New Year's Day found me yearning for an adventure
and anxious to leave behind the mounds
of Christmas decorations strewn about the house.
So, I hopped into my trusty Suburban, camera bag in hand, and set off
with no particular destination in mind.
And, then it hit me, as I drove west out of my little town.
Over 2 years ago in September 2012,
I wrote a post about the Old River Road, an ancient stone road
that carried wagon and carriage traffic across the river bottoms.
Towering weeds, chief among them poison ivy,
prevented me from walking the entire length of the road.
I vowed to return to finish the walk later.
Fast forward to January 1, 2015.
The same primitive sign greeted me,
and I again noted the absence of a
"No Trespassing" sign.
So, off I went.
Deep grooves were worn into the stone by wagon wheels,
particularly noticeable on the right.
The walk proceeded nicely,
until this mini mountain rose up out
of the floodplain to greet me.
Someone had decided to deter explorers
by heaving up a large mound of soil the width of the road.
From this point forward, dead weeds and small trees completely obscured the path.
Stones still lined both sides of the road, and the roadbed lay noticeably
higher than the surrounding farmland.
Not to be deterred, I chose to walk alongside the road,
knowing full well I had left the right of way
and was now trespassing.
I seriously doubted anyone would be out scouring the fields for trespassers,
given the downright brisk breeze whipping out of the west,
hangovers
and football games,
the latter two of which were not in short supply on January 1.
It was my goal to walk to the old bridge that crossed the terminus
of the Ohio Erie Canal, Lock Number 55. However, once I reached that point,
I decided to explore the lock and I longed to follow the road to its end.
All that remained of the road was its steel frame. No crossing there.
It was flanked on both sides by huge beautiful walls of rectangular pieces of sandstone,
which, for the most part, remained intact.
The only way to cross the expanse was to descend about ten feet to a concrete
path which crossed the waterway, then back up an embankment on
the other side.
The view to the Ohio River from the middle of the concrete path.
As I continued on the far side of the lock,
the huge pieces of stone lay helter skelter about the landscape.
Towering sycamore trees had displaced many of them as they grew.
The river was now only 4 or 5 feet below me and a stone's throw away.
At the beginning of the walk, the river lay some 20 feet below me.
These were the last stones I saw on the road.
Just beyond this point, the land had been scraped clean of its top soil
and had been graded flat. Another large pile of topsoil lay in the way.
I had not reached the Scioto River, but the adventure of
following the road had ended. I tucked a small square stone
into the pocket of my hoodie and turned to make the return trip,
full into the bitter wind, feeling a little sad.
A bike path had been contemplated across the land at some point, but
right of way issues rose at the end of the road,
effectively killing the proposed project.
It would still make a fabulous walking or bicycle path,
bringing people outside to enjoy the beauty of the countryside,
and explore the history of the area firsthand.
Even on a cold, muddy January afternoon,
it was a worthwhile adventure.
The river view to the south
and
the Scioto River Valley to the north.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
