The groundhogs were just beginning to stir on a gloomy and rainy Friday morning, Feb. 2, when I rolled into East Canton on U.S. 30. A bright red sign on a building back off the street caught my eye. Lowry's.
When spurnpiking, it's best to stop and ask strangers for directions. You're bound to get lost. That's the whole point.
Actually, spurnpikers don't ask for directions; more like suggestions.
Before I go any further, let me explain spurnpiking to the uninitiated. As the name implies, spurnpikers spurn interstate highways and other thoroughfares, opting to travel on or explore backroads.
It was a suggestion from a stranger on the street that spawned my latest spurnpiking adventure. I was driving through Perrysville late one afternoon and stopped in the parking lot of Wedgewing Restaurant to snap a few photos. A man in a pickup truck happened by, recognized me from my column headshot, stopped, and struck up a conversation. We talked about village politics, the fate of the Mansfield Plumbing Products plant, and canoeing the Mohican River.
Then he said, "You ought to check out Beaver Creek sometime."
He went on to describe the stream and interesting historical places to visit in and around Beaver Creek State Park in eastern Ohio.
"Yeah, maybe I'll do that," I told him.
I say that when people suggest places to canoe or explore but I rarely follow through. It so happened that I was looking to get away for a few days and do some spurnpiking, camping, and canoeing. I mulled it over that night but wasn't particularly keen on the idea. Sometime in the middle of the night, I was outvoted by the voices in my head. My waking thought was, "Why not?"
I went online and reserved a campsite for Friday night at Beaver Creek State Park. A loose itinerary began to take shape. I also had been wanting to check out Towpath Trail Peace Park, a private campground owned by Joe Rinehart on the outskirts of Bolivar, Ohio. I was acquainted with Joe through friends and a Facebook connection. He and I are early risers and coffee drinkers. We had been exchanging morning pleasantries online from time to time.
I contacted Joe and asked him to put me down for a campsite Saturday night.
It was becoming more and more apparent that serendipity was coming into play here. Right after I booked the campsites, my friend Curtis Casto invited me to join him and others for a Sunday paddle on the Tuscarawas River from Gnadenhutten to Newcomerstown.
This would take me to eastern Ohio on Groundhog Day, to the Peace Park Feb. 3, and the Tuscarawas River Feb. 4 — perfect logistics for the adventure I had in mind. What I didn't realize then were the geographic, historic, and human connections involved.
I started to see those connections when Scott Freese, a mutual friend of Curtis and Joe, got wind that I was headed to Beaver Creek. He sent me maps and information about one of the attractions along the way — the Church Hill Covered Bridge in Elkton, Ohio. It's billed as the shortest or one of the shortest in the country. Or the shortest in Ohio, depending on who you ask.
"If you happen to be going across (U.S.) 30 through Lisbon, it is a nice little historic town and this little covered bridge is cool," Scott wrote. "I always find little things in my travels to my destination."
Spoken like a true spurnpiker.
Serendipity came into play there. As I was nearing the site of Church Hill Covered Bridge, a bald eagle swooped down right in front of my truck and tried to grab some fresh roadkill. Spooked by my approaching pickup, the eagle aborted its mission, opting instead to glide across a field of corn stubble and snag a talon full of nesting material.
I've always taken bird sightings of that nature to be a good omen.
More on eagle sightings in a future column.
Meanwhile, hop in and join me for three days and two nights of spurnpiking, hiking, camping, and exploring the backroads of eastern Ohio. Pack a toothbrush because this adventure will fill at least three of my fortnightly columns. Who knows, maybe it will warrant a whole book.
And buckle up. These roads can be a bit rough.
No spurnpiking trip is complete without grabbing a bite to eat at a small, locally owned diner — aka a "mom-and-pop joint."
The groundhogs were just beginning to stir on a gloomy and rainy Friday morning, Feb. 2, when I rolled into East Canton on U.S. 30. A bright red sign on a building back off the street caught my eye. Lowry's.
The building looked like it might have been a fast-food joint at one time. If so, it had been reincarnated into a better life as a small diner. The façade was clean and well-maintained. No litter in the parking lot, which was almost full — a mixture of pickup trucks, SUVs, and a few foreign and domestic compacts.
Inside the OSU Buckeye-themed eatery was a large table marked "reserved." Around it sat older men and women, a few getting up to leave and a new arrival taking a seat as I walked in. I immediately recognized it as a common fixture in mom-and-pop diners — the liars' table.
I sat alone at a table near the front window — partly so I could keep an eye on my truck — and ordered an "Everything Omelet."
I had my fill of breakfast, coffee, and Americana and got up to pay my tab. I wished the lady behind the counter a happy Groundhog Day, which seemed to catch her unaware.
"Oh yeah, it is, isn't it?" she said.
"Kind of like Valentine's Day for groundhogs," I responded, leaving her with a puzzled look on her face and food for thought.
I guess most people don't realize why groundhogs come out of their burrows so early in the year. It's because they're slowpokes and need a head start to find a mate. Wonder if it's ever occurred to them to ask directions.
(To be continued.)
This is what will be at least three installments from this particular trip. Who knows. It originally ran in the Ashland Times-Gazette.
This spurnpiking adventure started with a chance meeting with a reader when I stopped to take a photo in Perrysville.
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