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

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

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

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

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

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.