Forest County, Pennsylvania

 After Yom Kippur, and after some time on antibiotics for bronchitis and a sinus infection, I needed to get away. I've been trying to visit two counties per month, to make up for the fourteen months I missed. I had doubts about traveling, but since West Virginia is now the worst state for COVID, I figured it couldn't hurt to visit Pennsylvania. Going alphabetically, Forest is my next county, and Fayette, the other county I visited, should have been in April, before I started traveling again.

It's 185 miles, courthouse to courthouse, up I-79 past Pittsburgh, then east a few exits on I-80, then U.S. 62, and a better road that parallels it. I decided to go Sunday, so that I could do Friday night services, which we did from our dining room, and I wanted to spend Saturday night with my husband. We had dinner out, which was pleasant.

The weather was beautiful the first few days. There was a detour on I-79 north of Pittsburgh, and the flashing signs said to take Route 51. Google maps said to go into town on I-376, then cut north on I-279. That sounded more logical, except that it went past the stadium where the Steelers were having their first home game with no attendance restrictions. I was stuck in traffic for over an hour. Once past the stadium, it was fine, and U.S. 62 goes through some pretty small towns.

I had booked the Mid-Town Motel, a small, non-chain family-owned place in the middle of Tionesta, the county seat of Forest County. There are fewer than 8,000 people in the county, and in the 2020 census only 419 in Tionesta. It's the third smallest county in population in Pennsylvania. I didn't care. I wanted a few days away. There is a state forest and a national forest, the town is on the Allegheny River and there is a lake. The motel was two houses, one building behind a house on Elm, the Main Street of Tionesta, with five rooms off a long hallway. Across the street was another building with three rooms facing a small parking lot. It wasn't much, but the room was clean, the cable television and internet worked, there was hot water and towels. I heard a woman's voice and a dog two rooms down, but I didn't see anyone, including the owners of the motel. I crashed in the room when I arrived about 4 for an hour, then walked up Elm. It looked like nothing was open, so I took the car up the road. Haller's General Store sells local jams and jellies, wood carvings and bric-a-brac, and next to that was a chain sub shop, so I ate there. It wasn't yet dark, so I visited the riverfront, only a block away, as most of the town is along two north-south streets, and I also found the unusual lighthouse along the river. 

I had all the next day to explore.  I found that Bear Claw Cafe just up the street was open, the clientele seemed to be old hippies (one with a MAGA hat, but not a red one) and a table of ten well-dressed men and women who looked like they were on a convention. I didn't ask. I had blueberry pancakes.

I drove south to Lake Tionesta, an Army Corps of engineers Project. I followed a short path around the lake on this warm morning, and ran into a group of young forest rangers, who said they were closing up for the season, as they didn't get a lot of visitors from late September to May. 

I visited Cook Forest State Park, and the historic Indian Cabins District. There is a B&B nearby. I hiked a little through the forest. 

I was in Marienville for lunch, the largest place in Forest County, unincorporated. Much of the population is in a state prison. I stopped at a roadside fruit stand for some healthy food, and the local library, which had a book sale with hundreds of books. An older couple walked in and the woman said " We're too old to be bringing home more books." It occurred to me that they were right. I didn't buy anything. I had lunch in an old-fashioned, dark, carpeted restaurant in an ancient hotel, which I think is no longer in business.

I came back to Tionesta on a back road through Allegheny National Forest. There were trails marked, but they seemed to be designated for ATVs.

After a nap, I went looking for something to eat. I ended up at a bar, Hickory Nut Inn, seven miles north of Tionesta in East Hickory. Jen, the bartender, was a young blonde with a few delicate tattoos. I sat next to a young guy and nodded  "hello" which was ignored. There were five older guys at the bar. One near me had a t-shirt that said "I'd tap that" and had a picture of a hole on a golf course, with a ball and club. The men next to me were talking about retirement. I had a fried fish sandwich, which was enormous. The young man nodded to me as I left. 

I had seen a drive-up ice cream place at the north end of Tionesta. I stopped on the way back. A man and woman were coming away, the woman excited about her chocolate sundae. I told the handsome high school-age man staffing the place that I wanted what she had. It was yummy. I stopped back at Haller's General Store for a fridge magnet made of wood that said "TIO" in gold letters as a present for Joe.

Tuesday morning I left for Uniontown, 138 miles due south, just north of Morgantown. That will be my next post. I enjoyed being out in the woods and exploring a new place.

                                                Forest County Courthouse, Tionesta

                                                     Historical Society, Tionesta

                                               Along the Allegheny River in Tionesta

                                           Lighthouse on the Allegheny River, Tionesta

                                                     Tionesta Lake

                                      Cabin in Indian Cabins Area ofCooks Forest StatePark, a WPA project

                                             Former train station, Marienville

It's 5782!

 My last post was about our trip to Los Angeles. I haven't posted about San Francisco and my next trip, to Fluvanna and Essex Counties in Virginia, with a stop on the way back to visit with my sister in Greenbelt, Maryland. Maybe I'll post those soon...ish.

Meantime, time flies, and it's a new Jewish year. COVID-19 has come roaring back, especially in West Virginia, where Jim Justice, our Republican governor, won't put up any mask restrictions because he's afraid he'll start another Civil War. Monongalia County, where we live, has fared relatively well, mostly because people here are not afraid of getting vaccinated. Still, our two hospitals are nearly full, because people in the surrounding areas come here for medical care, and the counties around us have more "vaccine hesitancy." Still, at West Virginia University, the heart of Morgantown, there are no real restrictions, despite the students and faculty both overwhelmingly voting for a vaccine mandate. As I'm writing this, there is a football game, and there are few restrictions on attending, only a suggestion that unvaccinated people wear a mask. 

But I digress. Rabbi Joe wrote sermons for Tree of Life this summer about how great it was to be together after having pre-recorded services last year. Then, as the number of new cases rose, the synagogue committee, which includes several doctors, voted to cancel in-person services. Instead we did it over Zoom, with only the rabbi, a few singers, a tech person, and someone to watch the door, which is now locked.  I was asked to read haftarah on Rosh Hashana, and chant Torah on Yom Kippur. The haftarah is about Hannah asking for a son and pledging him to the temple. Her son Samuel is raised by the temple priest. The Torah on Yom Kippur is from Deuteronomy 29 and 30: "This day I call heaven and earth to witness regarding you: life and death I have set before you, blessing and curse. Choose life-so that you and your children may live." (Deuteronomy 30:19, translation in Mishkan Hanefesh, copyright 2015, Central Conference of American Rabbis). Heavy stuff. I couldn't help but think that getting a vaccine is choosing life, and not getting it is choosing death.

Meanwhile, I haven't been entirely well since our return from California. I had a little bronchial thing going, and I was concerned because we had been in crowds. I went to an urgent care center here on August 6, and they referred me to a central location for a COVID test. It was negative, so I wasn't too worried. I went back September 9, after Rosh Hashana, because I could barely speak and I was feeling pain in my chest from the congestion, where before it had only been in my throat and upper respiratory tract. They gave me a strong antibiotic and another COVID test, also negative, and suggested I see an ear, nose and throat doctor. I went the next day, and he looked in my nose and throat, and while not going "Ewww!," I could tell he was thinking that. He extended the antibiotic, and gave me a nasal antihistamine.  I wasn't sure I would make it to Yom Kippur.

I did drag myself out, having food with my antibiotic in the morning, and coming home for a snack and a nap in the afternoon, before returning for the Memorial (Yizkor) service, where I sang a Hebrew version of the 23rd Psalm, and the ending service. We finished after 7 P.M.  I managed my singing and chanting without difficulty. 

After more than a week on a strong antibiotic, I'm feeling better. The blood tests, which were to check my immune system, were normal except for the one that shows if you have allergies. That one was off the chart. No surprise.

Yom Kippur always makes me think of life and death. Each year, as I get older, I wonder if this is my last year. I've lived longer than my father and both of his parents. I don't get sick often, but when I do, it's bad, with a long recovery. I try to "choose life" by exercising, keeping my weight down, and getting enough sleep, and I'm grateful for my negative COVID tests. Just in today's paper, they announced that ant-COVID vaccination boosters are a good idea for older people. I'll be first in line when they announce it. 

I wish everyone a healthy 5782.

Los Angeles and Palm Springs

 I finished my second and last term on Morgantown's City Council June 30. Joe had a wedding in early July, a bar mitzvah July 17, and a bat mitzvah August 14. We were working on renegotiating our mortgage. We had a narrow time where we could get away. We were gone July 19 to August 2. 

The Centers For Disease Control said that, since we were fully vaccinated, we could go anywhere without masks and be safe. We discussed driving up to New England, but we both wanted to see our long-time friends in California. We decided on a week in Los Angeles and a week in San Francisco. Joe's credit card gives him points, and they have a travel agent on staff to help out. That took care of much of the plane fare. I booked hotels through "The Usual Chain" where I have points. We were able to rent an overpriced car in Los Angeles, but the agent couldn't find us one in San Francisco. I'll write a separate post about our week in San Francisco.

By the time we left, the Delta variant had shown up in the United States. Los Angeles County required everyone, vaccinated or not, to wear a mask indoors. We had to be more careful than we expected to be.

We drove to Pittsburgh to the airport early for a 9 A.M. flight. I picked up my carry-on bag, which was too heavy, and the strap slid across my arm, taking my paper-like skin with it. This was at 5 A.M. as we were trying to get out of the house. I bandaged it as best I could. We changed planes in Denver, where the airport was crowded with, to my eyes, more people than live in West Virginia. Both planes were full. "Social distancing" was a joke. They did ask everyone to wear a mask in the terminals and on the plane. Almost everyone complied in the terminals, and everyone on the planes. 

We got our car, supposedly mid-size, but actually a compact, which wasn't bad. Compacts are bigger than they used to be. I had booked a motel on Colorado Boulevard in the Eagle Rock neighborhood of Los Angeles, between Glendale and Pasadena. It's not a wealthy or Jewish neighborhood, but there's a mall with a Target and a Macy's and a Trader Joe's. It took an hour and ten minutes to get to the motel from the airport. The desk clerk said "You made good time."

The purpose of the trip was to see our friends, and we had mapped out a schedule for lunches and dinners for the week we were there. Many of my friends are from Beth Chayim Chadashim, the synagogue where most members are LGB or T and where I met Joe in 2005.  Joe was a popular student rabbi there from 2007-2009. I became a member in 1987, and maintain a membership. My closest friends from there are not Hollywood heavies, but teachers and librarians, mostly now retired. Joe's friends in Los Angeles are women who were in rabbinical school with him. 

Despite just getting in and being off by three time zones, we found out that the gay mens' hike in Griffith Park was back on (after being off for a year because of COVID), so we went. It was mostly the same people we knew years ago, maybe fewer of them. They don't go all the way to the top of the hill as they used to, and they rarely go out for dinner afterwards, although they agreed to go with us. We got behind when I saw my friend Meyer, known as Mike, an avid hiker and a Squirrel Hill, Pittsburgh native, and we stopped to talk. By the time we got back to the starting point, everyone had left. 

I was worried about my arm, and Tuesday morning I found Eagle Rock Urgent Care online, and we stopped by after breakfast. The motel typically provides breakfast, but all they had to offer was a bag with a microwaveable sandwich, a packaged pastry and juice. We ate that one or two days, otherwise we went out. I had told Joe I wanted to see someone who remembered when I was a substitute teacher in Los Angeles schools, or when I was a bar and bat mitzvah tutor at Temple Israel of Hollywood. 

The woman who checked me in at the clinic was named Karla, and I asked her if she was from around there. She was and had gone to Florence Nightingale and Luther Burbank for middle school and Benjamin Franklin High School, before her parents pulled her out to go to Catholic schools. I told her she was probably too young to remember me, but then she said "I'm forty-two and I thought you looked familiar." She told me some personal stuff which I don't want to share here. I was happy that someone remembered me from my work.

We arranged to be in Long Beach by 11, maybe thirty miles from where we were staying, We met up with two of my favorite couples, Jonathan and George, and Stephen and Thomas. I was friends with Jonathan and Stephen when we were all single, but by the time I met Joe, Jonathan had paired up with George and they had adopted a child, now a rising high school senior, and Stephen and Thomas were together. We walked along the ocean in Long Beach while catching up, and stopped for lunch. Later on, Joe and I went out for coffee with my friend Ted, also in Long Beach, leaving at 5 P.M. in the usual traffic to get back to our motel. Tuesday night we were in Alhambra with my friend Greg, who I used to hike with in Griffith Park, when our group did a much longer and more complicated hike. 

I went back to the clinic Wednesday, then we headed to South Bay, near the airport, for lunch with Deborah, one of Joe's rabbinic colleagues, and her husband and two children. We saw Dahlia, another rabbinic colleague, Saturday night in Woodland Hills, in the far western part of the San Fernando Valley. Joe was close with her in school, and one of my first dates with Joe was to Dahlia's wedding. Their two daughters are thirteen and eleven now, and learning to talk back to their parents.

We spent Wednesday late afternoon and evening with Rabbi Lisa Edwards and her wife, Tracy Moore (not the L.A. writer whose work we've seen recently). Lisa was the rabbi at Beth Chayim Chadashim for twenty-five years before retiring recently. She picked Joe to be her student rabbi for two years (after we were a couple, or else it would have been against the rules for us to get together) and she performed our wedding. We sat by their pool and snacked. I would have gone in the pool but for my bandaged arm. Our friends Jim and Michelle came by. Jim and I were L.A.'s version of Akbar and Jeff, "brothers or lovers, whichever offends you most." We're not brothers and we were never lovers. I sang at his wedding to Michelle. He's still active in BCC. We visited at their home Sunday for lunch.

We took a side trip to Palm Springs, a place where many gay men retire. Two couples, Joe's friends from San Francisco, moved there in recent years, and my friend Richard, a now-retired college-level ESL teacher, also moved there. We spent one night with Dan and Jerry in their mid-century modern house, remodeled. They claim they have more stuff to move in, but I liked it uncluttered and clean looking. We also met with Paul and Deek, longtime pals of Joe from San Francisco. They live in Cathedral City, next to Palm Springs. Friday, we saw Richard, who lives in a large complex that reminds me of where I lived in Florida forty years ago. We all went out Friday night to an early service at a synagogue in Palm Desert (past Palm Springs and Cathedral City). The rabbi there graduated a year or two before Joe, but I met him when I first moved to Los Angeles in 1984, when he was probably just out of college. It was a nice reunion, as Richard also knew him, and he was in school with Joe. We stayed over at Richard's and came back into Los Angeles Saturday.

Joe loved Palm Springs, and suggested we move there when he retires, possibly in three years when his contract at Tree of Life in Morgantown expires and he will be almost 68. I have my doubts. It was 109 F. there and had been 120. I've been to Palm Springs a few times (twice before with Joe) and it's nice, I guess, but I would like a more "real" city and not a collection of resort-style suburbs. 

 I loved seeing everyone, and we're sorry we didn't get to see everyone we wanted to see. BCC had services Friday, but it was only open to board members; they were hoping to have the full congregation back the week after. We didn't get to the West Side and missed Israeli dancing on the beach in Santa Monica with my former dance partner, Reva. We missed Jerry, Gordon and Neal, and friends from Morgantown and Fairmont who live in Los Angeles now. For old times sake, we drove Sunday night to the Farmers Market on Fairfax, near where we lived together, and had dinner outside with hundreds of people. We put at least 700 miles on our little car in a week. I slid right into freeway driving, and I felt "at home."

I want to mention also the "ghosts" who inhabit Los Angeles, friends who died while I lived there and after. I still fell the presence of Sue, Sherry, Art, Fred, Avram and others who are no longer with us. I went through lots of changes in Los Angeles, and everywhere reminds me of something. I pointed out an apartment building to Joe where I rehearsed scenes for an acting class with someone I can't picture, an apartment building in Los Feliz where a wall crumbled in the Northridge earthquake, and I remembered the two young men whose names I can't recall that were in the performance art workshop I attended in the 1990s, and died of AIDS. 

I understand why we are strangers after nine years in Morgantown. We were 62 and 55 when we moved here, and people our age had lifetime friends. I was thirty-four when I came to Los Angeles and sixty when I left. From our temple, I had a community of gay men and lesbian women, singles and couples. That doesn't exist in Morgantown. I'm not criticizing our little town. I understand that people had their long-time friends before we got here, just as my long-term friends are in Los Angeles. 

I don't feel a need to go somewhere else to live, not even to Southern California. I grew up only 200 miles from Morgantown, and there is a familiarity (and familiar allergies) to what I knew in Baltimore. I guess my persona is split these days, and I can cope with that. I'm glad we got away and saw our friends, and I hope the world doesn't shut down again. 

                                             With our hiking group, Great Outdoors, in Griffith Park

                                             The view from Griffith Park across Glendale

          With our crew in Long Beach, l.to r.: Joe, Jonathan, Thomas, Stephen, Barry and George

                                                        On the ocean in Long Beach

             At Lisa and Tracy's pool. Lisa has the glasses. With Jim. The red on my arm is a bandage

                        Bagels and lox and fruit with Jim and Michelle in their garden in Altadena.

Floyd County, Kentucky and Gallia County, Ohio

 July is heavily booked, with a wedding, a bar mitzvah and a trip to California, and I wanted to get to another two-county trip, so I did my July trip  in June, from the 28th - 30th. I left after lunch on the 28th, because I was having my eyes checked in the morning. For insurance purposes, I needed to go in June, and my regular guy wasn't available until mid-August, so instead of the homey, single practitioner guy in downtown Morgantown, I went to the multi-doctor, factory-like place just outside city limits, not far from home. 

It's 271 miles from Morgantown To Prestonsburg, Kentucky, mostly freeway, ending on US 52, a four-lane unbusy highway. I looked around a little bit in town, then checked into the motel, from The Usual Chain, just outside Prestonsburg. I asked the clerk, a young man with those horrible rings in his ears that make your  lobes bigger and tattoos, where to eat, not McDonald's, but not fancy. He laughed and said "There isn't anything fancy here", and suggested a place I had seen downtown. Just east of the motel, before the US 52 bypass, I found a little shopping center. There was a sign for a Chinese buffet, my favorite kind of place to eat on the road. The buffet was open, the first I've seen since the pandemic. I ate my fill. The center also had an independent bookstore, closed by that time.  Prestonsburg is in the heart of Eastern Kentucky's Appalachian area, and I had no expectation there would be anything there, so I was already impressed. Back at the room, I plotted the next day's exploration of Floyd County, a 114 mile, two hour drive to Gallia County, Ohio, along the Ohio River, and an exploration there. My plan was ambitious. 

I started with Middle Creek Battle Field, a National Historic Landmark west of the motel outside of Prestonsburg. There was a battle in 1862 between Confederate forces and Union troops under James A. Garfield, who pushed the Confederates back to Virginia. His competence as a commander led to Garfield's presidential campaign in later years.

Archer Park is on the edge of town, with a paved trail leading to the historic bridge, a symbol of the town, from West Flemingsburg, where the trail ends, over Levisa Fork of Big Sandy River into downtown Flemingsburg. I walked it. The bridge is fenced off (although someone broke the fencing) and out of use. It was starting to warm up.

I had a list of historic places in Prestonsburg. I couldn't find most of them. I think the owners didn't want them to be found and changed the addresses on Wikipedia. I can't prove that. I asked in the (modern, nice) library where the clerk had no idea, but suggested that the print shop next door had old pictures on the wall. The clerk there also knew nothing, but I learned from the pictures of a terrible flood in the 1930s, and a school bus that plunged into an icy river in 1958, killing the driver and twenty-six children. I headed out of town to a dam and reservoir built by the Army Corps of Engineers. I came back into town to try to find a few more places and a branch community college. At 11:30, I stopped at a Taco Bell, because I needed to pee. The restroom was locked, but the kind young man at the cash register unlocked it for me. I looked in the mirror and decided to get lunch right there. I was a sweaty, exhausted mess. It was 92 F. outside and I had been walking around under the southern sun for a few hours. I never eat at Taco Bell, but I got a chicken "power" bowl. It didn't look that big, but it was plenty, with chicken, rice, black beans, dollops of guacamole and sour cream, lettuce and tomato. I washed it down with mango lemonade from the fountain. 

Thus fortified, I found the community college, the modern court house (too bad about the Victorian one I saw a picture of in the print office), and the 1817 Samuel Mays House. Mays' wife was born in Morgantown. He was a prominent guy who went to California during the Gold Rush and died there.

Marker at Middle Creek Battlefield

Statue of Lincoln at Middle Creek

West Prestonsburg Bridge

The trail between Archer Park and West Prestonsburg

Archer Park

First United Methodist Church, 1917

Front Street Historic District, Prestonsburg

Former Harkins Law Office, 1914

B.F. Combs House,, 1922

Marker in memory of Confederate soldiers from Kentucky, downtown Prestonsburg

Former Post office, now a salon, 1931

Floyd County Court House, 1965

Downtown Prestonsburg theater, not open

Old house, downtown Prestonsburg

May-Fitzpatrick House, 1905

Dewey Lake, north of Prestonsburg

Big Sandy Community and Technical College

Samuel May House, now a museum, 1817

It was 1:30 when I left Prestonsburg, drove back up U.S. 52 to I-64 to Huntington, West Virginia, then crossed into Ohio and drove up OH-7, which follows the river. It's a beautiful drive, except for the detour in southern Gallia County that took me well out-of-the way on back roads through the hilly countryside. I drove through Gallipolis, a pretty old town, one of the oldest in Ohio. The motel is north of town, past a seemingly endless row of fast-food places. The temperature was up to 97 F. when I got to the motel around four. I had a "suite" and the clerk warned me that the couch wasn't real good. I napped for about an hour, then showered and changed At the desk, they told me that I could eat at the motel restaurant, but I decided to head back into town. The temperature had gone down to 92.  I saw a sports bar- restaurant, but on looking around the corner, I found "Zack and Scotty's," which I thought sounded gayish. The decor was all military stuff with plaques from all of the wars. I ordered a pizza sub on homemade bread. It was just cheese and tomato sauce on a slightly sweet, crunchy roll with a salad on the side. I ate three-quarters of it before giving up. The workers there were friendly and kind, a high school girl, and a woman who looked at me taking pills with my meal, and said " I do that too." 

I walked out to the square, open on one side to the Ohio River, walked around the historic part of town, snapping pictures. It was still hot, but the sun was less intense. Although the town is up on a bluff, there was a stele with a flood level marked about ten feet above ground level. They also had a plaque about Welsh settlers who came to Baltimore, then went overland to Pittsburgh and by boat to Gallipolis. Another plaque talked about a ship from Pittsburgh where the crew was infected with yellow fever, which spread through the town. Every place has its tragedies. 

On the way back to the motel, I stopped at a Dairy Queen, drive-through only, and got a "Blizzard" with M&Ms and ate that back in the room. It's the most sugar I've had in month. 

At breakfast, they served you in the motel, a choice of three items. I had pancakes, yoghurt and a fruit cup. I left early, had an uneventful trip back up Route 7 to US 50 through Parkersburg and Clarksburg to I-79. I noted two coal-fired power plants north of Gallipolis in Gallia County. I was home for lunch Wednesday. It was quite a lot for two and a half days. I wouldn't have minded spending an extra day in Gallia County.

I wanted to get home because my sister was planning to visit on Thursday for the July 4 holiday. There were storms predicted all day and an accident on the Capital Beltway that would have delayed her several hours, so she didn't come. We'll see her again soon, I hope.

Second Avenue (OH-7) from City Park, Gallipolis

House facing City Park, Gallipolis Historic District

Our House Tavern, 1819, First Street, Gallipolis

Looking across the Ohio River to West Virginia from City Park

2nd St., with two theaters, one restored. Is the mid-century modern building old enough to be in 

the historic district?

Gallia County Court House

Fleming and Elliott Counties, Kentucky

 Sadder but wiser after last month, I set out for Kentucky, Tuesday June eighth and came back on  Thursday the tenth. I left Tuesday after lunch, because I had to wait for the plumber to fix a clogged toilet and Joe had a funeral in the afternoon. It's 291 miles from Morgantown to Flemingsburg, almost my limit of 300 miles. I drove to the motel from the usual chain, in Morehead, a bigger town with a university, and a little closer to home.  It's not a bad drive, all interstate, and I arrived about five, checked in and napped. The motel is one exit past the center of Morehead, and  there isn't much at the exit. I drove back into town for dinner, and found a steak and beer place that was open to diners. Many places were not. I'm one of those "fully vaccinated" people who has permission from the Centers For Disease Control not to wear a mask. No one in this restaurant wore one. I ordered chicken teriyaki, probably wrong for the place, but I rarely eat beef and chicken and rice is my go-to. The "teriyaki sauce" was more like maple syrup. I came back to the room, plotted my route for Wednesday, and went to sleep by ten. It was light until after nine. All of Kentucky should technically be on Central time, but the eastern part of the state is on Eastern. 

It's 51 miles along Route 32 between Flemingsburg, the county seat of Fleming County and Sandy Hook, the county seat of Elliott County. Fleming was this month's scheduled county; Elliott should have been last July, but one couldn't get out. Morehead is between them on Route 32.

I headed out after breakfast to Fleming County, known for its three covered bridges. There are only just over 14,000 people in the county; about 2600 in Flemingsburg. I located all of the bridges, in rolling countryside, with a few mountains, and lots of cows. I visited Elizaville, a rural crossroads that looks almost totally abandoned. The town of Flemingsburg looks like it could be further east. It's old and pretty. There isn't much going on. The court house is from the 1950s, but in a "colonial" style. It rained most of the day. I looked around the town and found some historic sites. There was almost nothing open in town. I got back in the car and looked for historic places in the county to the north and west of town. It took me some time, what with missed turns, vague directions and a likely desire of people who live in historic homes from the 1790s to make sure people don't find their house. It took more time than I had allotted. I think I found some of the houses on roads where one could not pull off to take a picture, or down a long driveway. Route 32 bypasses Flemingsburg, and there are some fast food places along the bypass. I thought I would stop at McDonald's, but it was drive-thru only, and I needed a bathroom, so I ended up at the convenience store/ Subway across the street. I had stopped at a Subway on my last trip, but I couldn't bring myself to order anything. I used to eat there all the time, but it looked unappetizing. This time I was okay with it, and I got a chicken sandwich with mustard and tomatoes. Usually I get spinach with it, but I didn't see any. There was no iced tea, so I tried Diet Coke, but that was running clear, so I ended up with Coke Zero, which I think is not as good. I told the clerk after lunch, and he offered me a bottle of Diet Coke. I declined it, although I appreciated the gesture. Having to drink Coke Zero instead of Diet Coke is very low on the scale of human suffering.

It was already close to two P.M., and I had only that day to explore. I was exhausted from being out so long and walking around in the rain. I went back to the motel and slept from 3-4.

Elliott County has about 7,800 people, so about half as many as Fleming County; Sandy Hook, the county seat, has fewer than 700 people. I headed back out on I-64 to KY 32, then south following Google's directions to Sandy Hook. I thought the directions were wrong because I was on a one-lane, twisty road with 10 mph curves and stone cliffs over the road. It was enchanting and different from the terrain in Fleming County, just mountains, and rock outcroppings, no rolling hills or cows. Just as I thought this was another wrong turn, I saw a stop sign and I was in the middle of Sandy Hook, Kentucky. I parked on the main street, and walked two blocks in either direction. That's about all there is to the town. The sidewalks have steps because the street is so steep. It's a pretty town, nothing particularly historic about it, but there's a park and a school and some social service agencies. Wikipedia says it was once the most Democratic county in Kentucky, but in the 2020 election, it went 75% for the incumbent. I didn't see anyone to ask "why?" I thought I would get dinner at a pizza place, but a sign on the door said "Carry-out only" and it appeared to be closed. There was also a McDonald's, but I didn't want to eat there. I snapped a few pictures and headed back to Morehead.

For the third time that day, I missed a turn and ended up in Grayson, Carter County, which I visited in 2017. I was way east of where I intended to be. I did see a park with a lake, the same one I saw from the other side when I visited Carter County. 

I found a fast-food Italian restaurant in Morehead, and stopped there. Cars were lined up at the drive-through, but it was open for indoor eating. I had a salad and a gigantic bowl of spaghetti with marinara sauce. There were tables outside, it had stopped raining and the chairs were dry, so I ate outside. It turned out to be a pretty night. I stopped at the convenience store/ gas station next to the motel on the way back, and got an ice cream sandwich made with two chocolate chip cookies, probably as many calories as the bowl of pasta, but you know, I was on vacation.

I left fairly early Thursday, and although I thought about an alternate route home, there wasn't anything that wouldn't add at least two hours to my trip. I had lunch at the Chinese buffet at Flatwoods, near the middle of West Virginia, only there was no buffet, and I was home by three.

Ringo's Mill covered bridge, South of Flemingsburg

Hillsboro-Grange City Covered Bridge, south of Flemingsburg

Goddard Covered Bridge, restored and in use, Goddard

Elizaville Presbyterian Church, 1861, doesn't appear to be in use

Fleming County Courthouse, 1950s

Flemingsburg Historic District The building on the right 
was a dry goods store owned by a Mr. Fried, an immigrant from Lithuania 
in the late 1800s. The store closed in  the 1970s.

Thomas W. Fleming House, about  1819

First Presbyterian Church,  Flemingsburg, 1819

Park in Sandy Hook

Elliott County Library. I thought I would go in, but it closed at 4:30 and I was 10 minutes late.

Main Street, Sandy Hook

Mural, Sandy Hook

Grayson Lake on the Elliott County side