When the rain reigns

The flat lands of the

Dakotas seem a lifetime behind us now as we weave through the unfolding mountains of Pennsylvania. We are truly in the east of the US now. Bruce points out as we pass the handsome town of Harrisburg that this is the historic territory through which General Lee marched his barefoot troops way up from Virginia during America’s most terrible

Civil War. They ended up at Gettysburg, those poor half-starved Confederate boys.

Harrisburg is the actually capital of Pennsylvania. But it is not our destination.

We’re headed to Williamsport and it is a bit of a drive.

Furthermore, the sky is darkening.

We fork out $7.25 in toll payment as we head onto 99 past Johnstown. It’s beautiful country. We’re driving through a valley with huge mountain ranges on either side. We turn off

and are in another lovely valley.

We can smell the rain before it begins.

And then it comes by the bucket.

Splash, splat, swish on the windscreen. Hiss, whish beneath the wheels.

We’re in Clinton County in the Susquehanna Valley. Little villages nestle on mountainsides.

We discern pretty little towns through the whack of windscreen wipers.

Drive carefully. Trees, trees, trees line the road. A broad-spread community is tucked in behind them.

Is that a sign to Holidaysburg? What a wonderful name. I wonder what the story is.

Google tells me its claim to fame is the manufacture of the slinky toy. Well, you can’t win ‘em all.

First impression of Williamsport is not brilliant. There are lots of For Rent signs. Big gracious homes for rent.

We are weary from the hard drive. We head for our Hampton Inn accommodation, have a bloody mary and head out for buffalo wings and salad in a family-friendly sports bar.

This Hampton Inn turns out not to be the best of the Hampton chain. My bed is a bit pulpy and the bedding is too heavy. My travelling quilt comes in handy.

The hotel pool is good and, oh bliss, empty in the morning. I get a good burst of aqua before we hit the road.

It has rained all night and it is a glum sort of day.

We explore the former timber town some more, finding some of the most brilliant graffiti art I’ve ever seen - a whole little town square

colourfully illustrated completely on three sides. Ah, it’s the town art centre.

We find a nice theatre, the unmanned PBS studio playing the same program we are listening to in the car. We find a huge newspaper building. Education seems to be the local economy now with two universities. We find masses of eclectic rickety-looking student rental buildings. In complete contrast, we find the town's salubrious suburbs with some of the most striking houses I think we have ever seen. We find the most immense and inviting bookshop. We find an old Gothic-style stone prison which is now a bar called The Cell Block.

And we find the road out of town.

Wolf township raggle taggles along a mountainside beside a lovely rocky stream.

Picture Rock is another gorgeous mountainside town on the rocky stream. It has a fascinating assortment of interesting old houses.

We drive through valleys of corn and soy crops, around curves with walls of green, past ramshackle towns with falling-down houses beside quite nice houses. Penn township. Lovely corn crops. We have become so very fond

of the sight of corn. This is a lucky thing in a country where corn is the major crop.

Winding through more valleys, admiring red barns. The almost-ripe corn looks golden in the soft light.

Oh, look! That creature running across the road in front of the car, running for its little life…it is a beaver!

A sign to a scenic point lures us to detour up a hill where we can see the ranges as a vista, rolling green into the distance. Ah, yes, we surely are in the mountains.

Uh-oh. Rain can come quickly in this country. And it does. Suddenly we are swamped in another blinding deluge. We make a dash back to the car.

We drive cautiously. Houses nestled in among the trees have their lights on as if it is night. Indeed, it is grey and dull.

We pass Loyalsock State Park and Loyalsock Creek. The name Loyalsock fascinates us and we spend some time pondering ways in which socks may be loyal, be it to each other or a shoe or a wearer…

The rain is in full-frontal attack. It pummels the car mercilessly.

Cars around us are followed by bridal trains of white spray.

It is slow, scary going.

Then Dushore appears. What a nice township. A proud church sits on a hill overlooking the little town's square.

And there, prominent on the corner of the square is the bright red Jolly Trolley Restaurant. Lunch.

We park beside swirling gutters and rush through the gushing rain. We are immediately drenched, of course. But the Jolly Trolley is a

joyous relief. We are not the only sodden travellers taking refuge. Inside it is a classic shiny diner with cheerful girls darting around cooking and serving. I order their special hamburger and it turns out to be the best hamburger I ever had.

More people fall through the door, stamping their feet and shaking their clothes. They come to shop for souvenirs, to eat, and to ask for the key to the rest rooms. The rain eases a bit so we dart back to the car and resume our journey.

Now steam is rising in great plumes from the wooded hillsides. How ethereally glorious.

We pass New Albany and French Creek. We pause to buy Dandy petrol in a flag-proud little town called Monroeton . It seems like a calm old town in the rain. Bikers and truckers have paused here, too. More towns. Towanda. Athens.

More rain. Relentless rain.

Corn crops in the rain.

We cross a big bridge over the Chemung River. Its a tributary of the Susquehanna.

A big roadside sign says: "It can wait. Text Stop”

A little further along another sign declares: “State Law. 3 Text violations, lose licence”.

We wonder if this indicates that we are now in New York state.

There has been no “Welcome” sign. That would be typical for New York, we laugh.

Oh, yes, the road is suddenly utterly crappy.

This must be New York.

A sign to a Text Stop appears. Then the Text Stop itself. They are serious. They are exhorting drivers to wait and pull off the road into designated areas to text on their phones. I wonder if they do.

It is still raining. We can see industry across walls of trees. Big towns. Not pretty from the road. But we must concentrate on the rain.

Bingham, Union. Signs to Syracuse and Scranton. Roadworks.

The bad road gets worse. It hammers our trusty olive green Rogue. And us.

The sight of a cornfield stippled with yellow raises our spirits.

At last we reach Oneonta. I am insisting it is “one onta”. Bruce thinks this is hilarious. They say it “oh-nee-onta” , he corrects.

It is known as The City of Hills. Its Clarion Hotel is our destination for the night. What a dear, grand old hotel it is, too. Just a little bit classy. I love it immediately - and yet more when we move into an upstairs room which looks out eye level, across a sunken courtyard, onto a characterful street behind.

Oneonta is home to one of the State University of New York branches so it is rich in students and student digs. There would seem to be some of those in the upper floors of the wonderful old Victorian buildings on that street. It turns out that

we have a passage from the hotel right out to a square on that street. In this wet weather, it’s a boon. And the rain has taken mercy on us. It is only spitting now.

We explore the street.

Some seems down at heel and some seems thriving.

It is Saturday night and not much is open but the exotic scent of Egyptian incense lures me into a dark cavern of a shop.

Bruce follows reluctantly. He hates shops. But this one interests even him. It is a dense clutter of extraordinary goods. Things hang from the ceiling. They are in high glass cases, on shelves, under glass counters, on hangers…

And they are hippie head things.

I have never seen so many dope pipes and hookahs, even in Portland where marijuana is legal. It is not legal here. But it must be popular. Not only but also, this market has elevated dope paraphernalia to an elite art form. Their specialist glass artists can charge hundreds of dollars for their designer dope pipes. I am shown some.

Then I’m introduced to vape flavours. Heavens, you can vape cheesecake. Who knew!

I buy some incense and we continue our exploration, sighting a Thai restaurant for dinner. I can’t resist peeking into a local arts and crafts shop where we meet an interesting ornithological artist and become so engrossed and impressed by her work that we linger for ages and end up buying one of her arresting limited edition prints for a bird-watcher friend’s wedding gift.

Well, for a short, late-in-the-day Saturday walk, we’re intrigued and rewarded by Oneonta, however the hell you pronounce it.