Although it had been on the attention radar of astronomy buffs for a while (years, in some cases), I really didn't pay much attention to the coast-to-coast total eclipse until late spring of this year. Then, after a visit to my sister this spring resulted in the gift of two pairs of eclipse glasses, I started mulling the idea of going to the totality zone to watch for myself. Being me, that meant hours and hours of poring over Google Maps, looking at places I might reach and return from in a "convenient" space of time.
Among the prime candidates was a spot on the Cherohala Skyway, right on the centerline and, conveniently, at a turnout point. Then Google Maps helpfully added a "Best Eclipse Viewing" marker to the very spot and poof! my plan had to change. Plus, with ten days to go the weather forecast for the entire region was doubtful at best. So, the hunt was on for a new location. Consulting an interactive Google Maps-based eclipse resource, and also looking at the ten-day forecast, I eventually settled on an area in southern Illinois. This was where I had gone to grad school, so I knew it to be relatively sparsely populated and featuring too many obscure hollows and fields to be completely overrun by out-of-towners.
After a bit more detailed searching, I selected the Bethany Church as my primary destination; if it proved untenable for some reason there were at least three fallback positions within a twenty minute ride.
By this time, of course, it was a Lost Cause trying to find any sort of commercial accommodation anywhere within 100 miles or more of the zone. So, I set sail with the intention of trusting to luck that an opportunity would present itself. In the meantime, I was good to go for Saturday night, as I have a cousin in Cincinnati who was willing to put me up for the evening.
My plan was fluid and easily adjusted, which was a virtue because events changed three times in the space of a few hours. The net result was a detour partway down the Shenandoah valley, followed by an excursion into some truly lovely country roads in Virginia and West Virginia. Note to self: this area is worth a LOT more exploration on future rides.
Ultimately, having fooled around for a while it was time to shift into "get there" mode and make some serious mileage. I can say that I-79 north of Morgantown, I-70, and I-71 all share a common trait: they are utilitarian, but not exhilarating ways to get from Point A to Point B.
Arriving right on schedule at my cousin's meant we had plenty of time to visit. We headed for a favorite local eatery of theirs, followed by a recon trip to one of the MANY microbrewery/brewpubs that have begun to sprout in the greater Cinci area. The eatery was great; the brewpub ... "limited". They are trying, bless their hearts, and the fruits of their labor are adequate but not really noteworthy.
Sunday was scheduled as a shorter day, since I'd covered about 2/3 of the total distance to the viewing zone on Saturday. That left time to linger over breakfast, though I still wanted to make an early-ish start to avoid traffic and heat as much as possible. It was easy to get through the sprawl around Cinci and on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River, and to take I-71 southwest toward Louisville, where I picked up I-64 westbound.
About halfway across Indiana, I started paying closer attention to the skies, where an ominous black cloud was forming a few miles up the road and directly across it. Pulling over to consult the weather radar I confirmed that there was a strong cell of heavy weather just ahead, but that it was limited to maybe 5 or 10 miles on either side of the interstate. What a perfect opportunity to do some back-road exploring, and see if I could either skirt the rain or find a sheltered spot to wait it out if I got caught in it.
Turning south, I was treated to more serendipitous discovery of truly great riding country. There are rolling hills, with farms and wooded areas interspersed to make a delightful tapestry. At times the views were wide open and at other times completely covered with a shaded canopy of trees. As you'd expect, traffic was virtually non-existent, even though by this time it was pushing on toward late morning.
Having decided that I had gone far enough south I turned west, and found a spot to pause to document the storm I'd so cleverly avoided.
Then, as I was flat-footing to get back on the road, the soft gravel at the corner reminded me that fortunes can change in an instant.
Fortune favors the foolish, they say, and so it was with me this day: within three minutes of the drop, no fewer than five carloads of strangers had materialized from out of nowhere and stopped to see if I was okay. It took just a few seconds of group effort to right the bike, and then poof! the "crowd" vanished as rapidly as it had materialized and I was once again left in solitude, almost before I could say "Thank You".
I was really glad to have this view in my mirrors, rather than in my headlights:
For the rest of the morning Google routed me along pleasant country roads and eventually onto the Ohio River Scenic Route, along IN-66 and then IN-62. As it passes through Evansville it's not so scenic, but so be it.
Crossing the Wabash into Illinois in the early afternoon, it was time to begin contemplating where to spend the night. The objective was to find a place conveniently close to the totality zone, but perhaps far enough out that it would not be flooded with out-of-towners. I had looked at a Forest Service campground north of Dixon Springs, but stopping to check their website revealed they were full up. Scratch that one off the list.
Next was the thought of actually "stealth camping" right at the viewing location, but I was concerned about the possibility of being shooed away and run off at an inconvenient time of the evening. Still, you never know until you are on scene what the situation is, so I headed in that general direction. Along the way I spotted the biggest set of eclipse glasses I'd seen to date:
A few miles farther on, I ran past one of those small blue-and-white roadside information signs: "<- CAMPING". A moment's deliberation led to a quick U-turn and discovery of a real treasure. It turns out that the town of Ridgway offers overnight camping in their town park, and not just to cash in on the eclipse. This is a permanent arrangement, and truly fabulous. I had a lovely town park, several acres of shade trees and picnic pavilions, virtually all to myself once the few day-picnicers had folded up the baskets and headed home.
That left me all Sunday afternoon to relax, ponder my good fortune, and just generally chill out. Sweet!
Overnight, I was treated to an owl hooting, crickets chirring (they go all night, by the way), and country quiet. Not silence, exactly, but very calm, tranquil, and serene. A late-evening (or very early morning?) excursion to add moisture to the bean field across the park boundary from my tent revealed that it was dark enough that the Milky Way was faintly visible, plus of course loads of other stars, constellations, and planets.
I woke about 4:30 Monday morning and realized that it would probably take an hour and a half to get things sorted, packed, and ready to roll so it was time to get up and get going. The sun came up around 6:00 and made a pleasant scene.
It got on toward time to press on, and I made my way down to the target zone. I was the first to arrive, not counting a local family camped across the street on property that belongs to relatives of theirs.
Bethany Church no longer has an active congregation, but the burial yard is still faithfully tended (the couple that sees to the mowing came by to check on things later in the morning, and we had a pleasant visit. They had thoughtfully mowed the lot just the day before.) Evidently they had been contacted by prospective viewers earlier on, and were very gracious in allowing all comers to hang out.
I walked around for a while checking out the markers, and musing that even "permanent" memorial are ephemera in the scale of time. The oldest markers are utterly unreadable, and most of the old ones are broken off or damaged. Even much more recent ones (50 or 60 years) have headstones far from straight and true. There were some sad stories evidenced as well: twins who died a few months apart, having not lived three years, and the graves of their parents who outlived them by 50 or more years. Many, many graves of children and young adults. One family in particular seems to have had evil luck: quite a few of their graves told of early demises.
There was also a plaque to what I assume must have been a founding member of the congregation, on a simple stone at the front of the burial yard:
What upheaval caused him to migrate from Pennsylvania into the wilds of Illinois? And when? And what did he experience?
Having got to the site before anyone else I had my choice of viewing points. This was what I selected. The blue line is the centerline of the totality zone. I got pretty close to it.
Over the next few hours, maybe twenty more cars filtered in, so that we had 40 or 50 people gathered for the event. They had come from Texas, Arkansas, Indiana... pretty much all over. Shyness and uncertainty ("Can we stop here? Is it okay to set up and watch from here?") quickly gave way to visiting, stories of how they'd selected the spot, how long they'd planned, and so forth. It was really great to spend the day visiting with complete strangers, gathered for a common purpose. One enterprising family of home-schoolers had made it a school field trip:
People spread out all over the property, giving one another plenty of elbow room. A couple of folks were wearing eclipse-themed tee-shirts; my favorite was emblazoned with "Let There Be Dark".
As time drew nearer our focus turned skyward. There were some scattered clouds that periodically obscured the view, but at the critical moment things cleared and we had a perfect experience.
I failed to capture the moment itself, but got a nice atmospheric shot in the run-up.
After it was over, nearly everyone packed up and headed out. Within half an hour there were only a few lingering diehards left.
The traffic jams were monumental. What had been an easy one-hour ride in turned into a four-hour slog with long delays passing through each of the towns on the route back to the interstate. Every stop sign and traffic light was a choke point, stacking up cars for miles. And it was HOT: middle 90's, with no shade.
Eventually I had had enough and left the known universe to hunt for alternate routes. The cell towers were all monstrously overwhelmed so reliable traffic data was not to be had. It turns out that many county roads in that part of Illinois are not paved...
Nearing I-64 there was another OMINOUS black cloud just on the other side, bombarding the earth below with spectacular blasts of lighting. Uh oh. Hope I don't get caught in THAT mess, or things are going to get ugly in a hurry. Happily, I got to the interstate and beat a hasty retreat eastward, quickly outpacing the storm.
Just outside of Louisville it was time to call it quits for the night, after crawling for an eternity in a stop-and-stop-some-more traffic jam caused by road construction. It was about 9, I was hot and tired, and I had no reservation. The first place I tried was full up, but referred me across the street to a rival establishment. They still had rooms, one of which I gratefully accepted. By 9:30 I was dead asleep.
In the morning I got up early, trying to beat the Louisville rush hour, and hit the road just after 5. This I seldom do, because I don't like riding during peak deer activity time but on this day it felt like the better alternative. Because of the long delay getting out of Illinois, I was a hundred miles or more west of where I'd hoped to spend the night, meaning I still had almost 600 miles to cover to get home. It was another "damn the scenery, full speed ahead" kind of ride. Not my preferred mode but you do what you have to.
Retracing my westbound route along I-64, this time headed east, took me all the way to I-79 in West Virginia. All day long I had been fussing with my phone-- there is a flaw somewhere in my homemade charging system, so the phone does not charge as it is supposed to. This was a continuing irritation, but nothing more because the route itself was dead simple. I-64, I-79, I-68, I-70, then finally I-270 down to my exit. I've covered everything from the junction of I-79 and I-68 before so it was nothing new. Somewhere along the way I realized that this trip had involved using I-64, 66, 68, and 70-- practically all of the east/west interstates that serve the mid-Atlantic.
I-79 south of I-68 is actually quite pleasant. There aren't many straight stretches, and very light traffic in most places, so it became my personal MotoGP track. I could use the entire surface setting up for and taking every curve, without the least fear of cutting someone off or being obnoxious about it. I don't ride much above the posted speed limit, but it was still great fun.
Stopping for lunch, only one of my add-on front lights was showing in the reflection from the restaurant window. Sure enough, the mounting bracket for the other had broken and the light was dangling from its wires. This has happened often enough in the past that I have learned to expect it, and carry spares. A few minutes work got it changed out and good as new.
I pulled into my driveway just before 4, having covered the 600 miles from Louisville in 11 hours, and nearly 1,700 miles in all over four days. It was a great trip, full of adventure and excitement. I met and conversed with a bunch of great people, had no serious incidents, and enjoyed myself immensely. BUT- it's good to be back home.
Among the prime candidates was a spot on the Cherohala Skyway, right on the centerline and, conveniently, at a turnout point. Then Google Maps helpfully added a "Best Eclipse Viewing" marker to the very spot and poof! my plan had to change. Plus, with ten days to go the weather forecast for the entire region was doubtful at best. So, the hunt was on for a new location. Consulting an interactive Google Maps-based eclipse resource, and also looking at the ten-day forecast, I eventually settled on an area in southern Illinois. This was where I had gone to grad school, so I knew it to be relatively sparsely populated and featuring too many obscure hollows and fields to be completely overrun by out-of-towners.
After a bit more detailed searching, I selected the Bethany Church as my primary destination; if it proved untenable for some reason there were at least three fallback positions within a twenty minute ride.
By this time, of course, it was a Lost Cause trying to find any sort of commercial accommodation anywhere within 100 miles or more of the zone. So, I set sail with the intention of trusting to luck that an opportunity would present itself. In the meantime, I was good to go for Saturday night, as I have a cousin in Cincinnati who was willing to put me up for the evening.
My plan was fluid and easily adjusted, which was a virtue because events changed three times in the space of a few hours. The net result was a detour partway down the Shenandoah valley, followed by an excursion into some truly lovely country roads in Virginia and West Virginia. Note to self: this area is worth a LOT more exploration on future rides.
Ultimately, having fooled around for a while it was time to shift into "get there" mode and make some serious mileage. I can say that I-79 north of Morgantown, I-70, and I-71 all share a common trait: they are utilitarian, but not exhilarating ways to get from Point A to Point B.
Arriving right on schedule at my cousin's meant we had plenty of time to visit. We headed for a favorite local eatery of theirs, followed by a recon trip to one of the MANY microbrewery/brewpubs that have begun to sprout in the greater Cinci area. The eatery was great; the brewpub ... "limited". They are trying, bless their hearts, and the fruits of their labor are adequate but not really noteworthy.
Sunday was scheduled as a shorter day, since I'd covered about 2/3 of the total distance to the viewing zone on Saturday. That left time to linger over breakfast, though I still wanted to make an early-ish start to avoid traffic and heat as much as possible. It was easy to get through the sprawl around Cinci and on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River, and to take I-71 southwest toward Louisville, where I picked up I-64 westbound.
About halfway across Indiana, I started paying closer attention to the skies, where an ominous black cloud was forming a few miles up the road and directly across it. Pulling over to consult the weather radar I confirmed that there was a strong cell of heavy weather just ahead, but that it was limited to maybe 5 or 10 miles on either side of the interstate. What a perfect opportunity to do some back-road exploring, and see if I could either skirt the rain or find a sheltered spot to wait it out if I got caught in it.
Turning south, I was treated to more serendipitous discovery of truly great riding country. There are rolling hills, with farms and wooded areas interspersed to make a delightful tapestry. At times the views were wide open and at other times completely covered with a shaded canopy of trees. As you'd expect, traffic was virtually non-existent, even though by this time it was pushing on toward late morning.
Having decided that I had gone far enough south I turned west, and found a spot to pause to document the storm I'd so cleverly avoided.
Then, as I was flat-footing to get back on the road, the soft gravel at the corner reminded me that fortunes can change in an instant.
Fortune favors the foolish, they say, and so it was with me this day: within three minutes of the drop, no fewer than five carloads of strangers had materialized from out of nowhere and stopped to see if I was okay. It took just a few seconds of group effort to right the bike, and then poof! the "crowd" vanished as rapidly as it had materialized and I was once again left in solitude, almost before I could say "Thank You".
I was really glad to have this view in my mirrors, rather than in my headlights:
For the rest of the morning Google routed me along pleasant country roads and eventually onto the Ohio River Scenic Route, along IN-66 and then IN-62. As it passes through Evansville it's not so scenic, but so be it.
Crossing the Wabash into Illinois in the early afternoon, it was time to begin contemplating where to spend the night. The objective was to find a place conveniently close to the totality zone, but perhaps far enough out that it would not be flooded with out-of-towners. I had looked at a Forest Service campground north of Dixon Springs, but stopping to check their website revealed they were full up. Scratch that one off the list.
Next was the thought of actually "stealth camping" right at the viewing location, but I was concerned about the possibility of being shooed away and run off at an inconvenient time of the evening. Still, you never know until you are on scene what the situation is, so I headed in that general direction. Along the way I spotted the biggest set of eclipse glasses I'd seen to date:
A few miles farther on, I ran past one of those small blue-and-white roadside information signs: "<- CAMPING". A moment's deliberation led to a quick U-turn and discovery of a real treasure. It turns out that the town of Ridgway offers overnight camping in their town park, and not just to cash in on the eclipse. This is a permanent arrangement, and truly fabulous. I had a lovely town park, several acres of shade trees and picnic pavilions, virtually all to myself once the few day-picnicers had folded up the baskets and headed home.
That left me all Sunday afternoon to relax, ponder my good fortune, and just generally chill out. Sweet!
Overnight, I was treated to an owl hooting, crickets chirring (they go all night, by the way), and country quiet. Not silence, exactly, but very calm, tranquil, and serene. A late-evening (or very early morning?) excursion to add moisture to the bean field across the park boundary from my tent revealed that it was dark enough that the Milky Way was faintly visible, plus of course loads of other stars, constellations, and planets.
I woke about 4:30 Monday morning and realized that it would probably take an hour and a half to get things sorted, packed, and ready to roll so it was time to get up and get going. The sun came up around 6:00 and made a pleasant scene.
It got on toward time to press on, and I made my way down to the target zone. I was the first to arrive, not counting a local family camped across the street on property that belongs to relatives of theirs.
Bethany Church no longer has an active congregation, but the burial yard is still faithfully tended (the couple that sees to the mowing came by to check on things later in the morning, and we had a pleasant visit. They had thoughtfully mowed the lot just the day before.) Evidently they had been contacted by prospective viewers earlier on, and were very gracious in allowing all comers to hang out.
I walked around for a while checking out the markers, and musing that even "permanent" memorial are ephemera in the scale of time. The oldest markers are utterly unreadable, and most of the old ones are broken off or damaged. Even much more recent ones (50 or 60 years) have headstones far from straight and true. There were some sad stories evidenced as well: twins who died a few months apart, having not lived three years, and the graves of their parents who outlived them by 50 or more years. Many, many graves of children and young adults. One family in particular seems to have had evil luck: quite a few of their graves told of early demises.
There was also a plaque to what I assume must have been a founding member of the congregation, on a simple stone at the front of the burial yard:
What upheaval caused him to migrate from Pennsylvania into the wilds of Illinois? And when? And what did he experience?
Having got to the site before anyone else I had my choice of viewing points. This was what I selected. The blue line is the centerline of the totality zone. I got pretty close to it.
Over the next few hours, maybe twenty more cars filtered in, so that we had 40 or 50 people gathered for the event. They had come from Texas, Arkansas, Indiana... pretty much all over. Shyness and uncertainty ("Can we stop here? Is it okay to set up and watch from here?") quickly gave way to visiting, stories of how they'd selected the spot, how long they'd planned, and so forth. It was really great to spend the day visiting with complete strangers, gathered for a common purpose. One enterprising family of home-schoolers had made it a school field trip:
People spread out all over the property, giving one another plenty of elbow room. A couple of folks were wearing eclipse-themed tee-shirts; my favorite was emblazoned with "Let There Be Dark".
As time drew nearer our focus turned skyward. There were some scattered clouds that periodically obscured the view, but at the critical moment things cleared and we had a perfect experience.
I failed to capture the moment itself, but got a nice atmospheric shot in the run-up.
After it was over, nearly everyone packed up and headed out. Within half an hour there were only a few lingering diehards left.
The traffic jams were monumental. What had been an easy one-hour ride in turned into a four-hour slog with long delays passing through each of the towns on the route back to the interstate. Every stop sign and traffic light was a choke point, stacking up cars for miles. And it was HOT: middle 90's, with no shade.
Eventually I had had enough and left the known universe to hunt for alternate routes. The cell towers were all monstrously overwhelmed so reliable traffic data was not to be had. It turns out that many county roads in that part of Illinois are not paved...
Nearing I-64 there was another OMINOUS black cloud just on the other side, bombarding the earth below with spectacular blasts of lighting. Uh oh. Hope I don't get caught in THAT mess, or things are going to get ugly in a hurry. Happily, I got to the interstate and beat a hasty retreat eastward, quickly outpacing the storm.
Just outside of Louisville it was time to call it quits for the night, after crawling for an eternity in a stop-and-stop-some-more traffic jam caused by road construction. It was about 9, I was hot and tired, and I had no reservation. The first place I tried was full up, but referred me across the street to a rival establishment. They still had rooms, one of which I gratefully accepted. By 9:30 I was dead asleep.
In the morning I got up early, trying to beat the Louisville rush hour, and hit the road just after 5. This I seldom do, because I don't like riding during peak deer activity time but on this day it felt like the better alternative. Because of the long delay getting out of Illinois, I was a hundred miles or more west of where I'd hoped to spend the night, meaning I still had almost 600 miles to cover to get home. It was another "damn the scenery, full speed ahead" kind of ride. Not my preferred mode but you do what you have to.
Retracing my westbound route along I-64, this time headed east, took me all the way to I-79 in West Virginia. All day long I had been fussing with my phone-- there is a flaw somewhere in my homemade charging system, so the phone does not charge as it is supposed to. This was a continuing irritation, but nothing more because the route itself was dead simple. I-64, I-79, I-68, I-70, then finally I-270 down to my exit. I've covered everything from the junction of I-79 and I-68 before so it was nothing new. Somewhere along the way I realized that this trip had involved using I-64, 66, 68, and 70-- practically all of the east/west interstates that serve the mid-Atlantic.
I-79 south of I-68 is actually quite pleasant. There aren't many straight stretches, and very light traffic in most places, so it became my personal MotoGP track. I could use the entire surface setting up for and taking every curve, without the least fear of cutting someone off or being obnoxious about it. I don't ride much above the posted speed limit, but it was still great fun.
Stopping for lunch, only one of my add-on front lights was showing in the reflection from the restaurant window. Sure enough, the mounting bracket for the other had broken and the light was dangling from its wires. This has happened often enough in the past that I have learned to expect it, and carry spares. A few minutes work got it changed out and good as new.
I pulled into my driveway just before 4, having covered the 600 miles from Louisville in 11 hours, and nearly 1,700 miles in all over four days. It was a great trip, full of adventure and excitement. I met and conversed with a bunch of great people, had no serious incidents, and enjoyed myself immensely. BUT- it's good to be back home.
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On your way home...what town did you overnight in ? Guessing Corydon.
