Curt Chandler, Post-Gazette photos Carolyn Kaharick, left, and Susan Grimme chat while taking a break at the halfway point of their weekly excursion along the Ghost Town Trail. The women regularly drive from Johnstown to bicycle the 12-mile loop from Dilltown to Vintondale and back. "To do 12 miles on a treadmill is boring," Kaharick said. "This is like riding through a calendar photo." Click photo for larger image. Hitting the Trails This is part of a weekly series spotlighting hiking and biking trails in the region. Publication of the series coincides with the Hike for Health project promoted by the state Department of Conservation and Natural Resources, state Department of Health and other agencies to encourage folks to get fit on foot. Related content If you go: Ghost Town Trail More photos from this story Previous stories Find previous installments of this series at our Hitting the Trails Index More pictures from all the stories in this series: Hitting the Trails Photo Journal Next week Quebec Run Wild Area in Fayette County Reminders of a more industrial past abound along the Ghost Town Trail. One of the more unusual is this trio of man-made geysers in Blacklick Creek north of Vintondale. Cindy Gilmore, former postmaster of Dilltown and now an owner of Dillweed Bed & Breakfast, says the geysers were created when the creek bed was drilled to relieve pressure from water bubbling upward from flooded coal mines. Water that had been flooding basements in Vintondale suddenly shot 15 feet into the air when the holes were drilled, she said. The water still bubbles more than a foot above creek level, years later. View a close-up of the geysers. Click photo for larger image.

Bike trails throughout the region juxtapose natural beauty and industrial decay, but few do so as hauntingly as the Ghost Town Trail.

Stop just east of Vintondale, near the trail's midpoint, for example, and look for the two mountain ridges -- one of tree-covered hills in the distance, and a second in the foreground comprised of "boney piles," massive heaps of waste rock from coal mines.

Nearby, note the visual contrast in the water, too. While the rollicking Blacklick Creek commands attention along most of the trail, interpretive signs near Vintondale explain how a series of ponds are treating acidic water that's draining from an abandoned mine.

"You get to see the some of the most beautiful scenery in the U.S., and the worst that man can do to the environment," said Denise Weber, secretary of the Cambria and Indiana Trail Council, which tends the trail.

The ghost towns that give the trail its name are coal communities such as Wehrum and Bracken that once existed along the railroad line here, but disappeared decades ago. The railroad is gone too, but in its place sits a trail that stretches 12 miles east-to-west between Nanty Glo in Cambria County and Dilltown in Indiana County. There's also a four-mile branch to the north.

I made two trips to the trail this summer, the most recent on a gloriously sunny day last week. Although it was a Monday morning, quite a few people were using the trail from its eastern terminus at Nanty Glo, where the leaves on red maple trees were already beginning to turn.

The sights are pleasantly routine for the first two miles of trail -- trees, backyards, the occasional boulder -- but things get interesting just past a road crossing at Twin Rocks. Here, the railroad blasted through a rocky ridge, leaving behind 20-foot walls on both sides -- rocks hang above the trail like the upper decks of a sports stadium.

Signs caution that rocks sometimes fall from this cut, but I'm not sure that caution would be a match for fallen boulders such as the one that sits beside the trail. It's about the size of three or four refrigerators.

For the next two miles or so, the trail grade is steep enough for some pleasant coasting. Rhododendrons flourish in the shade here, as the south branch of the creek noisily washes over rocks to the right.

The trail levels out just before Vintondale, at a spot where some 80 years ago the Vinton Coal Co. colliery stretched for a quarter mile. All that remains are the boney piles of coal refuse. The land is being transformed into the AMD&ART Park, a 10-year old project that both treats acid mine drainage and provides open space for the community.

Ponds here are a passive treatment system that quietly removes iron and aluminum from mine discharges. The 35-acre park will soon include ball fields and a sculpture that invokes the mining history of the region. I dwelled on a series of posted signs that describe trees in the valley, from sweet gum to tulip poplar.

After passing behind the sleepy village of Vintondale (where you'll find a bike shop and a few soda machines) the trail passes beside the Eliza Furnace, one of Pennsylvania's best-preserved hot-blast iron furnaces. The furnace operated from 1846 to 1849 and is worth a stop, especially considering a nearby trail facility that offers bathrooms and a drinking fountain.

(The Eliza Furnace Trail in Pittsburgh is named for a different Eliza Furnace, one that stood at the Jones & Laughlin Works on the north shore of the Monongahela River.)

Just past the furnace, cyclists can either continue another six miles west to Dilltown, or break off to the north on the "Rexis Branch." I took the turn, following the trail along the creek's north branch. It ends unceremoniously about 4 miles away at U.S. 422, but offers some spectacular views of water coursing down a series of natural steps.

On a separate trip in July, I biked the western section of the trail, beginning in Dilltown. I would recommend a start here, where you'll find restrooms, a drinking fountain and the Dillweed Bed & Breakfast and Trailside Shop. Plus, Dilltown is the trail head closest to Pittsburgh, and you'll want to exit your car as soon as possible after driving the dreaded U.S. 22.

This section of trail passes through the Blacklick Valley Natural Area and then beside a field full of boney piles before finally reaching the junction at Vintondale. On the whole, the scenery on the west branch is less spectacular than on the other two, but starting in the west means you'll save the down-hill stretch for last.

While sitting under a shelter near Dilltown in July, I gave up taking notes after caterpillars kept walking across my notebook. A similar thing happened last week when a daddy long-legs spider seemed to make a run at my pen while I sat on a bench creekside, jotting notes about how incidental a journalist's life can seem in the face of natural beauty.

Just as nature is reclaiming this valley from its industrial past, it also sent me clear signals by cycling: Put down the paper and go.