A weekend of re-sorting my things, figuring out what was lost in the accident, and finding what I never needed in the first place put me in a place to start traveling again.  I took off this morning to seek my fame and fortune once again, seeking the attractions others are less attracted to.  It’s like I seek the falling-down flame built in the 1960s and never updated, not the traditional flame to which moths are attracted.

This morning, I found Camptown, PA, the place some attribute as the source of the Camptown races song (doo dah, doo dah).  I found a sign in the town that suggests that the the guy who wrote the song probably lived nearby.

Then I was off on US 6, a beautiful road, one with the tell-tale dotted line next to it on the map, one that (map) legends are made for.  Triple A puts these dotted lines next to roads that they designate “scenic”, and they weren’t mistaken on this road.  Further investigation during my travels let me know that this road is a destination road for bikers, both of the motorized and non-motorized varieties.  Up and down the Endless Mountains--mountains that Xena and Gladys would never have made without several pit stops--Route 6 goes through what is commonly called The Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania.  Signage indicates that as well, as many of the motels and campgrounds and rafting companies refer to the Grand Canyon.

After some time on 6, fighting with my GPS so that it would stop trying to put me on an interstate in New York State in order to get from one part of Pennsylvania to another, I happened upon the Pennsylvania Lumber Museum.  Gorgeous and fun!  Then, off to more of Route 6 until I could get up to Bradford, PA, home to the Zippo Visitors’ Center.  An homage to the Zippo Lighter’s inventor, the Zippo / Case Visitors’ Center is a museum dedicated to the history of Zippo lighters and Case pocket knives.  Don’t worry, kids....  There is plenty of stuff at the gift shop.  I got my commemorative orange lighter engraved for an additional $4.

I saw the Penn-Brad Oil Museum, but it was unexpectedly closed.  I wandered off to the local campground for the night, yet another one that was deserted due to the fact that it was the nether-time between Tourist Season and Hunting Season.  The campground’s owner told me (between spits of tobaccy juice) to make sure not to leave any trash outside.  We’re in bear country, he said, showing me pictures of American Black Bears that were hauling off people’s trash from campsites.

I immediately plotted where to place my trash bag outside so that I could attract the most bears but thought better of it and put it in the dumpster, as requested.