For the Love of
by Tim Ernandes
I
love old cars. Part of my interest
is rooted in nostalgia, and the
rest is my incurable desire to
take things that are broken and fix
them. My wife is quick to point
out that I hate to throw anything
away if it still might be useful, and I
enjoy the challenge of rehabilitating
something that is old and worn.
As the proud owner of three cars
that I still have trouble regarding
as antiques, I was all ears when my
best friend Dave proposed a trip
to the Carlisle Fall Car Show and
Swap Meet in Carlisle, PA. I had
heard many tales of the enormity
and popularity of the Carlisle events,
going back to the days before my
three automotive antiques had
even rolled off the assembly lines.
Naturally, I enthusiastically agreed.
We have been friends since we
were 11 years old, and for most of
the past 30 years had observed an
annual tradition of camping out on
his wooded property near Culpeper
over Columbus Day weekend. His
recent adventurism and a few life-
changing events have interfered with
that activity over the past couple
of years, so he got the idea that we
might enjoy Carlisle as a change of
pace.
One of Dave’s adventures was a
complete hike of the Appalachian
Trail, and he has become enamored
of the Trail’s culture. He frequently
takes time to walk a 100 mile or
so stretch of the Trail for pure
enjoyment. As such, he has bonded
with some folks who remain “plugged
in” to the Trail. So there would be no
Motel 6 or Comfort Inn for us, no,
no… instead, he selected The Doyle
Hotel as our weekend lodgings… an
ancient edifice conveniently located
some 40 minutes from Carlisle in the
backwater town of Duncannon, PA.
Erected in 1905 by Anheuser-
Busch, The Doyle was part of
a chain of hotels designed as a
vehicle to market their beer. It is
euphemistically described as a “no-
frills hiker hostel”, which explains
the attraction for Dave. I spent most
of my time there in desperate search
of a frill of any sort, and came up
empty.
On the plus side, it is run by a
charming couple, Pat and Vicki,
who maintain a very warm, inviting
atmosphere. It’s no surprise that the
hotel is a mecca for hikers, since the
Appalachian Trail runs right through
town. The Doyle has carved out a
niche for itself in this remote village,
as it fills a need that is more than
satisfactory to the regular clientele.
A warm bed, a hot shower, and a
delicious, well-prepared meal is
always appreciated by those who
brave the Spartan lifestyle of the
Trail.
We arrived too late for supper, so
we ended up ordering chicken wings
at a nearby pizza parlor. Dave had
been interrupted every
few minutes with text
messages on his phone,
and my keen instincts
told me he would be
making good on a
promised surprise. As we
ate and chatted, I spied
a familiar face coming
through the door. It was
another Dave, whom we
had not seen since our
high school days. He
now lives in Syracuse,
NY, where he owns and
operates an automotive
repair shop. After an
enthusiastic greeting, we
repaired to The Doyle’s
bar for a nightcap.
Soon it was time
to retire, and we were
given the standard guest
instructions, which included an
admonition to make a hasty exit from
the shower in our shared bathroom
in the event that we heard a toilet
flushing. We headed up the three
flights of ornately carved stairs to
our room, passing “hiker boxes” on
every landing, filled with foodstuffs
and other assorted items that hikers
didn’t want to carry and left for the
use of fellow hikers.
The room itself was… intact. It
boasted a great deal of heavy wooden
molding, along with an ancient
steam radiator that appeared to have
outlived its useful life, judging from
the propane heater that had obviously
been installed much more recently,
decidedly as an afterthought. There
was no air conditioning, so we had
to sleep with the windows open.
This proved to be something of
a disadvantage, as The Doyle is
situated in close proximity to both a
very busy railway line and the local
firehouse. The window treatments, a
pair of mismatched dingy bed sheets,
did little to dampen the noise,
especially when the firehouse horn
sounded at 3 AM.
To be fair and accurate, the room
did have cable. No TV, just the cable.
A dangling, tattered telephone line
made it clear that there would be no
wake up call, either. However, this
was indeed a step up from camping,
and we hadn’t come all this way to
watch TV… or sleep through the
night.
Dawn broke mercifully as we met
the Other Dave in the café across
the street for breakfast. Therein we
continued to catch up with each
other, resuming a long chat that
had begun the previous evening
on the hotel’s second floor outdoor
balcony. After a fight over the check,
OldCars
Discover Smith Mountain Lake
Winter 2014
23
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