Hiking in PA

Yesterday, BR, Cherie, Aaron, and I went on the Hosac Run 8-mile hike near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. It went like this: Up a ridge, down the ridge, switchbacks up the next ridge, hike along the ridgeline, double back a bit, and down the ridge we went up the first time. Like a giant figure-eight.


Aaron and BR.


On top of the ridge.


BR and Cherie.


GORP!


Awww.

The hike was a lot of fun, tricky at times, but a lot of fun. My legs were jelly afterwards, but my knees held up, which was excellent. The view was incredible, but looking and walking simultaneously wasn't an option as the terrain was hard to walk on. The leaves had already fallen, so the trails were covered. It made it a little slippery and you couldn't really see where your feet were going. We made it down the ridge just before the sun set and in enough time to stop by the "mighty arm of Gettysburg," our favorite memorial:


Because it's that cool. It's actually quite random and bizarre. An arm? With a saber? Sticking out? OK, let's do it!

After the hike, we drove into Gettysburg looking for food. BR told us to pick a place, so Aaron chose The Gingerbread Man on Gettysburg's main touristy drag. It looks quite nice on the outside: It's an old building with a large guilded sign over tavern-like windows; the menu is posted outside the paned glass door and it's surprisingly cheap. Well, cheap by Fairfax County standards. We chose non-smoking and were seated in the very crowded front section. The dark panelled walls were covered in framed posters and prints of paintings of the Civil War battle. A large Jesus-like painting of JEB Stuart hung above a family of five with small kids-- an ironic statement, or a proclamation of heroism on behalf of the Union Army as he showed up too late with his cavalry for battle?

There was a table of four seated cozily next to us. Although in modern garb, the two women (the oldest I'm going to guess was maybe 32) still had their hair pulled back in low curly buns held in place by what looked like antique combs. The men were older, in their mid to late fifties; one had the whitest, most frazzled long hair and beard. He was wearing blue jeans and a red and black flannel shirt-- like a Civil War Santa Claus almost. The other reminded me a little of Roman Polanski. He was shorter and I thought he was normal until I saw his shirt: take a seemingly normal, white Oxford shirt and then make the sleeves as full as possible only contained by his very cinched up cuffs. He was a Confederate; his vest was a grey wool. Their conversation consisted of the Battle of Gettysburg, no more, no less, for over an hour.

We parted ways with the Gingerbread Man and all it's Gettysburg history and headed south to Virginia. We were all pooped, and it was time for bed.

Oh, and if it's too cold for Aaron in the car, he'll tell you.