Driving across Pennsylvania usually means two things: orange construction barrels and the endless, rolling monotony of the PA Turnpike. But out in the woods of Bedford and Fulton counties, there is a stretch of road that feels like it belongs in a post-apocalyptic movie. Most people flying toward Pittsburgh or Philly at 70 miles per hour have no idea they are passing right by a 13-mile ghost road. The PA turnpike tunnels abandoned decades ago—specifically Sideling Hill and Rays Hill—aren't just old concrete tubes; they are relics of a time when the "World's Greatest Highway" wasn't actually big enough to handle the world’s traffic.
It’s weirdly quiet out there.
When you stand at the mouth of the Sideling Hill Tunnel, the first thing you notice is the temperature drop. Even on a humid July afternoon, the air bleeding out of that hole in the mountain is freezing. It smells like wet limestone and old exhaust. This isn't a manicured tourist trap with a gift shop and a paved parking lot. It’s raw. It’s crumbling. And honestly, it’s one of the coolest things you can do in the state if you're into urban exploration or cycling.
The Bottleneck That Created a Ghost Road
To understand why these massive structures were just left to rot, you have to look back at the 1940s. When the Pennsylvania Turnpike first opened, it was a marvel. It was the first long-distance, limited-access highway in the U.S. It was the future. But there was a massive design flaw that engineers didn't fully account for: the tunnels.
The highway was four lanes wide (two in each direction), but the tunnels were only two lanes. Total.
Imagine thousands of cars cruising at high speeds only to hit a literal hole in a mountain where everything had to merge into a single lane. By the late 1950s and early 60s, the "Tunnel Monster" was a real thing. During holiday weekends, traffic jams would stretch for five miles or more outside the Sideling Hill, Ray's Hill, Laurel Hill, and Allegheny Mountain tunnels. Drivers were losing their minds. The Turnpike Commission had a choice: they could either dig a second "twin" tunnel next to the existing ones, or they could just bypass the mountain altogether.
For the Laurel Hill, Rays Hill, and Sideling Hill sections, they chose the bypass.
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In 1968, they simply shifted the road. They built a massive new cut through the mountain, paved over the new path, and just... walked away from the old one. They left the pavement. They left the tunnels. They even left some of the signage for a while. It became the "Abandoned Pennsylvania Turnpike," a 13-mile stretch of four-lane highway that leads to nowhere.
Sideling Hill and Rays Hill: What’s Left?
If you decide to go, you’re basically looking for the "Pike2Bike" trail. It’s a 13-mile stretch of asphalt that has been reclaimed by weeds, moss, and cracks.
The Sideling Hill Tunnel is the big one. It’s 6,782 feet long. That’s well over a mile of absolute darkness. If you walk into the center of it without a high-powered flashlight, you will experience a level of sensory deprivation that is genuinely unsettling. You can’t see your hand in front of your face. You hear water dripping from the ceiling—plink, plink, plink—and every footstep echoes like a gunshot.
The walls are covered in decades of graffiti. Some of it is artistic, most of it is just "I was here" scribbles, but it adds to the eerie, lived-in feel of the place. You’ll see the old ventilation fans—massive, rusted iron structures that used to keep the air breathable when thousands of leaded-gasoline engines were pumping fumes into the mountain. Now, they just hang there, silent.
Rays Hill Tunnel is shorter, about 3,532 feet. It’s a bit easier to navigate because you can see the "light at the end of the tunnel" almost as soon as you enter. But it feels more claustrophobic. The bypass at Rays Hill was a massive engineering feat, requiring the removal of millions of tons of earth to create a "cut" so the highway could go over the mountain instead of through it.
Why This Place Still Exists
You’d think the state would have torn it down or blocked it off, right?
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Well, it’s complicated. For a long time, the PA turnpike tunnels abandoned in 1968 were used by the Turnpike Commission to test things. They used the tunnels to test light fixtures, pavement durability, and even vehicle emissions. It was a giant, outdoor laboratory. Rumor has it that various government agencies used it for training exercises, too.
In the early 2000s, the property was sold to the Southern Alleghenies Conservancy for a symbolic $1. The goal was to turn it into a formal bicycle trail. That’s why you can go there today. It’s technically part of a trail system, though "trail" is a generous term for a crumbling 1960s highway.
The Reality of Visiting Today
Don't expect a smooth ride. The asphalt is over 50 years old. Tree roots have punched through the lanes. In the winter, massive ice curtains—sometimes three feet thick—form at the tunnel entrances. It’s beautiful, but it’s dangerous.
You’ll see hikers, cyclists, and the occasional photographer. Most people park at the trailhead near Breezewood (the "Town of Motels") or at the other end near Waterfall, PA.
A few things you absolutely need to know:
- Lights. Your phone flashlight is a joke. It will be swallowed by the darkness in ten feet. You need a dedicated, high-lumen tactical flashlight or a serious bike light.
- Temperature. Even if it’s 90 degrees outside, it’s 50-55 degrees in the tunnel. Bring a hoodie. Seriously.
- The "Ground." The tunnels are full of debris. There are chunks of concrete that have fallen from the ceiling over the years. Watch your step.
- Cell Service. Forget it. You’re inside a mountain in rural Pennsylvania.
It’s worth noting that these tunnels aren't the only ones. Laurel Hill was also abandoned, but it’s currently owned by a private racing team (Chip Ganassi Racing) and used as a high-speed aerodynamic testing facility. You can’t get into that one. It’s top-secret, high-tech stuff. But Sideling and Rays Hill? They belong to the public and the ghosts of travelers past.
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The Cultural Footprint
This place has a weird pull on the imagination. It was used as a filming location for the 2009 movie The Road, starring Viggo Mortensen. If you’ve seen the film, you know it’s about as bleak as it gets. The abandoned turnpike was the perfect stand-in for a world that had ended.
But it’s not all doom and gloom. There’s something strangely peaceful about it. Nature is slowly winning. You see deer crossing the old westbound lanes. You see hawks nesting in the old toll booth areas (though the booths are long gone). It’s a reminder that even the most massive human achievements are temporary.
How to Get There and What to Do
If you're planning a trip, set your GPS for the "Abandoned PA Turnpike Trailhead" in Breezewood. You’ll park in a small gravel lot and head past a gate.
- Start at the Breezewood end. This gives you the quickest access to the Rays Hill Tunnel. It’s a shorter walk or ride if you’re pressed for time.
- Bring a Mountain Bike. A road bike with skinny tires will get shredded by the potholes and debris. You want something with some meat on the tires.
- Respect the silence. One of the best parts of the tunnels is the acoustics. If you go on a weekday when there aren't many people, the silence is heavy. It's rare to find that kind of stillness anymore.
- Check the weather. If there has been heavy rain, the tunnels can have significant standing water. You don't want to be biking through mystery puddles in pitch blackness.
The PA turnpike tunnels abandoned in 1968 represent a specific era of American growth—the "bigger is better" mindset that eventually hit a literal wall. Seeing them in person is a far more visceral experience than reading about them in a history book. It’s a weird, cold, dark, and utterly fascinating piece of Pennsylvania history that’s just sitting there, waiting for the mountains to eventually reclaim it entirely.
Pack a heavy coat, check your batteries twice, and don't go alone. The tunnels are long, and the dark is very, very deep.