Eccentric Roadside

You oughta be inn pictures: The Movie Manor motel of Monte Vista, Colorado

2012-01-28T13:49:00.000-08:00

Not only does the Movie Manor feature a working drive-in theater, they also still have the old-fashioned speakers you attach to your car...

...and it appears they have at least two brands. This one is an Eprad...

...while this one appears to be a Projected Sound model. Any drive-in aficionados care to enlighten me?

A working drive-in movie theater is a wonder to behold. Relics of a bygone era, they stand proudly as if to say, "Hey, everybody, I'm still here! Home theater? Ha! Is that all ya got, punk? I got chunks of guys like you in my stool!" (okay, that last line came from Phil Hartman). So we were particularly delighted when we came across the Best Western Movie Manor motel while cruising down Highway 160 in south-central Colorado. Back in 1964, the Star Drive-In opened, with a small motel where guests could see the movies from their rooms. Some time later, the Best Western chain took over and changed the name to Best Western Movie Manor and in 2003 they added a second screen for an additional 200 cars. An old self-promotional postcard has this to say about the place (thank you Roloff):

"Kelloff's Best Western Movie Manor, the world's only movie motel. A unique concept in accommodations. Rooms face a giant outdoor movie screen so you can enjoy watching the latest movies, complete with sound, without leaving the comfort of your room. Kelloff's Restaurant, next to the motel, serves breakfast, lunch and dinner daily. While you enjoy your meal, view two spectacular mountain ranges - the San Juans and Sangre de Cristos."

We were on a rather tight travel schedule, so we weren't able to take advantage of this extraordinary movie-lodging opportunity, but we did stop to snap a few pictures. And that post card copywriter wasn't just blowing smoke about the mountain range scenery being spectacular.

Be sure to check out this panoramic photo display from the motel's website.

Beautiful mountain scenery by day, and the theatrical stylings of Mr. Vin Diesel on a screen the size of a Zeppelin hangar by night, all without leaving the comfort of your one-queen, one-king or two-queen bedroom...Colorado, we like your style.

Happy Birthday, Ernest Borgnine

2012-01-24T12:33:00.001-08:00

Ernest Borgnine was born and raised in my hometown, Hamden, Connecticut, and he turns 95 today. 95! I've done a post about Ernie and Hamden before that I'm sure you'll want to reread (and by reread, I mean read). And as a special treat, here's a clip from Ernie's hit TV series "McHale's Navy". As brilliant as Ernie is, though, I think it's Joe "I could just scream" Flynn who really steals the show.

Many happy returns, Ernie. You do Hamden proud!

Hail to the chiefs: Some Indian imagery seen along the way

2012-01-21T14:07:00.000-08:00

Wall Drug, Wall, South Dakota

The Red Feather Lodge, Tusayan, Arizona, one mile from the Grand Canyon

The Wigwam Motel, Rialto, California

The Shawmut Diner, New Bedford, Massachusetts

I shot this back in 2002 in Colorado Springs. Not sure if it's still there.

Indian Motorcycles were manufactured in Springfield, Massachusetts. The Lyman and Merrie Wood Museum of Springfield History has a great permanent exhibit about them...

...including this awesome photo of the great Jane Russell taking one out for a spin.

Little Big Horn, North Dakota

Tuba City, Arizona

Haight Ashbury, San Francisco, California

The kitsch-o-tastic Fort Cody Trading Post in North Platte, Nebraska has some great "exhibits", including this diorama of the old Sioux Trading Post...

...this brave playing checkers...

...and a fabulous Muffler Man Indian out back.

This fellow is known as the Big F Indian and he stands in front of the Conundrum Wine Bistro in Freeport, Maine.

This fellow beckons all to the Toh-Atin Gallery of Durango, Colorado's parking lot

A fine item from the Ohio Turnpike Rest Area gift shop

Outside the truly wonderful Plains Hotel, Cheyenne, Wyoming

The Big Chief Drive-In, Glencoe, Alabama

Whether or not you agree it's cool to objectify a race of great people, you see a lot of it while traveling across the USA. Native Americans, in particular. So here, without reservation, we bring you a few sights that may or may not 'wam the cockles of your heart. More pow wow to you, and how.

Eccentric street name of the week

2012-01-14T15:22:00.001-08:00

I'll meet you on the corner of Sodom Road and Gomorrah Avenue.

Meet the beetles: Colorado Springs' May Museum of Natural History of The Tropics

2012-01-11T11:42:00.000-08:00

I've always been a big beetle fan.

The May Museum sits on the property of the Golden Eagle Ranch Campground and RV Park.

An Acrophylla Titan from Australia (that's my finger there for scale)

A giant centipede from Venzuela

A Goliathus Giganticus from the Belgian Congo

A Megalodon moth from New Guinea

A tarantula from South America

I can't read the label on this one...let's just call it Biggus Stickus.

Nine miles southwest of Colorado Springs, Colorado in a campground about a mile off of Route 115 sits something totally unexpected and decidedly eccentric: a Smithsonian-worthy natural history collection of 8,000 exotic insects from the far reaches of the planet. James F.W. May was an adventurer and travelled the world at the turn of the century. He passed along the "bug" for bug collecting to his son John, who was only eight when his father died of yellow fever. John amassed a collection of over 100,000 invertebrates and in 1952, he built a museum to house the collection on the family's ranch in Colorado. Today, the museum looks like it hasn't been modernized since opening: labels written by hand and old-fashioned typewriter accompany the vast selection of wild and weird creepy-crawlies encased under glass and craning lamps. The rustic Colorado locale belies the alien origins of these arachnids: there are moths from Madagascar, beetles from Borneo, cockroaches from the Congo and tarantulas from, er, somewhere beginning with a T. And, as if that wasn't already enough, they also have what eccentric roadside attraction fans pine for: a world's biggest something-or-other...in this case, a giant, Godzilla-sized Hercules Beetle next to their sign on the highway. A couple of very nice ladies that work there told me they get a lot of school groups coming through and who can blame them...there are more insects than you can shake a stick bug at and it's a place where you'll really get the most bang for your bug.

Salty and sweet: Salty the giant seahorse of Mattapoisett, Massachusetts

2012-01-08T11:17:00.000-08:00

Salty the Seahorse greets all who drive down Route 6 in Mattapoisett, Massachusetts.

He was wearing a jolly Santa hat when we stopped by the other day.

A Mr. Henry Dunseith had a home and gift shop on 3 and a half acres in Mattapoisett and he left the land to the Mattapoisett Land Trust in 1988.

The park features what look like remnants of a former mini-golf course...

...including this cheery fellow.

We're always delighted here at Eccentric Roadside when a community goes to great pains to save a classic roadside icon that could have just as easily been dumped in the eccentric roadside boneyard. Such is the case with Salty the Seahorse, who for years was much loved by the good folks of the pleasant south Massachusetts coast town of Mattapoisett. In the mid-1950s, a Mr. Henry Dunseith had his home and a gift shop on a plot of land on busy Route 6. To bring some attention to his business, he had a 38-foot seahorse erected on his land by a Mr. Theodore Tetreault. The seahorse became a beloved landmark of locals and tourists alike and when Mr. Dunseith passed away in 1988, he willed his 3 and a half acres of land, his buildings and the seahorse to the Mattapoisett Land Trust. The buildings were too dilapidated to restore and they were razed. The notion of doing away with the seahorse was considered, too, but local fans intervened and instead it got a makeover, to go along with the efforts of local garden club members, arborists and Boy Scouts who turned Mr. Dunseith's land into a beautiful playground, picnic area and nature area. The land is on the busiest intersection in town and a fortune could have been made by selling the land to a fast food chain or muffler shop, but the Land Trust stuck to Mr. Dunseith's wishes and a beautiful, quirky and unique park sits there today, reminding passers by of Mattapoisett's nostalgic tourist past (good on you, Land Trust). The park was dedicated in 2000 and a contest was held to name the seahorse-with-no-name (I think I've been through the desert on one of those). Salty was chosen and that's how he's known today (thank you, Gerry Rosser). An especially cool feature of the park are the remains of what must have been a mini-golf course, including a star-spangled buoy, wooden bridge and other loony-link hazards, now overtaken with grass, making it a nice, quirky homage to its retro road attraction past. Of course, you may want to take that with a grain of Salty.

Eccentric street name of the week

2012-01-04T16:26:00.001-08:00

Not sure if it's the duck or the hole that's old here, but it's a heck of an address. And remember, say no to quack.

The envelope, please: The Concrete Potato Awards for 2011

2011-12-31T13:35:00.000-08:00

As 2011 comes to a close, it's time for our annual Concrete Potato Awards, given for excellence in eccentric roadside attractions we've been to in the last year. Named after the Idaho Potato Expo, seen in the masthead of this blog, it been a tradition here at Eccentric Roadside for over a 33rd of a century. It was tough to whittle the nominees down to 10, but whittle we did and now, without further ado and in no particular order we present this year's Concreteys (and remember, it's an honor just to be nominated...)

The World's Biggest Ball of Twine, Cawker City, Kansas

The American Gothic House, Eldon, Iowa

Bodega and Bodega Bay, California, location of Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds"

Three Mile Island, near Middletown, Pennsylvania

Alcatraz, near San Francisco, California

The Desert of Maine, Freeport, Maine

The World's Biggest Easel, Goodland, Kansas

The Banned Toy Museum, part of the Burlingame Museum of Pez Memorabilia, Burlingame, California

Roy's Motel and Cafe, Amboy, California

Wendover Will, West Wendover, Nevada

I'll take that as a condiment: The World's Largest Catsup Bottle of Collinsville, Illinois

2011-12-27T15:01:00.000-08:00

Collinsville is a cute little town...

...and they've got another nice, albeit more traditional, water tower.

They know how to put on a nice sunset, too.

We're big fans of water towers here at Eccentric Roadside and there's a Grade A Fancy one in the pleasant St. Louis suburb of Collinsville, Illinois. In 1949, the bottlers of Brooks Old Original Rich and Tangy Catsup commissioned the W.E. Caldwell Company to build a 100,000-gallon water tower next to their Collinsville plant. Not ones to miss a marketing opportunity, they designed their tower to closely resemble their slender, tapered catsup bottle, making it a giant condiment in the sky. The Brooks brand had great success and in 1959 the company merged with another. Bottling operations were moved to Indiana but the bottle tower remained in Collinsville. By 1993, the current owners wanted to sell the property and the bottle's future looked doomed. This is when a group of Collinsville's bottle-lovers formed the Catsup Bottle Preservation Group. The catsup company agreed to deed the tower to the town of Collinsville, but the town balked at the cost of painting and maintaining the tower, so the preservation group began a two-year fund raising drive (complete with a visit by the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile) that resulted in the eventual designation of the tower on the National Register of Historic Places. They've had a yearly catsup festival for the last 13 years, complete with a hot dog eating contest, musical chairs, a please pass the catsup tournament, and the crowning of Little Princess Tomato and Little Sir Catsup. Next year's event is scheduled for July 8, so mark your calendars.

You mayo may not realize it but it's great to see how, when in a pickle, a local group can mustard the strength to overcome adversity and relish their victory, if you catsup my drift.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-24T05:30:00.001-08:00

...and an Eccentric New Year!

Xmas Marx the spot: The Marx Toy Museum of Moundsville, West Virginia

2011-12-22T16:58:00.000-08:00

Christmas is just around the corner and that means toys. Our golden era for toys was the 1960s, so when we had the chance to visit the Marx Toy Museum in Moundsville, West Virginia, we felt like the kids in "A Christmas Story" looking in the window of Higbee's department store. Here's a rerun of a post we did about it back in 2009:

If you grew up in the fifties and sixties, you probably played with or watched TV commercials advertising Marx toys. They specialized in plastic figures, including Johnny West and a cadre of Wild West action characters, Big Loo, a space age robot, and the Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots ("hey... you knocked my block off!"). The little northern West Virginia panhandle town of Moundsville (there really is a mound there) is the home of the Marx Toy Museum. In it you will find toys and artifacts from the 1920-70s. It's all the collection of one man and his son, Francis and Jason Turner. None of the toys have been restored; rather, they all look like they've been stashed in an attic or basement for the last half-century, waiting to be put on display in their slightly worn condition. It makes sense to have the museum here, as the nearby town of Glen Dale once hosted Marx's biggest factory. By the 1950s, Louis Marx was the world's most productive toy maker and he even made the cover of Time magazine in 1955. Unfortunately for the local people, he sold the company in 1972 and by 1980 it went out of business. I think my favorite relic on display was the "Ben Hur" action set. Any objet d'Charlton Heston is tops in my book. In fact we give high Marx (p.u., that pun is awful) to the whole place.

I can't believe it's not Buddha: Scenes from San Francisco's Chinatown

2011-12-18T12:36:00.000-08:00

Mao you're talking!

The Chinese section of San Francisco, California is the largest Chinatown outside of Asia and the oldest Chinatown in North America. It's also a cacophony of visual over-stimulation where every nook and cranny is filled with something exotic, crazy or unusual. An eccentric roadside attraction fan could spend weeks gawking and photographing all it has to offer. Our time was limited when we visited last spring so, alas, we skipped the fine eateries, but we did have a hoot browsing through the wacky and wonderful gift shops and taking in the colorful facades and street decorations.

And now, with apologies to Confucius, the obligatory Chinese proverbs, each with a roadside bent:
Man who run in front of car get tired and man who run in back of car get exhausted.

Today's post is brought to you by the letter P

2011-12-14T16:48:00.000-08:00

Or thanks to Potts' Radiator for the whimsy and keeping it classy in Colorado Springs.

A Christmas Rhode trip: Rhode Island ornaments from MyLittleTown.com

2011-12-11T13:00:00.000-08:00

The Big Blue Bug, outside Providence on I-95, mascot of New England Pest Control

Haven Bros. Diner car, in downtown Providence

A Del's Lemonade truck, and my shot of one rotting away in North Kingstown

The magnificent Rustic Drive-In theater of Lincoln

The U.S. Navy Seabees statue in North Kingstown

There's a company in Rhode Island, MyLittleTown.com, that has turned some of the Ocean State's most beloved and quirky roadside attractions into delightful Christmas ornaments. Some of these sights have been chronicled by us at Eccentric Roadside and we thought we'd show you how well the ornaments replicate the real things. Local entrepreneurs Duke Marcoccio and his daughter Lauren run the business, and, as if that weren't impressive enough, they were also contestants on the CBS TV show "The Amazing Race" back in 2006. It's not too late to order these fine items for your or your loved-ones' trees. Nothing says Merry Christmas to kids from one to 92 like a pest control company's blue termite or an angry Navy bee with a machine gun. Now, everybody, sing with me: "Jingle Del's, Jingle Del's, Jingle all the way..."

Eccentric street name of the week

2011-12-08T16:41:00.001-08:00

I'm guessing this was the developer's favorite color color.
(Thanx and a tip o' the hat to L&M)

Doing Battle: Scenes from Battle Mountain, Nevada

2011-12-04T15:12:00.000-08:00

Interstate 80 is a long, lonely stretch of road when traveling through the great state of Nevada. Many miles separate the small points on the route, with hours of pretty but desolate scenery in between. We had the pleasure of stopping in the gloriously melancholy little town of Battle Mountain, between Elko and Winnemucca, for a night's stay at the Super 8. There wasn't a heck of a lot going on, but there was one honey of a sky that day -- dark menacing-looking clouds with bright shards of sun illuminating the worn landscape. They have some terrific mid-century signs here, courtesy of the Owl Club casino and the Nevada Hotel, which boasts of both food and fun, and one of the nicest water towers I've ever seen next to the fireworks emporium. Their name is derived from a clash between the white settlers and the original Shoshone inhabitants, but it's a peaceful community now and provides a place to gas up, get some grub, a good night's rest, and a hand or two of Texas Holdem before hitting the open road in the morning. That's their Battle cry and they're sticking to it.

Eccentric street name of the week

2011-11-30T17:01:00.001-08:00

Apparently, there's a hill of roasted meat in Connecticut and this is the road that takes you there.

Happy birthday, Leith

2011-11-27T00:01:00.000-08:00

Today is my brother Leith's birthday and I've said it before and I'll say it again, no one could ask for a better sibling. He's also the coolest cat I know. He's so cool, in fact, I'm sure he doesn't want me to say so.

The really cool people don't become cool, they're born that way. Here's to the real deal.

We will, we will rock you: Scenes from Plymouth, Massachusetts

2011-11-24T06:58:00.000-08:00

Plymouth Rock sits under this Greek-looking temple

Those numbers were embossed on the rock in more modern times.

Massasoit's peace pipe.

The Mayflower 2.

...and The Mayflower, too.

A local sweet shop makes chocolate covered potatoe chips (the recipe must come from Dan Quayle)

Looks like this founding father got a little too close to the firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

Happy Thanksgiving, Pilgrim

Today being Thanksgiving seems an appropriate time to chronicle a recent trip we took to Plymouth, Massachusetts, about 40 miles south of Boston and site of the colony founded by the Pilgrims, who arrived from England on the Mayflower back in 1620. It was also the site of the first Thanksgiving feast in 1621 (let's hear it for Squanto). You'll also find the famous Plymouth Rock there, a souvenir of the place where the Pilgrims got off the boat when they arrived after their long trip, although no historical references mention a rock being at their disembarkation site. Picky, picky, picky... it makes a better story to have a rock there and the tourists (and shopkeepers) love it. It sits in a protected pit under a Greek-looking pillared shelter to keep souvenir-seekers from chipping off pieces. There's also a huge National Monument to the Forefathers statue in a park nearby, and a replica of the Mayflower, the Mayflower 2, in the harbor. And Plimouth Plantation (that's the Old English spelling, so shut up, spellchecker), a popular tourist attraction where people dress in period costumes and tell you all about the history of the area, is also nearby.

What am I thankful for? Those clever people of Plymouth for coming up with Thanksgiving. Now, will somebody pass me the gravy?

Presents from the past: Mid-Century mementos from the open road

2011-11-19T11:38:00.000-08:00

The hep cats at Mid-Century Style Magazine gave us a nice tip-o-the-hat recently which inspired this Greatest Hits Volume 1 of retro sights we've seen along the way. Just our way of saying Thanks, Daddio, we dig you the most.

A Big Boy from Baker, California. Artistic cropping courtesy of the sun in my eyes.

A fine example from our dear relative/friend/awesome guy "Uncle" Stephen's Channel Master collection.

Jell-O with fruit in in from downtown L.A.'s incredible Clifton's Cafeteria.

Last chance for booze before Death Valley.

This from my hometown of Hamden, Connecticut. I grew up seeing this sign and, happily, it's been beautifully preserved. Way to go, Hamden!

From Las Vegas, home of tons of retro signs.

A Norge Ball from North Platte, Nebraska.

A cool old sign from downtown Chicago.

The Palm Springs visitors center, a former googie gas station.

From the Marx Toy Museum of Moundsville, West Virginia.

A fine 1950s Shasta trailer from the RV Hall of Fame in Elkhart, Indiana.

The Las Vegas Neon Boneyard is not to be missed.

The Wigwam motel of Rialto, California.

One of Wildwood, New Jersey's mid-century motel marvels.

Zip's Diner of Dayville, Connecticut, a steel and neon masterpiece (and the food is good, too!)

Spare time: Bowling signs seen along the way

2011-11-14T14:17:00.000-08:00

These old signs strike my fancy, are right up my alley, are neat as a pin, are a trip down memory lane, put me in a good frame of mind, are a gutter delight and are in a league all their own.

11-11-11: The most important date in history, EVER (for Corduroy, that is)

2011-11-11T08:06:00.000-08:00

Today, November 11, 2011, is significant in a few ways. It's Veterans Day, the U.S. presidential election is less than a year away, and it's Calista Flockhart's 47th birthday. But for the Corduroy Appreciation Club of New York City, this day is the most sacred day ever. Formed several years ago, the Club "wishes to cultivate good fellowship by the advancement of Corduroy awareness, as well as, understanding, celebration, and commemoration of the fabric and all related items. Club events are held on dates which incorporate, resemble or refer to Corduroy," according to their mission statement. These dates would be January 11 (1-11) and November 11 (11-11), and this year being 2011, well, you just can't get a more Corduroy-resembling date than 11-11-11. Today, the Club will convene at the Desmond Tutu Center refectory on 10th Avenue (what, no 11th Avenue locations available?) where the following activities will occur, according to their website:

• Dark Secret Rituals (No photography please)
• Presentation of Awards for Exemplary Usage of Corduroy
• Awards for Best Dressed
• A person (to be determined, and of some gravitas) to deliver a keynote address
• Installation of Corduroy Messiah (child – still at large! – that shall turn 11 on 111111)
• Singing, Dancing and Poetry inspired by Corduroy
• An open bar with Beer and Wines
• Additional epic and historic things

The 3 Item Rule (3 items of Corduroy must be worn to be admitted) will be strictly enforced and the meeting will adjourn, auspiciously, at 11:11 pm (natch).

We would like to wish the Club a "cord"-ual congratulations and hope they will celebrate a-"cord"-ingly and re-"cord" their ceremony for posterity.

Here's a video that the great Bill Geist of CBS Sunday Morning did last year:

Happy Veterans Day

2011-11-11T07:18:00.000-08:00

We'd like to wish a Happy Veterans Day to all the soldiers who have served our country and their families. In their honor, here's a rerun of a post we did in June of 2010 from Sarasota, Florida.

A kiss is still a kiss: Sarasota, Florida's V-J Day Kiss Statue

Edith Shain, who claimed she was the nurse getting swept off her feet in Times Square by the kiss of an anonymous sailor in an iconic Life Magazine photo shot on Victory Over Japan Day in 1945, died today. She was 91. Her passing is rather timely for us at Eccentric Roadside because just last week I took some pictures of a statue depicting the famous Alfred Eisenstadt photo on Route 41 in Sarasota, Florida. A great big one. Twenty-six feet tall to be exact. Entitled "Unconditional Surrender," it was created by noted sculptor Seward Johnson, the same artist responsible for the truly awesome 25-foot "American Gothic" replica we saw in Chicago last year, and it makes quite a statement along the busy palm treed boulevard, surrounded by high-rise condos and a luxurious marina. Sarasota was the statue's original home in 2005. It was then moved 3000 miles away to San Diego for a spell, and then returned in better than ever condition back to Sarasota in 2008. A June 18 post to roadsideamerica.com reports the smoochers were being craned onto a flatbed truck bound for New Jersey for some repairs before a triumphant Sarasota return engagement later on this July. Eisenstadt never got the names of the original celebrants and more than one nurse and sailor have claimed to be the make-out artists in the photo, but we believe you Edith. Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but us.

Eccentric street name of the week

2011-11-08T16:27:00.001-08:00

Probably not the best address for a weight-loss clinic.

I read the nukes today, oh boy: Pennsylvania's Three Mile Island

2011-11-05T11:45:00.000-07:00

The training center is across the street...

...where they've courteously provided picnic tables.

The homes in the area are quite lovely...

...as is the rest of the scenery.

I was reminded of someone while snapping this picture of myself...

On an unseasonably warm and clear March day in 1979, a bucolic section of central Pennsylvania just south of Harrisburg was the site of the nation's worst commercial nuclear accident. The Three Mile Island power plant accident was a core meltdown in Unit 2 that resulted in approximately 2.5 million curies (that's a lot) of radioactive gas being released into the Keystone State's atmosphere. A combination of a stuck valve and human errors led to an emergency being declared and an evacuation of thousands of residents. The incident caused an international sensation, and President Jimmy Carter, in an act of either bravery or foolishness, toured the plant shortly after the accident to prove everything was under control. The cleanup took over 14 years and cost $1 billion. In the end, experts concluded the accident did not cause a greater risk of cancer among the residents and plant workers. A meltdown was prevented and Unit 2 was permanently shut down, but Unit 1 is still in operation today. The power plant is on Highway 441, an otherwise lovely country road along the Susquehanna River. You round a bend and boom, there they are, those famous futuristic twin towers, belching out, what one hopes, is steam and not Armageddon. Across the street from the towers is the Three Mile Island training center, a nondescript industrial looking building surrounded by some nice landscaping and a neatly manicured lawn. There are even some picnic tables with a view of the towers, for your outdoor dining pleasure. The Three Mile accident is so significant to Pennsylvania's history, the state has put up an historic marker that doesn't sugar-coat the events. On the same "George Washington slept here" type of plaque are the words "nation's worst commercial nuclear accident". And up until several years back, there was actually a visitors center with a gift shop (!) . What gifts, pray tell, did they sell there -- "Three Mile Island narrowly avoided a nuclear meltdown and all I got was this lousy T-shirt"?

Next stop, Roswell: Ogallala, Nebraska's Alien Water Tower

2011-11-02T16:45:00.000-07:00

I love gazing and taking pictures of water towers on long road trips. They break up the monotony, especially in the Midwest where the landscape is flat. I've often thought they look like aliens on the horizon, like in "War of the Worlds." Apparently, the folks in Ogallala, Nebraska had this same notion, as they have painted one of their towers to look like a alien spacecraft. Nice to have a bit of whimsy in an otherwise plain landscape. You've really made the grade and the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.

The big picture: The World's Biggest Easel of Goodland, Kansas

2011-10-29T10:46:00.000-07:00

While visiting the easel, you can whet your palette...

...or brush up on your shootin'.

A lot of people think the Plains states of the USA are, well, a bit too plain and a bore to drive through. We couldn't disagree more, as small Midwestern towns are always doing big, kooky things to get you off the Interstate and driving down their Main Streets. Such is the case with the western Kansas farming town of Goodland, 17 miles from the Colorado state line. Here you will find the world's biggest easel, clocking in at 80 feet tall and 45,000 pounds. On it sits a 32-by-24-foot reproduction of one of Vincent Van Gogh's famous sunflower paintings, an appropriate subject, considering Kansas calls itself The Sunflower State and the yellow beauties are a major crop around these parts. And while the easel is the world's biggest, the painting is far from being the world's largest. That distinction belongs to David Aberg's 86,000-square foot "Mother Earth" of Angelholm, Sweden. The easel and painting are still pretty darn big, though, dwarfing a nearby Goodland water tower, jerky shop and gun store. This is one of three giant Van Goghs done by the Canadian conceptual artist Cameron Cross. His goal is to create colossal reproductions of all seven Van Gogh sunflower paintings in seven different countries spanning the globe (the other two are in Canada and Australia). There's a lovely little park around the easel and while we were there some other folks trickled in to walk their dogs and gawk open-mouthed at Goodland's giant flowers in the sky.

Thank you, Goodland, for your over-sized art appreciation that got us off I-70 for a few minutes of fun and frivolity. Way to Gogh.

Eccentric street name of the week

2011-10-26T11:28:00.000-07:00

I know you are, but what am I?

The cream of the crop: Raynham, Massachusetts' Milk Bottle Restaurant

2011-10-23T18:00:00.000-07:00

This is the interior looking at the round bottle part. There's a drop ceiling and the upper part of the bottle is used for storage.

I love restaurants that have paper placemats that advertise the local businesses...

Gun-running, open-heart surgery...what ever it takes.

I like how Mike modestly slips in a "probably": "If I can't fix it, it probably can't be fixed"

"Hello? Anytime Plumbing? I've got a leaking faucet during the Renaissance."*
*loosely based on a Steven Wright joke.

Go out on a limb? That's gold, Jerry, solid gold!

We're big fans of novelty or programmatic architecture... you know, those kooky buildings made in the shapes of giant animals, food items or other things, and there's a dandy in the nice, southern Massachusetts town of Raynham: the Milk Bottle Restaurant, an eatery housed inside a 60-foot tall, 21-foot wide wooden milk bottle. Built in 1926, the Milk Bottle is a local favorite that has been run by the father-daughter team of Joe and Jamie Losciuto since 2001. Joe operated an electronics business in Boston for 30 years, sold it, and bought the Bottle as a Christmas gift for his family. Jamie had worked at the Bottle for years before the purchase and other family members have been involved over the years. They serve hard ice cream and diner fare. We had a delightful lunch there and it couldn't have been better...good portions, good prices, great service. This is the kind of place there just aren't enough of: a living, breathing, authentic roadside icon that makes you smile and want to come back again and again. It's the dairy thing we need these days and when it comes to milk bottle restaurants, everybody loves Raynham.

Breaker number nine, put your ears on me now: The World's Largest Truckstop of Walcott, Iowa

2011-10-19T16:47:00.000-07:00

Way to keep it classy.

"When I says Whoa, I MEAN WHOA!"

They've got "Smoky and the Bandit" on DVD, in case you've worn out your copy.

In 1964, the Standard Oil Company opened a small truckstop in Walcott, Iowa on the then-brand new Interstate 80 that offered one lube bay, a truckers store and a small restaurant. Forty-seven years later, that location is known as Iowa 80: The World's Largest Truckstop and in it you will find a 300-seat restaurant with a 50-foot salad bar, a two-story 30,000-square-foot Truckers Warehouse with chrome accessories, books, DVDs, CB radios, bumpers, custom built show trucks and a 20-by-40-foot wall displaying 500 illuminated truck lights, 24 private showers, a 60-seat Dolby Surround Sound movie theater, the Driver’s Den lounge with leather chairs and a fireplace, two game rooms, an embroidery center, a vinyl graphics shop, a barber, a dentist, a truck service center, a Truckomat truck wash, a CAT Scale, a huge fuel center, a Wendy’s, a Dairy Queen, a Blimpie, an Orange Julius, a Taco Bell, a Pizza Hut, and enough parking for 800 tractor-trailers, 250 cars and 20 buses. There's also a trucking museum housed in its own separate building that, alas, was closed the day we stopped by last spring. There was still plenty to see, though, in this trucker's Mecca of the Midwest. A half-hour of browsing, two large sodas, a T-shirt and 10 gallons of Regular later and we were on our way west. 10-4.

Just deserts: The Desert of Maine (yes, Maine)

2011-10-15T18:45:00.000-07:00

This great vintage postcard was for sale in the gift shop. Published by Bromley & Company, Inc., Boston, 15, Mass.

The great state of Maine is known for its piney terrain, rocky coast, cold weather, moose, lobsters, and a desert. A desert? Ay-yah, a desert. The Desert of Maine, to be precise, in the small coastal town of Freeport (home of L.L. Bean), a little north of Portland. But unlike the Mojave, Gobi, or Kalahari, this desert is the result of man's folly. If you go back 10,000 years (the good old days), glaciers left a sandy silt all over southern Maine. Then, over the next centuries, topsoil formed, allowing vegetation and agriculture to grow. A Mr. William Tuttle bought 300 acres of this land in 1797 and farmed it successfully for decades, but eventually, poor crop rotation and overgrazing by sheep ruined the soil and caused it to erode -- so much so that that layer of Ice Age silt became exposed and claimed the farm and its buildings despite the Tuttles' best efforts. Having lost the farm, they tried using the sand for brick making, but the sand was lousy for that, too, and the bricks fell apart. In 1917, a Mr. Henry Goldrup bought the place and hit pay dirt by turning it into a tourist attraction. In 1925, The Desert of Maine opened for business and it's been a thriving mecca for eccentric roadside attraction fans ever since, bringing in 30,000 curiosity seekers a year in recent times. A guided half-hour trolley tour takes you across the 40-acre property, a lot of which has been reclaimed by grass and trees. You're riding on a 50-plus-foot sand dune, reminiscent of a ski slope, but with sand instead of snow. Our friendly guide Nate gave us all kinds of information about the geology and how the sand basically took over the place like a slow-moving tsunami. Originally, and in keeping with the desert theme, live camels roamed the place and greeted guests, and employees dressed in Bedouin garb. Unfortunately, camels are not the most hospitable animals, and when the stink and spitting became too much, they were given to a local zoo. Donkey carts were used for tours and this proved successful until local officials insisted a full-time veterinarian was required for any business employing animals thusly, so they were replaced by today's truck-pulled trams. An added bonus for today's tourists is the Sand Museum located in an adjacent barn, featuring vials of sand from as far away as Figi and Alaska. They also have a retro-tastic gift shop and campground.

So if you find yourself in Freeport, Maine, don't bury your head in the sand...check out the Desert of Maine. I double dromedary you.

Gladys tidings: Ruth Buzzi leaves a comment on our blog!

2011-10-15T15:10:00.000-07:00

We did a post last year about the Ruth Buzzi Gladys Ormphby bench in Westerly, Rhode Island and the great woman herself left this nice comment today:

Great memories! I grew up in Westerly area and love the place and the people, still. My brother Harold owns Buzzi Memorials on the road down in Wequetequock Cove just south of town. Thank you for the nice tribute! I am now on Twitter as @Ruth_A_Buzzi and I love my twitter friends, too! XOXO Ruthie

Are we thrilled by this? You bet your sweet bippy! Check out our original post here.

Bean there, done that: Freeport, Maine's L.L. Bean flagship store

2011-10-09T14:10:00.001-07:00

I love a good "ruined" picture. Here are a few of me in front of the giant boot at L.L. Bean.

Boot cookies (a sweet deal for not a lot of dough).

Bear with me on this.

Mmmm...I thought I smelled buck nip!

Come 'n' git it!

Mrs. Bean's trout, caught at Moosehead on July 8, 1953.

Just keepin' it reel.

They've got some cool exhibits of vintage merchandise. These items are from the 1930s.

This unclaimed personalized bag is for sale at the outlet store. It's an especially good bargain if your name happens to be Patti Hall.

Leon Leonwood Bean, founder of the company...

...not to be confused with that other famous Mr. Bean.

In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean (L.L. to you and me) was tired of getting his feet wet while moose hunting in the woods of Maine. He came up with a boot made up of lightweight leather uppers and rubber bottoms, set up shop in his brother's Freeport, Maine basement, printed up some fliers and thus began one of the nation's most successful mail order businesses. Almost 100 years later, the L.L. Bean company is still located in Freeport, with a giant campus of clothing, hunting, fishing, boating, skiing, camping and furniture stores on Main Street. And the Bean boot, or Maine Hunting Shoe, is still a popular item, as the giant 16-foot photo-op model outside their door will attest. Inside the store, you'll find a trout pond, aquarium, stuffed animals, and lots of friendly, knowledgeable employees to advise you on the proper weight of waders or gauge of Gortex. I'm not exactly what you'd call an outdoorsman (roughing it for me is a motel room with only 10 channels on cable), but it's still very entertaining walking through a retail temple to the great outdoors like this. Orange dog safety vest? Right over here. Swarovski Z3 rifle scope? Behind you. Under Armour Evolution ColdGear leggings? You just passed them. And if all this isn't enough, there's an outlet store across the street with clearance items and markdowns on unclaimed personalized tote bags (where are you, Patti Hall?). If you can't have a good eccentric roadside time here, well, you just don't know Bean's.

Eccentric street name of the week

2011-10-04T18:29:00.000-07:00

Old or new, I love this name.

Well, here we are: Pismo Beach and all the clams we can eat

2011-10-01T18:48:00.000-07:00

"Well, here we are: Pismo Beach and all the clams we can eat"

"What a way for a duck to travel -- underground!"

Cue the music: "We're in the Money"

"I have a feeling Pismo Beach ain't quite this wide..."

"Well, what do you know... a poil!"

"Down! Down! Down! Mine! Mine! Mine!"

Looney Tunes cartoons play like the soundtrack of my childhood. I can remember coming home from school every day and watching Bugs Bunny cartoons at 4:00 on Channel 5 until I could recite the dialogue by heart. Throw in a Ring Ding or two and you've got yourself one happy kid. When we were traveling on the California coast last spring, I saw an opportunity to visit a place I had no reference to, other than a Bugs Bunny cartoon. In "Ali Baba Bunny," Bugs and Daffy Duck are vacationing together and Bugs is presumably doing the driving, navigating by underground tunnel to their holiday destination, Pismo Beach. A missed "left toin at Albecoikie" puts them somewhere in Arabia, inside a cave with mountains of gold, jewels and treasure, bringing out vile greediness in Daffy. Bugs eventually does make it to Pismo Beach, as does Daffy, albeit in a comically altered state. Bugs' line, "Well, here we are, Pismo Beach and all the clams we can eat" has been in my mind ever since those days, and I finally got the chance to say it and mean it when we passed through last May. It's a pleasant seaside community, with restaurants, gift shops, and bustling surfers making the scene. Our visit wasn't very lengthy, just long enough to pick up a delicious lunch at eat it by the shore and there were no clams for me, due to a clam-intolerant stomach. That's all folks.

No need to be coy, Roy: Roy's Motel and Cafe of Amboy, California

2011-09-27T17:35:00.000-07:00

In the Mojave Desert of eastern California sits the town of Amboy, a once-prosperous stop along Route 66 where weary drivers could gas up, get some grub and spend the night before heading out the next morning on another lonesome stretch of the Mother Road. Roy's Cafe and gas station was opened in 1938 by Roy Crowl, who owned the whole town of Amboy (not a very big place, but impressive nonetheless) with his wife Velma. The Crowls' daughter Betty married a Herman "Buster" Burris and together they expanded Roy's and made it a booming post-War success. And then, as was the case with most Route 66 establishments, the Interstate came along and dried up all the local business. Buster sold the town in 1995 to a party that then went into foreclosure and then Buster's widow bought it back in 2005 and sold it to its current owner, a Mr. Albert Okura, who promised to keep the yesteryear ambiance and reopen Roy's in the future. When we were there last spring, the gas station was pumping $4.99/gallon gas, the cafe had cold soda and souvenirs and a busload of European tourists were milling about the place. The motel cabins were deserted but graffiti-free, like a well-preserved ghost town. The awesome decaying Googie sign reaches for the sky like a skyscraper in this hardscrabble no man's land to all fans of dilapidated roadside nostalgia. It was 100 degrees when we stopped by, a little chilly for these parts, but it was worth every bead of sweat to see such an amazing eccentric roadside site. Roy Orbison, Roy Scheider, Roy's of Amboy...there's a lot of greatness in the name Roy.

Eccentric street name of the week

2011-09-26T17:26:00.001-07:00

I'm gonna love you,
like nobody's loved you,
come rain or come Shinarump...

Beloved souvenir of the week

2011-09-21T10:43:00.000-07:00

We picked up this gem at a flea market for about 25 cents. Several years later, Sherry's parents bought a used furnished camper and inside was the exact same plate. I considered it a sign from God that the camper was truly blessed...or maybe God likes to go to flea markets, I'm not sure.

Rebel without a causeway: James Dean's Last Stop -- Lost Hills, California

2011-09-18T15:16:00.000-07:00

Here's Jimmy and his Porsche on the same day he died in 1955.

Jimmy stopped for gas at this location, Blackwells Corner at Routes 46 and 33 in Lost Hills, California, just before his crash.

On September 30, 1955, James Dean was driving with his mechanic west on Southern California's Route 466 (today called State Route 46) in his silver Porsche 550 Spyder, nicknamed "Little Bastard," to compete in a race in Salinas, California, when a 1950 Ford coupe coming the other direction crossed in front of his path and the two cars collided head-on. The driver of the other car, a 23-year old student named Donald Turnipseed, and Dean's passenger Rulf Wutherich, both survived, but Dean, only 24, was killed and his mystique as a tragic youthful Hollywood icon began. "Rebel Without A Cause," featuring his signature teen angst role, hadn't been released yet nor had "Giant," his final film. Today, the lonely intersection of Routes 41 and 46 has been designated the James Dean Memorial Junction, and in the town of Lost Hills, 25 miles from the crash site, sits Blackwells Corner, where Dean stopped to fill up his tank at a gas station just before he died. There's still a station there, at the intersection of Routes 46 and 33, and they make the most of their moment of infamy. In addition to gas, you'll find nuts, taffy and gifts at the East of Eden Fudge Factory, and if you're in the mood for some '50s-style grub, there's the Forever Young Restaurant. Even though there's been a rest stop here since 1921, the whole place looks brand new and brightly lit. You get the feeling times have been a little tough around here, though...big signs thank you for your patronage with a plea that "your purchases are the only reason we can stay open in these trying times." We were no pikers and stocked up on lots of delicious nuts and souvenirs.

While Jimmy's "You're tearing me apart!" from "Rebel" is the line of his I like the most, there's another one of his quotes that seems apt here: "Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today."

Parks and Wrecks Department: The former Ghost Parking Lot of Hamden, Connecticut

2011-09-14T16:20:00.000-07:00

Merging traffic: Hamden's Ghost Parking Lot in its late '70s heyday.

Road to ruin: the latter day GPL. These photos come from the cool blog The Lostinjersey Blog. Check it out!

Regrets, I've had a few. Eccentric roadside attraction-wise, one of the biggest would be to have lived in the host town of one of the coolest, wackiest roadside attractions ever and to have NEVER taken a picture of it.

My hometown of Hamden, Connecticut is a pleasant and innocuous suburb of New Haven. In the '70s, a Mr. David Bermant, the owner of the Hamden Plaza shopping center on busy Dixwell Avenue, wanted to do something unusual to draw attention to his tenants' stores. A self-described art lover, he commissioned New York sculptor and architect James Wines and his firm SITE to create a conceptual public art masterpiece that would entail partially burying 20 old cars in the Plaza parking lot, filling them with concrete and covering them with asphalt. The finished work, referred to as the Ghost Parking Lot, resembled dead cars rising from the grave and the public reaction was decidedly mixed. Hamdenites aren't unenlightened hicks, but this exhibit would be considered pretty far out even in SoHo. I was in high school when the GPL was installed and it so happened that the school was right next to the exhibit. The Plaza management allowed students to park their cars in that part of the parking lot and I remember, on the occasions I had a car, always trying to park in the spaces between the buried cars because it was such a kooky thing. I remember the joke was if you parked your car illegally on school property, it would be towed, buried and asphalted in the Plaza lot. Why I never took a picture of this delight, I'll never know. I suppose it's like a native New Yorker never going to the Statue of Liberty...you don't appreciate what's in your own back yard. Over the next twenty years, the GPL was left to deteriorate, with remnants of the car carcasses poking out through the asphalt. This, to me, only added to the aesthetic awesomeness...the dead cars were like rotting corpses in front of J.C. Penny's, Hallock's and Lafayette Stereo. By 2003, the Plaza was under new management and the dead cars had to go, not just to remove a perceived eyesore, but also because they actually needed the parking spaces for shoppers, of all things, leaving me with only my memories and whatever the Internet has to offer in the way of visuals.

Ghost Parking Lot (1977-2003): we hardly knew ye.

Check out this cool vintage 1978 video. Skip ahead to :36 to see the GPL part. It says it's New Haven, but trust me, it's really Hamden.

Eccentric street name of the week

2011-09-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

Smallpox is a contagious, disfiguring and often deadly disease that has affected humans for thousands of years. Symptoms usually occur about 12 - 14 days after infection of the virus. They may include: backache, delirium, diarrhea, excessive bleeding, fatigue, high fever, malaise, raised pink rash -- turns into sores that become crusty on day 8 or 9, severe headache, and vomiting.

Oh, and it's also the name of the street that runs through a very nice neighborhood in southern Rhode Island.

Up to speed: Utah's Bonneville Salt Flats

2011-09-10T16:37:00.000-07:00

Interstate 80 takes you there.

They don't call them flats for nothing.

Our Subaru Forester's proudest moment: making it to the flats.

They tell you not to venture off the road...

...and for good reason. It can be pretty muddy out there in the winter and spring.

Say "cheese."

We encountered this scene on the road to the Speedway: an SUV stuck in the mud, a tow truck, a woman taking charge of the situation in the street and a sheepish-looking husband behind the wheel. Imagined dialog: Wife: "Honey, the sign says to stay on the road." Husband: "Oh, it'll be alright, trust me. Besides, I want to tell the guys back home I drove on the flats." Husband:"Uh-oh" Wife: "Sigh"

The Pontiac Bonneville is named after the Speedway, although I can't imagine this model setting any speed records.

"The World's Fastest Indian" with Anthony Hopkins also takes place at the flats.

The Bonneville Salt Flats of northwestern Utah are what was left behind after an ancient lake evaporated and left huge concentrations of salt. They're named after a Captain B.L. Bonneville, an early U.S. military explorer charged with heading west. Today the salt flats measure over 44,000 acres and are mostly public land. Interstate 80, that long, long cross-country highway, runs right through them, but they are most famously known as the place where land speed records are made at the Bonneville Speedway where motorized vehicles can compete at stupid crazy speeds for as far as the eye can see when the flats are dry in the summer and fall. Several events are held during this period, the largest being SpeedWeek, run every August by the Southern California Timing Association and the Bonneville Nationals. A Mr. W.D. Rishel was the first guy to come up with the idea of using the flats as a raceway in 1896, and other notable figures include Teddy Tetzlaff and his 141 mph Blitzen Benz in 1914, and Ab Jenkins and his 24-hour-endurance-record-of-161-mph Mormon Meteor III (you heard me) in 1940. We visited in the spring when there was still water across a wide expanse of the flats, but we could definitely picture souped-up vehicles going for miles and miles across the ultra-flat lunar landscape. Maybe next year we can come back and enter our Subaru Forester in the World's Fastest Station Wagon competition. That would be flat-out awesome.

Goth to get you into my life: The American Gothic house of Eldon, Iowa

2011-09-04T15:34:00.000-07:00

That's Grant Wood's sister and his dentist.

They were thrilled.

The original owners of the house were Charles and Catharine Dibble. They lived here with their eight (!) children. The Gideon and Mary Hart Jones family owned it when Wood saw it. He asked and got their permission to paint it. The house fell into disrepair in the 1960s and was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1974.

They've done a nice job of landscaping around the house and the Grant Wood museum...

...seen here.

Here's Alan, one of the awesome docents we talked to, and a portrait of Wood...

...and his wife Rosie. We really enjoyed their friendly Midwestern hospitality.

The house sits on the corner of American Gothic and Burton.

You'd never guess such a famous house would be in such an unassuming neighborhood.

Inside the museum, there's a great wall of parodies.

The house was left by its owner to the State Historical Society of Iowa, who lease it out to private tenants and the public isn't allowed inside. The current tenant is Beth Howard, who has a pie baking business. No kidding.

At the museum, they'll loan you costumes and take your picture. Some folks get pretty creative...

We're purists and opted for the dour-faced traditional approach. It was 97 degrees, windy, and humid.

There are only a few paintings that are so well known, they're part of popular culture. Leonardo Da Vinci's "The Mona Lisa" is one, Edvard Munch's "The Scream", another. And, of course, there's "American Gothic" by Grant Wood. In 1930, Wood noticed a simple house built in Carpenter Gothic style in his home state of Iowa and decided to use it as the backdrop of a Midwestern American scene with "the kind of people I fancied should live in that house": an elderly farmer and his daughter. The model for the farmer was his Cedar Rapids dentist, Dr. Byron McKeeby, and for the daughter he used his sister Nan. All three elements -- the farmer, the daughter and the house -- were painted separately and no one posed in front of the house. Wood entered the painting in an Art Institute of Chicago competition and the judges gave it a bronze medal and $300. The Institute also bought the painting and it remains in their collection today (not bad: 300 clams for a priceless work of art). At first, some local Iowans thought the painting was disrespectful and made fun of their way of life. This could not have been further from Wood's intentions, as he had great reverence for the local people and gave up a European painter's life to locate in Iowa as a working artist. Eventually the painting was seen with affection by both Iowans and critics, and hundreds of parodies have resulted (that's how you know you've really made it). The house is now owned by the state of Iowa and sits in an unassuming, quiet neighborhood in the small town of Eldon. They've put up a very nice Grant Wood museum next to it and when we were there, two terrific docents, Alan and Rosie, told us all about Wood and the area. Best of all, they have a whole closet full of bib overalls, blazers, colonial print aprons, white-collared dresses and a pitchfork or two so you can get your picture taken, free of charge mind you, in front of the house. We loved visiting this place so much...you don't get more Americana than this. Goth bless America.

Beloved souvenir of the week

2011-09-02T14:56:00.000-07:00

As you might have gathered, we're big fans of old-fashioned roadside souvenirs. One of my favorites is this beauty from the Devil's Rope Museum, a barbed wire depository in McLean, Texas. It's a stunningly crafted shellacked plank of Texas with a deluxe rope border and a fine sampler from legendary barbed wire innovators J. Brinkerhoff, T.V. Allis, D.C. Stover and C.D. Rogers. I don't remember what I paid for it, but it was worth every penny. It's so beloved, in fact, that it's hung on my office partition just above the equally beloved "God Bless This Camper" souvenir plate...a spot of no higher honor, barb none.

Happy Birthday, Mom

2011-08-31T09:51:00.000-07:00

Here's Mom behind the wheel, my brother and Grandma. They weren't so big on child car safety back in 1960.

That's Mom behind the wheel and my brother and me in the back seat of our awesome 1961 Chevy station wagon. That's the first car I can really remember.

Mom and her rootin' tootin' cowboys, Christmas, 1964.

Today is my Mom's 80th birthday. I'm trying to come up with something witty or punny to say here, but, really, she's just a great, great mom. Roadtrip-wise, Mom was always the facilitator. She's the one who filled the coolers, made the killer potato salad, applied the sunscreen, made us wear big floppy hats, put the flea collars on the pets, dabbed the Calamine lotion on the mosquito bites, painted the Merthiolate on the scrape, relieved car boredom with games of 20 Questions, fixed me a comfy bed in the station wagon when my asthma prevented me from sleeping with the rest of the family in the tent at the campground, made sure I didn't eat any more clams the next day after they really, really didn't agree with me the night before, packed an extra set of clothes for me after I inevitably would fall into a lily pond or tourist attraction fountain, made sure I wrote post cards and thank you notes to Grandma, bought me a Ring Ding every once in a while, cooked the best fried fish I ever ate, listened to the car radio station my brother and I wanted to listen to, played miniature golf ad nauseum with my brother and me, rode a bike on vacation with us when most people over 40 didn't ride bikes, slept on the fold-out cot in our Cape Cod cabin and not on one of the comfortable beds, twisted her ankle on the first day of our vacation and still hobbled along and let us have a great time, let me buy comic books, took me to great museums, got us a tour of NBC studios in New York City when I was 9 years old, always had three square meals for us, told me to come in so I wouldn't get sunburned, over-excited or over-tired, and generally made every family roadtrip we ever took the best times of my life and the inspiration for this blog.

OMG

2011-08-27T13:47:00.000-07:00

Eccentric street name of the week

2011-08-24T16:23:00.001-07:00

Wasn't that a cereal back in the '60s: Quisp, Quake and Quagnut?

We will, we will "Rock" you: Greetings from Alcatraz

2011-08-20T17:57:00.000-07:00

This is the cell where an escape was perpetrated in 1962. Note the big hole in the wall.

This is the view of San Francisco from The Rock.

Clint...

...Burt...

...and many others have been to The Rock.

All aboard.

Say "clink!"

Every so often, it's nice to visit a place that makes you appreciate your lot in life a little bit more. Take Alcatraz, for instance. That notorious island a mile and a half off the shore of San Francisco gets this job done because, no matter how hard things might seem, they must have been much worse for the "guests" of this harshest of federal prisons from 1868 until it closed in 1963. The roster of convicts reads like a who's who of the worst of the worst of yesteryear: Machine Gun Kelly, Creepy Karpis, Doc Barker, Robert "Birdman of Alcatraz" Stroud. Even the au courant Whitey Bulger did time on The Rock. But Alcatraz's most notorious detainee was "Scarface" Al Capone, who served four years before being transferred to another prison due to his tertiary syphilis. Ouch.

Several escapes were attempted, and three prisoners actually made their way out in 1962 through an ingenious use of dummies, tunneling, air vents and accordion music. It's likely they drowned in San Francisco Bay, but their bodies were never found, so who knows? The 1979 movie starring Clint Eastwood leads you to believe they made it, and what Clint says goes. A few years after the government shut down the prison in 1963 (it was deemed too expensive to maintain), the island was seized by a group of Native Americans to protest U.S policies regarding Indian affairs. After 19 months of occupation, a new policy of self-determination was negotiated with the U.S. government. Now the island is run by the National Parks Service and tours are of the prison and island are given daily. We were there on an appropriately miserable, rainy day last spring and the boat was absolutely mobbed with tourists eager to see how bad bad can be. All in all, it's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Elvis left the building 34 years ago

2011-08-16T16:39:00.000-07:00

The Three Kings in Tupelo, Mississippi, his hometown.

The front steps of Graceland in Memphis. Can't remember who took this picture...maybe Priscilla?

His grave at Graceland.

We stayed at the official Heartbreak Hotel across the street from Graceland. Here are the luxurious quarters.

Tupelo, Mississippi.

His boyhood church outhouse, Tupelo (handicapped accessible).

His birth home.

The magnificent Nina gives a tour of the interior.

Tupelo Hardware, where Elvis' Mama bought him his first guitar at age 10. That's Howard, pointing to the duct tape X where Elvis and Mrs. Presley stood.

This picture is probably the most requested photo from the National Archives in Washington, DC.

And finally, some items from the awesome Bonanza Gift Shop in Las Vegas.

Elvis Presley died on this day in 1977. I remember seeing the report on the 6:30 evening news in our cabin on our portable black and white Zenith TV that my family brought with us to Cape Cod on our summer vacation. I also remember Groucho Marx died on the same day and I was actually more "shook up" about his passing than Elvis's. We've seen quite a bit of Elvis on our road trips over the years, so here's a look back. Just our way of saying "thanka, thanka verra much".

Swami, how I love ya, how I love ya: Fairfield, Iowa's Maharishi University of Management

2011-08-14T08:29:00.000-07:00

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in the 1960s

Guru-ga-joob: The Beatles and the Maharishi in 1967

George Harrison remained a lifelong devotee of Transcendental Meditation, and as recently as 2009, Paul and Ringo did a benefit concert for David Lynch's TM foundation.

One of Maharishi University of Management's Om Domes (I made up that name...they don't really call it that).

You might not think a small, bucolic, great plains town would be the location of a college devoted to the teachings of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, the swami the Beatles had as their spiritual advisor back in the '60s, but you'd be chanting the wrong mantra, my friend, because, sure enough, Fairfield, Iowa is the home of the Maharishi University of Management (MUM). Originally conceived by Transcendental Meditation teachers and located in California, the University expanded drastically in 1973 when they bought the 272-acre campus of the recently out-of-business Parsons College, going so far as to demolish some historically significant buildings and erecting new ones using the architectural principals of Maharishi Sthapatya Veda. The campus' most distinctive structures are its twin, gold-topped domes for meditation: the Maharishi Pantanjali Golden Dome of Pure Knowledge for men and the Bagambhrini Golden Dome for women, where students are required to meditate and also learn principles of Yogic Flying (and they don't mean how to get a cartoon bear into an airplane). Despite the exotic themes, this is still an accredited college offering majors in Business, Computer Science, Literature and Art, and they've got a heck of a golf team, too. The food sounds good, too, if all-organic vegetarian fare is what you like. Watch out for the dress code, though, guys, because beards are only allowed for medical or religious reasons.

Sure, there are lots of great colleges out there, but where else can you arrive without traveling, see all without looking and do all without doing while earning a Communications or Physiology degree? Maharishi U: your Om away from home.

Long, long on retro laughs: Lucy and Desi in "The Long, Long Trailer"

2011-08-08T13:09:00.000-07:00

Lucille Ball would have turned 100 the other day and Turner Classic Movies, the best channel on TV, showed an absolute delight for eccentric roadside fans, "The Long, Long Trailer" in her honor. We'd seen it before, but this time marvelled and what a great, retro roadtrip of a flick it is. If you like the 1950s, "TLLT" has got it all: big cars (a gorgeous yellow 1953 Mercury Monterey convertible), great trailers (the 1953 40-foot yellow two-tone New Moon), great duds, fabulous scenery, and best of all, Desi Arnaz. For my money, Desi was always much funnier than Lucy, with his exaggerated expressions and reactions. Made on their hiatus from "I Love Lucy" in 1954 and directed by notable auteur Vincente Minelli, "TLLT" is basically Lucy and Ricky Ricardo (they're Tacy and Nicky Collini here) in a beautiful technicolor feature-length comedy. Newly married and at Tacy's insistence, a reluctant Nicky agrees to buy a trailer home that's too expensive, too big, too everything. They have to travel cross-country and encounter one disaster after another, including city traffic, nosy trailer park neighbors, getting stuck in the mud, and smashing up Tacy's relatives' house. Worst of all, Nicky has to drive the monstrosity up a treacherous winding Colorado mountain road. Lucy does her usual slapstick, but, really, it's all about Desi suffering. His eyes bulge, he mops his brow nervously, gets covered in muck and rain, and has post traumatic stress disorder-like flashbacks ("TRAILER BRAKE FIRST! TRAILER BREAK FIRST! AHHHHGGHH!!"). They did some gorgeous filming in Yosemite National Park and that nerve-racking mountain road scene was filmed on Mount Whitney in the Sierra Nevada mountains. And I think the movie is actually much funnier than "I Love Lucy" and it's in color!

So, if you're a fan of both Desilu and roadtrips like we are, watch out for "The Long, Long Trailer" on TCM or get it from Netflix. Otherwise, you'll have some splainin' to do.

How I met your Mother Road: Route 66 in Williams, Arizona

2011-08-07T15:27:00.000-07:00

When we visited the Grand Canyon last May, we stayed in nearby Williams, Arizona on the road all other roads aspire to be, Route 66. You don't have to be an eccentric roadside attraction fan to appreciate how awesome Route 66 is, and Williams has some outstanding examples of Mother Road architecture. There was some glorious early evening sun when we were there, causing yesteryear's storefronts, motels and restaurants to look even more western and melancholy. I'd love to spend a year traveling up and down 66 (you listening, Powerball?). Won't you get hip to this timely tip: when you make that California trip, get your kicks on Route 66.

Spinning in their grave

2011-08-03T06:51:00.000-07:00

RIP, Kenneth and Edith.

Cowboy up: West Wendover, Nevada's Wendover Will

2011-07-31T17:35:00.001-07:00

This awesome photo of Will at night was shot by Dave Beedon.

This is Will in front of the Stateline casino, circa 1960. The photo comes from the great website Frank Busca's Route40.net .

Here's Will's brother, Vegas Vic.

In 1952, a Mr. William Smith opened a casino in the small northern Nevada-Utah border town of West Wendover called the Stateline. He had the good taste to commission a Mr. Pat Denner, the designer of Las Vegas' famous Vegas Vic neon cowboy, to adorn his gambling parlor with a similar cowpuncher to give everybody a friendly "Howdy, pardners!" as they drove by and nudge them in the direction of his wagering temple. And thus Wendover Will, named for both the town and Mr. Smith, was created, and Mr. Denner made him an even taller galoot (63 feet) than his older brother, earning him the distinction of the World's Largest Mechanical Cowboy from the Guinness Book. Both of Will's arms waved, his eye winked, his cigarette flicked, and his 1,184 feet of neon tubing flashed day in and day out until 2002, when the Stateline changed ownership and Will was kindly donated to the town, who made him their good-Will ambassador and moved him to an even better location and gave him a lavish restoration. His white hat, yellow bandanna, red shirt, Levis, cowboy boots, and six-gun gleamed in the hot midday Nevada sun when we passed through town last spring, but, alas, we weren't able to stick around and see him all lit up and in motion after dark. If anyone out there has a video of Will at night, we'd love to add it here.

It's encouraging when a treasure like Will is recognized for the neon-tastic icon he is and a town revels in his awesomeness. Kudos to West Wendover for appreciating where there's a Will, there's a he-went-that-a-way. Happy trails to you.

Mining for irony in colorful Colorado

2011-07-30T05:20:00.001-07:00

Well, brown's a color too, you know.

Whoa, Nellie! Cheyenne, Wyoming's Cowgirls of the West Museum

2011-07-22T17:26:00.001-07:00

Cowgirl up.

Ben, a museum volunteer, tells of his family's Western cowgirl pride.

How come they don't make TV lamps any more?

Check out the great names on this wallpaper: Jolene, Emmylou, Ginny, Kay, Ruby, Jesse, Red, Grace, Rosa, Nell and Ma.

Berva Dawn Sorenson rocks a pair of Wrangler Blue Bells.

If the definition of a cowboy is guts and a horse, then the definition of a cowgirl should be guts, a horse and a skirt. There's an ace-high spot in the wild and wooly western town of Cheyenne, Wyoming that pays tribute just such a gal that's as fine as cream gravy...the Cowgirls of the West Museum. In it, you'll find a heapin' helping of artifacts that pay tribute to the women of the American west. At a time when a woman simply sitting on a horse could be seen as scandalous, these gals were rootin', tootin', ropin' and shootin'. There's Bonnie Gray and her horse King Tut, jumping over convertible motor cars (with passengers!) in 1925. There's Elouise Fox Hastings, who ran away from home when she was 14 and joined the Irwin Bros. Wild West Show as a trick rider. There's Prairie Rose Henderson, who, in 1911, was awarded the title of world's champion bronc rider and was known as the queen of rodeo fashion. And there's Tad Lucas, the First Lady of Rodeo and the undisputed world trick rider from 1925-33. Not a namby-pamby in the bunch. But wait, pardners, there's more. They've got buckles, saddles, costumes, hats, and spurs that go jingle jangle jingle. And you can get in to see the whole shooting match for free, donations accepted kindly. So the next time you find yourself in Cheyenne, God willing and if the creek don't rise, mosey on over the Cowgirl Museum. Not to do so would be plumb loco.

A love-Haight relationship: San Francisco's Haight Ashbury

2011-07-19T16:17:00.000-07:00

Hey, can I have some of your purple berries: a shop window displays Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, back when their teeth were white and their hair was brown...

Forty-four years ago, as many as 100,000 young people crammed into San Francisco to make the scene, blow their minds and have an otherwise outta sight time in the world's grooviest neighborhood, Haight Ashbury. Popular as a hippie enclave because of its plentiful cheap rents in devalued Victorian houses, "The Haight" reached its pinnacle as the counterculture epicenter during 1967's "Summer of Love". Bohemia, free love and all the mind-altering substances one could consume were the order of the day, and the artists-in-residence included Jimi Hendrix, the Grateful Dead and Janis Joplin. Haight Ashbury gained national attention, with busloads of Middle Americans being guided through the circus-like atmosphere of the feared and misunderstood hippie. The downside of Haight Ashbury's notoriety were runaways, overcrowding, homelessness, drug problems and crime. By October of '67, many of the Summer of Love's participants left to resume their studies or "normal" lives and the local hippies sensed what a long, strange trip it had been and that their movement had played out. They staged a mock funeral for the "Death of the Hippie," telling would-be visitors to stay where they live and bring the revolution there. Haight Ashbury never did regain its counter-culture high, but it did remain a funky locale for artists and nonconformists, and today it still has the far-out flavor of the do-your-own-thing '60s, with some modern-day gentrification thrown in. There are lots of independently owned boutiques, smoke shops, curio emporiums and restaurants with psychedelically-festooned signs inviting you to come on in and let your freak flag fly. In an odd way, it's reminiscent of Colonial Williamsburg... an authentic recreation of an historically significant American village. Perhaps they need some hippie reenactors to explain the deeper meanings of "In-a Gadda-da-Vida" and point out proper hookah technique at Ye Olde Head Shoppe.

And one more thing: after you're done grazin' in the grass and before you feed your head on incense and peppermints and let the sunshine in, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.

Cows to the left of me, clover to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you

2011-07-14T13:42:00.000-07:00

Right of center

Left of center

Center

There's Middle America, and then there's Lebanon, Kansas. Lebanon is at the exact geographical center of the 48 continental United States and they have the latitude (38,50) and longitude (98,35) to prove it. And, while the north central Kansas town gets its fame from being in the middle, it has more of an edge-of-nowhere feel to it, as long as the edge-of-nowhere is a pretty, pastoral place. Gently rolling hills, dirt roads, the occasional horse running wild...that's about it. But that's okay. The middle of America should be a place for calm, peaceful reflection, far from the frantic coasts to the east and west and international borders north and south. There's a pyramid-like marker with a plaque from 1940 when an L.T. Hagadorn and an L.A. Beardslee literally put Lebanon on the places-in-the-middle-of-other-places map. Sticklers will tell you that the actual really, really, middle point is about a half a mile away on a private farm and this is as close as the marker builders could get. Apparently, the farm's owner didn't want middle-seeking tourists trudging on his land. There's also a trailer with some nice artifacts in it, or so we were told. Unfortunately, in order to unlock the door, you have to call a phone number for an access code and, alas, we were not getting any service on our Motorola. I guess there's just never a phone booth when you really need one. For quiet meditation, there is what has to be one of the nation's smallest chapels, with room for four or less parishioners, depending on girth, built in honor of Elmer and Zeta Stump. But mostly this is just beautiful country, where the middle of nowhere is actually the middle of somewhere, and that somewhere is pretty awesome.

Girl, we couldn't get much Ohio-er: Scenes from the Buck-eye State

2011-07-12T05:58:00.001-07:00

World's biggest cuckoo clock, left.

You can park your heini anywhere.

Autographed hot dog buns at Tony Packo's in Toledo.

What's all the hubbub at the Hub of Hubbard, Bub?

The Longaberger Basket Company's picnic basket shaped building.

I remember Maumee.

Birthplace of "third-rate non-entity" President Rutherford B. Hayes.

WHIZ, southeastern Ohio's news leader.

Zippy the Roo, mascot of the University of Akron.

No basses, in fact: Tuba City, Arizona

2011-07-08T16:36:00.000-07:00

My old tuba teacher Tucker has this outside his office door at the University of Akron. I always thought God played the bass clarinet.

You can order this fine framed print from Cafe Press. Makes a great present for friends and loved-ones.

As a former tuba player (1972-1988), I took great interest in the fact that if we planned it just right, we could pass through the town of Tuba City, Arizona on our way from the Grand Canyon to Four Corners on our last trip. Would there be tuba concertos blasting from the taverns and concert halls? Would there be statues on the town green of Wilhelm Friedrich Wieprecht and Carl Moritz, who, in 1835, were granted a patent for their Berlinpumpen tuba? Would the gift shops be bursting with chocolate tubas, nerf tubas and tuba toothpaste?

Well, no.

It seems Tuba City gets its name from Tuuvi, the great Hopi leader from Oraibi in today's Arizona. Seems Tuuvi City was too much of a mouthful so it became Tuba City when it was named by the Mormons in 1872. Kinda like Paul McCartney making "Hey Jules" into "Hey Jude". So, while there is an abundant amount of Hopi art and artifacts, there's nary a brass bass horn in sight. Not even a fiberglass Sousaphone.

And if all this is putting you in the mood to hear a little tuba music, and who needs an excuse for that, then check out this link from the International Tuba Day people. If you ask me, every day is Tuba Day.

Ain't that America

2011-07-04T04:51:00.000-07:00

Here's hoping everyone has a safe, happy and eccentric Fourth of July.

Beam me up: Riverside, Iowa's Future Birthplace of Captain James T. Kirk

2011-07-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

No more blah, blah, blah: The one and only William Shatner as the one and only Capt. Kirk

Resistance is futile.

I've given her all she's got, Captain. I can't give her no more.

Dammit, Jim! I'm a doctor, not a city planner.

Set phasers to stunning, as in a stunning display of Star Trek-abilia.

He's not dead, Jim: Riverside, Iowa's Trek Fest President Ken McCracken. (This picture comes from their awesome website.)

Gene Roddenberry, the creator of the landmark TV series "Star Trek", states in his book "The Making of Star Trek", that his lead character, Capt. James Tiberius Kirk, was born in the year 2228 in the state of Iowa. Seizing an opportunity to bring notoriety to his southeastern Iowa town, a Mr. Steve Miller (not the big old jet airliner guy, but another Steve Miller) suggested to his fellow Riverside, Iowa City Council members that Riverside declare itself the future birthplace of Capt. Kirk. The council agreed, got Roddenberry's blessing and found its place in the hearts of velour pullover-wearing Trekkies everywhere. There's a plaque near the Community Club declaring Riverside's Kirk connection and in a modest strip mall, you'll find The Voyage Home Heritage Center and Star Trek Museum, featuring two rooms of eastern central Iowa history and Star Trek memorabilia. Best of all, they have a truck-sized scale model of the Starship Riverside, a legally acceptable facsimile of the Starship Enterprise, parked on a trailer in the museum's lot along Highway 22. It was quite a sight to behold as we rounded 22's bend and saw it, ready to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, and to boldly go where no man (or eccentric roadside traveler, at least) has gone before. Unfortunately for us, we were in Riverside on a Sunday when the museum was closed but a tantalizing peek in the window showed lots of photos and information ready to be taken in by Trekkies and non-Trekkies alike. Riverside was declared Capt. Kirk's hometown in 1985 and every year since they have held a Trek Fest the last weekend of June. In previous years, they've had parades with the likes of Walter Koenig (Mr. Chekov), George Takei (Mr. Sulu) and Nichelle Nichols (Lt. Uhura), and this past June's shindig looks like it was out of this world: a pet show, demolition derby, scifi swapmeet, costume contest, golf cart rodeo, Gunny the Clown and the ever-popular Pin the Lobes on the Ferengi.

So here's to you, Riverside. Live long and prosper.

Incredi-Bill: North Platte, Nebraska's Fort Cody Trading Post

2011-06-23T18:29:00.000-07:00

Nothing warms the heart of a bored cross-country roadtrip passenger than a good, old-fashioned politically incorrect tourist trap. Such is the case of the Fort Cody Trading Post, just off Interstate 80 in North Platte, Nebraska. North Platte has a genuine claim to fame, as it was the 1880s home of William F. "Buffalo Bill" Cody. Not exactly the stay home and collect stamps-type, he got his nickname for killing 4,280 buffalo in an 8-month period during 1867-68. There are lots of good reasons to stop and stretch your legs here: the "fort" is actually a western museum/wild-west-show-in-miniature/kitschy gift shop all housed in a mock stockade (mockade?) complete with soldier mannequins (one with an arrow tastefully stuck in his butt) and a corral out back that is home to a...drumroll, please...Muffler Man Indian! The western museum displays many authentic items, including chaps, guns, boots, spurs, stuffed animals, and some statues of Bill and various Indians. The piece de resistance, though, is a stuffed two-headed calf. The miniature west show is an accurate, if not tiny, diorama of Buffalo Bill's traveling extravaganza from the 1870s. Ernie and Virginia Palmquist carved the 20,000 figures --snake charmers, knife-throwers, fat ladies, cowpunchers, squaws, you name it -- that come to life every half hour in an animated show, free of charge. The gift shop features a glittering array of items to mark the occasion and remember your friends and loved ones by: iron dinner triangles ("Come an' gitit!"), books of western lore, taste-challenged T-shirts, edible bugs, stuffed jackalopes, candy cigarettes and more John Wayne paraphernalia than you can shake a stick at, Pilgrim. And if that's not enough, out back there's a corral with wagons, a tee pee, a buffalo and, yes, the famed 25-foot lantern-jawed brave, girning at you with Native American Muffler Man pride. Muffler Man aficionados will tell you this is a modified classic MM, not the official Indian classification, just so you know. However you categorize him he's awesome, and how.

So don't pass up the chance to see a real kitschy Americana treat the next time you're passing through central Nebraska. And the skies are not cloudy all day.

Semi-conscious: Some trucks seen along the way

2011-06-17T19:02:00.001-07:00

A. Duie Pyle of what, pray tell?

And by "gasser", I'm sure they mean that in a Rat Pack "a real solid gasser, man" sort of way.

I'll take "Trucks That Carry Bread" for $500, Alex.

Cue the Tony Bennett: "Oh the good life, full of fun seems to be the ideal..."

Don't be so down on yourself...I'm sure it's lovely in your part of Ohio.

Nobody beats the Sapps...nobody.

My eyes! My eyes! Oh my eyes!

Our Lady of the Snowy Abandoned Dodge.

You just had to try the Bonneville Salt Flats in the wet season, didn't you?

National Pickle Day. Be Kind to Your Accountant Day. Take a Phlebotomist To Lunch Day. I'm out.

I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. No wait, that was Johnny Cash. Never mind.

Keep on Truck Inn.