Page 15 - Discover Fall 2022

I love old cars. Part of my interest is rooted runs right through town. The Doyle has carved out a
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
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.
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