Duncannon

Having lived in the Pittsburgh metro for more than a decade, Duncannon came as no surprise to me. It was a novelty for John, however, to walk the streets of a gritty little riverfront town built on industry. Everyone was friendly, of course. We stopped at the gas station to tank up on Gatorade, and met a fellow who’d retired as an Army Ranger. Some of his friends had hiked across America. “I always wanted to do the AT,” he said.

Rounding a corner, we saw the first of several bars open early, including the one at the infamous Doyle Hotel. Having called our friends to meet us, we missed out on the Doyle  – but I didn’t feel bad about it when another couple who stayed that night related their experience. Instead, we had an ice cream at 3Bs, and a plate of “Pennsylvania BBQ,” which is nothing like what we eat in the south. But it was good.

Duncannon is one of the few communities that the Trail passes through. I’d wished the trail led us through more small towns, since it was nice to experience a slice of different part of America up close. At one end of town, families were having big garage sales. At the other, we were disappointed that the Subway and Pilot Truck Stop were closed, and ended up puzzling over whether to top off water bottles from a spigot at a strip joint just before we crossed the Susquehanna River on the pedestrian walkway of the US 22 bridge.

At the base of Peters Mountain, a woman asked to take our picture. “I’m waiting on a friend,” she said, “and I’m taking pictures for the National Trails Day celebration.” We said fine, feeling bad that we didn’t have the time to linger for the festivities, but miles awaited before we’d reach today’s destination, and we had no idea how rocky they’d be.