinating films, amazing photographs and incredible dioramas bring to life the tales, tragedy and triumph of our nation’s most seismic moment. At 1 Lincoln Circle on the northeast side of town. Details and directions at www.nationalcivialwarmuseum.org.

The Milestone Inn

Sean Adams and Robin Clemens are the young couple behind a magnificent restoration of a 100-year old mansion. Think of the best luxury hotel you’ve ever dreamt of, and then boil it down to four very private rooms. (With breakfast recipes from Robin’s grandmother!) 2701 N. Front Street, on the river just north of town. Reserve your room at www.milestoneinn.com or at 717.233.2775.

Char’s Bella Mundo

Char Magaro makes it her personal duty to keep Harrisburg’s best kitchen (and best bartender, we might add) turning out plate after plate of mouth-watering meals. She calls it her “American bistro.” You’ll call it your favorite stop on the roadtrip. (Ask about the day’s risotto special; then order it.) 540 Race Street. Check out a menu at www.charsbellamundo.com. Reserve a table at 717.213.4002.

Let’s hear your road tales.
Drop us a line a shunpiker@visitpa.com and tell us what you’ve seen, where you’ve eaten, whom you’ve met. Until then, here’s to the road ahead.

Cruising Coal Country

2007-11-13T06:28:00.000-08:00

Into the mines and hot on the trail of the Molly Maguires

The top is down and we’re riding through patch towns along the world’s largest anthracite coal ridge. Once thriving mining towns with plank houses and plain churches, most had a company store to which you’d owe your paycheck if not your soul.

On a sunny day the tough beauty of these hardscrabble towns belie the fact that at one time more men and boys worked underground than above it. They didn’t know from sunshine; we soak up every ray in the ragtop.

We pull up short in Ashland, along Route 61, amazed by the Mothers Memorial high on the ridge. She’s the world’s only 3-D replica of Whistler’s Mother and she’s been scowling down at the town since the Ashland Boys Association sat her up there during the Great Depression. The bronze matriarch sits on a granite pedestal etched with a goose-bump maxim of foot high letters: “A mother is the holiest thing alive.”

Across the street, in an old row house, we meet Jim Klock, who keeps the ghosts alive in the local historical society. He shows us sepia snapshots of Mother’s dedication day. He even has the sculptor’s original plaster-cast model of Mother herself. Jim’s a living walking tour of proud old Ashland. “I oughta know it,” he says. “Been here all my life and I’ll die here, too. My plot’s already bought and paid for.”

Mother’s park is surrounded by gorgeous WPA stonework. We sit at her feet munching crunchy little cheeseburgers with a potent homemade hot sauce from Danny’s Boulevard Drive In, a throwback shake shack up 61.

Just off the main drag, past Kitty and Dotty’s Flowers and a grand firehouse, we find the Pioneer Tunnel Coal Mine. Down the mine it’s 54 degrees year round, so we grab jackets from a collection of thrift store rejects. Zip up and hop aboard a clacking coal train and trundle through a timber shaft 300 feet below the surface of the earth.

Not that long ago the Pioneer was crawling with miners. Now folks come from all over for guided tours, and some leave their mark. We find cave-painting graffiti from a 1969 visit by Mercury 7 Commander Scott Carpenter: “Astronaut Was Here.”

Our guide hails from a long line of miners. “John Patrick Reese is my name,” he boasts. “I use the ‘Patrick’ so you know I’m Irish.” He shows us how to plant dynamite and how to load a cart with 16 tons of “black diamonds” and how to detect methane gas about to blow us all to kingdom come. And just to prove a point, he shuts off all the lights - even the light on his miner’s cap. It’s darker than dark. Some kid confuses our leg for his father’s and gives us a frightened pinch.

The lights are back and we spot an inspector’s report on the shaft wall that young Mr. Reese has signed tongue-in-cheek. “Inspected by Jack Kehoe,” it reads, with today’s date. “Blackjack Kehoe,” points a fellow tourist. “We saw him in that movie, The Molly Maguires.”

“Aw, that’s Hollywood,” scoffs John Patrick. “You want the real story, go to the Hibernian House and meet Jack’s great grandson.”

So we’re off to Girardville, where Joe Wayne still tends his great-grandfather’s Hibernian House tavern. “Black Jack” Kehoe was called the ringleader of the Molly Maguires, a secret society of Irish miners fighting robber-baron owners. Corrupt Pinkerton detectives infiltrated the Mollies, and Jack Kehoe and 9 others were railroaded to a public hanging on a day locals still call “The Day of the Rope.”

“My great-grandfather was framed, and unjustly executed over in Pottsville,” Joe rails. “This is the door from his cell, and this cement anchor was shackled to his ankles.” The imposing iron door looms over the smaller man where Joe has installed these strange heirlooms behind the ancient Hibernian bar.

“I went before the pardon board 100 years after the execution. Won the only posthumous pardon of its kind in history. The board said I shoulda been a lawyer. Which is what my mother told me every day till they laid her in her grave.”

Joe takes us upstairs, past glorious murals of Jack Kehoe and fellow miners at work. The paintings glow like headlamps in the narrow stairway. He shows us cozy rooms for rent, which miners used to share in 8-hour shifts. In the old days, while one man’s at work, a second enjoys the tavern while the third roommate saws logs upstairs. When the colliery whistle blows, each man rotates to the next 8-hour position. Work, tavern, bed. “I can still see my grandmother washing bed linens every shift,” Joe sighs.

His Irish eyes smiling wide, Joe waves as we head out of town, looking for Rt 209 to Pottsville. As we approach the county seat, the enormous courthouse and ancient jail peer over the valley like medieval majestics. The scene of injustice committed 130 years ago, rectified long after by a hard won pardon.

We meet an off-duty jailer who offers confirmation. “Yup, this is where Black Jack was hung. It wasn’t right, but that’s what happened.” He tells us to follow the Molly Maguires’ trail and make sure we stop at Tony’s Lunch for a “screamer.” It’s Girardville’s favorite burger, with the hot sauce cooked right into it, just down the street from the Hibernian House. Now he tells us.

“It’s called Tony’s Lunch, but he doesn’t open till 8:30 at night,” he shrugs. “May seem weird, but we coal crackers don’t do anything easy.”

So maybe we’ll backtrack for a screamer tonight, but now there’s a Coney Island lunch grilling old-school tube steaks right down the hill. All this talk of hard time and coal mining works up an appetite, so we grab some Coneys for the ragtop. As we drill deeper into coal country we’ll look for you along the bends and back roads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.

The Mothers Memorial
Put up in 1938 to honor Pennsylvania’s long-suffering coalmine mothers. Said to be the only 3-D replica of Whistler’s Mother in the world. One look at her sourpuss you know why. And check out the Historical Society across the street. Visit online at www.ashlandpahistory.org or by phone at 570.875.2632. Ask for Jim Klock.

Danny’s Boulevard Drive-In
This is the way cheeseburgers and fries and milkshakes used to be. Take home a jar or two of Danny’s homemade hot sauce. Dig their online jukebox at dannysdrivein.com. Order at the window or enjoy the counter at 630 S. Hoffman Blvd (Rt. 61) in Ashland. 570.875.0711.

The Pioneer Tunnel Coal Mine
A steam train takes you through the woods and then down 300 feet in a real anthracite mine. Doesn’t sound like much till you consider it’s like 30 stories below ground. Right off the main drag in downtown Ashland. The website’s great: www.pioneertunnel.com. And they answer when you call at 570.875.3850.

Jack Kehoe’s Hibernian House
138 years ago, this was Black Jack Kehoe’s tavern. They called him “King of the Molly Maguires.” It’s still full of cold ale and conspiracy theories. Rent a room and revel in coal country lore all night.

Granny’s Motel
Definitely not your chain motel. Rocking chairs, antique lamps, doilies on the divans and a very weird statue outside. What is it about coal country that makes the mothers and grannies look so unforgiving? (What is it about calf’s liver and mac/cheese in Granny’s restaurant?) Rt. 61 in Frackville, right off I-81. Call 570.874.0408 or check in online: www.grannys-pa.com. Strange but true.

Schuylkill County Courthouse and County Jail
This is where it all went down. Worth it just to read the historical markers. And check out downtown Pottsville, where they still brew Yuengling Beer.

Eckley Miners Village
Preserved in its pure patch-town essence, this old village was the location for The Molly Maguires movie starring Sean Connery. Now a state museum, some old miner families still live here. Walk through a miner’s plank house, order a sack of flour at the company store, and check out a real coal breaker. Off the beaten path in Weatherly, PA and online at www.eckleyminers.org. A must see.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Pittsburgh’s Southside Renaissance: one funky neighborhood and five meals a day.

2007-08-09T12:12:00.000-07:00

We’re in the middle of a mountain, tunnel wind blowing our hair, and then we burst out and over the gleaming new emerald city of Pittsburgh. Golden at the triangle where three rivers join forces, skyscrapers shine and ballparks roar on our left. The Monongahela flows on our right. And Gustav Lindenthal’s steel truss Smithfield Bridge drops us onto Carson Street on the one and only south side of the ‘burgh.

Sometimes it’s one word, emblazoned in a yellow stripe on red fire trucks: Southside. Sometimes, when the Pittsburgh accent is thick enough, it’s almost one syllable. There’s never a “th,” rarely a “d.” It’s like, “sow’s eye,” only said real fast. “Sowseye’d.”

Start with a look-see from atop Mt. Washington. (Zach: Use the panorama photo montage here? ) Plunk down a few bits and ride the incline tram straight up the mountain. It’s a hairy 35-degree angle, the oldest and steepest such public transit in the country. Up here we look down upon coal-barges hauling upstream, and the city glimmers below like a toy town. Down to the right, Southside lays flat against the river where glass factories and steel mills once clanked and screamed. It runs a few blocks and rises up along what folks here call “the slopes.”

Heights make us thirsty so on Carson Street we can’t believe our luck. At one time, this workingman’s neighborhood held title to more bars per human than any other city in the world. Ain’t it nice that in high-tech, 21st century Pittsburgh, some things haven’t changed too much.

There are still more bars than you can shake a mug at. All kinds: Tap rooms and taverns, beer halls, gin joints, cocktail lounges, cabarets and saloons. Billiard parlors, meet markets, nightclubs, dance halls and juke joints. Wine bars, tapas bars, and sushi bars - even hookah bars. And, thank heavens for small favors, fantabulous bar food.

We wash down Cajun Comfort wings and a Voodoo Killer burger with pints of Penn Pilsner at a watering hole called Fathead’s. We dig into hubcap fries, junkyard nachos and jailhouse chili at an old filling station now dubbed The Double Wide. And we make room to share a Pittsburgh footlong at The Pickle Barrel, a $3-lunch counter that opened the same year Roberto Clemente was baseball’s MVP. We behold a skinny tight-wrapped dog, laden with black olives and cheddar cheese. “Black and gold,” says a local in line, who eyes us eyeing our prize. “Pirates’ and Steelers’ colors. Colors of the ‘burgh,” he swells.

Back on the street, a Southside lifer named Tim cranks up the perfect afternoon cooler. He works an ancient ice-shaver like an organ grinder, and collects cold crystals in a paper cup. Homemade root beer syrup soaks the ice and we have a handmade snow cone that sets us back a buck and sends us back about 40 years. We ask how’s business and Tim says, “It cools off till it gets hot.” Southside logic.

It’s five-meals-a-day here, which we walk off from one end of Carson to the other. Start where the incline drops in Station Square. A glorious throwback to the gilded age, a marble-palace railroad station is now a four-star tablecloth restaurant. We slurp Blue Point oysters below the dazzle of dozens of stained glass skylights. Our hostess tells us a thick layer of common shoe polish hid these gorgeous marvels for decades. “Black-out from the war,” she explains. “No one knew how beautiful until they took 30 cases of oven cleaner to it. Now look.” We bask in rainbow light and imagine catching the cannonball to Erie.

Reverie complete, we head upriver along Carson and browse oddball boutiques: Vintage clothing, Polish newspapers, weird lamps and handicrafts from local artisans. Must be a dozen tattoo parlors, where galleries of ships’ anchors and vines of wild roses stand ready to wrap around a bicep. And there’s a real magic shop, The Cuckoo’s Nest, where we buy a fake thumb. We spend the next few hours attempting to pull a silk scarf out of it like Mysterioso.

It’s break time over a cold bottle of Iron City, and one of Carson Street’s proprietors tells about his neighborhood. He goes by Demo, short for Demetrius. (His Greek surname would take up the rest of this page.) Demo worked the mill in ’79 when the last pig iron was cast into Pittsburgh steel. “40,000 men worked these mills,” Demo’s eyes close with memory. “You could hear the roar across the river and up the slopes.”

Up the slopes is where we head next. Back in the day, thousands of men trudged a cardio commute, up hundreds of narrow steps from blast furnaces on the flats to hillside lanes just wide enough for the iceman’s cart. Neat row homes line the alleys. We puff and pant, out-of-breath tourists, and climb past humble homes with killer views. Some aren’t even on the street; their porches face the concrete steps. We imagine hauling groceries home here and have to sit a spell to wipe our brow.

The scene below intoxicates. We can see the street where we’ll sleep, at an inn called The Morning Glory, with its brick courtyard and feather light pancakes. Over there is the back alley of The Pretzel Shop, where the door by the oven opens near dawn and we get brown bags of hot pretzels hand-pulled the same way for generations. And across the river, downtown towers reflect a hot noon sun in clear skies, a sight rarely seen when the steel mills belched smoke and soot.

Tonight it’s a saloon singer in a sofa-stuffed cocktail lounge. But only after briny olives and grilled calamari at a Sicilian restaurant only a Southsider can find. Then it’s up and at ‘em, with the other side of Carson to stroll, giggling discoveries to make and the usual Southside lunchtime toss-up between gyros, pierogies and pretzel sandwiches. And perhaps a tiger’s head tattoo...

Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.

The Morning Glory Inn

Nancy and Dave run a beautiful little inn that’s not easy to find and even harder to leave. The beds have those foam mattresses invented by NASA that conform to your body and the only thing that gets you out of them is the promise of Nancy’s lemony pancakes and fluffy baked eggs. Wireless web throughout and warm cookies at night.

Dish Osteria & Bar

We found this on a corner of a side street a short walk from the Morning Glory. We thought it was an Italian trattoria until the proprietor corrected us. Wagging a chef’s knife he reminded us that Dish is a Sicilian osteria. “Taste the difference,” he scolded. And we did. Fresh, delicious, old-world home cooking. Sicilian, not Italian. Get the papardelle and lamb ragü.

The Brashear Museum

This little astronomical display is hidden in a social services building around the corner from the hotel. It celebrates the life and work of the man who revolutionized telescope technology back in the steel mill days. It wasn’t easy to see the stars through all that soot, so old man Brashear made it happen. You can walk through this little museum gem in about 10 minutes.

The Pittsburgh Jeans Company

Forget your shopping mall jeans franchise. This popular Carson Street indy has been making people look great in all things denim with a unique personal passion. Great jeans and great folks to fit ‘em just right.

The Pretzel Shop

Behold the elegance of the hand-twisted pretzel. Live like a local and use the back-alley door as soon as they open. You’ll see the antique brick oven and get your pretzels fresh from it. Come in the front at lunch and munch a great pretzel sandwich.

Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com

Williamsport to Brookville – Little League dreams, bugle burgers and baseball bats.

2007-07-05T08:38:00.000-07:00

We come barreling off the mountain into Williamsport, swinging to the singing of Johnny Hartman. We’re tuned to 88.1 on the FM, cruising Route 15 to Green Dolphin Street. Williamsport has a jazz station!

The jazz makes sense, as Williamsport appeals like an old chestnut. A 19th century chord structure of industrial grit and millionaire mansions lays down a perfect groove for an improvised roadtrip. We’re vamping to the home of Little League baseball, and we’ll follow our nose across the Commonwealth to Brookville, the hardwood home of professional baseball bats.

First stop, the Little League Museum, sitting high above the perfect field of dreams where global Little Leaguers take to the only true World Series every August. This place tells the story of Carl Stotz, Little League’s founder, who in 1939 forever transformed the sandlot. Carl convinced Floyd Mutchler and his Lycoming Dairy to become Little League’s first sponsor. Old man Mutchler said it best: “We’ll go along for the boys.”

Some of “the boys” (and eventually, girls) went on to do big things and are enshrined here in Little League’s Hall of Excellence. Here’s Nolan Ryan and Mike Schmidt. Over there, former Little Leaguers Bruce Springsteen, Tom Selleck and even George W. Bush. (We hear he was all field and no hit.)

Williamsport is one part former glory, two parts good people restoring the luster. We meet Marsha and Gloria Miele, sisters who run the Peter Herdic House and Peter Herdic Inn, side-by-side Victorian mansions along “Millionaire’s Row.” Incredible plasterwork, carved staircases and Tiffany windows adorn the Queen Anne masterpieces. Marsha runs the “House” – a great restaurant – and taps into delicious local bounty. We “ohh” over gilled sausage from nearby Cow-a-Hen Farm, and “ahh” at old-fashioned river shad, smoked just a few blocks away. Next door, Gloria runs the “Inn,” where we sleep tight after a great meal and dream baseball dreams.

We’re up and off early, with a stop along the way for hand-cut fries and a cruise down the Elk Scenic Highway. Who knew the largest herd of elk east of Wyoming roams these thick woods? And right in the heart of Elk County is the sleepy village of Benezette, and the Winslow Hill B&B. Betty McCluskey offers mighty comfy lodging here, and we opt for what she calls the Sunrise Room. “This room comes with a trained rooster alarm clock,” Betty gives us fair warning. “Bert’ll make sure you wake up in time to see the elk.”

Sure enough, at 5:40 the next morning, Bert the rooster is crowing through our screen door. The cockle-do does it, and we enjoy the sunrise with lumbering elk grazing in a next-door meadow.

It seems the elk are everywhere - in back woods and front yards and on local menus. We try a “bugle burger” and grab some elk jerky for the road. We even gawk over weird, beautiful jewelry – “nelklace” pendants with dangling elk poop, compressed, dehydrated, de-stinked and polished a shiny, mesmerizing ebony. These Pennsylvania woods give us oddball delights.

These woods also give us baseball bats. Turns out nothing drives a baseball quite like Pennsylvania maple. Centerfielder Johnny Damon agrees every time he steps to the plate. He’s one of hundreds of pro ballplayers who swing a BWP bat, handmade right here in Brookeville, just south of elk country in the Pennsylvania Wilds.

Our factory guide Dave shows us how to make a great clean-up hitter. Lathe the maple to the precise ounce. Sand the raw bat till smooth, and then do it again and again. Three coats of paint, two of protective lacquer and stamp the logo on just so, with the grain, so you know how to hold the bat when you swing for the fences.

“350 bats a day, seven days a week,” Dave says with pride. “We make the national pastime here.” He gives us our own bat – the model Johnny Damon used when he led the Red Sox to their euphoric (big league) World Series victory. “This bat’s the curse killer,” Dave says. We brandish ours at an imaginary pitcher standing an imaginary 60 feet 6 inches away (perhaps old Nolan Ryan) and all the sandlots of childhood come rushing back.

With thanks to Dave we toss the maple beauty into the ragtop, pull on a jaw full of elk jerky, and aim south toward Punxsutawney, with Charlie Parker’s alto be-bopping us down the two-lane. It’s a beautiful day for a baseball roadtrip, so we’ll look for you on the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.

The Little League Museum

Walk through the story of the perfect game that captured hopes and hearts around the world. This is where it all started back in 1939. You can even measure the speed of your fastball and tee off on a pitching machine. Play ball! Next door to the International Little League headquarters at 539 Route 15, South Williamsport. www.littleleague.org/museum.

Joey’s Place

Where to eat lunch, period. The garden cheesesteak is a two-fisted gooey goodness. Grab a seat at the bar or at one of the many large tavern tables. 505 Washington Blvd in Williamsport. 570.323.6217.

Peter Herdic Inn

Eat, sleep and drink like an industrial-era millionaire. And make sure you take a stroll along “millionaire’s row” and gawk at how the better half lived a hundred fifty years ago. 411West 4th Street in Williamsport. Call Gloria for a reservation: 570.326.0411, or stop by online: www.herdichouse.com.

The E.A. Rowley House

Perhaps the finest Queen Anne architectural masterpiece in the world. Back in the day it had flush toilets, electric chandeliers and a dumbwaiter. You’ll love it for the incredible woodwork, Tiffany stained glass, tiled fireplaces and rare and original sculpted French wallpaper. Ask Eiderson Dean (great name, no?) for a tour. 707 West 4th Street, Williamsport. www.williamsport.org

Socky’s Restaurant

A great lunch counter halfway between Williamsport and Brookville. Just across from the grand old Renovo railroad yards. You won’t find a better patty melt and real hand-cut fries anywhere. Period. 406 Erie Avenue, Renovo. Call ahead for directions: 570.923.0318

Winslow Hill B&B

If you wanna sleep a little later, ask for the Sunset Room. If you want to breakfast with the elk, check into Betty McCluskey’s Sunrise Room. Her trained rooster Bert will sound the alarm just outside your door at dawn. Reserve the Sunset, Moonlit or Sunrise room at winslowhillbb.com or call Betty at 814.787.4212.

Benezette Hotel

A great local tavern with good eats and a great jukebox. The wings are great, the spaghetti dinner’s a knockout at just $6.50, but it’s the Bugle Burger that brings the locals back for more. Right in the heart of downtown Benezette at 95 Winslow Hill Rd; 814.787.4355.

Double Diamond Deer Ranch

Enough with the elk. Come visit Rusty Snyder’s incredible Deer Ranch. The old time family attraction is possible only by Rusty’s love for her deer friends. Feed the fawns and get to know the doe. And don’t miss the barn, where Rusty’s deerly departed rest in eternal splendor, stuffed (ahem) and resplendent in their stalls. On Rt 36 just 3 miles south of Cook Forest State Park. www.doublediamonddeerranch.com. 814.752.6334

BWP Baseball Bats

Watch hearty Pennsylvania hardwood become curveball crushing baseball bats right before your eyes. Hundreds of pros use BWP bats from the Pennsylvania Wilds. See the factory for yourself and you’ll know why sluggers refer to their bats as “lumber.” Just off Route 80 east of Brookville. Call ahead: 814.849.0089. www.bwpbats.com

Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com

In the Susquehanna river towns, it’s glassware, gumbo and the good life made by hand.

2007-05-07T08:56:00.000-07:00

Curving north from the Mason-Dixon, this Susquehanna River road is a pig’s tail curl. We’re driving the eastern bank, toward the river towns of Columbia, Marietta and Wrightsville. The woods we weave haven’t changed much since the Confederate Army marched the opposite shore.

These towns are watersheds in the War Between the States - or the Northern War of Aggression, depending on your point of view. In the summer of 1863, thousands of Confederate soldiers attempt to cross the Susquehanna to capture Harrisburg. But a few citizen volunteers burn their own Columbia-Wrightsville bridge and force General Lee’s finest to head west toward the twilight zone of Gettysburg.

144 summers later, we’re on this Civil War trail hunting for signs of old river town life. We find it within a thriving artisan culture of twisted iron and blackened catfish. Where people still make things with their hands.

It begins off the corkscrew river road, on an alley among the brick rows and barbershops of vintage Columbia. In a backstreet factory called Susquehanna Glass, folks have cut patterns by hand into gorgeous glassware for 100 years. Upstairs we meet Sandy Miller, who’s been cutting glass here for a third of them. Order glassware from fancy-schmancies like Williams-Sonoma, chances are she’s making it for you.

Within seconds, Sandy uses a whirling wheel to etch a tall ship into a tall glass. “What about seagulls,” she muses. And birds appear in flight with a flick of her ample wrists. “Aw,” she shrugs as we gasp. “Some people have a natural knack and this is mine.” Sandy hands us the cut tumbler and we can’t wait to sail her ship through a highball sea come happy hour.

We’re eager for the view from the rebel side, so we head across the 1930 concrete-arch bridge some locals still call “the new one.” For as long as they’ve cut glass on one side, the John Wright Foundry has been forging all manner of cast-iron marvels on the other. Stove grates and lampposts, and the pan in which our grandmother fried “dip eggs” in bacon grease.

Today the old foundry includes a ground-floor bistro with a wide river view. We sip iced tea and daydream about the blazing bridge that lit up history here back in ‘63. Up in the second floor store, we grab a cast-iron fajita griddle and giggle at the factory-outlet price.

Back in the ragtop, griddle and glassware secure, we head up out of town through fertile fields, to a mountaintop panorama of the Susquehanna sliding by. Sharing the view is Jim and Sue Miller’s Moon Dancer Winery, a dream come true for a couple of recovering white collars.

Grapes love the riverside hill as much as the Millers. Jim pours us some tasty Riesling, but it’s their Blue Moon Port that makes us grin. A tour of the cellar shows off a great collection of Pennsylvania oak barrels, where Jim and Sue serve candlelit dinners among the casks.

With Port and Riesling in the ragtop’s trunk, it’s across the river again, north until we park in front of the Petit Museum of the Musical Boxes, a tinkling miracle in the heart of beautiful Marietta. This town is timeless Americana: the 1st National Bank, the restored theater, the Old Town Hall. On Market Street we expect to run into Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.

“It’s a wonderful life here,” says a woman of a certain age, sitting on her spotless brickhouse stoop. “And it gets prettier every afternoon.” In the golden light, we ask our new friend where we might find a proper supper. She tells us Josephine’s, up the block, has crab cakes “big as my head.” She winks and throws a challenge. “Then again, if you like it hot, you might try to find Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen.”

Turns out Dave Prudhomme’s uncle is the legendary New Orleans Chef Paul, who turned blackened fish into phenomena. Dave fell for Sharon and Sharon hails from Columbia and that’s why this Prudhomme’s Cajun Kitchen feels a little “lost.” But step inside and you’re on the bayou with ‘gator on the menu and zydeco in the air. And the whole family cooks like the devil on fire.

We dive into a bowl of the best gumbo this side of Lake Pontchartrain. Dave grins through his goatee and sets down a plate of Shrimp Sunny: blackened catfish on a bed of crabmeat, slathered with crawfish étouffée, surrounded by succulent shrimp. One bite and Cajun fiddles two-step across our tongues. Awesome.

“All from scratch,” Dave hugs me. “All with our own two hands.” And right there that’s the spirit of the river towns. Like when they need to turn back invading Confederates, a few townies take it in their hands to save the Union. And here we sit today, wolfing hand-made Deep South gumbo in a gritty waterfront community where hard work will never be a dirty thought.

Tomorrow we get up early to beat the farmers to the Central Market in downtown York. So we have to say g’night to Dave and Sharon and head for bed-and-breakfast at The Columbian, a Victorian mansion just a couple blocks from the National Watch and Clock Museum. Which leads us to a whole other story of hands, best saved for a whole other time. While we’re waiting, we’ll look for you along the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.

Smith’s Hotel

This old roadhouse is big with the locals. We played shuffleboard bowling and tucked away the best cheesesteak west of Roxboro. “It oughta be good,” grumped our barmaid. “He’s been makin’ ‘em for 20-odd years.” 1030 Lancaster Avenue on the east side of Columbia. Call ahead at 717.684.3385.

Susquehanna Glass Factory

Look for the yellow signs.. They point down a back alley, because that’s where the company started 100 years ago. Today, great factory tours and low factory prices. Watch the weather: they close when the temp is above 90. 731 Ave. H in Columbia. Call 800-592-3646 and ask about tours. Online at www.theglassfactory.com.

The Columbian: A Bed & Breakfast Inn

Karen will make you comfy and cook you a great breakfast at this cozy Victorian B&B. Five rooms, each with a privy. And if it’s nice, take your coffee in the lovely backyard garden. Great location at 360 Chestnut Street in Columbia. Reservations: 717-684-0241 and online at www.columbianinn.com.

National Watch and Clock Museum

It’s just a two-minute walk from The Columbian, so make the time to check this place out after breakfast. 514 Poplar Street in Columbia, and on the web at www.nawcc.org.

John Wright Store & Restaurant

At the foot of the beautiful Wrightsville-Columbia Bridge, this great old foundry has a lovely restaurant, a great river view and lots of cast-iron for home, garden and gifts at great prices. North Front Street in Wrightsville. 717.252.2519. Online at www.jwright.com.

Moon Dancer Vineyards & Winery

Jim Miller will share the wine and the Susquehanna view from his gorgeous hillside vineyards. For live music and food festival schedules, visit www.moondancerwinery.com. 1282 Klines Run Road, Wrightsville. 717.252-WINE.

Marietta Walking Tour

The 19th Century architecture is a well-preserved miracle. Enjoy an afternoon stroll through timeless neighborhoods. Visit the community website at www.mariettapa.com.

Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen

Alligators, zydeco and hand-cut onion rings, stuffed with crabmeat, topped with pepperjack cheese and broiled till they’re bubbling. Dave and Sharon Prudhomme bring the best of the bayou to the shoals of the Susquehanna at 50 Lancaster Avenue in Columbia. Call 'em at 717-684-1706. Or see for yourself at www.lostcajunkitchen.com. And you’re goofy if you don’t get the gumbo.

Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com

Along Route One: Exotic Mushrooms and Oddball Museums in the Brandywine Valley.

2007-04-25T12:08:00.000-07:00

The United States Route One starts its roadtrip way up there in the mountains of Maine and splashes into the margarita blenders way down there in Key West. It’s the nation’s first great north-south road, and it still carries its fair share of history. Here in the Brandywine Valley we find artifact motor courts, hot-dog and milkshake stands, and barber shops from another time. We have to peel our eyes; the gems are hidden among the homogeny of endless suburban glens.

It’s through the big-box ticky tack that we steer Route One out of Philadelphia. We’re headed to mushroom country in the southeast corner of the Commonwealth, tucked between the corporate theme parks of Delaware and the cultural bulwark of the Mason-Dixon.

We’re hunting shitakes and morels, oysters and crimini, where those meaty portabella sandwiches fake us into believing we could go vegetarian after all. En route to the fungi farms we stumble across the first of a series of oddball exhibitions. It’s the Museum of Mourning Art, hidden inside an exacting replica of George Washington’s Mt. Vernon estate, which is hidden behind the walls of Arlington Cemetery in the borough of Upper Darby. Ok, we figure: before a bite of mushrooms, a bit of morbid curiosity.

Inside the faux Mt. Vernon is a gorgeous chapel of battered barn wood and country church pews. We’re ushered into a warren of crannies crowded with Victorian paraphernalia of bereavement. There’s a horse-drawn hearse behind an iron graveyard gate with curly-cued roses. A collection of mourning jewelry includes rings and broaches embroidered with the hair of the dearly departed. There’s even an original invitation to the funeral of George Washington himself. The Museum of Mourning Art is ghastly and gorgeous. It’s good grief.

An hour later, in the ragtop, bright sunshine brings us back to life. A few miles and we’re stopped again by the unexpected. We meet Tony Polito, who cuts hair and exhibits a call to arms in his unique Barber Shop & Military Museum. Since 1959 Tony’s barber chair has been surrounded by an expanding armory of canteens and bayonets, helmets and handcuffs, boots and bugles.

“I’m a barber and a patriot,” Tony barks like a drill sergeant. We nod along and nose around until our stomachs sound the noon retreat.

Good thing Jimmy John’s Pipin’ Hots is next door to the barber’s bivouac. This timeless hot-dog joy shack has grilled up quality heartburn for 67 years. We pile kraut and onions on tight little franks, layer on the brown mustard, and wolf a couple with relish. At our table, Jimmy John’s fleet of classic model trains toot by; they vibrate the straws standing thick in our black-and-white shakes.

With the repeating memory of the Pipin’ Hots dogging us on, we’re up for an afternoon of whatever comes next. And close by, near an airstrip that warns of low flyers, we find an armada of enormous Coast Guard choppers and Army gunships. It’s the front yard of the American Helicopter Museum. Inside, flying machines hang from the walls and ceilings and crowd across the floor. We climb inside a whirlybird, work the pedals and make the whappa-whappa sound effect with our lips.

Our volunteer tour guide is worth the visit alone. He’s Fred Mack, 96 years old and still an eager flyboy. He celebrated his last birthday with a parachute. “Yup,” he admits, “I jumped out of a plane that wasn’t even on fire!” Hurry up and climb on a helicopter with Fred while you still can.

Finally, we roll into Kennett Square, in the heart of mushroom country. We’re just in time to sample homemade salads and sauces at the amiable and amply stocked Mushroom Cap, the region’s semi-official toadstool capitol. Kathi Lafferty runs the place, as well as the area’s annual Mushroom Festival. Her fridge is full of beautiful white buttons and squiggly exotics. We dig into mushroom-sauced meatballs and pack away a few jars of her homemade Mediterranean mushroom salad. Now this is what we came for.

Down the road apiece we grab a room (which is just clean enough) at the Kennett Steak and Mushroom Restaurant & Motel. A walk through town works up an appetite for their beer-battered “maitakis bites”, criminis stuffed with crab imperial and a thick NY Strip smothered with a shitake marmalade. No doubt about it, there’s a lot of tasty fungus among us, or should we say we’re among the fungi. Whatever, it’s all good.

Tomorrow, we’re at the Brandywine River Museum, where Andrew Wyeth’s granddaughter gives us a personal tour of her family’s artistic legacy. Then a beautiful horse-farm B&B that makes even our feisty Terrier feel comfy. And tomorrow night, to finish our Route One excursion, we dive into the hands-down best mushroom soup of the trip at the colonial Dilworthtown Inn. After dinner we spelunk through their subterranean wine cellars, which seem to be a perfect place to grow more mushrooms. But that’s another story altogether.

Once again serendipity on the side roads leads to the most unusual – and delicious – discoveries. Drop us a line and let us know what you’ve found once, won’t you? Until then, we’ll look for you on the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (You find a map with photos of all these joints and more at visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

The Museum of Mourning Art

Yeah, yeah, it’s all about death and grief, but it’s also weirdly amusing. Ask for Elizabeth to give you the tour, because you have to call for an appointment. She makes it a lot of fun. Arlington Cemetery 2900 State Rd, Upper Darby; 610-259-5800

Tony Polito’s Barber Shop & Military Museum

Good haircuts in a uniform setting. Truly a personal obsession worth the visit. 1501 Wilmington Pike, West Chester; (610) 459-1245

Jimmy John’s Pipin’ Hots

The regular hot dog here is, well…regular. Go for the special frank; it’s a beauty. And it makes a nice combo with the palm-sized burgers. B&W shakes are as thick as your head and not to be missed. Next door to Tony Polito’s; 610.459.3083

The American Helicopter Museum

Check out one of the first helicopters ever made from the roaring ‘20s. A real field day for the whirlybird inside all of us. Fly in or drive like most people. 1220 American Blvd, West Chester. Get info and directions online at www.helicoptermuseum.org

The Brandywine River Museum

A beautiful conservancy for the historic Brandywine River wrapped around a collection of N.C., Andrew and Jamie Wyeth’s breathtaking paintings. If you’re lucky, Victoria Wyeth, Andrew’s only grandchild, will give you a personal tour. Just call ahead: 610.388.2700. Or visit www.brandywinemuseum.org.

Kennett Steak & Mushroom Motel

Nothing fancy, but an easy walk into Kennett Square’s national landmark downtown. The beer’s cold and the mushrooms tasty in the restaurant on site. Birch & Broad Sts, Kennett Square; 610.444.5085. See a menu at www.kennettsteakandmushroom.com.

The Mushroom Cap

This is Kennett Square’s unofficial mushroom capitol building. See Kathi Lafferty for fresh mushrooms, homemade mushroom salad and all sorts of toadstool tchotchkes. 114 West State St., Kennett Square; 610.444.8484. You can shop online at www.themushroomcap.com.

Hamanassett Bed & Breakfast

Ashley and Glen Mon offer up true hospitality on this plush horse farm. Ask about the romantic carriage house near the barn. Definitely ask for Glen’s crawfish bread. This place is a real keeper (and doggies are welcome). 725 Darlington Road, Chester Heights. Call 610.459.3000 for reservations or take a tour online: www.hamanassett.com. Oh, and pay attention when they give you directions; this place is so well hidden Mapquest can’t get you there.

The Dilworthtown Inn

One of the great American restaurants, period. And the best mushroom soup in mushroom land. Don’t leave without asking for a visit to the legendary wine cellars. 1390 Old Wilmington Pike, West Chester; 610.399.1390. Browse a menu at www.dilworthtown.com.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Goggling great art in Reading, wrapped up at Hershey’s Cuban spa, and a couple of free beers along the way.

2007-04-24T06:51:00.000-07:00

The wind blows like a train up on Mt. Penn. But it’s worth braving as we gawk at the 100-year Oriental Pagoda next to us and the red-brick city of Reading sprawling about 1000 feet below us.

We’re here to find great art in this old factoryville, the city that inspired the great “Rabbit” quartet by native novelist John Updike. First, the birds-eye view from the mountain top, where Reading quarryman William Abbot Whitman atoned for his sins of scarring the earth by building a Japanese-style pagoda in 1908. We figure it’s his idea of the yin of beauty against the yang of his industrial eyesores. Or vice versa. Whatever, it’s a good place to get a lay of the land below.

The road down Mt. Penn switchbacks into a green park full of statues and monuments and kids playing stickball. There’s a band shell where you can still hear Sousa marches oompah on summer nights. A short cruise past Coney Island parlors, neighborhood taps, barrio bodegas and mansion-sized row homes with Tiffany transoms and we park the ragtop outside the big old brick factory where they once made industrial safety goggles.

We’re at The Goggle Works, where they now make great art. Reading’s enlightened city fathers (and mothers) have come to understand the arts can have resuscitating powers in tired factory towns. With help from the generosity of a few noble sponsors, this old goggle plant has been transformed into a warren of artist’s studios, galleries, a movie theater and a fountainhead of creativity that is reenergizing the urban center.

We say hello to a horse made of bottle caps. We stroll past eye-popping modern paintings and portrait photography that make us want to talk with its subjects. We interrupt a glassblower to compliment his bubbling bottles. And we lose ourselves in a gallery full of “outsider art:” paintings on plywood, found-object sculptures and intimate portrait-peeks into the majesty of unheralded lives. We can’t take our eyes off the stuff.

But peel ‘em away, we must. And we’re off to Pottsville and America’s oldest brewery. An hour or so up Route 61, a lunch-bucket blacktop where heavy trucks ply their trade and diners proclaim the righteousness of “breakfast served all day.” And bingo, we’re inside a limestone cave hewn out of a mountain where the Yuengling family has put magic in a bottle for more than 175 years.

Our tour guide is named Ed. He’s a student over at Penn State and therefore claims to know a thing or two about beer. He leads our group with folks from all over – Alaska, Germany, even Center City Philadelphia – on a thirst-inducing stroll through the whirling dervish of bottles flying by on belts like something out of “Modern Times.” We spelunk through the damp cave stacked with kegs of amber goodness and finally plunk down at a bar seat for the hard-earned free samples. Ah, these Pennsylvania Germans sure know what to do with a bag of hops, some barley malt and a limestone cave.

We thank our lucky stars the limit on Yuengling freebies is two cups. We’re still on the road, where we’re lined up for a rest stop in the Spa at the Hotel Hershey. This is the place old Milton Hershey designed in the manner of the grandest of European hotels. It’s proud up on a hill, surrounded by rose gardens and the aroma of cocoa. And inside, a new spa with pleasures inspired by old man Hershey’s love of Cuba, where he first found the sugar to sweeten his chocolate empire.

Our masseuse, a lovely woman named Suzanne (do yourself a favor and ask for her by name), rubs the road-weary out of our bones with a jasmine-soaked massage followed by a limey-mint-slippery mojito wrap. We’re snug as a bug in a rug of warm towels and aromatic lotion inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s legendary favorite Cuban mojito cocktail. Suzanne pushes all the right muscle buttons and sends us into a naptime trance until we wake up drooling. Above us is a seven-headed shower arm – like something out of Dr. No or from the corner car wash – rinsing off the mojito goop with incredibly soothing warm water. Looks weird, feels good.

As we walk blinking and yawning out of the spa in thick terry robes, fresh from our Cuban cocktail body wrap, we head toward, of course, the hotel lounge. We’re ready for a real mojito and one more sensory experience on this eccentric roadtrip.

It sure feels good when we get off the highway. Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

The Pagoda

72 feet tall, 886 feet above the city of Reading and 100 years of history. Not to mention a smashing view way up on top of Mt. Penn. Get all the info and a great map at www.pagodaskyline.org. There’s a gift shop on the fourth floor. Best to call ahead, though. 610.375.6399.

Adrienne’s Inn at Centre Park

Adrienne Peridini can talk the birds out of the trees. Good gab is her gift, and it helped her win the essay contest created to sell this Victorian mansion to the one person who would maintain its splendor and make folks feel welcome. The splendor: Italian plaster cherubs, Tiffany transoms, happy fireplaces and old-world woodwork. The welcome: Adrienne’s French toast and genuine smile. We love the Blue Room with its 7’ claw foot tub. On the web at adriennesinnatcentrepark.com. Or call 610.374.8557 and ask her for her best rate.

The Ugly Oyster and Jimmy Kramer’s Peanut Bar

Two downtown Reading stalwarts. We slurp down a dozen blue points with a Guinness at the Ugly Oyster, and then do a polka up the block for chili-fried chicken at the Peanut Bar. Conversation with the locals is as good as the food and drink. The Ugly Oyster’s at 21 S. 5th Street. Toss the shells on the floor at The Peanut Bar at 332 Penn Street just around the block.

The Garfield Diner

A classic dining car right on Pottsville’s monument square. Scarf some homemade meatloaf across from the statue of the Spanish-American War soldier. Since 1953 at 402 W. Market Street. Find ‘em at visitpa.com.

The John O’Hara House

John O’Hara wrote great novels, screenplays and stories for The New Yorker. The surrounding coal country was his muse. 606 Mahantongo Street, across from the Yuengling Brewery.

The Yuengling Brewery

High up on Mahantongo Street, overlooking the architectural treasure that is Pottsville, is America’s oldest brewery. The Yuengling beer-making family knows what it’s doing, and with the fun free tour (and free samples) you can see (and taste) for yourself. We love sipping their beautiful dark porter. Visit on the web at www.yuengling.com.

The Spa at the Hotel Hershey

Yes, you can be dipped in chocolate and rubbed all over. Or go for one of the invigorating Cuban-themed treatments in this total oasis for mind, body and soul. It’s inside the majestic Hotel Hershey and a million miles from reality. (Our favorite masseuse is Suzanne.) You’ll find your way there, eventually, at www.hersheypa.com.

The Union Canal House

The tiny crossroads of Union Deposit, PA is literally around the corner from all the Hershey hubbub, yet in a very different aesthetic dimension.
Get one of the seven comfy rooms in this welcome tavern circa 1700’s. (The “deluxe” suite has a Jacuzzi and kitchenette.) And dig into the clams, crabs, steaks and reasonable wine list. Online at www.unioncanalhouse.com.

Mt. Gretna Hideaway

This may be a bit off the beaten path, but that's the point. A great beer-barrel roadhouse, the Hideaway is across from the firehouse, on the backroads to Hershey (just off Exit 266 of the ‘Pike) in the tiny lakeside burg of Mt. Gretna. It’s well worth the hunt, just for a crock of chili, a tavern cheesesteak and to buy a few bottles of amazing homemade hot sauce. The address: Boulevard, Mt. Gretna. And yes, online at www.mtgretnahideaway.com. Did we mention the amazing homemade hot sauce?

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Six feet under, solitary confinement and some “scientific oddities” in good old Philadelphia

2007-04-24T06:49:00.000-07:00

Kelly Drive in Philadelphia slides between grand statues to the east and sculls along the lazy Schuylkill River to the west. It’s just a few minutes out of town to the pearly iron gates of Laurel Hill Cemetery.

Back in the 19th century – long before the river road we’re cruising – a barge brought Philly’s high society upriver to their final resting places. The departed have a marvelous view across the river in a necropolis of Calder sculptures, winding arboretum pathways, and wild stories galore. We find it easy – and fun – to get lost among huge Victorian monuments that mark the graves of scientists, industrialists, revolutionaries, and all manner of uppity folk.

Every grave is telltale, and the monuments provide the narrative. “This carved broken urn means he died a violent death,” Ross Mitchell tells us. “Here lies a man killed by his butler. No joke.” Ross is the un-ghoulishly happy gent who runs the joint. He shows us “millionaire’s row,” where the founder of the Philadelphia Inquirer, the inventor of the flexible saw blade (who made a nice piece of change during the Industrial Revolution) and the inventors of the modern public transit system are all in neighboring mausoleum mansions. Ross takes us into one with a staircase deep into the earth and we get the creepy feel of a lot more than six feet under.

There’s even a gravestone marked “Adrian Balboa.” Yup, Rocky’s wife is buried here. Well, at least in the movie. Her gravestone prop is to be well maintained in perpetuity.

The old marble stones suffer from acid rain. Mournful heroic angels and blunted obelisks reach to the sky in agony. We see Laurel Hill the way Henry James described the city of Venice. We feel “the sad elegance of ruin…”

Six Titanic passengers and 40 Civil War-era generals rest here. And every New Year’s Eve at noon, champagne flows free to the public at the graveside of General Meade, who won the battle of Gettysburg. The promise of free bubbly seals the deal for our return and we head downriver, past a classic Frederick Remington cowboy sculpture, toward the imposing edifice of Eastern State Penitentiary.

But all that whistling through the graveyard has us hungry. Luckily Philly’s ancient Victorian Water Works is right on the way, and now a splendid neoclassical restaurant. We slurp lobster bisque among huge columns of the ancient pump house and munch garbanzo salsa overlooking Schuylkill waterfalls. Behind us looms Philly’s iconic Museum of Art. (Adrian!)

Tummies full, we creep into Eastern State Pen. The miserable souls who wound up here were given a bible and a cold stone cell and a few years to sit and think about things. Sean Kelly, the current “warden” of these architectural ruins, gives us a similar tour to the one that inspired Charles Dickens to proclaim the place “cruel and wrong” back in 1842. We have to agree.

“Basically, instead of rehabbing criminals, the solitary confinement drove ‘em crazy,” says Sean. Since we’re fresh from the graveyard, we ask about spooks. “Oh there’s ghosts aplenty, I’m sure. The paranormal experts are crawling around here all the time.”

We crawl around to the former cell of Al Capone, who did time here on a gun charge in ‘29. The mobster’s pad is the Ritz compared to the surrounding dank cells. There’s a polished desk, a comfy bed, even a console radio to bring waltz music into his little corner of haunted hell.

But all this delightful despair is just a warm up for the macabre Mütter Museum, an unsettling collection from the old College of Physician’s. Being a bit squeamish we’re glad to have the prison between it and our lobster bisque. We gawk at what they call “fluid-preserved anatomical specimens.” We call them a variety of human head slices, the shared liver from the original “Siamese” twins and an assortment of 2000 completely weird objects that people found a way to swallow 100 years ago. (Much, much weirder than the garbanzo salsa.)

Thank goodness we have a bed worthy of Capone waiting for us near Rittenhouse Square and reservations at our favorite Italian BYOB. Maybe after dinner we’ll see you strolling the square, or heading out of town toward the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

Laurel Hill Cemetery

Guided tours of this hauntingly beautiful 78-acre cemetery cum arboretum cum sculpture garden are held one Sunday each month. Tour themes include “Sinners, Scandals and Suicides” and “ Dead White Republicans.” Say hello to Ross Mitchell, who runs the necropolis and whistle through the coolest graveyard you’ll ever see. Check out their lively website at theundergroundmuseum.org.

Hi-yo outdoor art! (Tim: the Frederick Remington cowboy statue. Maybe this gets inserted within the text of the piece in some fun way.)

Philly has more outdoor art than Paris. Along the Kelly Drive you’ll find statue after statue, including this Frederick Remington masterwork rearing up over the Schuylkill River.

The Water Works Restaurant

Originally one of the country’s first and largest municipal water works, this architectural marvel is as beautiful as it is delicious. Overlooking the Schuylkill River falls and surrounded by Fairmount Park gardens. Tucked behind the Museum of Art, just off Kelly Drive. Online at thewaterworksrestaurant.com.

Eastern State Penitentiary

Sean Kelly is the current “warden” of this amazing and haunted jailhouse. Take the tour and you’ll see why Alcatraz has nothing on the original granddaddy of American prison lore. On Fairmount Avenue at 21st Street. On the web: easternstate.org.

Rittenhouse 1715

Just about a half block from fashionable Rittenhouse Square, this beautiful boutique inn is bigger than a B&B, but much more personal than a big-box hotel. Luxurious, incredible comfortable and an easy walk to everywhere. At 1715 Rittenhouse Square Street with a great website at rittenhouse1715.com.

Melograno Tuscan Bistro

Luca’s from Rome and knows how to run an Italian kitchen. His wife Rose is Vietnamese-American and knows how to make you feel welcome. Their unique chemistry creates some of the best food you’ll ever have in front of you. You’re nuts not to try the homemade papardelle. BYOB to 22nd & Spruce. Call 215.875.8116 and ask Rose about tonight’s special.

10th Street Pour House

Walk a few blocks and get yourself a real breakfast. Great coffee, splendid Eggs Benedict and a Tex-Mex omelet that just won’t quit. Arguably the best home fries in town. 262 S. 10th Street, between Spruce and Locust. 215.922.5626.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

4,466 miles from Naples: “The Pizza Capital of the World”

2007-04-24T06:48:00.000-07:00

The river road from Wilkes-Barre up to Old Forge snakes through small storefront towns, hugging the mighty Susquehanna. This is Main Street for a riverside of Italian and Polish enclaves; home to immigrants lured a century ago by coalmines, steel mills and a better life for their kids. We drive by memorials to mineshaft disasters, soda-fountain drug stores, corner taprooms, salumerias, ethnic social clubs, and about as many Catholic churches as there are saints.

Up here in Old Forge, the only thing that may outnumber churches is pizza parlors. This is the self-proclaimed “pizza capital of the world,” and folks in every local parish agree that Old Forge pizza is a religion unto itself. But this is where the agreement ends and a world-class pizza rivalry starts cooking.

Some say Arcaro & Gennell, a comfy tavern of a pizza restaurant, knows just the right combo of cheeses and sauce. Others say Revello’s, right across the street, makes a crust to die for. Still others insist the best Old Forge-style pizza isn’t even in Old Forge.

“Grotto’s is the best pizza you’ll ever eat. You’re crazy not to start there.” We heed a local’s advice and stop first in Harvey’s Lake, where people drive from miles for a mouthful of Grotto’s pizza. It’s good, but we’re not about to settle for a chain-store pie.

What makes Old Forge pizza unique? You can order a slice (here they call it a “cut”), but most folks get it by the rectangular tray (not by the pie) It could be a half-inch thick. Olive oil goes in a deep pan first, then a layer of dough. More olive oil, more dough. The crust is thick, with baked-in bubbles and chewy good. Pile on the cheese, ladle on the sauce and bite down with alacrity.

The specialty up here is white pizza. No red sauce, just a blend of cheeses and sometimes, sweet onions. When it’s good, white pizza is like white chocolate. That is to say, it’s not like pizza at all; like great white chocolate isn’t really like chocolate. The best Old Forge white pizza transcends the category and creates a delicious new food group.

And we’re here to tell you, the best white pizza on our sojourn (we sampled nearly a dozen pies – oops, trays - in two days) is at Revello’s, in the heart of Old Forge. Our choice is controversial, even in Revello’s. We ask our server whether she prefers the white or red and she confides in a whisper, “I don’t like either here. The best pizza in Old Forge is up at Mary Lou’s.”

We drop our napkins and bolt for the door, planning on a beeline for Mary Lou’s. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on your appetite – there are two other pizza joints along the way and we don’t make it Mary Lou’s for about an hour. By then, our pizza judgment is pretty much impaired.

You think we’re sated. But on the way back to Wilkes-Barre we pull up to Sabbatelle’s in the hardscrabble river town of Pittston. Rocky and Jane Sabbatelle have stocked their Italian deli for 30 years. Aisles are crowded with homemade everything and shelves are full of olives, salamis and sausages, incredible aged provolone, fresh mozzarella, egg pappardelle, fried eggplant, and – you guessed it – trays of pizza.

“The best you’ll ever eat,” Rocky promises. “Better than anything up in Old Forge.” What the heck, we shrug, and loosen a couple buttons.

Later, we head for a local brewery tour and a four-poster bed in what was the summer mansion of the “lumber-and-ice king” of Pennsylvania’s great industrial age. But that’s a whole other story. So until then, we’ll see you round the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

Smile and say “Cheese!”
Folks in Old Forge know you need more than plenty of napkins with good, gooey pizza. At Revello’s we’re lucky enough to find a free dental floss dispenser in the rest room. So there’s no excuse for picking your teeth at the table!

Arcaro and Gennell
They’ve been at it for 44 years, and you feel completely home inside this family pizza tavern. Sure, you come for the pizza, but try the hot pepper shooters and homemade fettuccine capricciosi on the full-blown Italian menu. 443 S Main St, across from Revello’s in Old Forge. Check out pizzacapitaloftheworld.com. 570.457.5555

Revello’s Café
Everything on the menu is available for take-out, except the homemade tripe. “It takes too long to make, and it’s a real crowd-pleaser at the bar,” we’re told. No wonder the bar is so crowded, especially on weekends. Our white pizza winner. 502 S Main St, across from Arcaro & Gennell in Old Forge. 570.457.9843

Mary Lou’s Pizza
Mary Lou Verdetto knows what she’s doing. In fact some of the insiders at other pizza parlors says hers is the best. Turn west off Main Street, keep your nose out the window and you’ll find her. Open Thursday, Friday and Saturdays only. 209 Dunn Avenue in Old Forge. 570.562.2700

The Lion Brewery
What’s better with pizza than free beer! They’ve been at it since 1905 here and you can sample the ale, porter and 1857 lager in the historic Stegmaier Brewhouse. Call ahead for a free tour: 570-823-8801, ext 346 (ask for Theresa) or online at lionbrewery.com. 700 North Pennsylvania Blvd in Wilkes-Barre.

Sabatelle’s Market
Stop in for an enormous sandwich, some homemade pasta, and don’t forget to bring home the pancetta. Say “ciao” to Rocky, Jane, Chuck, Maury, Jason and/or A.J. Sabatelle.114 S Main Street, Pittston, PA 570.654.4617

Bischwind B&B, Bear Creek Village
This glorious B&B was the “lumber-and-ice king” Albert Lewis’s summer home back in the day. (He’s buried across the street in one of the most amazing little cemeteries you’ll ever see.) Current owner Billi English grew up in the house and knows all the nooks and crannies. (Ask her to point out the Tiffany glass transoms. Awesome.) Billi’s four-course breakfast is fit for a land baron. Filet mignon and eggs anyone? One Coach Road and Rt 115, Bear Creek Village. 570.472.3820 and/or bischwind.com.

Bear Creek Inn
Enough with the pizza trays. Belly up to the beautiful old bar and let Larraine Eddowes, the Inne’s gracious owner, introduce you to all the locals. She makes a fine martini, and the conversation gets just as spirited. And you’re crazy if you don’t get the lamb chops with mint jelly. Quarter mile from the Bischwind on Rt 115 in Bear Creek Village. 570.472.9045 and/or bearcreekinne.com.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Goosebumps and glory above the Delaware Water Gap

2007-04-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

We pull into Milford after keeping our eyes out for eagles over the Delaware Water Gap on beautiful Route 209. Here’s a classic river town from the gilded age, home to pioneering artists and architecture, science-fiction writers and Horace Greeley’s free-love movement. Surrounded by the original Hollywood hills, silent greats like The Perils of Pauline were filmed here. Reverence for the outdoors is in the air; Milford is where the U.S. Forest Service was founded.

We’re here for the history and the scenery, always on the lookout for oddities worth a story and food worth a u-turn. In Milford, we find it all, and then some.

Right away, a wrap-around porch on a 150-year old steakhouse catches our eye. As does the Pike County Courthouse with a big rainbow trout riding high above on a weather vane. And we check into the Hotel Fauchére, beautifully restored from “crumbling plaster and moldy carpet” to a contemporary version of the original glory that attracted such guests as Franz List and the scandalous Evelyn Nesbit.

But the real prize in Milford is one that raises goosebumps. Up on a hill, housing the original stagecoach that once jitneyed the cream of New York society from the train station is a grand mansion called “The Columns.” The Pike County Historical Society has a collection of marvels here, but the one we come for is known as “the bloody Lincoln flag.”

It seems members of a prominent theatrical family, the Gourlays, were performing at Ford’s Theater the night Abraham Lincoln was shot. Thomas Gourlay was one of the first to attend to the president, and he cushioned Lincoln’s head on one of the American flags decorating the presidential box. Gourlay kept the flag, now stained with Lincoln’s blood, and passed it to his daughter, Jennie. She retired here in Milford, a community popular with the arts and theater crowd.

Today the flag is displayed in a glass case, next to a bust of Lincoln and surrounded by Civil War memorabilia. The blood of America’s greatest president saturates the flag and this poignant reminder of the humanity of history sends chills up the back of our necks.

The noon bell from a nearby church changes the subject, and we follow a local’s counsel and find our way to a remarkable tavern that keeps us firmly planted in the mid 19th century. Rohman’s Tavern, in the village of Shohola, is virtually unchanged from its 1850’s opening. Legend has it that even during prohibition, Babe Ruth and his cronies would get off the New York train here and enjoy Rohman’s signature fresh-squeezed screwdrivers. What the heck, we say; it’s 5:00 somewhere. So we enjoy a happy dose of fresh vitamin C and gaze at hundreds of ancient police and firemen’s patches from as far away as Hawaii that vie for historic wall space.

Tonight, perhaps a flick at the classic Milford Theater followed by gilded dreams beneath our downy duvet at the Hotel Fauchére. Tomorrow, it’s back to the hunt for the hidden gems and historic goosebumps along the bends and backroads. Maybe we’ll see you there.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

Hotel Fauchére

The newly restored rooms have side-by-side “showers-for-two” and the walls hold a great collection of paintings from the Hudson River school. Sip your martini beneath a huge photo of Andy Warhol kissing John Lennon on the cheek. 401 Broad Street, 570.409.1212. Online at hotelfrauchere.com.

Gray Towers

Incredibly beautiful 100-year old mansion, once home to Gifford Pinchot, a two-term governor of PA and founder of the US Forest Service. Tour info: 570.296.9630 and at www.fs.fed.us/gt.

Milford Diner

Come and get your breakfast. We recommend girding yourself for the house special kielbasa and eggs. It won’t let you forget how good it was. 570.296.8611 and yep, they’re online: www.milforddiner.com.

Milford Theater

A movie theater like they used to be. Catch a first-run Johnny Depp or come in October for the annual Black Bear Film Festival. Check out www.blackbearfilm.com for festival info. Either way, ask for extra butter on the popcorn.

Collage of shop/sign photos

Walk the streets of Milford and you’re surrounded by antiques, collectables, beautiful hand-made clothing, knick-knacks and bric-a-brac, trinkets and baubles, geegaws and gadgets and tchotchkes galore. Guaranteed you’ll drive home with a full trunk.

Fretta’s Salumeria

The Fretta family’s 100-year old Italian deli is a must. Try the best sausage=and-peppers sandwich ever, homemade sweet cappacola, scaramozaa they smoke in the backyard and a cannoli filled only when you order it. Mangia! 223 Broad Street, 570.296.7863.

The Columns/Bloody Lincoln Flag

The Columns mansion is home to the Pike County Historical Society. Among a collection of historical marvels is the jaw-dropping “bloody Lincoln flag.” Ask for Vaughn; she gives a great tour in period dress. 608 Broad Street, 570.296.8126. Online: www.pikehistory.org.

Rohman’s Tavern, Shohola

The bar here is virtually unchanged since the Civil War. An antique juicer is perfect for fresh-squeezed screwdrivers. The bar stools unfold from the bar itself, and upstairs is a two-lane bowling alley where you have to set the pins yourself. 100 Rohman Road, Shohola. 570.559.7479.

Pat’s Bar, Hawley

Bernie Barry cooks her legendary cheeseburgers behind the bar on a 50-year old broiler, and quite simply, they’re the best tavern burgers we’ve ever had. And try a “boneless chicken dinner,” one of her homemade pickled eggs. 219 Main Ave in Hawley. Call 570.226.9653 and ask for Bernie.

Costa’s Family Fun Park

Drive a go-kart and a golf ball, swing a bat, and even bet a round of drinks on a round of mini-golf. Enough with the shopping and site-seeing, it’s time for family fun. On Route 6, just east of Hawley.

Cliff Park Inn

Set against the cliffs where The Perils of Pauline was filmed is the first woman-owned golf course in the US. Inside the romantic country inn the chateaubriand is a no-brainer. We suggest booking a room so you can have your way with the wine list. 155 Cliff Park Road, 800.225.6535. Online at www.cliffparkinn.com.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

From white water to Fallingwater (with cold beer and hot wings in between) in the Laurel Highlands

2007-04-23T15:17:00.000-07:00

The back way into the hamlet of Ohiopyle, smack dab in Pennsylvania’s Laurel Highlands, is a winding, twisting wriggle of a road. Not unlike the river that runs through it, the whitewater mecca known as the Youghiogheny. (Say it with us: “yock-a-haney.”) We pull into town just in time to check into our comfy rustic motel, check out the river conditions and sign up for a guided group tour of the rapids.

We join a gaggle of happy, self-proclaimed “dorks,” medical lab techies from a national health organization enjoying a rare company outing. In their tight life jackets and yellow helmets they stand open-mouthed and blinking in the bright sun. “We don’t get out of the lab much,” laughs a young intern, who grabs a paddle with us in the “sweep boat.”

The sweep is the boat that covers the rear of our little armada, and our captain is a dreadlocked, sure-paddled river guide they call “Sherpa.” He tells us when to paddle forward, when to take a stroke or two backward and how to avoid the boulders that rush toward us with all the speed of a mountain river.

One rock gets in the way of the boat in front of us, tossing a couple lab dorks into the drink. Sherpa helps sweep ‘em into our boat and everyone’s excited, wet and laughing. “It’s your whitewater baptism,” he proclaims and the river-soaked lab techies grin with pride.

A tour along the lower Youghiogheny lasts the afternoon, with deer and fox and the occasional black bear watching from the wooded Laurel Ridge. Our cruise is a series of peaceful drifts interrupted by stomach-churning drops into boiling holes that appear in the river between rocks the size of Buicks. It’s a combination of Huck Finn lazy and roller coaster crazy. We stop only for lunch, when we make damp sandwiches and eat them with a gusto that comes when adrenaline is your morning appetizer.

We pull the boats into shore around happy hour, carry ‘em on our heads to a waiting trailer and hop an old school bus back to Ohiopyle. One of the other river guides, a bearded rogue named Corey, tells bad jokes and we groan all the way to our motel shower.

We wonder whether the potent cocktail of excitement and exhaustion makes the wings and beer taste so good at the bar around the corner. But it turns out the buffalo wings at the Falls City Pub really are about the juiciest we’ve ever dipped in bleu cheese. A spicy nightcap to a thrilling day.

We wake up to black coffee, a big breakfast and a look at the map. Then we head out that wriggle road to get a look at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater, the architectural masterpiece inspired by its own whitewater. These Laurel Highlands have a lot of gems in the woods. We hope we’ll find you looking for ‘em, around the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

Wilderness Voyageurs Rafting

Our witty and trusty river guide Sherpa was part of the best crew a novice rafter could ask for. Nobody knows the boils and bends (and rocks) of the Youghiogheny better. Check out a variety of river tours at www.wilderness-voyageurs.com, or call 800.272.4141.

Yough Plaza Motel

Check into a comfy room or a family efficiency, with two bedrooms and a full kitchen. The rustic wood siding and huge shade trees give this family-run motel a happy mountain atmosphere. Walk to everything in the heart of Ohiopyle. Reservations at www.wwaraft.com or 800.992.7238.

Falls River Pub

The juicy classic wings and a pint of cold draft beer are perfect after an afternoon on the river. An easy walk from the motel across the simmering Youghiogheny. Tell the friendly bartender, Margo, we sent you.

“The Falls” Market & Inn

A classic general store – everything from needle-nose pliers to camping gear to velvet paintings to fresh bananas – with an old fashioned lunch counter with the best breakfast in town. Ask for the home-fries “mess,” which they really call by a word we can’t print here. Which is maybe why it’s not on the menu either. But it’s river-city good. Talk to Leo or Sarah Smith if you want a room to rent, too. Downtown Ohiopyle. 724.329.4973

Fallingwater

Frank Lloyd Wright’s masterpiece of “organic architecture.” One of the most beautiful homes in the world seems to grow right out of the mountain stream that runs beneath it. Tour reservations at www.fallingwater.org. Rt. 381, 4 miles north of Ohiopyle. Photo by Harold Corini courtesy of Western Pennsylvania Conservancy.

Laurel Caverns

Where else can you go spelunking and play mini-golf underground? Explore 430 acres underground with nearly 3 miles of crooked passages and catacombs. And play cavern putt-putt, too. Oh, don’t be surprised; bats are par for the course.
On Cavern Park Road in Farmington. www.laurelcaverns

Milroy Farms Maple Products

Gary Blocher is the patriarch of this fifth-generation sugar camp. He’ll be happy to show you how his family taps the trees, boils the sap and makes some sweet-tooth maple candy. Syrup in several shades of deep amber. And wait till you try the heavenly maple cream on an English muffin. Milroy Farms: 1724 River Road, Salisbury, Pa. 814.662.4125

The Inn at Georgian Place

Get out of the riverboat and into a four-star wine list and four-poster bed. This historic mansion is a gourmand’s treat for lunch, dinner and/or overnight. (Remember we told you about Margo from the Falls City Pub? Her dad runs this place. Tell him she sent you up from Ohiopyle.) Just off Route 219 north of Somerset. Reservations: www.theinnatgeorgianplace.com.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

What a friend we have in cheeses down there in Franklin County

2007-04-23T15:12:00.000-07:00

It’s in the little cheese shop beneath the big clock tower in the village of Gap that we hear about the artisan cheeses of Franklin County. So we head west out the old Lincoln Highway, through Lancaster’s mix of modern hustle and traditional bustle, through the glorious orchards of Adams County (where they grow more than 150 kinds of apples, and it’s a beautiful drive in season or out) and we find our way into the undiscovered Amish farmlands thriving along the Kittatinny Ridge.

We pull into Otterbein Acres, the pristine Amish farm of John and Lena Fisher. Here they raise grass-fed lambs and chickens, John builds birdhouses you’ll want to live in, and their eldest daughter Barbie transforms their sheep’s milk into the best Pecorino Romano this side of Naples. John lights a coal lamp and guides us downstairs to the cheese cellar and we get a gander of row upon row of golden wheels of perfect Pecorino.

“Barbie’s little brothers and sisters rub these wheels with olive oil once a week for six months,” John tells us. “That’s what gives this cheese such a golden rind. Don’t peel it, best to grate it and toss it all together.” (We do just that when we get it home, and it’s heaven with spaghetti.)

John and Barbie send us off with a couple pounds of Pecorino and a big chunk of their Gouda, too, and tell us to look out for a guy making goat cheese they heard about somewhere south of Greencastle.

Next stop is Whispering Brook Farm, a Mennonite dairy farm with a perfectly logical address on Edenville-Cheesetown Road, on the way to Cheesetown, of course. Here the specialty is good old-fashioned cow’s milk. Extra sharp and mellow smoked cheddar. Baby Swiss that’s melt-in-your-mouth. We bite off a chunk of jalapeño jack and it’s the perfect combo of cream and warmth. The farmer’s daughters make us home-smoked ham-and-cheese hoagies to tide us over as we go looking for the goat cheese.

It’s not easy, but worth the search. We get a tip from a wonderful coffee roaster in Greencastle (another story well worth the telling). Along a forked gravel lane, bear right at the “Pipe Dreams” sign (it’s missing a few letters) and we find a fellow tossing hay to dozens of goats. We call out, “are you Bradley Parker, goat-cheese maker?”

“I am indeed, sir,” he affirms.

“We’ve been looking all over the county for you.”

“Well, get out of the car and let’s talk about it,” he laughs.

As he walks toward the barn the snow-white nannies fall in line behind him, like following a cheese-making pied piper. And we fall in line behind the goats.

We taste the curds. We taste the cream. We taste the aged and the fresh. Brad Parker’s Pipe Dreams cheese is tart, it’s pungent, it’s like butter; it’s all delicious. We see large parcels of it, fresh and hanging in cheesecloth, its whey dripping into buckets below. “I feed the whey to the hogs out back,” says Mr. Parker. “That makes ‘em the best pork chops you’ve ever had.”

Sounds like another mouth-watering reason to return. Today, Franklin County’s burgeoning world of artisan cheeses is enough to map out a pretty good roadtrip. Maybe it was Napoleon who said an army travels on its stomach. It’s true enough for us.

Well, its time to find a welcome motel and a happy tavern. We’ll see you round the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For all a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

Otterbein Acres

The Gouda is good and the cheddar is better but come for the Pecorino Romano. Every wheel is rubbed with olive oil each week for months until it’s golden rind says “mangia” with an Amish accent. Take home some fresh eggs and grass-fed lamb while you’re at it. On Otterbein Church Road, in northeast Franklin County. Please, no Sunday sales.

Whispering Brook Cheese Haus

Wisconsin’s got nothing on this wonderful cheddar. The “cheese haus” is right on the farm, and everything comes right from the dairy. Brown eggs and cold milk are in the fridge with a variety of cheeses, so bring a cooler and pack it tight. Edenville-Cheesetown Road, just east of Edenville on the way to Cheesetown, of course.

Pipe Dreams Fromage

Bradley Parker studied with the masters in France and brought home the secrets to making the creamiest, richest, most flavorful of cheeses. (Best with honey or crusty bread or roasted beets.) Drive slow and peel your eyes to find his happy goat farm, but you’ll make a new friend and take home a great story with some creamy trophies. 2589 Shanks Church Road (where it meets Grant Shook Road) Greencastle. 717.597.1877

Squire Smith Inn

Ross and Melanie Bates make you feel welcome at this Civil War-era B&B. You’ll wake up to local Tuscarora Mountain maple syrup and a pot of coffee roasted just down the road apiece. Only four rooms, so call ahead for reservations. 47 North Main Street, Mercersburg. 877.445.5218. www.squiresmithinn.com.

Flannery’s Tavern

It’s been an apothecary and an impromptu morgue during the Civil War. Tonight, John Flannery is cooking up lively calamari, succulent scallops and a menu full of passion. Best-of-class dining at easy-wallet prices. Don’t miss this one. 5 North Main Street, Mercersburg. 717.328.5011.

Greencastle Coffee Roasters

Charlie Rakes roasts all kinds of coffee in his vintage roaster, sometimes right outside the store. He roasts peanuts, too. And he’ll sell you a silk sarong, hot curry powder and all sorts of Asian noodles, spices and sauces. And you can pick up a Frank Zappa t-shirt with your Jamaican Blue Mountain drip grind. Address and phone number to come.

The Old County Jail

One of creepiest places you’ll ever love. Three tiers of prison cells built in 1818, including dungeons below and the original gallows out in the courtyard. Ask for Denny, the best volunteer tour guide who will fill your head with stories and give you the delightful willies! Alcatraz has nothing on this place. 175 E. King Street, Chambersburg. 717.264.1667.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Homemade, home-brewed, homegrown, home-baked, hand-blown and stone-ground in the heart of Dutch Country.

2007-04-23T14:23:00.000-07:00

After a surprising dinner of homemade stuffed manicotti (we were, after all, in the heart of Dutch Country) we wake up to the surprisingly wonderful aromas of fresh-ground coffee and horseradish. The java’s brewing about 20 yards from where the horseradish is grinding away, making our eyes water in Lancaster’s Central Market. Inside this big old brick barn is a crazy swirl of fresh pastries, fields of produce and mind-boggling varieties of scrapple.

With our senses on high alert we head out of town, east along Route 23, the two-laner we now think of as Lancaster County’s “Homemade Corridor.” All along 23 we see hand-painted signs hocking home-built gourd birdhouses, homegrown grass-fed chickens, hand-blown glass, hand-sewn quilts, home-brewed root beer and handcrafted brooms. (The signs themselves are works of rural folk art.) We spend less than 20 bucks on a couple of incredibly sturdy brooms from a Mennonite lady who shows us how the corn bristles wrap tight around handles as strong as hiking staffs.

But best of all is the home baking, off 23 a couple of turns, and as hard to find as we were warned. “Oh, you’ll never find Sadie’s Bake Shop,” laughed Sue Kuestner, our hostess at the graceful Inn at Twin Lindens. “But if you do, you’ll be glad you tried.”

Sue was nearly right on the first count, 100% on the second. Sadie’s Bake Shop is in the basement of Rachel Lapp’s Amish farmhouse. Lit by gas lamps, the rustic basement holds a modern bakery, which started pumping out pies, cakes, bread, and whoopie cookies about 30 years ago. Founded by Rachel’s mother Sadie, tradition is kept very much alive and delicious here.

We tell Mrs. Lapp we’ve driven a good ways to taste her baking. “Oh, people come from all over,” she says unimpressed. “Even from New Jersey!”

With a gooey shoofly pie and a dozen whoopies in the back seat we backtrack the twists and turns and only get lost once on our way back to the highway. Getting lost is one of the great pleasures of the back roads of Lancaster County. And it’s how we find Rohrer’s Mill, one of the oldest continually working water-driven gristmills in the country.

Rohrer’s is known for grinding corn that’s roasted before it hits the mill, which gives the cornmeal a unique nutty flavor. One of Lancaster’s oldest scrapple makers uses Rohrer’s roasted cornmeal as its secret ingredient. And it’ll be ours for delicious polenta and cornbread. So we pile a couple 5-lb sacks next to the pies and head back through the Homemade Corridor along Rt. 23.

Another hand-lettered billboard looms before us: “Home-made root beer for sale, 2 mi on left.” Mmm, rootin’ tootin’ homemade root beer. We can’t help ourselves, so we make sure there’s room on the back seat next to the shoofly and cornmeal and get ready to turn left in two miles.

With any luck later on, we’ll also stumble across a welcome motel and a happy tavern. Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and back roads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For all a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

Central Market, downtown Lancaster

Chock-a-block with fresh produce and meats and egg noodles. Plus flowers and crafts and our favorite, Long’s Horseradish, ground right before your watering eyes. (Get to know why our mom always called this stuff “jerk nose.”) On the corner of King & Queen Streets. 717.291.4723.

Lombardo’s Restaurant, downtown Lancaster

Had enough potpie? Here’s a great family-run Italian restaurant with homemade favorites like lasagna and stuffed manicotti. Not to mention stuffed diners dipping bread into the homemade red gravy. Reservations at 717.394.3794. In downtown Lancaster at 216 Harrisburg Avenue.

The Inn at Twin Lindens, Churchtown

Sue and Norm Kuestner make you feel right at home in this gorgeous mansion. Sue’s breakfasts are legendary, and she cooks fabulous suppers on Saturday nights, and everything’s from local ingredients. Reserve well in advance. Right in the center of Churchtown on Rt. 23. Call ‘em at 717.445.7619.

Sadie’s Bake Shop

Pies, cakes, bread, rolls, donuts, cookies and yes, whoopie pies – all hand made in the basement of the Lapp family’s Amish farmhouse. And all worth getting lost for. 489 Lambert Road (go north off Rt 23 onto Churchtown Road, take a right on Hammertown, a left on Turkey Hill and a right onto Lambert.) Call 717.445.7595 when you get lost. Closed Wednesdays and Sundays.

Nolt’s Broom Shop

These new brooms will sweep clean for a good long time. Handmade by the Nolt family for generations. Look for the hand-painted sign right on Rt. 23, between new Holland and Leola (just east of Rt. 772). Call 717.656.7450. No Sunday sales, please.

Rohrer’s Mill

This is another place we’ll wish you good luck finding. But the roasted cornmeal is worth the effort. It’s one of the last water-driven gristmills in the country, a true timeless treasure. (We gotta look at the map to figure where it’s at.)

Shady Maple Smorgasbord

Fill ‘er up. Here’s all you can eat of the county’s country cooking. Roast veal to butter beans, Delmonico steak to peach pie and on and on and on and (burp). Too much good food, one crazy low price, no tipping. Plenty of parking for cars and buggies alike. One mile east of Blue Ball along Rt 23. 717.354.4981 or www.shady-maple.com. Closed on Sunday.

Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

The Mercer Mile: Walking in the footsteps of weird genius in Doylestown, Bucks County

2007-04-23T14:21:00.000-07:00

The Easton Road starts deep in South Philadelphia and does a Mummer’s strut, dressed up as Route 611, north through Bucks County, then curves along the Delaware River right on into Easton. Today, we’re in the middle of that map, where the road is known as Main Street in Doylestown, the county seat of Bucks, hometown to such luminaries as James Michener and Margaret Mead. And our newest hero, Henry Chapman Mercer.

Doylestown’s a fine walking town, so we park the ragtop and make sure our sneakers are tied tight. We check into a sweet little B&B right next to the Doylestown Historical Society. It’s just a stone’s throw from the beginning of what folks here call The Mercer Mile, a stretch between wondrous castles built by the genius Henry Mercer. We can’t wait to get to know him.

The Mercer Museum looks medieval, seemingly indestructible with 6,500 tons of concrete poured back in 1913. Henry wanted this place fireproof, to keep his amazing collection of pre-industrial tools safe for generations. A collection of tools, you say? Sounds a bit ho-hum, you think? Why not just go in the basement and nose around Dad’s workshop?

Well, tell that to our dropping jaws as we walk in and look up. We’re inside a massive center atrium, more than six stories high. And look what’s hanging from the walls and ceilings: Cider presses, a horse-drawn fire engine, cigar-store Indians, a whaling boat, a Conestoga wagon, anvils, lobster traps and fishnets, and coopered barrels of all sizes. “Tools of the Nationmaker” is how Henry Mercer defined his collection, and he put more than 50,000 oddities in this strange palace where Willy Wonka and Dr. Seuss would feel right at home.

Mercer knew that concrete was the way to go, because a few years before he imagined the museum, he built himself a concrete home, called Fonthill, at the other end of the Mercer Mile. It’s a lovely walk through this old borough, with its 19th century homes, unique boutiques and Norman Rockwell charm. We time our visit to the museum so we can stop for lunch along the way to Fonthill.

After gawking all morning at old-world tools, the perfect renewal is some good old-world pizza. And we find it at Spatola’s on Main Street, about halfway along the Mercer Mile. They bake a white pizza to die for in a wood-fired oven, using hardwood like oak. “It’s gotta burn hot, but oak has no smoky flavor,” says our pizza baker. He claims to be a refugee from South Philly – down at the other end of the Easton Road – where they know a thing or two about pizza. The crust is thin and has a perfect crunch, the cheese and roasted garlic fused together in the wood heat. It’s good enough to order a second, something to munch on as we stroll to Fonthill.

Fonthill is more crazy Wonka-Seuss weirdness. It’s 44 rooms of hand-mixed concrete, windows set at madcap angles, swing-able chandeliers, books and more books, Rube Goldberg heating, plumbing and intercom systems. And tiles. Beautiful, amazing, a multitude of shapes and complex mosaics, most designed by Henry Mercer, and some from his collection that goes back 6,000 years or so from Mesopotamia.

Our guide takes us through Mercer’s “concrete castle for the New World” and tells stories of his incredibly rich life. A lawyer, archeologist, curator, collector, artisan and tile maker, Henry built Fonthill next door to his third concrete wonder and his prosperous business, the Moravian Pottery and Tile Works. He didn’t start all this till he was in his 50’s, which gives us all hope. We look down toward the Tile Works from one of the outdoor roosts along Fonthill’s castle roofline, a perfect perch where Henry could smoke a cigar, enjoy a brandy and watch the sun set over Bucks County.

We take our final stroll along the Mercer Mile to the Tile Works. Here we visit with artists still crafting the same Mercer designs that decorate the Pennsylvania Capitol building in Harrisburg, as well as other architectural marvels around the world.

We can’t help but stare into a fired-up kiln – an intensely hot oven where batches of Mercer tiles are glazing – without recalling the perfection of that white pizza from Spatola’s hardwood kiln. Which leads us, of course, to start thinking about dinner along Doylestown’s restaurant row.

It’s a happy walk through golden light back to the B&B, where we see the ragtop parked in front, antsy for that Easton Road. Maybe we’ll head out tomorrow, or the next day, depending on how many shops and menus we can tackle here in Doylestown. And when we do, we’ll roll out past the weird genius of concrete castles and keep our eyes peeled for you along the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For all a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

The Mercer Museum

Like nothing you’ve ever seen. As if all the weird uncles in the world got together with their attic collections of saws and hat racks, stovepipes and forceps, wooden Indians and iron artwork. All inside a most improbable and probably indestructible concrete castle. Looming over 84 S. Pine Street in Doylestown and online at mercermuseum.org.

Spatola’s Pizza

Man, this is good pizza. We fell for the white w/garlic, fresh from the oak-burning brick oven. A tiny little spot full of flavor; set off the street a bit at 304 N. Main St. Call ahead at 215.489.2882.

Fonthill and the Moravian Pottery & Tile Works

Who knew that concrete could seem so comfy? Henry Mercer’s home would have been perfect for a Dr. Seuss character. And next door his pottery works still cooks up the same beautiful tiles that decorate architectural marvels worldwide. Tours at Fonthill by reservation at mercermuseum.org. The Tile Works is run by the Bucks County Parks Department. Online at buckscounty.org.

James A. Michener Art Museum

Here is the old county jail, transformed into a world-class art museum. Get into the life of Michener, the author and Bucks County citizen. And the permanent collection of “Pennsylvania Impressionists” - Bucks County painters from the ‘30s, ‘40s and ‘50s – is wonderful. Just across from the Mercer Museum. Start your tour online at michenermuseum.org.

Dance to the music, shop till you drop. (Montage of shop signs and Puck sign)

Everywhere we turn there’s another charming boutique, coffee shop, jeweler, theater – even a great independent bookstore where the employees actually read books! The blues joint Puck is a groovy little nightclub on Printers Alley.

The Knight House Restaurant

At the foot of Doylestown’s restaurant row is a menu and wine list meant for our hearts. We were knocked silly by the Maine Lobster and Maryland Crab combo with chipolte cream. Save room for unreal flourless chocolate cake and try not to pass up the list of ports. You only live once. 96 West State Street; 215.489.9900. Sneak a peek at the menu at theknighthouse.com

Historic 1814 House B&B

Ask for the Mercer suite (naturally), soak in a Jacuzzi built for two and gaze into the fireplace, if not into each other’s eyes. A lovely garden patio and sweet little tea room make this a cozy stay an easy stroll away from the Mercer Museum. 50 S. Main St. Reservations at 1814houseinn.com.

Raymer’s Homemade Candy

Mark and Sue Raymer mix their own creamy blends of chocolate and make candies of all kinds that are well worth the guilt. Get a load of the honey nougat, put a few pecan turtles in your pocket and thank heaven this is a good town for walking off the goodness. 21 E. Oakland Ave. 215.348.3788.

Ok, it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there, won't you? Drop us a line at shunpiker @visitpa.com.

Wine, wings, dinors and dinosaurs along Erie’s grape lake shore

2007-04-23T14:14:00.000-07:00

Drive out of the broad-shouldered lake town of Erie along the East Lake Road, put the top down and take a deep breath. Ah…it’s like a fresh hit of childhood. The smell of grape popsicles and grape juice and grape bubble gum and then it gets deeper, muskier, the smell of earth and good wine. It’s the fruit of the vine, as far as the eye can see, from the lakeshore right up to the glacial ridge that rides along east of Lake Erie.

We’re cruising wine country, along old Route 5, in a place we never knew was wine country. We’re touring vineyards in a place we thought was all about steelhead fishing and birding and shipwrecks. We’re on the piedmont between the lake and the ridge, where the climate and soil is pitch perfect for a symphony of peaches, pear, blackberries, apples and you bet, grapes.

Merlot and cabernet franc, concord and chardonnay. And at Penn Shore Winery, the first we come to in the community of North East, PA, it’s all about the Vignoles. A crisp, fruity wine, but not too sweet. We taste a hint of pineapple and pronounce it quite drinkable and toss a case in the trunk and head to the next sip down the road.

The sign on the hill says “Arrowhead Wine Cellars” and we pull in for a new flavor sensation. Among the rieslings and cabernets we discover blueberry wine. Who knew? It’s like a big old blueberry bomb on our taste buds. “It’s especially great on ice cream,” teases our hostess, Kathy Mobilla. She and hubby Nick have been making Arrowhead wines since 1998, and they’ve sure got the hang of it. So we plunk a few blue bottles in the car and head on down the lakeshore blacktop.

It’s here, at Mazza Vineyards, where we taste the cream of the Lake Erie crop. It’s Mazza’s renowned Ice Wine, winner of gold medals at competition after competition. “We even win in California,” boasts Andy, the young bear of a bartender (wine-tender?) pouring samples for us. “We pick the grapes deep into December, when they’re absolutely frozen, hard as marbles right on the vine.” When crushed cold, the marble fruit gives up the ultimate sweet essence of grape. This is a dessert wine at its finest and we can see ourselves sipping it between bites of dark chocolate or pouring it over fresh peaches with the fire roaring and the dog at our feet…

Ok, when we come out of the ice-wine reverie, we finish filling the ragtop with a couple more cases and barrel back down the East Lake Road, stopping to sample America’s champion Buffalo wings at a local haunt called The Fiddler Inn. Then a stroll among a host of homemade dinosaur sculptures we find just off the highway. (Which is a whole other story in itself.) Finally, it’s nap time in a great little B&B, and then our favorite Italian joint where garlic’s in the air and we can’t wait to get our hands on – you guessed it - the wine list.

Until then, we’ll see you round the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

Penn Shore Winery
They’ve been crushing grapes since 1969 at one of Pennsylvania’s oldest wineries. On the web at pennshore.com and on the earth at 10225 East Lake Road, North East, PA.

Arrowhead Cellars
Nick and Kathy Mobilla starting making wine in ’98 and have been winning gold and silver medals around the country ever since. Come taste why. Online at arrowheadwine.com and in person at 12073 East Main Road in North East, PA.

Mazza Winery
Mazza’s unique ice wine is about the best in its class, and we’re quite partial to the outstanding port. (Especially sipped in PJs by a fireplace.) Online at mazzawines.com and in a glass at 11815 East Lake Road in North East, PA.

Roy Peters’ Dinosaur Park
Roy Peters gets a kick out of making enormous sculptures of dinosaurs and letting them loose on his lawn. (We’d say they’re life-size, but we’ve never seen a live one.) He’s even made a whale the size of a whale for the Erie zoo. Stop and see his Jurassic menagerie for yourself. At the Peters’s Welding shop, 4369 S. Cemetery Rd, North East, PA.

The Fiddle Inn
Shawn Festa shuffled his wings off to Buffalo for the National Buffalo Wing Festival and brought home the first place trophy. Believe it: the best wings in America are perfect with a cold beer after a day at the wineries. 6615 Buffalo Road in Harborcreek, PA. Call ahead if you want: 814.899.9005.

Dinors everywhere
Strange but true: “Diner” is spelled with an “or” in this neck of the woods. We’ve never seen it before, and no one can explain it. (“Maybe you’re the one who misspells it,” one waitress suggested.) No mater, we recommend the turtle soup and ox roast sandwich at the Crossroads Dinor in Edinboro and the real gyros and homemade soups at the Park Dinor in Lawrence Park.

Boothby Inn
Do the Highland fling in the Scotland Room or take a safari in the Africa Room. Each room here is decorated and themed according to where the owners have traveled. The hospitality is pure down-home, with plenty of extra creature comforts. One of the better B&Bs we’ve slept in. Online at boothbyinn.com and/or toll-free at 866-BOOTHBY. 311 West 6th St in a beautiful, old Erie neighborhood.

Colao’s Ristorante
Loosen your belts. This must-eat Italian feels like a neighborhood joint and cooks like a four-star Tuscany. Clams are steamed in Peroni beer and pasta’s always homemade. (If portabella ravioli is the special, don’t think twice.) Ask for “Cee” Colao and tell him we sent you. At 29th & Plum in Erie. Reservations: 814.866.9621.

This is just the beginning. When you find something weird and wonderful, drop us a line at shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Along the Supernatural Trail in super, natural Central PA

2007-04-23T14:12:00.000-07:00

Back in the day when the Lincoln Highway was known as the Forbes Road (a century before Abe was even a twinkle in his daddy’s eye), a highway bandit was making things messy for pioneer travelers out around Fort Bedford. So a trap was laid, a prisoner caught and a trial held inside the local Jean Bonnet Tavern. Found guilty he was hanged right then and there. That fuels the ghost stories that come with the good food, comfy lodging and yes, powerful spirits at the historic Jean Bonnet.

Doors lock and unlock at will. Water pitchers are thrown from shelves at unsuspecting bartenders. Potpourri is tossed around empty rooms like confetti. And the blender pops on at random wee hours. Get a new blender, plug it somewhere else, it doesn’t matter. We figure this is one spirit who loves his piña coladas.

It’s our first stop along a supernatural trail of otherworldly natural beauty and out-of-this-world eating. Just down the road from the haunted tavern we find the haunting Gravity Hill, a weird and non-tourist-trap phenomenon every shunpiker should see at least once. It’s not easy to find, so we ask help from a guy in his boxers walking a boxer (no lie), and three PennDOT workers putting up signs, and pull up to the foot of a slight hill, marked on he road by a spray-painted “GH START.” Put the car in neutral and sure enough we coast up the hill. Put a ball on the road and it rolls up the hill. Water seeks its unnatural level up the hill. We haven’t had this much fun getting the creeps in a good stretch.

Our minds blown a bit, we’re north on country Route 26, winding between the Mid-State Trail, PA’s longest footpath (from the Mason-Dixon right up to NY) and the Raystown branch of the Juniata River, with its submerged ghost-town villages flooded to create the huge Raystown Lake. Plenty of spirits floating around here, no doubt. But on our two-lane blacktop it’s one peaceful, blue-sky drive.

We find hickory-smoked babybacks around Wipple Dam and tuck away an afternoon snack. Then check back into the spirit world inside the Reynolds Mansion B&B in Bellefonte, a town of big sky and bombastic Victorian architecture. And ghosts.

About 100 years ago, William Reynolds’s wife Louise was confined to her bed and occasionally to a wheelchair. She could never have children so William painted a beautiful cherub mural on the ceiling so she could always look up and see happy, chubby babies. Today guests often hear the sound of a wheelchair rolling around the “Cherub Room.” One tells of waking before dawn to find a woman in gossamer at the foot of the bed, watching his sleeping, pregnant wife with a beautiful smile.

We enjoy the house brandy, spirits to ward off spirits, and wake up to fresh poppy-seed-lemon scones and a day sunny and bright with possibility.

The ragtop heads the back way out of town and toward a diner so good, trains stop on the tracks alongside without warning for roast pork and peanut butter pie. Can’t wait to dig in. Until then, we’ll see you round the bends and backroads.

When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)

Jean Bonnet Tavern

Owner Melissa Jacobs raises goosebumps with tales of the spirits who inhabit this haunted hotel. Perfect with a tankard of ale and a medium-rare filet mignon. After dinner, stroll the gardens and feed the goats outside. Reserve a room with a ghost at www.jeanbonnettavern.com.

Gravity Hill

Is it an optical illusion or a supernatural phenomenon? Seeing is believing, so watch your car roll up the hill and shake your head in wonder. Ask a local or find a secret map at www.gravityhill.com.

Old Bedford Village

A weird, beautiful village with homes, stores, churches, schools, an opera house and tavern – even the village smithy – circa 1750 through 1900. Re-enactors in period dress show you the ropes as you stroll through time. See for yourself at www.oldbefordvillage.org.

Miller’s Diner

10 years ago a train pulled up out back and the engineer came in for lunch. The impromptu nooner caused a crazy traffic jam, as he left the back of the train hanging over the intersection. Cops found the railroader inside with some chocolate-peanut-butter pie and fined him $94. (True story!) On Rt. 22 three miles east of Rt. 26. 814.643.3418.

Doan’s Bones

Roadtrip rule #3: When you see smoke, stop. It could be barbecue. Here at Doan’s little shack, they do the ribs with real hickory and you can smell it coming a quarter mile away. Best to eat a rack right off the trunk of your car. On Rt 23 near Whipple Dam just south of State College.

The Wizard of Odd

Stan Smith’s weird and fun sculpture garden features your favorites from the Wizard of Oz, all made from stuff he finds lying around the old farmhouse. Sign the guest book and ask, “Where’s Dorothy?” Worth the search on Linden Hall Road near 322 in Oak Hall.

Jim’s Italian Cuisine

Penn State’s legendary coach Joe Paterno wolfs down homemade spaghetti and meatballs here all the time. The lasagna and buttery garlic bread make this little BYOB a legend in its own right. On a little alley up the hill from the classic courthouse in beautiful Bellefonte. 204 E. Cherry Lane. 814.355.2169.

The Reynolds Mansion

Your amiable host Joe Heidt III will wake you with delicious baked peaches and lemon scones after a night of listening for ghosts in this haunted “best-of” B&B. The tap water comes from a local spring that is bottled and sold around the world, so enjoy a soak here in a Jacuzzi full of Evian-like luxury. Reservations at 800.899.3929 or reynoldsmansion.com.

This is just the beginning. When you find something weird and wonderful, drop us a line at shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Welcome to The Shunpiker's Guide

2007-04-22T19:10:00.000-07:00

In a land that looks the same from one interstate exit to the next, with soul-less strip centers, big-box retailers and chain-store restaurants conspiring to suck the spirit out of the Great American Roadtrip, it’s a relief to know there are still roads lined with independent gems along the way. All you have to do is shun the pikes and expressways and point your ragtop along the bends and backroads of Pennsylvania’s two-lane blacktops.

It’s along these forgotten byways where you might run across the world’s only 3-D replica of Whistler’s Mother; a homemade, life-size dinosaur collection towering over the Lake Erie piedmont; artisan Pecorino-Romano cheeses hand-rubbed with olive oil by Amish children; a colonial tavern haunted by an 18th-century road pirate who was hanged in the barroom; the flag that cradled the head of a mortally wounded Abraham Lincoln, its stars and stripes still smudged with the president’s bloodstains; a coal town with more churches than most and more pizza parlors than churches; world-class wine made with frozen grapes harvested in the dead of winter; a chili-dog parlor feud fueled by intense family passions; a diner with chocolate pie so good trains make unannounced lunch stops behind it; and a 96-year old helicopter-museum tour guide who still jumps out of planes.

Welcome to the world of The Shunpiker’s Guide, your personal roadmap to the most interesting roadtrips that’ll ever consume a weekend. With each installment you’ll get a story of history, heritage and absolute gluttony, written with a reasonable amount of wit and a whole-hearted commitment to wide-eyed wonder. You’ll learn where to eat, what to see, where to stay and how to avoid the homogeny of franchise America. And we’ll always welcome your feedback, your stories, and your passionate recommendations in an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.

Roadtrips can still be miles of spontaneous fun and serendipitous discovery. Especially when we dedicate our efforts to preserving the experience of an independent proprietor's personal passion. It’s all waiting for you off the pike and along the beautiful backroads from the Civil War Trails of The Seven Valleys to the birthplace of Wooly Willy in Smethport. Hop in the shotgun seat and ride along with stories inspired by our favorite hidden gems in The Shunpiker’s Guide.