Driving through miles and miles of farmland, we wonder how it is that our years in Maine have given us the impression that Ohio is an industrial state. I'm certain there must be industry here, especially with the state's proximity to Detroit, but we've seen very little of it. The endless winding roads of green and cows and silos and cornstalks have been a delicious surprise.
Traveling south from Cleveland toward the Columbus area turned out to be the pleasantest of drives, even with the persistent rain that's accompanied (dogged?) us throughout this trek. We're aware now that the Amish community is far more prevalent than we realized - the watch-for-the-buggy signs that dotted our route in upper-state New York and Pennsylvania, are a regular feature on Ohio's back roads.
Who knew there were brick roads anywhere except those leading to Oz? But here, in some little town we passed, were brick roads. They gave the Buglet a bit of a jolty ride, and our hair stood on end as we considered what such roads must do to snowplows (and vice-versa). But they are very pretty indeed, these bricked pathways, and we're delighted someone's seen fit to not pave over them.
We arrived at Hocking Hills State Park, just outside of Columbus, toward nightfall, time enough only to eat a quick dinner before hitting the sack. Rain remained in the forecast for the next day (Friday), so we knew it would be a city day. And yes, we awoke to the wet and the glumness, and hightailed it out of the campground seeking at least the cheeriness of city lights.
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