“Pretzels.”
The young woman and her companion had rolled into the same trailside establishment as us and slid wearily off their bikes, but no one had told us anything about pretzels.
We are on the Great Allegheny Passage and headed toward the C&O Canal Towpath, the 330-mile bike route that connects Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C. It was our second day of riding, and the three middle-aged men sitting in old-fashioned gliders beneath a shaded and ancient looking gabled carport operated an informal trailside trading post, of sorts. When we pulled in, one of them got up from his comfy looking seat and offered fresh corn on the cob or tomato sandwiches, both veggies from the garden just yards away. He also said there were cold drinks in the fridge, and he placed a plate of sliced cucumbers and carrots down in front of us a free appetizer.
The sandwiches and veggies were much needed and appreciated, and as we were feasting on the fresh food, the other couple showed up. She explained that “pretzels” was the code word for cold beer, which the proprietor sold but apparently without a license. When they made their request, he gently steered them away from the shelter but not so far that I could not hear the conversation.
“One of my neighbors alerted the police, so we can’t sell ‘pretzels’ anymore. However, I can give you a beer and you can make a donation to the community garden if you’d like.” Just like that, the transaction was arranged, the couple had their beers and sat down on the newly cut grass to relax while they consumed their beverage.
Although I’m not sure drinking beer and riding a bike is such a good idea, I loved the fact that this kind of transaction and this kind of interaction take place along this trail we’re calling home for a week.
The ride goes through three states — Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Maryland — and dozens of trailside communities that welcome riders into their establishments. Between the two metro areas that act as an anchor along this ride, it slices through a portion of rural America I’ve never ventured into, and I’m learning and seeing a lot.
This is, unofficially, the eastern end of the Rust Belt that arcs from rural Appalachia in West Virginia and Pennsylvania to the Midwest. Many towns had coal mines or played some part in the production of steel, others just had factories that were served first by the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal and then the railroad. From what we’ve observed, those industries are for the most part gone, and there are pockets of poverty that surprised me. Wikipedia tells me that the town we stayed in last night once boasted a population of 4,000 but now has fewer than 1,000 souls, and the downtown had empty buildings and dilapidated sidewalks and infrastructure. This county has a median family income of just over $24,000 per year, and a little more research told me it was one of the poorest in the U.S.
Some places have been able to transition into tourism centers, making investments into their downtowns or taking advantage of the outdoor beauty that greets us at every turn of the Potomac River, which we’ve been following since Cumberland, Maryland. Others have not fared as well, and in these communities, government jobs — teachers, town employees, health department employees, social service workers — are the best around. No one out here is walking around with their hand out asking for help, and everyone we’ve met has been more than friendly and helpful as we’ve navigated along. But it’s eye-opening to witness. I’m very interested to see how — and if — this region recovers.
We ride on, tourists of sorts along the trail, spending money on hotels or Airbnbs, food and beverages, supplies to keep us going. I’m finishing this column in a self-serve café near the Potomac in Harper’s Ferry. The café is attached to the room we rented in an old house last night, and it’s set up for Appalachian Trail hikers and C&O Canal Towpath riders. It’s raining, so we’ll be getting wet as we finish this week-long journey.
But that’s the wonder of travel, the unknown, the unexpected, the friendly exchanges, the memories, like “pretzels.” It reminds me that, as they say, it’s the journey, not the destination, that matters.
(Scott McLeod can be reached at info@smokymountainnews.com)