Happiness is the Hampton Inn Harrisburg West Lobby
I’m not sure where to start with this story, which sounds like I’m setting it up as something wild (it’s not), but for all intents and purposes: we’ll begin at Arby’s. The 24-hour one within the Love’s Truck Stop outside Zanesville.
Save your scorn, I’ve heard all the insults. They matter not.
Arby’s has always been there for me. For you. For all of us.
Even the most jaded of fast food consumers will at least admit faith in the curly fries.
And look, when it’s 9-ish p.m. on the Ohio/West Virginia border and you still have something like five hours of driving ahead of you—your options are already limited. So, when a reliable, roast beef refuge appears alongside a facility that also sells gas and coffee—you don’t “look in a critical way at something that has been given to one.”
Supplies and sustenance acquired, Ol’ Lammi and I once again hit the road as we are known to occasionally do.
Our Lord & Savior alongside a bust of Jesus Christ.
Lammi and I had several ideas for trips this year; but we couldn’t get to the Super Bowl in St. Louis, I ended up not being able to go to Greece, he couldn’t make it to Oakland, and a random run of destinations throughout West Virginia didn’t pan out. What we were left with was Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
This wouldn’t be a “fear and loathing” occasion, however, but a joyous one as we were invited to witness the wedding of two wonderful people, reunite with good friends, and enjoy the offerings of hotel basic cable while drinking from a cooler of beers that my dad had kindly packed for us when I’d dropped off the dog as we left town.
A member of the wedding party, Lammi had official duties to tend to, while I was left with noting but time. And I spent all of it within the sun-soaked lobby of the Hampton Inn Harrisburg West—working on the draft of an upcoming story about the Oakland Coliseum. A few hours of genuine relaxation that might seem more fitting for a beachside resort, but a surprise that was gladly welcomed on an afternoon in the capital of Pennsylvania.
Hampton Inn Harrisburg West.
I then watched the sun set from within “Isaac’s,” the hotel’s restaurant that might not have officially been its restaurant (but where every diner seemed to be a hotel guest), while enjoying an assortment of complimentary, pickled vegetables and not complimentary, cold beer. For all I cared, this was just as good as [insert any stereotypical vacation destination here].
Beautiful.
Delicious.
I then spent the rest of the evening telling the groom’s family about the place with clean restrooms in their hometown that I used to stop at when going to and from school. They then informed me that, that Bob Evan’s has, sadly, since closed. Travelers transiting Chillicothe, Ohio should be advised.
The wedding was beautiful, the company was wonderful, and there was this unbelievably delicious ice cream truck. One that inspired me to tell the truth.
A golfer's goofball sense of humor. You wouldn't get it.
As I wound my way through the sweet treat line a second time, I abandoned the lies I’d been preparing in my head. I wasn’t actually getting more ice cream for my friends back inside or the kids I didn’t have sitting at the table—this additional serving was absolutely for me and I was gonna enjoy the god-damned-hell out of it.
Fish bait vending machine.
If my friends had asked me to get them ice cream, though, I would’ve done it. I love them, as well as the new friends we all made later that night. In particular: Daniel. The kind soul and groomsman who provided everyone with a feast of delivered from Pizza Hut while Lammi and I shared our supply of Coors Banquet that we’d acquired the night before at a gas station. One which had a fish bait vending machine out front.
Happiness is the Hampton Inn Harrisburg West lobby.
There are many things to see in and around Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. My top two picks, though, were Hersheypark and Three Mile Island. One’s a really cool amusement park not far from where you can get delicious donuts. The other is the site of the “nation’s worst commercial nuclear accident.” We opted for the latter—our first planned stop along a meandering trip towards home because returning at a reasonable hour was simply not in our nature.
Three Mile Island. The cooling towers on the left are from the decommissioned unit two reactor which partially melted down in 1979.
Equipment that continually samples the air in the vicinity of Three Mile Island for any indication of increased radiation levels.
Coincidentally, while in the area for the weekend, news broke that Microsoft has plans to reactivate and purchase electricity from the infamous plant. Originally designed with two nuclear reactors, the one that didn’t partially melt down in 1979 ended up operating all the way into 2019. The company responsible for making your work life miserable via their TEAMS software now wants to use the plant to power its AI efforts. Honestly, this may be the worst news to have ever come out of Three Mile Island.
Opting to avoid the Pennsylvania Turnpike, we ended up driving across rural parts of the state in sputtering rain. Outwardly, I was enjoying the conversation with one of my best friends and appreciating that he was willing to listen to my longwinded rants. On the inside, however, I was dying from a sense of deja-vu.
“This drive really sucks,” I thought as I became increasingly restless at the helm of my 2011 Trail Rated® Jeep® Grand Cherokee® 4x4 Laredo® Edition with U-Connect® Bluetooth technology.
Eventually, I recognized a particular slice of highway exit hell known as Breezewood. I had done this awful drive about ten years earlier, but skipped the abandoned tunnels this time. Instead, we opted for a giant quarter and giant pot of coffee.
Everett, PA.
Everett, PA.
Bedford, PA.
The giant pot of coffee, and great example of programatic architecture, didn’t actually sell coffee any more, by the way.
Not that I was severely disappointed by that fact.
Bedford, PA.
We worked Cumberland, Maryland into the route—a city that Lammi was rightfully curious about. Well-preserved and pedestrian friendly, the city’s historic downtown butts up against a mid-20th century suburban-style development. One with a vast parking lot that, due to its placement, surprisingly doesn’t conflict too much with the urban core while also providing convenient, free parking. This setup is very different from the examples found in so many other American cities and something that seems to have aged relatively well.
A generic, boring (yet occupied) strip mall provides free parking hidden on the backside of a picturesque city center.
Even with ongoing renovations, this thoroughfare still stands as one of many pedestrian-friendly, picturesque streets in Cumberland.
Theatre lights in downtown Cumberland.
The city itself was incredibly picturesque even on a cloudy afternoon, but with it also being a Sunday—not much was going on. Aside from some sort of religious music festival that had drawn tens of attendees whose cars sported bumper stickers that seemingly conflicted with the scriptural teachings being sung about off key.
A parting view of Cumberland.
The sun finally began to break through the clouds as we pushed towards Morgantown, West Virginia. A place that we’d eventually find wrapped in warm light and doused with blue skies. The main priority was food and the second priority was the area’s irreverent transit system.
Burritos consumed, it was time to go experience a vision of the future from 50 years ago.
Walnut Station of the Morgantown Personal Rapid Transit system.
The United States isn’t known for offering robust public transportation in its cities. Politically and economically automobile-centric after the Second World War, there have been various attempts to try and change this over the decades. Although it could use established technologies and ideas from other nations (and even its own past), the US often likes to dabble in the distracting rather than the definitive. Thus, in the waning years of the Nixon Administration, federal money was often dolled out in an effort to test out “new” technologies (normal trains and trams were just too damn easy). Municipalities could get new public transportation systems built with little risk and cost to themselves, while serving as a test bed for the supposed transit systems of the future. Cities like Miami would see success, while places such as Jacksonville and Detroit saw mixed results. And then there was the bustling, yet non “major” city of Morgantown, West Virginia.
Vehicles on the Morgantown PRT system.
Home to the Mountaineers of West Virginia University, the quaint Appalachian town along the banks of the Monongahela River sees its population swell exponentially at the start of every school year. As the educational institution grew and its enrollment increased over the years, so too did the amount of automobiles on the streets of a city geographically constrained by hills and valleys. Seeking to provide traffic relief—as well as reliable connections for students across a widespread campus—the school, state, and feds saw potential. The result was the development of the Morgantown Personal Rapid Transit system.
Signage of the Morgantown PRT System.
Unlike traditional public transportation systems, the idea of “PRT” was that vehicles much smaller than common trains could have destinations selected in a manner similar to an elevator. Essentially, the idea was that passengers could choose a destination and have their vehicle heads straight there; bypassing the stations not needed on that particular trip. With the benefit of hindsight (and the knowledge gained from my own career experiences in public transportation), PRT has never really taken hold anywhere as a practical idea. It can’t be denied, however, that the implementation of the concept in Morgantown was a bold attempt at innovation. A unique concept that probably wouldn’t be efficient for a major city, but one that has found some success in a small, college town.
Walnut Station of the Morgantown PRT System (constructed in 1972) as viewed among its surroundings.
As far as I can tell, modern opinions of the system seem mixed, but it has been well maintained and promoted as an essential part of campus life—and ultimately: a unique piece of transportation infrastructure within the nation. We were stoked to check it out.
Except we couldn’t.
Because as it turns out: the system doesn’t run on Sundays.
It’s understandable considering that the route centers around a student population rather than a civic one, but maybe if the system had better hours it could’ve helped Mountaineers Men’s Basketball Coach Bob Huggins avoid another DUI (after he got kicked out of the University of Cincinnati for the same problem).
Side note: here’s a story about the abandoned sports bar that Huggins was once involved with, that I at one time lived near, and one that was also featured on the podcast “Planet Money.”
Either way, I enjoyed seeing the system with its once-futuristic vehicles in all of its concrete and beige glory. A stark, but curious contrast to the surrounding area—essentially a 1970s era, elevated rail system plopped into the heart of charming town like some sort of southern, Sim City monorail mashup.
We drove straight back to Cincinnati from there, stopping only once for coffee near the giant basket. All because I’d missed the exit with that wonderful Arby’s. The 24-hour one within the Love’s Truck Stop outside of Zanesville.
Back with more stories soon.
Long live Arby’s.
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