After working over 70 hours last week, I was anxious to hit the road in the Z4 today for another trip. But the Mid-Atlantic area is suffering through record-breaking heat, so I'll write up the missing report for the trip I made back on March 21, which featured visits to the sites of two notable disasters and—in between—Chelsea Clinton.
But first things first. I'd heard about the Johnstown flood of 1889 many times, but I knew next to nothing about it. With a little Internet guidance, I headed off for Cumberland, MD to begin a tour of lower-West Pennsylvania. Without too much of a plan, I managed to find an abundance of abandoned homes, covered bridges, cars, and farms, plus many scenic non-abandoned places of interest. And what better way to travel than by a BMW Z4 roadster, top down despite the cold, second-day-of-Spring temperatures?
This home appeared to be abandoned, American flag and all.
After following Wills Creek for some ways and swinging by Shawnee Lake, I arrived in Schellsburg—a beautiful little town in Pennsylvania with stately old homes…
…the Colvin covered bridge…
…and the Old Log Church, built (obviously) in 1806 and used until 1852. Construction cost exactly $225.91½, not counting donated materials. A stove wasn't added until 3 years later; up to that point, many worshippers brought their dogs with them to lie on their feet for warmth. Of course, they were sitting on logs, so perhaps heat wasn't their most important concern.
Not all of Pennsylvania's numerous covered bridges have been restored. Cuppett's Bridge is a good example. Although it is no longer traversable, it was otherwise solid-enough and was remarkable for its rustic beauty.
A little further on, I encountered the Ryot Covered Bridge. It was in excellent condition, and I later learned that the original had burned in 2002. Its replacement is only 6 years old.
I stopped at an abandoned farm to stretch my legs and (naturally) get a few pictures.
In particular, I'd spotted this glorious 1959 Plymouth Fury coupe from the road. (It is a 1959, right John?) My Dad had a '59 Plymouth station wagon, which he used to teach me to drive when I was 11. Speaking of my Dad, March 21, 2010 was his 93rd birthday, and I called him at his apartment in Iowa City that night to help celebrate. May we all outlast our cars by such margins!
Did I mention the cold temperatures? In places, there was still a great deal of snow. I tried to drive to the shore of Beaverdam Reservoir, near Beaverdale, PA (do you sense a theme here?), but this is all the farther I could get:
Fortunately, I could hoof it the rest of the way (although at one point, I sank into snow up to my knees!) The resulting sight of the reservoir was well worth it, wouldn't you agree?
Of course, shortly thereafter, I had no idea which way I was supposed to go.
Nonetheless, I soon arrived at the site of the former South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, built on the banks of an the old Western Reservoir, which originally served the purpose of controlling the water flow for the Pennsylvania Canal. The canal went broke 2 years after it was completed, thanks to the new Pennsylvania Railroad, which bought the reservoir, dam and all, and let it sit for 40 years. By 1889, the dam had been rebuilt, and the lake had been refilled, called Lake Conemaugh, and stocked with fish for the exclusive use of the wealthy club members, including founding members Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick.
In the process of rebuilding the earthen dam, the drainage pipes were removed, the dam lowered, and the spillway greatly reduced in capacity. And the water level of the lake was raised significantly, increasing the capacity of Lake Conemaugh enormously. In fact, without the drainage pipes, the level of the lake could no longer be lowered, and the lake was 65 feet deep, almost 3 miles long, and 1 mile wide. In these times of seemingly excessive government control and regulation of nearly everything, it's difficult to realize just how lax safety standards were in days gone by. Lake Conemaugh sat well up in the mountains, at an elevation of about 1,600 feet, and about 14 miles along the Little Conemaugh River from the bustling industrial town of Johnstown.
This was the home of Colonel Elias J. Unger, one of the club members.
His home, along with many other "cottages," the clubhouse, boathouses, etc. all looked out over Lake Conemaugh. Here is where the lake used to be, with the South Fork of the Little Conemaugh River still running along. The lake would have extended roughly three times as far as the length of the coal cars visible in the picture.
During a long day of hard rain, the level of Lake Conemaugh rose rapidly and overran the South Fork Dam, which gave way at about 3:10 PM on Memorial Day, May 31, 1889. The western and eastern ends of the dam still remain. The train is passing through what used to be the middle of the dam.
The Johnstown Flood National Memorial has many heart-stopping photographs and paintings of the flood that engulfed the towns of South Fork, Mineral Point, East Conemaugh, Woodvale, and eventually Johnstown, as the lake waters roared down the mountain, sometimes over 70 feet high and moving as fast as 40 mph in places. The Little Conemaugh and Stony Creek Rivers were already flooded from the rain, and Johnstown sat smack in the flood plain where they joined. It had been flooded 17 times between 1808 and 1887, from the rivers overrunning their banks during heavy rains. Moreover, the surrounding hills had been stripped of most of their trees, and the steelworks had narrowed the banks of the rivers to facilitate expansion of the mills. Catastrophe was likely, even without 6 billion gallons of water sitting high in the mountains above the city.
In the railroad town of East Conemaugh, there were 9 locomotives in the roundhouse and another 20 or so sitting on the rail lots. You might think that an 80-ton railroad locomotive would be a good place to ride out a fast current. You would be wrong—the roundhouse was smashed instantly, and nearly every locomotive was swept away by the floodwaters—some as far as a mile downstream. East Conemaugh was wiped off the map, but many of the residents had escaped to higher ground, thanks to the heroic actions by John Hess. Mr. Hess, an engineer, backed his work train rapidly down the mountain to East Conemaugh, outrunning the flood by merely yards. He had tied the whistle down so that it constantly sounded, and the people in town heard the warning in time. Many of them, but nowhere near all, acted upon the warning and lived to tell the story.
When the flood reached Johnstown, which already had several feet of water throughout the city, the toll was beyond comprehension. Approximately 2,200 people died there, making this flood the worst such disaster in U.S. history.
After touring the National Memorial and visiting the site of the dam, I wandered back to the faithful Z4, stopping to take this change-of-subject picture along the way.
Also along the path from the dam, I saw a tall young couple approaching. The woman greeted me with a cheery "Hello," while her boyfriend looked wary—first at me, and then at my camera—before nodding his greeting. I said "Hello" also, commented on the pleasant day, and continued on my way. I thought to myself how remarkably much the young woman looked like Chelsea Clinton, but put it off as a coincidence. Later, back home, I looked up a picture of Chelsea and her fiancee Marc Mezvinsky. Guess what? It was them. I guess "it's a small, small world after all."
I continued on, with many more miles—and one more disaster—to go. In the small town of Windber, I admired St. Mary's Greek Catholic Church.
I also found Clear Shade Creek, shown here, just before it merges with Dark Shade Creek to form just plain old Shade Creek.
My return path took me near another place that I had been wanting to visit. Near Shanksville, PA is the temporary memorial set up in honor of the passengers and crew of United Airlines Flight 93, who acted heroically and successfully to prevent terrorists from flying the plane into the White House on September 11, 2001. All died in the process. While a proper memorial is long overdue, the temporary one is very moving in its simplicity.
Before moving on, I pondered the thoughts and emotions brought on by the Johnstown and Flight 93 memorials. Some of these thoughts were ordinary (life is fragile; enjoy every day as if it might be your last), others were more complicated (the actions of past and present heros have given us the unbelievable and invaluable right of freedom to do what we want, including to drive around taking pictures on rare days off; many others in the world are actively trying to destroy this freedom and our way of life; we tend to take freedom for granted, but it deserves our constant attention and any current sacrifice to preserve it for the future).
Having philosophized thus, I continued on, grateful for the opportunity to do what I enjoy so much. Soon enough, I stumbled across the Glessner Covered Bridge. I tell you, they're everywhere in Pennsylvania! There are 14 in Bedford County alone, I'm told. Some even feature nearby scenic barns and Leftover Snow:
The stately Glade Church was founded in 1899.
South of Berlin, PA, I found the ruins of what may have been a distillery (or so I surmised, since it was next to Distillery Road…) The day had clouded over quite a bit, adding a bit of sympathetic nature in keeping with the somber places I'd visited. Fortunately, a familiar Akropovic song could be heard, rapidly approaching, and moments later a blood-red Ducati went tearing by. Italian or not, how could that sound and sight fail to cheer anyone up?
The distillery and nearby owner's home had fallen on hard times, indeed, but presented yet another moving sight.
More quaint churches and abandoned houses preceded my arrival in Mt. Savage, Maryland.
It had been many years since I'd been through Mt. Savage, and I'd forgotten its mixture of rundown beauty…
…nearly vertical streets…
…and occasional mansions (the Castle Bed & Breakfast, in this instance). In fact, it wasn't until seeing this particular mansion that I remembered spending a weekend there with my wife Nancy, roughly 20 years ago.
Mt. Savage also marked the end of my tour. The sun was setting, and it was time to hit the highway back to Catonsville. It had been a most interesting, if somber, journey through time, space, and history. And, now that I've almost finished reading The Johnstown Flood, by Pulitzer-Prize-winning author David McCullough, I realize I need to return and search for the lost and surviving towns along the Little Conemaugh River. I can't wait. And I can't wait for more of you, faithful readers, to search out your own interesting places and report the journeys right here, pictures and all.
Rick F.