On the Road Again... Part 10

Crossing the bridge to nowhere  in Bowman, N.D. and (below) the missile-riding cowboy. (Photos by Bonnie J. Schupp)

Why would anyone ever want
to drive to NORTH Dakota??

Venturing from missile art to a peace garden

NORTH Dakota – It’s hard to pick a dateline for NORTH Dakota, even hard to believe we actually got to NORTH Dakota. But we found it right where the state belonged, on top of South Dakota, and the adventures were so spread out you’ll just have to take it as a whole.

Didn’t take long to find the bizarre as we crossed the Dakotas’ border on two-lane U.S. 85. It was on the right side of the road in the town of Bowman, a cowboy riding... a red and blue missile. Complete with a bold red USA on its tail. It was like a scene out of Dr. Strangelove, but mounted atop an old truck that had a golden eagle as a hood ornament.

If you didn’t notice the missile at first, that’s understandable – considering it was parked next to a bridge that had an airplane on top of it. And the bridge, with a road surface made of weathered wooden beams,  didn’t seem to go anywhere.  But I was assured by folks in a nearby insurance office it was safe to drive across. The owner of the property and apparent wizard behind the outrageously comical display owns a construction company, and his trucks have crossed the bridge, they said.

So I eased our Toyota Camry across the heavy wooded slats, and stopped in the middle so Bonnie could record the crossing. I just wished I could have moved the entire display back to Baltimore, because it was a scene straight out of the American Visionary Art Museum playbook.

A young chap from the insurance office walked over before we left, admiring my Ravens cap, and happy to give us Easterners some suggestions on our itinerary. For one thing, he said, don’t stay on U.S. 85 for too long, because it runs smack into the oilfield boom that is dominating the northern part of the state. He suggested cutting across the middle after our drive through part of Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and visiting the International Peace Garden on the U.S.-Canada border.

Sounded like a plan.

More badlands, and motel madness

We veered briefly westward across Interstate 94 to reach the South Unit of Teddy Roosevelt country, which was quite scenic – but another dose of badlands. We drove a loop road through the park, then went motel hunting in nearby Medora. It was, for this master of the cheap rate, a little over the top. I define that as $140-plus for a night. There was one place that had a $99 rate, but it just didn’t look very appealing.

So back on I-94, figuring there would be plenty of motels along the interstate. Well, there were a few – but none with a vacancy. We drove about 100 miles through a fierce thunderstorm while Bonnie shopped for motel vacancies anywhere close to our route. Just about every room was taken, apparently by oil boom workers in a region that can’t build housing for them fast enough.

Finally, in Mandan – a suburb of the state capital Bismarck (remember that for your next appearance on Jeopardy) – she scored a $99 room in a Best Western hotel that proved to be sheer luxury. Of course it didn’t include breakfast, which we ended up buying the next day in the hotel steakhouse restaurant. Sigh.

A day of distractions

By noon the next day, we were leaving the interstate to traverse State Highway 3 due north toward the Canadian border.

Old schoolhouse along North Dakota Highway 3.

Of course distractions are inevitable for us, the first of them a turn off the roadway to check out the business district of tiny Hurdsfield, and perhaps find someone who could identify an old white building Bonnie had photographed 20 miles back... which turned out to be an old schoolhouse.

The business district was about two blocks long on a street by the railroad tracks, where we poked our heads into the cafe in search of a restroom. And we found hospitality. We sat down at a table where Lou Weckerly was having her pasta lunch, and got to chatting. Lou owns the community store, and she and her husband own an area grain farm. But they flee to Florida in the winter rather than endure the below-zero weather here, she said.

Lou Weckerly sits by the autograph wall.

The wall of the cafe is covered with signatures. It was the result of a fundraiser that enabled the cafe to install new carpeting – donate a dollar, sign the wall. There were a lot of names up there.

We were about to pay for my coffee and Bonnie’s root beer, but Lou would not let us pay. “I’ll take care of it,” she said, wishing us a safe journey.

David at the center.

Another distraction was Rugby – not the game, but the town. Its claim to fame – not to be confused with center-of-the-USA Belle Fourche, S.D. – is being the geographical center of North America. We gather that this calculation did not include Mexico, but a town’s gotta do what a town’s gotta do. There’s even some accounts that the center is miles from Rugby, but why quibble? Rugby has a lovely stone obelisk staking out its middle ground.

By the time we were getting close to our destination, it was late afternoon and storm clouds were growing. We passed through the town of Dunseith one of several towns that celebrate their Turtle Mountains identity with giant turtle statues. I noticed one about 12 feet tall apparently made of truck parts, but missed the one pictured on the ‘Roadside America’ website made of several thousand steel wheel rims.

Looking without success for lodging, we called the International Peace Garden and were directed to the closest places – about 20 miles away, down a scenic country byway. It was too late to visit, since the attraction closes at 5 p.m., and rain had begun to fall.

Peace, beauty and inspiration

For all the 300-plus miles we had driven to get there from Medora, the Peace Garden was beautiful and inspiring – a project of the early 1930s covering 3.65 square miles straddling the international border and celebrating the peaceful relationship shared by the U.S. and Canada along a basically unfortified transcontinental border. The entrance is located between the two nations’ immigration checkpoint inspection stations.

Peace Chapel exterior

Aside from the beauty of its huge gardens and a conservatory with the largest cactus collection I've ever seen, the park features twin 120-foot concrete towers straddling the border, and a peace chapel whose interior sandstone walls are inscribed with quotes from the famous, the historical and even a few anonymous people. Every quote is worth contemplating. Here are a few:

When one door closes another door opens. But we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the ones which open for us.

-- Alexander Graham Bell

Nonviolence and truth are inseparable and presuppose one another. There is no god higher than truth.

--Mahatma Gandhi

And my favorite...

Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time. For that is the stuff life is made of.

-- Benjamin Franklin

 Oh, Canada!

After several hours not at all squandered at the Peace Garden, we had to choose a route – backtracking or, as I preferred, crossing the border into Canada for a peek at two provinces we had never visited. We’ve done and loved the Maritimes, Ontario, Alberta and British Columbia in years past, but here was a great opportunity to see Manitoba and (I can spell it now!) Saskatchewan.

“How long do you expect to stay in Canada,” the border crossing officer asked. “A day or two,” I replied.

In Boissevail, Manitoba...

The highlight was probably the turtle statue in the Turtle Mountains community of Boissevain, Manitoba -- and I couldn't resist posing for a picture to give my readers a sense of its size. Take that, Marylanders -- Fear the Turtle!

About four hours of endless farmland later, Bonnie had gotten her fill of that part of Canada and directed me to turn left and back to North Dakota. “This trip is about the U.S,” she insisted. “I never wanted to go to Canada.”

I reluctantly admit she was right. And that's what I told the U.S. immigration official as we crossed back onto USA soil. "How long were you in Canada?" he asked. "About four hours," I replied. "We've seen enough."

And he smiled. "Welcome home."

Oilfields be damned, it was time for northern North Dakota. And it really was fascinating to see endless farmland where grain surrounds oil drilling rigs that look like alien grasshoppers. That and the booming development evidenced by logistics companies, temporary housing, new shopping centers and roads under construction. We heard that North Dakota is that rare state – it has a budget surplus. Small wonder. But it’s a mess up there.

Temporary housing, and job opportunities for oil workers in North Dakota.

After an overnight in Minot, it was time for some westward expansion to our itinerary: Oh, Montana! Oh, Wyoming!

 

On the Road Again... Part 6

The Fall of Saigon, as seen from Interstate 80 in Lexington, Nebraska. (Photo by Bonnie J. Schupp)

Heartland volunteers preserve history,

operating military vehicle museum

 LEXINGTON, Nebraska – The last helicopter out of Saigan catches you by surprise, the sight of a helicopter atop a platform where a figure with hand outstretched reaches for those fleeing in the last moments of the Vietnam war. And it’s in the middle of Nebraska, of all places.

Just off Interstate 80, about a quarter-mile east of the Lexington exit, the display is part of the collection of the Heartland Museum of Military Vehicles. There’s about two dozen military vehicles and pieces of equipment baking in the sun, and rusting, outside a warehouse-size building filled with the stuff of military history dating to the first world war.

Helicopters, jeeps, ambulances, trucks, armored personnel carriers -- the hardware of war – fills nearly all the floor space. There’s even a large Korean War-style MASH tent --  Mobile Army Surgical Hospital – depicting the setting of the legendary television program M*A*S*H* that put the acronym into the mainstream vocabulary. A posted menu offers some tongue-in-cheek dishes.

Our guide through the museum is one of the volunteers, Gary Gifford, himself an Army veteran of Vietnam. He points out the most unusual pieces, like a restored troop truck built shortly after World War I, and a helicopter still in flying condition. Many of the pieces could run, and some have participated in parades, he noted.

He led us to the backside of a combat tank, where visitors can clamber inside, take a seat and imagine how hot soldiers must have been when riding in one. It’s not like chilling in an air-conditioned car set on cruise control. It is among several pieces in which visitors can sit or climb around. Another is a former Huey gunship helicopter.

There is an open area in the building where local Veterans of Foreign Wars meetings take place, and a large display of tri-folded American flags – presentation flags from the funerals of veterans, customarily handed to the next of kin. The flags had formerly been housed in a veterans club that closed, and they were moved to the museum. Each of the stacked, triangular wooden cases has a name tag. They are the real centerpiece here.

Admission is free, but donations are welcome – along with grants, they are a major source of funding for the museum.

Roadside attractions continue

Interstates will get you there fast, but most often it’s the blue highways that bring the best smiles.

Getting off I-80 in favor of the two-lane asphalt ribbon of State Route 30, we rolled into the town of Gothenburg – home to a surviving station of the storied Pony Express. The station was moved to the site, now part of a pleasant town park, in 1931 from its original location along the National Historic Trail route of the daring, perhaps foolhardy,  riders.

It was a business that lasted only about 18 months, providing a means of communication between Missouri and California through a relay of mail delivery riders -- an early example of how quickly technology can render a business obsolete. In this case, it was the telegraph.

  

But the little museum/souvenir shop operating inside the restored station, and a silhouette rider a few steps from the building, help keep the romance of the Pony Express alive. It also sells lots of books – and (hint, hint) could use some more copies of our friend Chris Corbett’s book, “Orphans Preferred: The Twisted Truth and Lasting Legend of the Pony Express.” It was sold out.

  

As we continued westward on Highway 30, enjoying the sight of millions of black-eyed susans (also called wild sunflowers out here), the blaring horns of trains hauling mega-tons of coal eastward, passing an occasional abandoned homestead fallen into ruin, we came upon a large stuffed animal gorilla and dog sitting side by side on a bench, mounted atop a pair of old utility poles in the rural community of Paxton.

The sight was worth stopping and turning around, to admire the whimsy and wonder at the why. I steered onto a dirt lane and drove between fields of tall corn in search of the folks who lived there. But no one seemed to be home when I rang the bell – only a curious pooch that popped through a little doggy door onto a side porch, with nary a bark.

The roadside mailbox bore the names of the folks who live there, Randy and Cher, and if I manage to contact them I’ll update this yarn with their explanation. In any event, thanks for the laugh!

Road Trip, The Bizarre Part 4

Virginia is
for wackos

Elephants, dinosaurs and Bibles, oh my!

The craziness and wonder are unmistakable along Virginia Route 11, approaching tourism-rich Natural Bridge.

On the west side of the road, there’s a menacing green dinosaur standing on a broken-open shipping crate atop an old red pickup truck. It’s a promotion for the Dinosaur Kingdom attraction a few miles further south.

But strangely, it’s sitting on the small gravel parking lot for what seems another sort of kingdom, hinted at by the Ten Commandments posted on one door of the padlocked double-gate entrance. The other door has an ironically similar message: “No Trespassing.”

Well, forgive us this little trespass – we peeked through a hole and saw a sight that would positively enrage a member of People for the Ethical Treatment of Fake Animals: Life-size replica denizens of Noah’s Ark littering the ground of the enclosed yard like so much junk. There’s a damaged elephant, a giraffe, animals as far as the eye could peek, all doubtless in need of a flood outta there.

Glancing at the giant plastic pharaohs lining the outside of the fence in this ersatz Valley of Kings, we headed off the parking lot and saw a billboard looming over the east side of Route 11 proclaiming the Dinosaur Kingdom and yet another wonder ahead – FOAMHENGE.

Little more than a mile south, there it was on a plateau up a small hill, looking very much like another “henge” we’d visited years ago in England. Not stone, but foam – a life-size rendering of Stonehenge, free for the visiting but with signs warning against vandalism.

Unlike the real thing in England, which is surrounded by a fence to keep people outside the great circle, Foamhenge (shown in wife Bonnie Schupp's photo, top, as is the roadside dinosaur in silhouette) is fully accessible. You can stand under it and pose for photos, but please don’t chip the paint or team the foam material. It’s already chipping away.

The creator of Foamhenge (and Dinosaur Kingdom, which we hadn’t the time to seek out) is Mark Cline. And after encountering Foamhenge by the chance of getting off Interstate 81 for the “blue highway” joys of Route 11, I did a Google search and found plenty about him – including a marvelous 2006 Washington Post story on his creations headlined “Jurassic Lark.”

Check it out at http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/04/23/AR2006042301192.html.

From the story, I gather that the fenced enclosure that so Biblically mystified us is the Enchanted Castle headquarters of the artist, who had crafted critters for all manner of theme parks. So it was a shame he wasn’t around since, as fans and members of the American Visionary Art Museum, Cline is our kind of artist.

A sign at the foot of the path leading up to Foamhenge (which the Post story says was unveiled on April Fool’s Day 2004) offers comparisons between it and the English inspiration:

“Stonehenge took 1500 years to complete... using stones weighing as much as 50 tons. An estimated 600-1000 men dragged the stones from Marlborough Downs 20 miles north. Perhaps used as a temple, observatory, or tomb.

“Foamhenge was completed in six weeks using beaded Styrofoam blocks weighing up to 420 pounds. Delivered on 4 tractor trailer trips from Winchester, Va. 100 miles north. It took 4-5 Mexicans and one crazy white man to construct. It’s main purpose is to educate & entertain.”

Bless you, M. Cline – it did just that! (Though I thought Stonehenge was completed a few centuries quicker.)

Joe the Plumber’s Helper

As it turns out, the story keeps growing – Barack Obama knocked on the guy’s door, John McCain made that encounter a big deal in the debate, the media surrounded Joe, and all the suggestions and assumptions that had arisen took on the wispy quality of smoke in a variable breeze.

So the media finds he doesn’t have a plumber’s license, isn’t about to buy the company from his boss, has a lien on his house for state tax delinquency in Ohio, and is just the kind of not-poor, not-rich white guy who would be better off with Obama as president but will vote for McCain.

Just another meaningless distraction along America’s Road to Ruin.

Coming tomorrow: The art of political postering