Blue Ball.
Intercourse.
Bird In Hand.
Lititz!
No, this is not some sort of torrid post about late middle-aged sexual adventures. These are some of the quaint town names in the Amish farm country of Pennsylvania. Some weeks ago in the Times, I read an article in the Escapes section - Amish Country Over the Handlebar. I called Bob Heisler, my old friend from Camp Kinderland days and, like me, an avid bike rider. Had he read the article, I asked. And I thought that was the end of it. I never thought that Bob and I and a third, new-found friend, Fred Reichman, would actually plan and embark on a mid-week jaunt to Lancaster and environs.
And why not? The weather forecasts were predicting unusual-for-late-October 60 degree temperatures and sunny days. The fall foliage had not quite reached as far south as southern Pennsylvania so it looked like it would be perfect for our arrival. Bob made a motel reservation at a Best Western, we downloaded ride sheets from the Lancaster Bike Club and planned our escape from New York for Wednesday and Thursday.
The guys took their bikes and packs on the subway and met at my house where we packed up the Honda van and headed out of the city at about 8:30 on Wednesday morning. The day was glorious, if a bit too windy, as we sped down the Jersey Tunpike connecting eventually to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. On route we perused the various ride sheets and decided on one humorously dubbed The Boisterous Cloister Clomp. This was a "B" ride - not as hard as an "A" ride but harder than a wussy "C" ride. It would take us through pristine Amish farmland with rolling hills, pass through the lovely town of Ephrata (pronounced ef '-rata), whose claim to fame was the Ephrata Cloisters - a Protestant colony whose buildings date back to 1732.
We started our ride at the Conestoga Valley High School, heading north out of the town of Lampeter (pronounced Lamp'-eeter). We turned up a narrow country road that ran off into the distance, intersecting vast farms. The ride description referred to "moderate rolling hills". But moderate hills, when combined with the soon-to-be detested, strong north wind made the going quite difficult. We pushed on, steeping ourselves in the beautiful scenery, passing hard-working Amish farmers cutting the last of their remaining crop stalks and plowing their fields for the next growing season.
Pedalling up Hartman Station Road we had glorious views of farms spread for miles across Conestoga Valley.
Fred and Bob -- on the road again.
Bob up. Buggy down. We were feeling haimish about the Amish.
Our route took us through several of the area's famous,old covered bridges. The first bridge took us across the meandering Conestoga River. This was the Bitzen's Mill Covered Bridge. The northeast, in general, and Pennsylvania, in particular, have more covered bridges than other parts of the country. That's because the "frontier" of western Pennsylvania was where the westward expansion was proceeding early on in the history of the young United States. But there were many obstacles, not the least of which were the numerous rivers and streams that crisscrossed the area. Therefore, bridges were needed and as wood was so plenitful and resistant to the vagaries of freezing and thawing (unlike paving stones), it was the obvious material of choice and was used as the superstructure of all these new bridges. On the other hand, wood rots easily. So the early bridge builders simply covered them, thus limiting their exposure to the elements and prolonging their useful lives.
Three bike buddies at the Bitzen Mill covered bridge over the Conestoga River.
The bridges are wide enough for a horse and buggy - but not for two cars, side by side. Lancaster County has 28 covered bridges. From 1820 to 1900, 1500 covered bridges were built in Pennsylvania -- today, there are still 219 remaining!
As we drove further into the countryside, we passed farm after farm belonging to Amish or Mennonite farmers. Here, black garments freshly washed, were flapping and drying in the autumnal sunshine - a strange sight. There, a farmer cut back stalks in his field using a machine pulled by a team of horses. Later that night, lying in bed at the Best Western in Intercourse, we learned from a video on TV that there were several differences between the two sects which had been united but had split over questions of excommunication and the severe practice of shunning. The Amish, followers of Jacob Ammann, split from the Anabaptists in 1693. Ammann believed that the Mennonites were not practicing the ban or shunning as it should be. Thus, his followers are more conservative and stricter in their adherence to their separatist ways: untrimmed beards and hooks and eyes in place of buttons on outer garments of the men; horse and buggy transportation; horse-drawn implements for farming; plain and distinctive dress patterns and no electricity in homes.
A team of horses cuts back the last stalks in this Amish field.
The town of Ephrata was about 15 miles north of our starting point in Lampeter and we were tired from the contstant battle with the north wind. Then too, it was getting late - we had forgotten that the clocks had turned back an hour over the past weekend and that the sun would be setting around five. We didn't want to be on the road after dark. So we took a quick look-see at the Ephrata Cloisters but, even though it looked interesting with its ancient log buildings, decided to pass it by on this trip. We stopped for lunch on Ephrata's Main Street, lined with lovely old homes and 19th century office buildings.
It was three o'clock when we turned our attention to the rest of the ride - we would be heading south this time so the wind would be at our backs. We hoped it would speed us along. But we still had 20 miles to go and only two hours to cover it. A good pace was needed and we were sceptical of succeeding.
Beautiful old buildings on Ephrata's Main Street.
We stopped for hot soup and a sandwich at Oakley's Cafe in Ephrata - nice.
Erb's covered bridge - on our way back.
My long shadow. The sun was getting low at 4:30 and we had miles to go.
Still another bridge - the Log Cabin bridge. Note the sophisticated construction using bent timbers for strength.
The sun dips below the horizon - we were almost home.
Fred - tuckered but euphoric from the beautiful day's ride.
We had just a few miles to go when we got held up by a stalled train at a railroad crossing. Dozens of cars were waiting too. After a while, the wheels of the train groaned and it slowly pulled away. The gates opened and we pedalled away, trying to finish before the fading daylight turned to dark.
A blazing red tree set off a monochrome field outside this Amish homestead. The buggy is parked for the night.
Oh no - a stalled train delayed our return ... just a couple of miles to go but the light was rapidly fading.
Bob waves to me from an overpass - we're almost back to the car.
We made it - in the nick of time - tired but elated at the beauty of the ride we had taken. Despite the tough going and the struggle to finish before dark, I wouldn't have had it any other way - the magic of the fading light as darkness covered the fields and countryside was as beautiful a sight as you could imagine. The Times article was right in quoting Ernest Hemingway who wrote --
"You have no such accurate remembrance of a country you have driven through as you gain by riding a bicycle."
We drove to our motel and showered up before venturing out for dinner back in Ephrata. The next day we took a short ride around Intercourse - another lovely adventure with great vistas of the surrounding farmland. Then we headed back to the big city - but not before stopping in Lititz (pronounced litt'-its but pronounced by us guys, humorously, with the accent on the last syllable) for a tour of the country's first pretzel factory.
The Julius Sturgis pretzel factory in Lititz, Pennsylvania.
Fred tries his hand at rolling pretzels.
Um, Fred should probably not embark on a pretzel-rolling career.
Our trip was, simply put, a couple of days in Paradise - a glimpse into a community that lives in the past and tries to coexist with present times. Modernity intrudes all around the Amish - subdivisions and rampant commercial development have been built on pristine farmland and, what were once quiet and remote lands, are now plagued with rush hour congestion and malls. I thought to myself that it would not be long before all this was totally gone and that's a tragedy. What is the meaning of progress if it destroys the beauty and serenity of that which came before? My advice --get to see it while you still can.
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