Oh I Have Seen Things: The Baseball Trip 2011 / Day 8

Monday, July 25, 2011

Random observation from Randy:
Today is a Beatles day.

As we wind our way through hills and valleys to the Allegheny National Forest, we listen to Revolver, then Sgt. Pepper, then Magical Mystery Tour, and finally, Abbey Road. Perfect music for one of the most perfect drives on Earth. There are a couple of State Forests on the way as well. Climbing into the hills a storm blows up on us, high winds sideways rain. The elevation and the weather system combine to drop the temperature 23 degrees in about fifteen minutes. When the rain halts it's only two lane blacktop, tall pines and cool breezes.

But the Gods aren't done with us; yet another storm blows up winds rocking the car trees down driving on the left shoulder to pass wipers rocking overtime just to see ten feet in front of you. Take shelter. Sweden Valley is a nice little township and we stop for lunch at the Jiffy Pup to wait out the rain. Jiffy Pup is a hot dog stand/mini golf emporium at the bottom of the valley with a nice roofed porch, and we eat cheeseburgers and fried fish with a chocolate milk shake and watch the lightning fade out over the hills.

Hey! What's this? Why it's Granny's Motel! I have no idea what that means, but it's some kinda home for the homeless or what-not. Disenfranchised? Feeling like you don't have a friend in the whole wide world? Stay at Granny's, where you got a home.

Granny, orphan, and me. The fact that someone stole/chopped the head off the little girl's doll makes this especially pathetic. Also, is that really a girl? More like a mutant Charlie McCarthy. There is something freakishly awful about this, but then I think that, somehow, someone found refuge here.

The forest has a history of over-hunting and over-foresting. Also: much of Pennsylvania's crude oil comes from mineral rights owned by individuals within the forest boundaries. They'll warn the campers to conserve water, respect the flora and fauna, and, oh yeah, watch out for trucks barreling down the highway. One such overloaded hulk slipped into the left lane (of an unmarked road we decided to explore), hurtled into the surrounding hillside, came back down into the road and slammed into another truck knocking them both wrong-side up. We had to turn around and go back out the way we travelled in. The other trucks weren't so lucky: they had to back out in reverse for a mile and a half.

The forest dumps out just southeast of Erie, Pa, our baseball destination for the day. The Erie Seawolves, a Double-A affiliate of the Detroit Tigers, plays here at Jerry Uht Park. You're asking, who is Jerry Uht? I know I did. He established an endowment to support the team and they named the stadium after him. But what about the mascot? His name is C. Wolf. Get it?

C. Wolf and Alex.

Again, I'm not sure why I seek out the mascots. I believe it is some perverted compulsion to challenge my fears, much like G. Gordon Liddy facing his fear of lightning by climbing a tree in the middle of a fierce electrical storm. So I pose with this heavily sedated, overgrown cartoon character. Notice the look of apprehension in my eyes.