I fumbled for my phone as the sound of my alarm ricocheted off the walls of our bedroom. My fingers pressed down on the volume button on the side, quickly snoozing it. I ran my hand over my face with a groan and looked up at our ceiling, savoring the last few seconds of comfort before I dragged myself out of bed. Excitement bubbled in my stomach like champagne. After months of planning and waiting, the day had finally arrived.
When I asked Joseph what he wanted for his birthday in early April, he had responded that he did not want anything. After a few times of receiving this answer, to which I frustratedly finally replied that if he continued to say that, “nothing” was exactly what he was going to get, I suggested we cross off a couple more states on our journey to visit all fifty. We always gift each other experiential birthday gifts, and a road trip sounded like the perfect way to celebrate his birthday and get away from our busy lives for a few days.
For this year’s trip, we decided to visit West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky. I must admit, when I began planning, I was nervous I would not be able to find much to do. It was easy to think of attractions and magnificent places to visit in California, Utah, Maine, and Montana – these states and many others are known for their fantastic national parks, good food, and fun things to do. But I could not think of much I knew about these states that bordered on the northeastern, midwestern and southern sections of the United States. Even after running across the country and visiting a few of them, all I really remembered was a lot of corn. But, visiting all fifty states means giving the same amount of planning, research and time to each one, and in order for us to cross off a state, we have a list of what we have to do.
For a state to be crossed off our list, we must hike in a national or state park, eat or drink something local, walk a main street, and do a tourist attraction. Only then can we say we have officially visited the state and collect our Been There series mug from Starbucks. After much research, I was surprised to find a plethora of fun things to do, and I planned a road trip that hopefully would not run us too ragged as we drove from one place to the next.
The car was already packed, so Joseph, Appa and I piled in and began the drive. Appa, being only seven months old, was not quite ready for the adventure, so we dropped him off to be cared for by our friend, Amanda. He would be picked up the following day by my dad to spend the rest of the week at our home. Since I now work mostly from home, it was odd and difficult to say goodbye to my puppy. He and I spend the majority of our days together – he follows me around the house as I do laundry, sleeps on my feet as I work, and goes on walks with me around our neighborhood and small town. But knowing he was going to be well cared for gave me the solace I needed to give him a pet and kiss goodbye before we began our drive to Harpers Ferry.
Despite being only two hours away from Harpers Ferry, I cannot remember ever visiting before. The small town was nestled between tall, forested mountains and the blue water of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers. The street was lined with colonial style buildings that had been turned into shops and wound up a steep hill. Joseph and I parked and began our hike over a truss railroad bridge that is part of the Appalachian Trail. As we walked, we took notice to the many combination locks attached to the side of the bridge, which we learned later are love locks.
According to Only in Your State, love locks are “padlocks clipped to a fence or beam as a memorial to a loved one.” The idea is to attach the lock and then throw away the key, thus locking your love in place forever. Unfortunately, the National Park Service does prove the impermanence of these locks semi-regularly, when they take them down due to concern for the bridge’s structural integrity and the risk of it being weighed down by thousands of these little locks.
Due to the recent rain, the steep trek up the Maryland Heights via Harpers Ferry trail was slippery and even more difficult. The thick clay clung to our boots and made it difficult to grip the earth. For the first mile, we were able to maintain conversation and our jovial attitudes. But shortly after, I began seriously questioning my physical abilities as my calves burned hot and lungs gasped for air. One thousand feet later, we finally reached the top and stopped for a moment to catch our breath. Then we scrambled down the slick rocks to a breathtaking overlook of the valley below.
The shops, cars and bridge looked like a model town set up. Any moment, I imagined a fake train to run a track around the buildings. In the distance, mountains rolled over the landscape. Despite the sweat still pouring down my face, I couldn’t help but smile at the picturesque view.
We slipped and slid back down the mountain. Our stomachs were grumbling from the morning’s exertion, and we were eager to sit down, preferably somewhere with air conditioning, to enjoy lunch.
We chose to eat at the Coach House Grill n’ Bar, a pub style restaurant that serves craft cocktails, sandwiches, salads, and a tasty variety of appetizers. The atmosphere was a little surprising. There were the things I expected – a rustic-style bar, paintings of soldiers and horses (this was Harpers Ferry, after all, a National Historic Park made famous from the Civil War), and televisions tuned to a sports channel. And then, there were colorful paintings of African elephants walking through a barren landscape. Despite this apparent incongruence in theme, I was delighted by the elephant paintings, as they are my favorite animal, and decided to sit somewhere where I had one in full view.
Our waitress was a sweet woman with a relaxed southern drawl and a cast brace on one ankle. She served us our drinks and recommended the homemade hummus, which was sprinkled with paprika and drizzled with olive oil and was served with pita so fresh and hot we could barely stand to hold it in our fingers. For lunch, I ordered a Greek salad with spicy pepperoncini peppers, creamy feta cheese and hot shrimp. Joseph ordered the classic cheeseburger, which was served with a delectable roasted garlic infused aioli, coleslaw, and potato wedges so good I could not stop eating them off his plate.
After our stomachs were full, our eyelids began to droop. We were in desperate need of a caffeine boost. As we walked down the street, we were drawn into a basement-level candy shop called True Treats Historic Candy. Here, we were lead through the decades as we walked through the store. Each section was dedicated to a different century or so, and on display were authentic candies from that time period, some still packaged the same way they were then. True Treats Historic Candy is the only evidence-based historic candy shop in the United States.
Joseph and I each chose a candy – for him, root beer barrels from the 1900s, and for me, Gibralters lemon candy from the 1800s, the first candy sold commercially in the country. The packaging read, “Not less than 1/2 ounce, still manufactured in the original way by Ye Olde Pepper Companie Ltd. Salem, Massachusetts.” The front of the package bore the quote “It gazes upon Chocolate and Sherbet, and says, ‘Before you were, I was; after you are not, I shall be,” by Eleanoro Putnam, and on the back, it included a paragraph about the history of the candy. It began with the Spencer family, who lost all of their possessions when they came to Massachusetts from England. The members of the town offered to help them, and when they found out Mrs. Spencer was a candy maker, they donated a barrel of sugar, which helped the family start the Salem Gibralters candy business. Gibralters became famous, not only in Salem but in the surrouding towns as well.
We decided to save our candy for that evening as a special treat. We headed next to The Coffee Mill, a crowded little shop that served coffees and ice cream. Still feeling a little warm, I ordered an iced latte, but Joseph, ever the purist, ordered a steaming hot americano.
We had promised ourselves we would get some ice cream after lunch, but our stomachs were still a little uncomfortably full as we made our way back up the street. It was when we decided to skip dessert and head to our next destination that disaster struck.
I heard Joseph’s yell from behind me, and turned, stunned. He was currently crouching down toward the ground, precariously balancing his camera in one hand as he set his coffee down on the brick sidewalk.
“What is it?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“My coffee,” he managed. “It’s burning.” My eyes widened and I quickly rushed forward to grab the cup from him. Joseph sucked in air through his clenched teeth as he shook out his reddened hand.
“What do I do?” he asked.
“Let’s run it under cold water,” I said. Now carrying both of our coffees, I rushed with him to the station beside the town railroad. When Joseph emerged from the bathroom, his hand was still bright red and it seemed he could not clench his fingers.
“Do we need to go to the emergency room?” I asked.
“No,” Joseph said with a scoff. “I’ll be fine.” We headed to the car, when I suggested we put his hand on some ice. As he sat in the car, I headed to a nearby pizza restaurant with a plastic bag, which I asked if they could fill with ice.
“Oh, that feels much better,” Joseph said when I handed it to him.
“Why don’t you let me drive?” I suggested.
“I can drive,” he said indignantly, but after my insistence, he relented, and I had the rare opportunity on our trips to sit in the driver’s seat.
We chatted as we drove, Joseph’s hand still clenched around the ice. Our next stop was Berkeley Hot Springs, where I had scheduled us a couples massage at the main bathhouse. By the time we arrived, Joseph’s hand was still warm but thankfully feeling much better. The town was currently in the middle of their Pride in the Park event, with live music and local vendors. We walked as we listened, waiting for our appointment time.
I have received massages before, but never have I had such a luxurious experience. We were lead first to a locker room, where we were told to place our clothes in a provided locker and change into a thick and comfy, white bathrobe and padded sandals. We were then taken to our own private bathing room, with a Roman-style bath filled with water piped in from the local hot springs. The woman who had taken us there encouraged us to soak in the water at least above our shoulders to gain the full effects. Already hot from the day, Joseph and I gulped down multiple cups of the provided, tepid drinking water while we floated around. Despite feeling a little overheated, I felt my muscles and mind relax. I ran my fingers through my hair and over my skin, now soft and smooth from the minerals in the water.
Our guide knocked on our door, and once we emerged from the room, we were lead to a curtained area with two massage tables across from one another. We slid under the thin, white sheets and then were treated to hour-long massages to work out the remaining knots and tenderness in our bodies. By the end, I felt like I was floating on air.
Now fully relaxed and pampered, we were ready to drive to our final destination of the evening – Cuyahoga Valley, which was four hours away. Because we wanted to arrive as soon as possible, we made ourselves sandwiches and then began the drive. Despite the length of the drive, which put us a full eight hours away from home within a day, and the hike, massage, and hand-burning incident, we were in high spirits the whole way there. It felt good to be on the road again, like a breath of fresh air after days spent cooped up inside.
It was after dark by the time we arrived at our campsite, a Christmas tree farm with spots left clear near the baby trees for tents. We set up our site as quickly as we could, and then sat across from each other to unwrap our candies and enjoy.
Inside the paper package, I found a parchment wrapped white, diamond-shaped candy that barely fit inside my palm. I could not recall ever eating a piece of candy so large. After a moment’s hesitation, I bit off one end and crunched it between my teeth. A sweet and gentle lemon flavor caressed my tongue. I closed my eyes with a smile. For the next bite, I let the candy melt on my tongue, and I was reminded of the buttermint candies I loved so much as a child.
We had been away from home for less than twenty hours, and already I felt the difference that made me fall in love with traveling years ago. The sweet excitement on my tongue, the awe and wonder from experiencing each new place, and the feeling of familiarity as I discover that it is not so different from the life I already knew. The wonderful thing about traveling is experiencing new things, visiting new places, and talking to new people, and realizing these things are not that different from what you know, that people are people everywhere you go, no matter where they come from, what they believe or how they were raised. And for me, everywhere I go, I am grateful to be going there with the love of my life and my home, no matter where we may be.