Sometimes the best plans aren’t really plans at all

Today, Jenny and I woke up with a vague plan:  We wanted to go on a bike ride somewhere.  As soon as we got up, I asked if she had anywhere specific she wanted to go.  I suggested that we could go up to Franklin, and ride to the Kennerdell tunnel.  This was a winner of a plan, so we got our stuff together and loaded the truck.  We had a quick breakfast of some left-overs from yesterday, and took off.

We arrived in Franklin at around noon or so, after a quick stop in Harrisville for ice and some Galliker’s iced tea.  We loaded up the bikes with the camera, reading material, some iced tea and a lot of water, and some healthy snacks (apples, trail mix, and almonds).  We departed south on the trail, with a 15-mile ride ahead to get to the tunnel.

The ride to the tunnel was pretty easy.  We stopped at the 5-mile mark under the Belmar bridge, then a quick stop again near the 10-mile mark in Brandon, where we stopped to see Indian God Rock.  Shortly after leaving Brandon, the paved trail ended, and we were directed onto a dirt road by some signs.  We rode along the dirt road for about a half mile, when we descended and found ourselves back on a nice flat, level, paved surface again.  We looked behind us to see that the paved surface continued backwards under a barrier and a giant hand-painted private property sign, and the house that was against that part of the trail had a bunch of vehicles and crap parked on the paved surface.  It looks like there was some legal issue at some point, and these people decided that they were going to fight the trail.  On our way back, we noticed that the paved trail surface continues back into the woods for a good distance, so I’m not sure what happened here.  Whatever it was happened after the trail was paved, so we’ll guess legal problems.  I find it hard to believe that the trail lost, as railroad rights-of-way have some special rules that would normally invalidate a squatter’s arguments, but maybe the trail didn’t want to press the issue?  I don’t know, but thanks to these people, we had a half-mile of rough riding to deal with to get back onto the trail.  Anyway, back to the story….

Two miles further up the paved trail, we got to the Kennerdell Tunnel.  This is a fairly lengthy tunnel, built starting in 1913 and actively used by the railroad until the 1980’s.  It, and three like it on the same rail line, were used to shorten the existing line by about eight miles total.  This tunnel provided a more direct route than following the Allegheny directly, which makes several odd bends in this section.  The tunnel is also somewhat interesting as it has no lights inside, as most biking tunnels do.  They placed reflectors on the trail surface, but due to a sharp bend near the other end of the tunnel, it gets pitch-black quickly after entering the portal.  It is nearly a requirement to have a decent light on-board, which we did.  It was a fun ride through the tunnel, looking at the odd graffiti that had been left over the years, and also admiring the awesome brick and stonework that went into this purely utilitarian structure, the majority of which would see only a train’s headlight.

Exiting the tunnel, we were happy with the cool breeze that continuously emanated from the far portal.  We rode about 2/3 of a mile further, looking for a good place to stop for a break.  The only table we found was taken, so we turned back and stopped outside of the southern portal.  That turned out to be a great place to stop, simply because of the cool breeze!  We took a few pictures, had a significant snack, and rode back through the tunnel.  On the other side we grabbed a few more shots of the tunnel, and then rode up a little further to where we could see a stone bridge that currently carries a small access road to a campground by the river along the old railbed.  We theorized that perhaps this was also used as an access road during the tunnel construction and then later for maintenance crews, as it looked like the bridge had been maintained over the years.

We continued our ride back, including through the crappy dirt road section, all the way until we got back to the Belmar bridge, where we stopped for a longer break and did some reading.  It was there that I finally finished David duChemin’s VisionMongers: Making a Life and a Living in Photography.  This is an excellent, inspiring book, and I recommend that you give it a read if you’re interested in doing this sort of thing (as I am).  We finished-up our reading here, and then set off for the truck back at the Franklin trailhead.

Here our plans got even a little stranger, as we decided to head up to Titusville to dine again at the Blue Canoe.  On our way up, we passed through areas that I remember going through as a kid, as they were some back roads that would take us to places like Two Mile Run park, and get us back to Cooperstown if we wanted an adventure.  After we ate, I suggested that maybe we could go back home via Cooperstown, which would add only a little distance to our trip.  Since it was still daylight when we were finished eating, this seemed like a good idea.  So, back up PA-427 we went until we got to Baker Rd.  I had to use a map to remind of the road’s name, but I recognized it as soon as we got there.  It’s the road we used to take to get to Two Mile Run from home, as it crosses 427 and goes straight to the park.  So we turned onto Baker Rd. and made for Cooperstown.

I couldn’t remember exactly where Baker Rd. brought us into town, until we rounded the last bend and I saw Cooperstown Sand and Gravel and the old baseball bat mill.  Ah, of course.  I should have remembered that.  We turned right and headed into town.  As we did, we started to notice some people congregating down at the field next to a church across from the sand and gravel place.  This was odd.  It looked like people getting ready for fireworks, and that’s exactly what Jenny said.  As we drove further into town, we started to see people pulling into the firemen’s park grounds (I think it has/had a real name, but I can’t remember what it is/was).  Jenny saw something about a community days festival or something this week, so we figured that was it and started to wonder if we were right about the fireworks.

I drove Jenny around the old neighborhood, and pointed out our house, houses of friends, and some of our favorite places to play.  I know I’ve done this with her before, but she indulges me and lets me do it again.  It was fun.  We drove around a few of the blocks, and then headed back down to the park grounds.  People were leaving there and heading across the bridge towards the field that we first passed on our way in, so we did the same.  We arrived and they were parking cars there, so we figured we would join-in,

As dark set in, we were treated to a nice, small-scale Zambelli display.  We had great seats, as did everyone else there–we were probably all of about 200 feet away from where they were setting them off.  It was great.  I was happy to listen to people around us and got the sense that this was still a community, which was nice.  Sometimes, when economies go to crap, the sense of community leaves.  Everywhere we were, though, there were people visiting with neighbors, talking with people, and then enjoying the fireworks together.  It was, really, kind-of how I remember it being when we lived there.

The sense of community is one of the reasons I wanted to live in a real, established neighborhood, and not some box-house development somewhere where people don’t talk to or really interact with their neighbors.  Sure, it’s easier to live in a cocoon.  It’s easier to not have to deal with the crazy person up the street who likes to sit on the porch and have vocal conversations with themselves at 4AM.  But what of the community?  Yeah, my neighborhood is quirky (aren’t they all?), but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I have neighbors who I trust, and who trust me.  I have a community that I can serve and I know exactly whom I serve.  I’m proud of not just my house, not just my block, but my entire neighborhood, and even my entire city.

As I pondered all of this, we got back into the truck and headed for home.