Parkersburg, West Virginia

 

I’ve been reunited with the Ohio River for the fourth time in three weeks.  Our first meeting came in Cairo, Illinois, when I merely crossed  it into Kentucky. I returned to its banks a couple days later in Paducah for a brief few miles.  Six days days later I met up with it again in Newport/Covington across from Cincinnati.  I followed it south for a hundred miles into West Virginia.  After a few more miles I bid it farewell for a week until arriving in Parkersburg, where I’ll have its company for a day heading north up into West Virginia’s northern panhandle.

I greatly welcome its company, as it grants me a reprieve from the constant ups and downs that have been the story of West Virginia.  Level ground is such a novelty that one town that had some named itself Flatwoods.  The four-lane wide Highway 50 running east and west across the state to Parkersburg was nothing but one long climb followed by a fast descent for seventy miles.  I’d climb for fifteen or twenty minutes, have an all-too-short reprieve of four or five minutes, and then spend another fifteen or twenty minutes grinding up the next climb.  Up, down, up, down without any interlude becomes very tiresome.

The day before I had the pleasure of a road that followed the contour of the land rather than lashing straight through it as had 50 and the several Interstates that bisect the state.  The climbs were more bite-sized with little worry of choking on them and were broken up with prolonged spells of minimal inclines and declines as the road wound around the ridges that lace the land. It would have been the most enjoyable of cycling had it not been raining.  

The rain began several miles into a forty mile stretch without more than a dot of a town, so I had no choice but to keep riding.  When the rain came down in torrents, I was tempted to seek shelter in several abandoned homes and barns, but I needed to keep moving to stay warm.  I knew a cluster of motels awaited me in Weston or twenty miles further in Clarksburg.  After two hours of unremitting rain, it stopped shortly before I arrived in Weston allowing me to somewhat dry out before I came to a coffee house, the lone eatery through town.  It wasn’t serving, but I was able to sit inside and warm up a bit, making the decision to keep riding, happy as always that I did.

The internet told me the Quality Inn in Clarksburg offered the best rates of six or seven motels in the area along the interstate.  That was confirmed when its sign said “Weekly rates available.”  A few of those residents were out front smoking.  I took full advantage of its complimentary breakfast gorging on scrambled eggs and sausage, waffles, and biscuits and gravy, and filling my water bottle with orange juice.  I powered twenty miles north to Fairmont and the lone Strengthen the Arm of Liberty, Statue of Liberty in West Virginia.  It stood in front of a VFW Hall.  They had brightened its torch.  

Then it was west back across the state to Parkersburg and its Carnegie.  I knew it no longer served as a library, but didn’t know what use it had been put to.   I was delighted to see that it was still in the book business, transformed into a book store, the Trans Allegheny Book Store, selling new and used books.  Unfortunately, there was a chained gate across its entrance that looked like it had been there a while.  It was no longer in business and, in fact, had closed in 2010 after taking over the building in 1985 ten years after the Carnegie had been replaced as the city’s library.

It was a terrible shame this historic, noble building has been unused for so long.  It had lost none of its nobility and showed no sign of neglect. Its exterior was uniquely etched with the words “Literature” and “Art” between the windows on the first and second floors.  It also had a distinctive cornerstone indicating the influence of the Masons.  It stated, “Laid by Masonic Fraternity October 20, 1904 George Hatch—grand master.”  It also included the Masonic year A. L. 5904 which is four thousands years before Christ when they believe the world was formed.  A. L. is the abbreviation for the Latin “Anno Lucis” (In the year of light).

The replacement library a couple miles away on the north side of this city of 30,000, the third largest in the state after Charleston, the capital, and Huntington, whose Carnegie I earlier visited, had a stained glass window from the Carnegie of its benefactor.  The city has two branch libraries, one of which has the official Carnegie portrait.

I spent half an hour on the internet trying to book a ticket home on Amtrak from Pittsburgh.  It offers one train a day leaving at one minute before midnight (11:59 p.m.) and arriving in Chicago nine hours and forty-six minutes later.  I was two hundred miles from Pittsburgh, so could make the Thursday train.  Unfortunately, it was booked up and so was Friday’s.  I was unable to complete the booking process for Saturday’s train and had to make use of Amtrak’s on-line assistance.  That took quite a while.  

Charlie told me that Amtrak allows one to cancel a reservation without penalty, thus encouraging people to book a ticket when they’re not entirely sure if they’re going to use it.  Remembering that, I held out hope that someone might cancel a Thursday or Friday reservation and I could grab it.  Lo and behold, a Friday ticket became available shortly after I’d booked a ticket for Saturday.  Thank you Charlie.  So it was back to changing my ticket, which was another prolonged ordeal.  I wasn’t even sure if I succeeded until I received a confirmation email.

Having three days, rather than two, to reach Pittsburgh, I might finally have time to read the book and magazine I brought along that I have not yet read a page of.  And having no need of maximizing my time on the bike, I can try to time it to pass through a town large enough to have a diner during the time of breakfast and avail myself of some hotcakes.  It’s only happened once in these travels and that was on day three.  It is now near day fifty. Ordinarily I try for a massive calorie infusion of hotcakes once a week.  Lacking that makes me nervous about what the scale is going to tell me when I get home and weigh myself.