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FeedFeb 21, 2012 07:40 AM WV State of Mind
Uncover West Virginia's best-kept secrets
Road Trip to Chester
Photographed by Nikki Bowman
Have you ever been to Chester, WV? Chester is the tippy top town of the Northern Panhandle in Hancock County—the state’s smallest county. One mile west and you are in Ohio and three miles east you are in Pennsylvania—and one wrong turn and you’re in the middle of the Ohio River.
Two years ago, a reader wrote me a letter and invited me to Chester. Although, I can’t always reply to all the letters or emails I receive, I do read them all—and take all the suggestions and recommendations seriously. So, two years after the initial invitation, I wove my way through the back roads of Pennsylvania from Morgantown to our state’s most northern county (during the Civil War, Chester was the northernmost point of the slave states)—and I’m so glad I did. If I hadn’t I’d never have tasted a cream burger (a sliced donut with decadent cream sandwiched in between) from Frank’s Pastry—a 50-year-old family-owned bakery and one of the best in West Virginia. And I’d never have gotten the opportunity to work off that cream burger at the beautiful Tomlinson Run State Park.
I admit, I missed my exit and ended up in Ohio, but at least now I can say that I crossed the Jennings Randolph Bridge, the largest Pratt truss bridge in North America. After I paid my respects to East Liverpool, Ohio, I stopped at the World’s Largest Teapot before heading down Route 2. Before I knew it, I was in Newell—home to the Homer Laughlin Factory. After a little shopping, I drove a couple miles further south and stopped at The Mountaineer Casino. (Don’t tell my boss.) The casino was not what I expected. It is quite big and beautiful—and business was booming even at noon.
It was an interesting drive. I’m used to carving my way through the mountains on back roads, but this was different. Route 2 clings to the banks of the Ohio River. Barges and tugboats navigated the waterway as they’ve done for a hundred years. Remnants of the industrial age dot the landscape. Smoke stacks stand like sentries. From Weirton to East Steubenville to Follansbee to Wellsburg, I drove through fascinating and hard working communities. I found myself veering off onto side streets ogling at magnificent homes, their peeling paint and thick patina made me wonder what stories they would tell. And it struck me that West Virginia is like a patchwork quilt made from different sizes, textures, and colors of fabric that once sewn together make a beautiful work of art.
