On the road again

Odd, some of the things

one sees from the window of the olive green Rogue.

We are traveling through eastern Ohio. There, in stately isolation in a break between a vast flat landscape of cornfields, sits a “Gentlemen’s Club”. It is far from any town. Are those gentlemen not so gentlemanly? Have they

been exiled in their pursuits? One can only wonder as more world reels past the window.

We’re tucked in behind a truck, both of us keeping a steady cruise control pace on this pleasant country road called East 250.

It is easy, relaxed driving in a soothing agricultural landscape.

Corn, glorious corn. Low carpets of soy crops. More corn, corn, corn as far as the eye can see.

We are used to it but not sick of it. There is something deeply satisfying about being in the fecundity of the corn bowl. It has not always been good for everyone. We see many failed businesses and tumble-down barns along the way.

We see quaint businesses like Grandpa’s Cheese Barn.

As the landscape begins to undulate, we see tidy little farms with fenced vegetable gardens. Invariably, there are a lot of parked cars on properties. Boats, too.

A town called Savannah, dense with beflagged two-storey clapboard houses, has a handsome Presbyterian church and a “Cattleman’s Restaurant”.

Fields, barns, silos..,

A sign to Ashland, population 20,362, ethanol factories and an amazing claim to fame: The World’s HQ of Nice People. Perversely, we skip the townsfolk and drop in on Walmart.

A great, big, cavernous box of a place it is!

Is that an Amish woman shopping in

this devil’s world of cheap foreign-made products?

I wonder what she is seeking.

Not what we are after, I’m sure.

We have come in for glue and a high-beam defence torch, as recommended by the chap we met in Milwaukee. I adore torches and can't help collecting them. This one has me fiercely intrigued. Want.

We head for the gun department.

It is deserted, apart from lots of guns, of course.

They are behind glass. All sorts of rifles and

shotguns. There are other weapons around us on the shelves. Lots of crossbows and hunting knives and other sorts of guns. There all sorts of holsters.

There are ladies’ guns and heavy-duty guns.

What there is not, is a gun shop assistant. Bruce rings the counter bell over and over and over.

We forage around looking for defence lights and find all sorts of torches, most of which I adore, since I never saw a torch I didn’t want. But not what we seek.

We are on the verge of leaving when the funniest looking woman emerges from a backroom door.

She is rotund and squat, heavily bespectacled

with terrible skin and thin, furry hair tied in a topknot. She is not the smartest but she could not be more willing to be helpful. She suggests the motoring department has gadgets which can break car windows. Interesting. I am after a torch, though.

Back to the passing corn fields. Roadsigns warn us to beware of horse and carriages.

Yes, it’s Amish country.

Rowsburg pops up, settled in 1835. It is serene and sedate with historic old red brick buildings.

Corn, corn. Little farms.

New Pittsburgh? Unlike its old namesake, it is a

tiny town featuring a huge barn and silo - and cornfields.

We turn off 250 onto 30 and find ourselves rolling into a valley.

Wildflowers abound on the verges by the cornfields. A sign encourages us to stop for peaches.

Yes, please.

We buy from girls in a barn beside cornfields. The peaches are not

grown around here, they say. They grow corn hereabouts. The fruit is from South Carolina.

Suddenly the road is lined by trees. A great wall of trees. It is like the eastern-state roads. We are on eastern states time. I guess I’m going to have to get used to this landscape. Bloody trees which steal the light and the horizons. With the horizon removed, one becomes more aware of the clouds - and they are thickening.

Another historic town. East Canton. 1700s. It’s a plain little town.

Mapleton comes along. It’s a bit scrappy and workmanlike. Old beer-bellied blokes in the street. I wonder if they do some of the mowing around here. There are large expanses of immaculate mowing. This is one of the great hallmarks of the USA - mown lawns and parks and fields. However scruffy the property, the mowing is always fastidious. They mow carefully around old car bodies and piles of junk.

Even trailerparks. And there goes one.

Ah, open country again. I’ve missed it. Corn and soy fields stream past the window.

A town called Minerva with a lovely old Lutheran church and a main street dense in old two-storey wooden houses.

What the...? A giant blue cow? We must be in dairy country. Can’t see cows. There are some abandoned farms and Kensington, a run-down darling little town. It has an icecream parlour. Icecream flavour of the day: Cow Tippin’. Some things I just don’t understand.

Hanoverton, population 408. Another down-at-heel town with a lot of American flags. Serious flags. Big flags. Among them a banner saying “By the grace of God, save our nation.”

Bet there’s a lot of guns in those old houses.

And so the roads roll on, winding a bit now as the landscape becomes a mixture of woodlands and fields.

There are ponds and Christmas tree farms.

SKUNK! The unmistakable smell of skunk leaks into the car. There’s no describing it. Pungent. Poor little creature. Did it just spray in self-defence or has it been hurt or killed somewhere.

Motorcyclists thrum past. They are not wearing helmets.

Lisbon, population 2,821, bears signs saying “Live. Love. Grow”. What a lovely town. Cute and touristy. It has a local theatre company. Steel Trolley Diner with the word “Oldies” in the window. I just love it. I want to stop.

But we are on the clock. We swing right to route 30 and, suddenly, there’s a mountain in my face. We’re on a four-laned highway winding into the hills.

It’s steep valleys. There’s a truss bridge over a huge river and East Liverpool, a big, beautiful town.

And look, look! A sign says : "Welcome to West Virginia”.

Yes! A new state.

It is gorgeous. I love it.

And, then, suddenly, it is Welcome to Pennsylvania.

That was just the tip of West Virginia, says Bruce.

Winding roads, scruffy fields. This seems more a suburban world than agricultural.

Look at that. “GOT FAR WOOD”. It is a sign with an accent.

The landscape is drier here. There are crops but they look stunted. There are greenhouses. It looks a bit more like Australia.

It’s 89 deg out there.

Shit. A detour. A sign reveals that a bridge is out.

We pass Clinton, a big development. Gee, there are a lot of towns called Clinton.

And there are a lot of roadworks on the American interstate highways.

The country roads are lovely. The big ones are a mess of red cones, narrowed lanes and work machinery. This detour is a biggie. And the signs are hard to follow. So near and yet so far. Pittsburgh was right there and now we are going away from it.

Stop, start, look for signs, take an exit, swing onto another main road…

It is a 45-minute diversion and then we are finally entering Pittsburgh.

Oh, it is fantastic.

Pittsburgh, I think I love you already.