A Return to the C&O Canal

 

Hancock, Maryland and the C&O Canal

It had been about eleven months since I completed the entire C&O, finishing in downtown Washington DC on a beautiful October afternoon. I have missed our occasional trips to meet the towpath, spending a few hours wandering and discovering, particularly during the height of the pandemic. The introduction of vaccines and the elimination of restrictions meant that life began to return to normal, albeit with a greater sense of apprehension and a nagging feeling of general concern. Life has edged toward what it was once; our schedules began to fill up again and distractions abound. While people stated they wanted to keep the good aspects of life they developed, such as slowing down and enjoying the outdoors, demands and responsibilities inevitably creep in.

Labor Day weekend brought slightly cooler weather to a very hot summer, and we were looking for outdoor activities. I proposed that we return to the Hancock area for an afternoon walking and visiting some of our favorite spots. Soon after we hit the trail it was apparent that it was not as cool as we might have hoped and that the holiday weekend brought activities along the Potomac that were not always conducive to a meditative walk. Hence, the sounds of drag racing at the small airport echoed across the river and drowned out the sounds of birds and nature. The distorted public address system announcing the unseen cars before they gunned their engines to make a short, loud quarter-mile journey dominated the soundscape. It was probably too hot and humid for the birds anyway, I reasoned. We walked to the Bowles Farmhouse, built in the 1780s at Lock 52 that predating the canal, served as a supply station for those who worked the canal boat on the downstream side of Hancock and the Tonoloway Aqueduct.

Angie declared the weather too hot and muggy upon our return to Hancock, but I opted for a bit more on the trail, walking a mile west of town and into unpopulated wooded areas of the trail. Either the races had ended, or I was too far to hear the sound. I remember this area as being a particularly good place to see wildlife and birds. It was hot, in the middle of the afternoon, so I was not counting on any animals making an appearance. Nevertheless, numerous butterflies worked the wildflowers and I inadvertently disturb a couple of deer getting a much-needed drink while in the canal.

One of our favorite places along the towpath is the restaurant and antique store, BuddyLou’s in downtown Hancock, providing good food, drinks, and ice cream to hikers, bikers, and the public. Prior to the pandemic, Buddylou’s served a chili-rubbed tuna sandwich that made me device reasons to visit Hancock. Although my favorite sandwich disappeared, the food remains excellent and the deck, during good weather, is a great place to relax, before or after a trip on the C&O or the Western Maryland rail trail. We are often seated on an enclosed porched, where there are several tables for two. The walls are lined with various antiques, including many televisions and radios, items that are especially fascinating to me.  As a child, I remember that long, slow fade of the screen dissolving into a single pixel when you turned the television off. Alternatively, as a teenage I enjoyed scanning the radio dial, looking for distant stations (DXing) and hearing different music on static-filled AM radio stations. Seated at a high-top table I kept examining a brass thermostat switch at my left elbow. Removed from the device, the switch provided a choice of temperatures: cold-tepid-warm-hot. What modern device would use the word tepid?

The eclectic collection of items at BuddyLou's

A woman glazes from a framed magazine advertisement, her pearls dangle from her mouth, in the men’s restroom at Buddylou’s. The copy seductively asks if the reader has ever been taken to the movies in a Rolls-Royce, or if a Hollywood producer has ever begged to know the reader’s name. I muse about the questions, sexists as they are, and how a reader in Hancock, Maryland must have considered them. Was anyone in this small town along the Potomac River tempted to by the perfume in the hope that the fragrance would “take you places”? This canal I love to walk was perhaps that thing that offered to take people places, but as technology developed, the methodology changed. A professor once said that all advertisement is built upon a logical fallacy; we do not need the things that are advertised. It is not perfumes that lead us to adventures, it is ourselves.