I'll see you in my 'streams: The late, great Airstream Ranch of Dover, Florida

It was with great sadness that we learned of the passing of one of our favorite eccentric roadside attractions. The Airstream Ranch of Dover, Florida consisted of eight different sized Airstream trailers (seven and a half, actually, to commemorate Airstream's 75th anniversary) partially buried and angled as an homage to the Cadillac Ranch of Amarillo, Texas. It was assembled by the Bates R-V dealership in 2007. The dealership was sold four years ago and the ranch was torn down a few days ago to make way for  expansions to the new owners' dealership and to make space for an Airstream museum. While we're happy with the idea of an Airstream musem --who wouldn't be? -- we're a bit verklempt they had to take down such a funky one-of-a-kind work of art to do it. This just serves as a reminder to visit these wonderful wacky places while they're still standing because they may not be there the next time to you look for them. In other words, carpe 'stream.

Here's what we said in our original post from 2010: 

Field of 'Streams: Dover, Florida's Airstream Ranch

Amarillo, Texas has the Cadillac Ranch. Alliance, Nebraska has Carhenge. And the pleasant central Florida hamlet of Dover has the Airstream Ranch, seven and a half shiny Airstream trailers of different size and vintage upended and partially buried nose-first in a field along Interstate 4, about a half-hour east of Tampa. The brainchild of Frank and Dorothy Bates, proprietors of the Bates R-V dealership (who bill themselves as the largest Airstream dealership in the United States), it was installed on their property on 2007 in honor of Airstream's 75th anniversary (hence the seven and a half). But like all great eccentric roadside attractions, it wasn't without controversy. Seems some of the neighbors hated it and Hillsborough County officials fined the Bateses $100 a day until it was taken down. The Bateses appealed and last February a three-judge panel ruled in their favor and they got to keep their ranch. The Bateses' argument was that it was an artistic expression, not an advertisement, and, while the judges avoided answering whether or not it was art, they did conclude that it wasn't advertising and it wasn't junk, so there it stands. And it's going to get even better: "Now we're going to light it at night," says Mr. Bates. Bravo to the Bateses for their eccentric artistic vision. If you build it, they will come.

Donuts make my brown eyes blue: Bradenton, Florida's former Mister Donut shop

Pass the insulin, please.

On an all-too short visit to Florida recently, I happenstanced upon an eccentric roadside delight in the mid-Gulf coast burg of Bradenton: a donut shop housed in the original 1950s Googie architecture of a Mister Donut shop. Founded in 1956, the Mister Donut chain was acquired by the parent company of Dunkin Donuts in 1990. The Mister Donut name was then largely done away with, along with its distinctive mid-century "W" shaped orange and white trimmed buildings and winking chef logo. A precious few of the original cruller emporiums remain under different names, so it was an occasion worth stopping for when one popped up on Route 41 on my way north from Sarasota to St. Pete. The inside of the place looked original, too, with short stubby stools in a zig-zag pattern like donut and coffee shops used to be so fond of doing but don't do any more. When I asked the young fellow working behind the counter if I could snap a few photos of the inside, he looked at me queasily and said no, so all I have are exteriors. And even though I'm a diabetic, I did patronize this fine establishment by purchasing a scrumptious coconut donut for 75 cents. Rare roadside gems like these should be supported, diabetic coma notwithstanding. Debra Jane Seltzer, roadside architecture scholar par excellence, has a whole page of former Mister Donuts for you to peruse on her words-can't-describe-how-amazing-it-is website. And that's the hole truth, so help me.

'Streams like old times: Dover, Florida's Vintage Airstream Park

In the immortal words of the B52s: "Hop in my Chrysler, it's as big as a whale and it's about to set sail!"

I love how this looks like the face of a character from a Pixar movie.

It's a good thing the president of BP doesn't a policy like this.

But wait, there's more! Before we leave the awesome Airstream Ranch of Dover, Florida (see previous post), the Bates RV dealership has more delights for the eccentric roadside attraction fan to behold. As you enter their parking lot, they've assembled a vintage Airstream trailer park just for fun. Five tin can mansions of various size and vintage are arranged in a cute little picket-fenced park, complete with lawn flamingos. An added bonus is a gorgeous maroon '60s Chrysler Newport pulling "Bambi." They also have a terrific billboard with an actual Airstream built into it. Sweet 'Streams are made of this.

Field of 'Streams: Dover, Florida's Airstream Ranch

Amarillo, Texas has the Cadillac Ranch. Alliance, Nebraska has Carhenge. And the pleasant central Florida hamlet of Dover has the Airstream Ranch, seven and a half shiny Airstream trailers of different size and vintage upended and partially buried nose-first in a field along Interstate 4, about a half-hour east of Tampa. The brainchild of Frank and Dorothy Bates, proprietors of the Bates R-V dealership (who bill themselves as the largest Airstream dealership in the United States), it was installed on their property on 2007 in honor of Airstream's 75th anniversary (hence the seven and a half). But like all great eccentric roadside attractions, it wasn't without controversy. Seems some of the neighbors hated it and Hillsborough County officials fined the Bateses $100 a day until it was taken down. The Bateses appealed and last February a three-judge panel ruled in their favor and they got to keep their ranch. The Bateses' argument was that it was an artistic expression, not an advertisement, and, while the judges avoided answering whether or not it was art, they did conclude that it wasn't advertising and it wasn't junk, so there it stands. And it's going to get even better: "Now we're going to light it at night," says Mr. Bates. Bravo to the Bateses for their eccentric artistic vision. If you build it, they will come.