Morrow, Ohio, is this quaint small town with some historical character. It was laid out in 1845 and named after Ohio’s ninth governor, Jeremiah Morrow. The town was created when the Little Miami Railroad laid enough track alongside the Little Miami River to reach this spot.
Today, US 22/Ohio SR 3 passes through the town and intersects with Ohio SR 123. What was originally the rail line is now the Little Miami Recreation Trail, which starts near Cincinnati and ends in Springfield–74 miles of paved Rails to Trails.
The Morrow Depot, built circa 1852.
I have always found this piece of Morrow fascinating. Although the depot is in very good shape, it does not appear to be used on a regular basis. It has aged well since being built about 1852. Originally, there were two rail lines meeting at this spot. The Little Miami Railroad on one side, and the Pennsylvania Line on the other, giving the building its odd shape. Careful observation reveals the Pennsylvania Line route including abutments for brides that no longer exist–something easily discovered while motorcycling near and around Morrow.
Speaking of motorcycling, the depot is a great place for a photo op. And across the street is Miranda’s Ice Cream Shop. That’s worth a stop too.
I have been very fortunate over my 57 years of motorcycling to never have a flat tire while traveling. All my previous flats were discovered in my garage. But, this flat happened 35 miles from home while returning from a Kentucky campout with friends.
Packed and ready to head home. Just put on the panniers.
I was monitoring my fuel. The computer indicated I had 90 miles before requiring fuel, and I was about 60 miles from home. As I traveled north, I decided there was no need to push it, and I pulled into a Kroger fuel station in Mount Orab, Ohio. I was tired and ready to be home.
Fueled up, I lifted the bike off the kickstand and fired it up. Rolling, the bike just felt different. Was it me, tired, or the bike. I looked at the front wheel, and kept going pulling into traffic. Now, I’m in traffic, and I realize it is the bike–most likely a flat, and safety is about 300 yards away. I cross the overpass of Ohio Route 32, see a Tire Discounters store and plenty of parking lot next to it. Stop. Get off the bike. Check the tires, and the rear is definitely flat. Thank god I have my tire repair kit with me.
That is one long screw. Unfortunately, I am not!
I empty the tire repair kit onto the ground, and commence to removing the screw and plugging the tire with one of those “mushroom” type pieces. I have used them before, and they work perfectly. Next, plug in the portable air compressor and air up. Unfortunately, this compressor, which has never been used before, failed to inflate. It failed to even start. *(^$(^))^%$%$&$@***
You get the picture. But, wait! I pulled into this parking lot just in case because right next door is the tire store, and they are busy putting new tires on cars. I walk over, and explain my predicament. Will they air me up? “Yes.” So, I walk back to the bike, start it up and gently paddle-walk it next door where I nearly drop the bike. I am so tired, I forgot to put the kickstand down. It was a muscular save, and I haven’t got much of that at age 72.
“How much air?” “41 psi, please.” Filled up, and very thankful. No funds exchanged hands, even though it was offered.
Off I went. Headed home for the final 35 miles. Full tank, and patched tire.
Frankly, even though I had a flat tire on the road, I felt lucky. I was prepared, and saw the possibility of a Plan B. What I should have done was get off the bike back at the gas station, discover the flat right there, and roll it over to the air hose. But, lesson learned, and I am very thankful.
A new air compressor (different brand) was ordered the next day.
Be well. Ride safe. See you on the highway or on the side of the road.
Despite the lovely weather, the forecast for the weekend and beyond was rain, rain and more rain. If I was going to get in a ride, it was Thursday. So, I rolled the Moto Guzzi V7 out of the garage, threw a leg over, fired it up and headed out of the neighborhood.
Wandering the backroads, I headed towards Loveland, OH, a lovely small town with lots going on.
Looking for a photo-op, I decided to stop at the Loveland Veterans’ Memorial, near the Little Miami River.
Having paid my respects, I turned towards home on familiar roads. The Guzzi hummed along like a faithful steed.
With every river that runs through it, there is a river that runs to it—a merging of waters, a confluence of streams. Locally, there is a stream called Todd Fork that meets the Little Miami River in SW Ohio. Morrow, Ohio, to be exact.
On previous occasions, I have seen kids recreating at this spot along the shoreline. Kayaks and canoes are launched here also. During my brief stop, several vehicles slowed or stopped to check the quality and level of the rivers, as I did.
What is it about water—rivers or lakes—that brings us to the water’s edge? Is there something spiritual or soul refreshing? Perhaps there is something intuitive in the hymn, “Shall we gather at the river?” I think so.
What a great day for a ride. Sunny and in the lower 50s, I suited up and rolled my 2020 Moto Guzzi V7iii Rough out of the garage. Kissed my wife and reassured her I would ride safe.
I rolled out of the neighborhood and turned east along familiar roads. I always wanted to stop at the bridge over Todd’s Fork, but always seemed to be going in the other direction. Not today. This stream has some good fishing, but parking is not so easy to find.
Further down the road, and on Ohio SR 350, I stopped for a photo at Fort Ancient. This Hopewell Mound Community is one of the sites in Ohio that is under application as a UNESCO World Heritage site.
Further on SR 350, where the highway crosses the Little Miami River, a popular river access site enables canoers and kayakers to enter the river. Morgan’s Canoe, sits next to this state access site, and offers canoes and kayaks for rent giving you a lazy meander down the river.
Crossing the river and winding up to the top of the bluff, I headed home to get ready for the opening day for baseball, Cincinnati Reds vs. Pittsburgh Pirates. It has always been a big rivalry. Go Reds.
Morrow, Ohio, is this quaint small town with some historical character. It was laid out in 1845 and named after Ohio’s ninth governor, Jeremiah Morrow. The town was created when the Little Miami Railroad laid enough track alongside the Little Miami River to reach this spot.
