A 'saur standing there: Harold's, the dinosaur-shaped auto garage of Spring Hill, Florida

As if the real, live mermaids of Weeki Wachee (see previous post) weren't enough to coax you to the mid-Gulf coast of Florida, there's another fantasmagorical attraction to lure you in. Harold's Auto Center of Spring Hill is housed in a giant dinosaur named Dino. Back in 1964, a Sinclair gas station took their green reptilian logo to real extremes by erecting a 47-foot tall, 110-foot long apatosaurus. Though no longer a Sinclair station, Dino still stands today with googly eyes and a goofy smile to greet all motorists on busy Route 19 in need of tune-ups, batteries and brakes. Harold's has been in business since 1977 and boasts of all the latest technological automotive diagnostic advances ("although we are inside a dinosaur, we stay up to date with what your vehicle needs"). I know if I lived in the area, I would be raptored with joy every time I drove past such an outrageously eccentric establishment. So if you're in the area and having car trouble, bring your "car Rex" to Harold's -- they're a sight for 'saur eyes and tricera-tops in our book.

Happy birthday James Dean

Today would have been James Dean's 83rd birthday had he not been tragically killed in a car accident on September 30, 1955 at the young age of 24. Back in 2011, we stopped at Blackwells Corner in Lost Hills, California, which was the last place Dean stopped before his fatal accident. We found a modern gas station and gift shop memorializing the historic nature of the place. Click here to read our previous post.

Eight days a Weeki, I love you: Florida's Weeki Wachee Springs

Mermaid shows? River cruise? Gift shop? Stop the car!

13 clams gets you admission to the mermaid show, a river cruise, a water park and the lush grounds.

Real live mermaids!

Okay, so they suck on airhoses. You would too.

Lots of photo ops (and yes, it's a little pervy if a grown man does this).

The grounds are beautiful...

...and so is the spring.

 Like I said, lots of photo ops.

In 1946, a Mr. Newton Perry, an entrepreneur and former Navy SEAL trainer, spotted a location with a natural spring near Florida's central Gulf coast and had an idea. Why not invent an underwater breathing method using a hose instead of a tank and get a bunch of gals to dress up like mermaids and put on aquatic shows for the tourists? He built an 18-seat theater submerged six feet below the surface of the Weeki Wachee (that's Seminole for "little spring"), recruited local young ladies, started doing shows in October of 1947, and the place has been a Florida institution ever since. By the 1950s, Weeki Wachee had become a very popular tourist destination and in 1959, it was sold to the ABC TV network, who expanded the theater to 16-feet below and 500 seats. The '60s were Weeki Wachi's hey-day and many famous people (Elvis! Esther Williams! Don Knotts!) visited. The city of Weeki Wachee was incorporated in 1966 and today it boasts a population of between four and twelve, depending on who you ask (the mayor is a former mermaid). By the early '70s, Disney World became the 3000-pound shark in the mermaid tank and older attractions like Weeki Wachee saw their attendance drop dramatically. Things got pretty bleak until 2008, when the state took over and made Weeki Wachee a state park, forever saving it from becoming one of those neglected tourist attractions of yesteryear.

And on behalf of eccentric roadside attraction fans everywhere, I'd like to say WAY TO GO, FLORIDA! Thank you for preserving a true sample of Old Florida roadside culture. It's nice to know a place some would call kitschy is actually a beloved state institution and worth protecting. Okay, so maybe the state was more interested in preserving the beautiful grounds, wildlife and natural spring (it's so deep, the bottom has never been found!), but as long as lovely young Floridians are donning those crazy finned costumes, I'm happy as clam.

California dreamin': Roy's Cafe of Amboy, California

We're feeling particularly chilled on this bone-cold winter's day in Rhode Island and I can't help but dream of some faraway place that's not just hot, not just really, really hot, but California desert hot. And that would be Roy's Cafe on Route 66 in Amboy, California. We were lucky enough to visit this awesome top-10-in-my-book-of-eccentric-roadside-attractions place back on a 98-degree day in 2011, so here's a rerun of what we had to say:

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 (2011), 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.

A fine how-do-you-do in Connecticut

I've lived in Connecticut and Rhode Island all my life and if those two states were a comedy team, Connecticut would be Carl Reiner (earnest, intelligent, quick-witted and serious) and Rhode Island would be Mel Brooks (unpredictable, hilarious, and completely off the wall). So it comes as a bit of a surprise that no-nonsense, straight-laced Connecticut is a little wacky when it comes to imposing fines along the roadside. There seems to be an aversion to round numbers, as the two signs above attest: $219 for littering and $131 for parking in a handicapped space without a permit.

Reminds me of that bit from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail":

 Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out.

So, in Connecticut there's a fine line between the sublime and the ridiculous when it comes to fines, not to put too fine a point on it, and we're fine ones to talk.

Stinging their praises: An update on Rhode Island's giant Exeter Scrap Metal scorpion

 A year and a half ago, we did a post about the giant green and yellow scorpion statue made out of old propane tanks, engine parts and other scrap metal castoffs that sits at the entrance of Exeter Scrap Metal in Exeter, Rhode Island, Eccentric Roadside's hometown (click here to read it). It took a little while, but just recently the legit Rhode Island press (The Providence Journal) also did a story about the place that went into much greater detail (unlike us, they actually talked to someone there) that answered all the burning questions ("who owns the place?" "why a scorpion?" "does he have a name?") we were too lazy...er, busy to ask.

Turns out the place is owned by a Mr. Kevin Gilligan, and the sculpture was created by various employees and family members and you can click here to read the full investigative report.

And we're sure when Thomas Jefferson said "The press is the best instrument for enlightening the  mind of man, and improving him as a rational, moral and social being," he meant stories about giant green and yellow scorpion statues.

The Price is White: The Big White Guy of Chicopee, Massachusetts sold at auction

For the past several decades, a friendly 30-foot fiberglass dude wearing a handsome white suit and hat has been a fixture around the greater Springfield, Massachusetts area, and since 1999 he has greeted motorists from his perch off the Massachusetts Turpike's Exit 6 off-ramp in front of the Plantation Inn in Chicopee. Back in 1970, a Mr. Mario Cantalini bought the Big White Guy, also known as Plantation Man or Southern Man (but not the Neil Young "Southern Man"), from a Framingham, Mass. pizza restaurant and converted him into an Uncle Sam for his Springfield Ford dealership. Then, in 1999, after he sold his dealership, he gave the big dude a monochromatic wardrobe makeover and moved him in front of  his new business, the Plantation Inn in Chicopee. Mr. Cantalini passed away last year at age 94, and now his relatives have closed the Inn and put the property, Big White Guy and all, up for auction last November. They didn't get their asking price for the Inn, but Big White Guy was sold for $11,500 to a Mr. Charlie Arment, Jr., a local businessman who bought the dude on behalf of a group of partners who plan to keep the statue somewhere in the greater Springfield area.

Good on you, Mr. Arment, for having your heart in the White place, being in the White place at the White time and doing the White thing by keeping Big White Guy local. You deserve a big hand.

Check out my source for all this great info here.