The Right Way, the Wrong Way, and the Pequea: The Great Champagne Spill of 1985

There’s a saying down in the southern end of Lancaster County. There’s the right way, the wrong way, and the Pequea. If you’re not from around there, that might not mean much—but once you’ve heard the tale of the 1985 train derailment that turned the Susquehanna into a sparkling river of bubbly, you’ll understand it just fine.

A River Runs Fizz

In the dark, early hours of October 23, 1985, the peace along the river near Pequea was shattered by a thunderous metallic screech. A Conrail freight train, rumbling south from Harrisburg toward Baltimore along the Port Road rail line, ran into a bit of trouble about a mile south of town. Fourteen cars jumped the tracks in spectacular fashion, tossing debris, trailers, and cargo down the embankment like toys dropped from a moving wagon.

Among the wreckage were three piggyback trailers perched atop flatbed cars. One of them—a rather unlucky box on wheels—contained hundreds of cases of Cribari Extra Dry California champagne and orange-flavored sparkling wine. The crash cracked the trailer open like a shaken bottle, sending cases of bubbly cartwheeling down the hillside and into the Susquehanna River.

By sunrise, the river was littered with champagne bottles. From the Lancaster County shoreline, you could spot the word “CHAMPAGNE” floating proudly on soggy cardboard as shattered glass shimmered beneath the surface. Hundreds of fifth-sized bottles bobbed in the current or lay glinting beside their soggy boxes.

It was, in every sense, the most elegant derailment in Pequea’s history.

No One Was Hurt—Unless You Count the Champagne

Miraculously, no one was injured in the wreck. The derailment affected the last 14 cars of a 74-car train. After the accident, crews uncoupled the derailed section, allowing the remaining cars to continue their journey south to Maryland, leaving behind a trail of twisted steel, broken track, and an unexpected champagne offering to the Susquehanna.

Conrail dispatched a lone policeman to the scene around 5 a.m., but it would be hours before work crews and engineers showed up to begin the cleanup. In the meantime, the countryside stirred. And as news spread—well, let’s just say folks knew opportunity when they saw it.

A Very Pequea Kind of Cleanup

Locals say the residents of Pequea showed up in force to “help” with the cleanup. Accounts vary, but one common thread runs through every retelling: no one in Pequea was sober for at least a month afterward. Some say entire cases were spirited away before officials could cordon off the area. Others whisper about celebratory fishing trips, riverside toasts, and the finest October bonfires ever lit.

Whether fact or legend, it’s said the Pequea River was “the only place you could catch a buzz without a fishing license.”

And while Conrail never confirmed just how many cases of champagne were lost, the bubbles in the water—and the hangovers in the hills—tell their own story.

The Aftermath

It took over a day to replace the thousand feet of mangled track. In the meantime, three trains had to be rerouted through Philadelphia. Conrail insisted no hazardous materials were involved, which was true if you didn’t count overindulgence in low-cost sparkling wine a danger to public health.

David Gould, assistant manager at the Fruitville Pike state store, estimated that a fifth of Cribari cost $3.98 at the time ($11.75 in 2025 dollars). “It’s in the same class as André,” he said, which in Lancaster County terms meant, perfectly fine for a celebration—or a salvage mission.

The Google Map above shows the approximate location of the accident.

A Toast to the Pequea Way

To this day, the story is passed around at campfires and family picnics. Some swear they still have a bottle tucked away as a memento. Others just smile and raise their glass when someone mentions the “Pequea way.”

Was it the right way? Definitely not.
Was it the wrong way? Arguably.
But was it unforgettable? Absolutely.

So here’s to the Southern End, where the river once sparkled with champagne, and the people knew exactly what to do when life handed them a derailment. They popped the cork.

Update

Almost immediately after publishing this story, readers began submitting their photos. Here’s a photo of two surviving bottles from the Great Pequea Champagne Spill of 1985.

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Resources

• Lancaster New Era Wed, Oct 23, 1985 ·Page 1