Chad Dean Hikes Across Caroline County

Readers may be familiar with the creative non-fiction book A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson that chronicles the aging travel writer’s abortive attempt to complete all 2,200 or so miles of the Appalachian Trail. Robert Redford and Nick Nolte subsequently starred in the film version, though they were depicted as much older than Bryson and his companion Stephen Katz were at the time. With these works of art fresh on my mind and with total disregard for my deteriorating forty-something body, an idea for a romanticized quest dawned on me: I should walk across Caroline County. So I did. This is my story, gonzo journalism style.

To my knowledge, no county native has ever completed or even attempted the journey and for that matter probably never even contemplated such a quixotic endeavor. None of the fanfare, laurels, and global publicity — not to mention free dinners for life at local restaurants — that undoubtedly would accompany the feat could be counted as motivation, however. To be sure, the role of walking personality is a job that pays zero dollars. Little Enos Burdette in Smokey and the Bandit put it more bluntly: “A legend and an out-of-work bum look a lot alike.” Ouch. Nevertheless, I persisted across Caroline County.

So why did I embark on a seventeen-mile easterly jaunt from Tuckahoe State Park [or Bradleysburg, as the vicinity was originally known] to Hickman? For starters, if you have read my other Caroline Review think pieces, you know I am drawn to travel checklists like a moth to a flame. Google “moth memes” for further information; you will be greatly entertained. Anyhow, I have previously submitted articles about topics such as visiting national parks, purposefully driving tiered highway systems, and completing treks through all the counties in each state among other largely impractical yet satisfying pursuits. One column in particular was dedicated to the existence and promotion of the American Discovery Trail, by which users can hike from one coast to the other — that is to say, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean or vice versa. Delaware to California. California to Delaware. Through Maryland. Including Caroline County. Apparently Delaware and Caroline are nationally significant after all — though neither has yet to produce a legitimate president. Maybe one day.

The American Discovery Trail undeniably needs to become locally significant, marketed as a marquee attraction of Caroline County. Cape Henlopen State Park and the town of Lewes, Delaware, benefit economically from the number of ADT hikers who begin or end their walks there. Multiple hotels, restaurants, convenience stores, and other shops are well known in that area for being welcoming to and patronized by hikers and their families. Park rangers distribute brochures to direct them to points of interest on the route. The government entities who erect road signs in Delaware have even affixed turn-by-turn arrows with the American Discovery Trail logo to help along the way. I could continue but I want my usual naysayers to experience this for themselves, as I am not pulling any of these assertions out of thin air.

On the Maryland side of the state border, however, ADT users fall off a metaphorical cliff. Once in Caroline County by way of Hickman, there is nothing. No assistance whatsoever. No trail markers, not even improvised ones. There’s a primitive shelter at the border with Queen Anne’s County privately built as an Eagle Scout project. That’s it. So my journey was partly to pinpoint where and how the American Discovery Trail could, with the endorsement of community stakeholders, increase public awareness in our area. This advocacy is apparently a one-man crusade: even though the trail goes directly past the building that houses the county tourism office, multiple museums, town halls, visitor kiosks, shopping districts, and more, the only sustained voice to acknowledge an otherwise nationally-esteemed thoroughfare bisects Caroline County is yours truly. We have a valuable resource here and it should be promoted for the benefit of all; thanks for coming to my TED Talk.I don’t want the publicity — as an issue advocate who has also watched Stroker Ace, I am merely the messenger. Upon further reflection, however, maybe there is some self-serving motivation behind walking those seventeen miles. The likely assumption, based on my local media footprint, nightly meeting attendance, and instigatory whispers carelessly relayed to me, is that I am everywhere all the time because I intend to run for office in 2022. Nope. Not going to happen. You have my word [and an unexpected George Michael reference. Wham!] While I would love to see an actual Caroline Countian (not a Cross Keys resident, ahem) occupy the governor’s mansion in Annapolis, or follow in the footsteps of Robert P. Dean as state senator or my namesake grandfather as a multi-term county commissioner — who by the way gave this area considerable local autonomy through the adoption of Code Home Rule and preserved our “Green Garden” landscape by initiating the Maryland Agricultural Land Preservation Program here — I am not the Maryland version of Florida politician Lawton Chiles, who walked 1000 miles across his state while campaigning (successfully, I might add) for U.S. Senate in 1970. I am an unaffiliated voter if you were wondering and a “little-l libertarian” if you actually had to ask.

Shockingly, everything I’ve done as it relates to historiography and informal lobbying over the years here has been for my personal fulfillment and your enjoyment. So, local cynics, here is your anti-climactic albeit predictable denouement as I wallow in McClellanesque self-restraint: walking is good exercise for both the body and the brain. My fitbit is pleased with the steps I have taken on the ADT and the endorphins released from being active out in nature get my mind right. This method works whenever life deals me a miserable hand. Try it sometime; just make sure you don’t get run over and don’t step in anything undesirable on the shoulder of a gravel road whilst on your own cathartic journey through the weeds and wildflowers of Caroline County.

With all of that off my chest and on the record, let’s review the route I took as well as the flow of consciousness musings generated along the trail:

•  I started literally on the Crouse Mill Pond bridge at Tuckahoe State Park. Visiting is always a bittersweet experience for me, as our family used to own and farm several significant parcels here until the land was eminent domained to house a state correctional facility which did not materialize and then the park which of course ultimately did. When I was a boy we would ride our bikes there unaccompanied by adults and our cattle dogs would follow. No proto-Karens said a word and no one with two or four legs caused anyone to bat an eye. Today, I shake my head whenever I pass the “lake” sign erected by the Department of Natural Resources because every single native worth their weight in grain calls this body of water the Mill Pond due to the adjacent existence of Crouse Mill over a century ago. I once testified against that dubious wording at a public DNR hearing; the panel scoffed at the suggestion and rudely sent me away, also disregarding a request to add interpretive historical markers on the grounds. Huzzah, bureaucracy. Huzzah, governance from afar.
• I’ll get off my soapbox for now and point out something you may have never noticed on Crouse Mill Road heading towards Ridgely. On the right hand side of the road sits a family cemetery known as Howard’s Hope with grave markers dating back to at least 1869. Though it is gated and obscured by vegetation, there is a clearly visible wooden cross and some seating, believe it or not, so visitors may respectfully pause and reflect on over a dozen grave markers. The burial site predates the founding of Ridgely; locals still call the vicinity Jumptown, as it was first known.

• Once in Ridgely, the trail steers hikers to Railroad Memorial Park. Visitors, provided they are passing through when the campus buildings are open, may tour the restored 1892 train station and a 1937 telephone exchange maintained by the local historical society. While the station was witness to the bustling golden age of Ridgely about a century ago when strawberries were shipped in refrigerated cars throughout the Eastern Seaboard, I maintain a special dedication to the latter structure. Technological advances led to the phasing out of the original telephone operator protocols, so the building was moved down the road from our farm to be used for a time as a church and schoolhouse. I passed it many times on my bike, on a tractor, or in a farm truck as it aged, so I am glad to see that it was rescued and repurposed.

•  What has long been accepted as the widest main street in Maryland escorts trail users out of town and towards Denton. I am not nearly as nostalgic about Central Avenue considering its current lethargic condition. People a generation older than me can name a plethora of iconic businesses that graced the center of Ridgely decades ago, but my memory only goes as far back as the 1980s — and modern Chad sees mostly empty or underutilized and dilapidating spaces. Walking by the storefronts between Railroad and First Street stirred pleasant images of Young’s Video [I still remember our member number as well as the excitement of when it was my turn to rent the latest WrestleMania VHS tape], a pet store [bought a parakeet there], a tanning salon, and Sam’s Pizza among other random commercial ventures, as well as the longtime location of the town post office, bank, and the United Methodist Church that features a stained glass window memorializing five of my relatives [my great-grandfather was pastor there during the 1920s]. Those glory days are long gone despite the fact that the population of “Dream City” is approximately double what it was when I was a child; I might enjoy explaining the perceived reasons for the decline but personal decorum prohibits it here.

• The next landmark along the Caroline section of the ADT takes some time to appear on the horizon. Once hikers complete the current Choptank River bridge, a more modern span replacing one that infamously collapsed as busses and carpooling teachers crossed in 1976, nearly giving us our own version of the Mothman saga, foot traffic is directed down to the Wharves of Choptank Visitor and Heritage Center. While the town of Denton certainly meant well when the facility opened, it remains rather sparse in terms of actual heritage-based content. It is only a few years old, so in the future I hope there is far more when it comes to local history brochures, artifacts of archaeological significance from centuries of documented Caroline settlements, other interpretative materials or panels that promote our unique way of life, and the merchandising of branded souvenirs or locally-made products on display. One suggestion I have proffered is to house a replica of a Mason-Dixon Line marker as is done at a parallel visitor center on the Maryland-Pennsylvania border outside of Gettysburg. Our entire eastern boundary with Delaware is the result of the survey work of the two men immortalized by the line bearing their name; an authentic but craggy crownstone is still standing and visible in Marydel. We so obviously should use this asset to our advantage and the wharf building is an ideal place to do so.

•  Traveling up Market Street, visitors will encounter a town center full of history. The current courthouse building, specifically the front facade, dates back only to 1966 but the rear, if one circles the green, is significantly older. That part was constructed in 1895, replacing the 1797 original. When completing that same lap, hikers will also capture in their sightlines the Museum of Rural Life, a display noting the location of a speech President Roosevelt gave to a curious but skeptical crowd in 1938, a subtle tribute to Caroline County Hall of Fame first ballot inductee Max Chambers [if such a shrine existed], an information kiosk, and the current Denton Town Hall. National Park Service passport enthusiasts often visit the municipal office to obtain Underground Railroad rubber stamp impressions, another untapped tourism market yet to be acknowledged and exploited for revenue. While tossing out suggestions, I would like to add that the kiosk itself is decades and decades old; it should have its own descriptive signage as well as much more content that promotes all Caroline County has to offer instead of mostly outdated, misspelled, and weathered handbills made using a home printer. First impressions are everything, especially in the competitive world of tourist dollars

• It saddens me as a historian and as a county native with verified Mid-Shore ancestry dating back to 1634 (we landed at Jamestown, Virginia, in 1609, by the way) that more is not done to showcase what the entire nation should instantly recall about us any time our place names and notables are mentioned. Why isn’t more accomplished or at least attempted despite a surplus of source material and ideas offered by myself and myriad other would-be volunteers? I am not going to sully the pages of the Caroline Review with speculation or gossip, but I will say the American Discovery Trail passes directly in front of the tourism office as the route follows Legion Road, yet the ADT has never once been mentioned in any official county literature, maps, or other similar opportunities despite polite repeated requests from multiple trail enthusiasts. Go figure. If readers care about our history and heritage whatsoever, I urge all relevant stakeholders in the county government and various historical organizations be petitioned so that more projects can be initiated and sustained. We should not be among the poorest and most isolated counties in the state: there is ample room for growth or at the very least a tangible return on the about $90,000 in local tax money the tourism office is annually allocated by our commissioners. I’ve done more for years — for free — as have plenty others.

• Stepping down from my soapbox once again, I thoroughly enjoyed walking through Andersontown and Hobbs en route to the Delaware line. For whatever reason, when we went to the beach as children, my father drove this way in our 1973 Chevrolet Caprice convertible. We always looked forward to harassing each other over mini golf, go carts, and boardwalk standards such as the ball-rolling horse race game [featuring the entrance music of the NWA tag team known as the Midnight Express] and Bop the Beaver, which I did not learn until adulthood everyone else knows it as Whack-a-Mole. No comment. What I would like to elaborate upon, however, is a quasi-incident witnessed while completing a stretch along Hobbs Road. I was wearing a shirt my wife gave me for Fathers Day that read “Best Beagle Dad Ever” and so I can’t imagine I looked imposing to anyone as I walked; regardless, at least one vehicle that approached in my direction slowed to cast a suspicious eye before swerving to create a wide and overly-exaggerated berth around me as if they had just encountered a serial killer stalking unsuspecting prey in the hinterlands of the hinterlands that are Caroline County. Fortunately, neither they nor I ended up in the nearby Ames United Methodist Church cemetery — which I found intriguing considering the at least one dozen markers denoting people with the last name of Hobbs. It’s that type of hyperlocal history one does not notice or appreciate when passing through at 55 mph or more.

• The Maryland section of the American Discovery Trail ends in the vicinity of Hickman. Hikers have two options for completion, though I did them both for the sake of this article and bonus opportunities for discovery. First, a regret: there is an urban legend [or is it a rural legend?] that a headless horseman of sorts haunts the area — I looked but did not find him or him me. What I did find, however, is a crossroads known as Five Points. Long before we could drive, middle schoolers overheard stories about parties consistent with 1980s hair band music videos happening there. Sadly no action was observed on the Saturday morning I passed through, nor evidence of a decadent Friday evening noted, but the thought of these likely embellished if not totally mythical parties of yore nonetheless gave me a chuckle and inspired me to switch on my Spotify app playlist to some Mötley Crüe to accompany me first to the Delaware sign to take a selfie and then back to the dirt road portion of Hobbs Road indicated as the final Maryland waypoint on the official trail map. Think I am neurotic or at least alone in my quest? I waited behind three other groups who had serendipitously stopped to take the same pictures I was at the state line. Ignore the benefits of the American Discovery Trail at your own peril, Caroline powers that be.

I have walked other sections of the American Discovery Trail: along the Delaware coast, on the western shore of Maryland, in West Virginia, and elsewhere. With that said, completing the Caroline County portion allowed me to enjoy a special sense of accomplishment known only to other acutely competitive natives. My sincere hope moving forward is that locals will now try to retrace these steps, or better yet, attempt a north-to-south crossing. Templeville to Reliance by car is over 40 miles, so prepare cautiously and accordingly for a walk of that magnitude. Dedicate your odyssey to the observance of the 250th anniversary of the founding of our county, which comes around in 2023. Hopefully yours will not be the only celebration scheduled; the time to start planning a calendar of events is now.

Chad Dean has many ideas for the county to formally and officially celebrate its 250th anniversary should the stars align, but in the meantime his next expedition to highlight Caroline history is to take a boat up the navigable length of both the Choptank River and Tuckahoe Creek in search of lost, hidden, or forgotten sites of interest.

A modest tribute to civic all-star Max Chambers adorns the courthouse green in Denton.