Editor’s note: In commemoration of Penn Lines’ 60th anniversary, we sent one of our writers on a 30-plus-hour trip along Route 6, which winds through northern Pennsylvania and is one of the state’s most famous highways. This is what he found.

403 miles. 31 hours. 2 days. 1 road.

Plus, an endless amount of beautiful byways, awe-inspiring scenery and picturesque paths.

There is a reason Pennsylvania’s section of Route 6 has been referred to as one of America’s most scenic drives, and in mid-March, I was determined to experience it. And so, 100 years after the road was first approved by the American Association of State Highway Officials, I hopped in my car, headed west and set my sights on Crawford County.

It was there that I would dip a toe into Ohio before traveling the Commonwealth from west to east via Route 6 only. No Waze. No Google Maps. Not even an atlas. Just some periodic signs that reminded me I wasn’t on Interstate 80, where drivers were presumably having more fun as they gleefully exceeded the speed limit — a practice nearly impossible on some stretches of the rural path I chose (but more on that later).

My intention was to focus on the areas along the road served by some of our rural electric cooperatives — five, in all.

So many questions swirled. How long would it take? I didn’t know. Would I meet any people along the way? Hopefully. How many “Route 6 Bars & Grills” would I pass? My guess was a few dozen. And perhaps most pressing: Why did my car’s dashboard light up like the Fourth of July after I turned the key at the easternmost tip of Ohio?

DAY 1

It was a few minutes before 9 a.m., the morning after St. Patrick’s Day. While some Pennsylvanians might have been shaking off the fog of the green beer they had consumed the night before, I was doing my best to shake off the fear of being stranded somewhere along the Commonwealth’s most famous road.

“Need inspection,” my dashboard read as colors I didn’t know existed popped up beside the command. I paused. I was about to begin a cross-state journey and couldn’t comprehend my vehicle’s issue; so, like any other red-blooded adult, I ignored the message, hoped for the best and set off for my first stop along Route 6: The Pymatuning Spillway.

Near Linesville, about a mile or two off Route 6 proper and only a handful of miles into Pennsylvania from Ohio, the spillway sits in territory served by Northwestern Rural Electric Cooperative (REC), which is based in Cambridge Springs, Crawford County. The spillway is also a quirky little place “where the ducks walk on fish,” says Amber Till, the co-op’s director of communications.

To be fair, she wasn’t wrong — there are so many carp at the site, the ducks can literally walk on them. On my visit, I didn’t catch this, but there were ducks aplenty, and they were happy to converse despite temperatures being cold enough to make me want to migrate South. All frigid realities aside, the scene was breathtaking and peaceful, serene, and truly a perfect way to begin this kind of trip.

Naturally, it was all downhill from there.

Amber also suggested I try Twin Pies, which looked like a lovely bakery in downtown Linesville. The problem? Upon arrival, I was greeted by an ominous sign: “Closed for the Season.”

Oh. OK.
 

My next stop was the PennDOT Road Sign Sculpture Garden in Meadville. The photos I found online looked neat — tons of odd road signs all coming together to form an intriguing display of junkyard art. The problem? I couldn’t figure out how to access it.

So, after driving past it three or four times, I set off to find the Rural Electrification historical marker, a piece of co-op history slightly off Route 6, east of state Route 86. The marker was about as imperative a stop as any on the trip because it honors Northwestern REC. The cooperative is not only celebrating its 90th anniversary this year, but it was also Pennsylvania’s very first rural electric cooperative.

Before long, it was time for lunch. Enter the Venango Valley Inn, which is along Route 6 in Venango. Legend has it that at one point, George Washington traveled through the area and changed a local river named “Wenango,” to “French Creek.”

Steeped in history, the restaurant also serves as a de facto museum that patrons can explore before or after their meals. Framed photos depicting century-old scenes, as well as entire rooms dedicated to recreating the feel of the 1800s sit right down the hall from the main dining area.

Me? I just wanted a steak salad and some truffle fries. And Old Hickory as my witness, those truffle fries were worth every mile I traveled to that point.

Back on the road, my hope was to stop at the Union City Historical Museum … until I was met with those magical words again — no, not “Need inspection.” Instead, I found another “Closed for the Season” sign.

It wasn’t until I made it to Corry that things finally — perhaps mercifully — started to look up.

A true artist

Meet Scott Dow. He is, in his purest form, an artist. He’s been a furniture designer, a painter, and for at least the last 16 years, a wood carver. Scott has a gallery right on Route 6 in Corry and, much to my surprise and delight, he has no problem welcoming strangers who pull into his parking lot with a smile on a random Wednesday afternoon.

“It gets lonely out here,” he tells me with a grin. “So, come on in. I’ll show you what I’m working on.”

What was he working on? Wildly elaborate designs woven into tables and other pieces of wood. Snakes. Skulls. You name it. His most high-profile customer is one of the most listened-to podcasters in the world, Joe Rogan, for whom he’s crafted three signature pieces. It took Scott more than 15 years to start making money from his art, but now that he’s reached that point, he’s determined to never betray his artistic passion.
 

“I work six days a week here,” he says, “even if my wife thinks it’s seven. I just love being in here and creating.”

After we said our pleasantries and I bid him adieu, it was off to the portion of Route 6 served by Warren Electric Cooperative. Among the stops directly along the route were the Warren County Fairgrounds and the Warren County Visitors Center. Maybe most important for my purposes, it’s also home to the first 100-mile marker of the route.

Little did I know that on Day 2, I’d go on to see three more of those.

DAY 2

Here’s the thing about driving the duration of Route 6: It’s a grind. And the truth is that to even have a shot at doing it in some enjoyable, family-friendly manner, you need to have somewhat of a perfect storm come together. You need ample time. Also, it’s wise to visit during a weather-friendly time of year. You must be nimble, too, and shouldn’t be in a hurry.

But we have a magazine to put out, darn it, so it wasn’t like I could spend weeks out there doing this thing.

As a result, Day 2 started early. My first stop was near Mount Jewett to see the Kinzua Bridge, a much-photographed railroad viaduct, half of which was wiped out by a tornado in 2003. When it was constructed in 1882, the bridge was one of the tallest in the world. Today, the site features the dramatic Kinzua Skywalk, which is closed until 2027 for renovations. The visitor center, trails and picnic areas at Kinzua Bridge State Park, however, remain open to visitors.

After a pitstop there, I drove through many more scenic areas. Potter, Tioga and Bradford counties — various parts of which are covered by Claverack REC, Sullivan County REC and Tri-County REC — have much to offer.

I stopped by the Coudersport Arboretum, a community park that some have called a “serene journey through time.” The scenic views in Galeton, known for its booming 19th-century lumber industry, were so gorgeous that I found it imperative to park the car and snap a few photos. My dashboard was still a rainbow of problems, but thankfully that didn’t impede my ability to drive the rest of the route.

The amount of fun to be had and things to be done on Route 6 felt infinite as I whisked deeper into the wilderness. I made note of when I passed the 200-mile marker on Day 2: It was noon.

“OK,” I thought. “I think I can do this. It’s only 200 more miles to the end of the road, and it’s also only noon. I’ll stop for lunch and I’ll never look back.”

Right.

The lunch in that fail-safe plan happened at the Wellsboro Diner, which first opened its doors in 1939 as Schanacker’s Diner and looks as though it hasn’t changed a bit in almost 90 years of existence.

Like any traditional diner, it had the counter service and the pies and the milkshakes and the booths and the hamburgers and, of course, the people. A woman named Kathy, a patron at the counter with a plate full of breakfast, was the star of the show. She talked so much and so often to so many people that the cook had to remind her that her food was getting cold — twice.

“None of those cookies are any good,” she deadpans to me as I’m ready to leave and wonder aloud if I should try one of the restaurant’s giant sweets.

“I’m joking,” she clarifies with a laugh, and it almost feels like we should hug before I step out the door.

But in fact, we do not. I’m on a mission now. There is no time for hugs for my focus is squarely on tackling the hardest stretch yet.
 

Completing the route

The act of driving on Route 6 deserves its own story. Shoot, its own magazine. It’s impossible to find a rhythm. One minute, you are stuck in a line of cars because the person at the front is going 30 mph in a 55 mph zone. The next, a truck runs up and passes you on a double-lined section of the road that winds like a phantom thread.

This proved to be an issue as I encountered the final portion of Route 6. Two hundred miles, in theory, could be driven in three-and-a-half hours. It was only 1:15 p.m. when I left Wellsboro. It was 5:56 p.m. when I crossed the Delaware River and arrived in Port Jervis, N.Y., marking the end of my journey.

One day, I promised myself, I’ll return to these places — I have to, right? There’s traveling Route 6, and then there’s traveling Route 6. If nothing else, I learned the latter, which requires time, is the far better option.

Still, as I found a hotel — and an absolutely excellent gas-station dinner at a place called Dandy’s in Towanda — I knew there was one thing left for me to experience in the morning.

DAY 3

On my way home, I revisited Mansfield to catch up with Casey Wood, who handles communications for two co-ops, Claverack REC and Tri-County REC, and who showed me around. One of Mansfield’s claims to fame is that it hosted the first-ever nighttime football game in 1892 at Smythe Park.

That was a small but powerful moment in history, and Melissa Underwood, executive director of the Mansfield Chamber of Commerce, knows full well how much rural electrification has meant to her community. Her father, Randy Colton, is a Tri-County REC member.

“My dad is very hard to please,” Underwood says between serving customers at Night and Day Coffee Café in Mansfield. “But a Tri-County employee reached out to him and explained the work they had to do around his house. Remember: My dad is not someone who really likes people.

“But he called me to express how appreciative he was that the employee came out and explained things to him,” she adds, smiling. “There was a personal touch to it that was such a big deal to my dad. He said, ‘They take care of you.’ ”

Hearing these words made me understand the allure of Route 6 beyond its scenery. There’s a camaraderie among all the small towns and big counties that line up along it. The road’s own “personal touch” is found in its diners, trails, watering holes, grocery stores and gas stations. It’s a geographical gateway to a world of charm, and its people are its soul.

I’m reminded of this when I speak with Steve McCloskey, the retired sports information director for Commonwealth University – Mansfield, who is also known as “Mr. Mansfield” around town.

“It’s not sexy,” he says about Mansfield, “but the people who came from here have gone on to do some incredible things. Just think: They started here.” They include Tom McMillen, a former NBA star, Rhodes Scholar, and U.S. congressman; Herb Goodall, a professional baseball player; and Theodore F. Randolph, who became the 22nd governor of New Jersey and a U.S. senator.

Then, it hits me: They also started along the long and winding road that is Route 6 — 403 miles of beautiful byways, awe-inspiring scenery and picturesque paths.

I smile.

“Thank you for that,” I say to McCloskey before heading back down the road.

“You’re welcome,” he responds. “But don’t forget: It’s true.”