I spent the weekend camping, relaxing, and roller-coasting in the middle of Pennsylvania, about 15 miles from Centralia. Although I’d never been to that particular part of the state before, having spent five years in the relatively rural area of Lancaster (relatively rural, I guess, compared to Fairfield County) made it not entirely unfamiliar. The towns we passed through–Catawissa, Shamokin, Elysburg–were tiny and almost hopeless-seeming. The Woody Guthrie fan in me wanted to ascribe to them some sort of romantic determination, to see some optimism in growing up in the shadow of strip mines and under the threat of flooding. The Woody Guthrie fan in me then wanted to run around, telling the coal miners to organize, to demand better wages that’d let them live in houses that didn’t seem on the verge of collapse, to demand health insurance that would let them fix their kids’ teeth, stop the environmental devastation of strip mining.

Instead, I ate a lot of food, enjoyed a couple of hot showers, and spent the weekend alternating between sitting around and paying for the privilege of being thrown down some tracks. And you know what? It was great.

Three days ’til the Quebec trip.