Redenbacher’s Revenge

June 5, 2025 steveboilard1 Comment

Today’s segment of Route 20 took me from Iowa Falls, Iowa to O’Neill, Nebraska–a distance of almost 300 miles. But while I covered more distance than usual today, I spent less time on the road. This is because I’m now in the Midwest/Great Plains part of the country, where US 20 runs straight and fast. Plus, frankly, there isn’t as much to see here, meaning fewer stops. This part of the drive is more meditative, with mile after mile of farmland, a big open sky, and almost no other traffic on the road.

As I left Iowa Falls, I noticed this popcorn stand on a downtown corner.

That neon sign looked pretty antique, and a little research revealed that there’s been a popcorn stand in Iowa Falls since the 1870s. The current incarnation has reportedly been around since 1947, though it looks like the wall panels have been replaced fairly recently. Unfortunately, I arrived too early in the morning to get a bag of popcorn. But it still made me smile to see such a simple, old-fashioned treat prominently featured downtown.

About 100 miles to the west I encountered a place called Sac City (pop: 2,000) (har!) I say “har” because Sac City has decided to promote itself through the currency of popcorn. Specifically, right on the side of US 20 (which is also Sac City’s Main Street), a four-and-a-half-ton popcorn ball is on display.

Now, this had me scratching my head. Of all the things you could do to put yourself on the map, creating the world’s largest popcorn ball and putting it in a roadside hut doesn’t seem like a huge tourist draw. Especially since it doesn’t seem to relate to the city’s history or industry in any way. What’s more, it seems like the shelf life of a giant popcorn ball would be somewhat limited. But most damning, this isn’t really even a popcorn ball–it’s just a bunch of popcorn dumped into a giant plastic bowl. The top of the popcorn “ball” is almost completely flat. The arrangement of the windows made it difficult for me to get a good shot (which points to another problem with this tourist “attraction”), but you get the general idea:

Still, I give Sac City an A for effort. They have brochures promoting the city next to the popcorn ball, there’s a QR code, there’s signage to other nearby points of interest…They’re really doing a lot to promote their city. I just question their choice of roadside attraction. Quite frankly, I liked Iowa Falls’ popcorn stand a lot better.

Now, the real head-scratcher today was this place:

Now that’s an odd name for a town. Is it build around a state prison? I didn’t realize at the time but the sign’s tagline–“Jog down our main street”–was a clue.

I “jogged down” the Main Street and encountered a monument that explained the name. The town’s name references a land surveying term called “correction lines.” Because of the curvature of the earth, north-south lines are adjusted with “jogs” every 24 miles. In Correctionville, this means that all the north-south streets “Jog” horizontally at 5th Street. Don’t ask me to explain it any further.

You can read more about correction lines on this close-up of the plaque. But do you notice anything unusual about it?

That’s right–Correctionville needs to “correct” the punctuation in the heading on this plaque. How embarrassing.

Oh, and speaking of Corrections: in yesterday’s blog post, the link to my story about the Wisconsin Wild West Town was left out. Here’s the link.

I returned to the road and eventually arrived in Sioux City, Iowa (pop: 86,000), on the banks of the Missouri River. It was here that the Lewis and Clark expedition (which was following the River toward its headwaters in the Rocky Mountains) buried Sgt. Charles Floyd, the only member of the expedition to die on the journey. He was buried on a bluff overlooking the river. This was in 1804.

Unfortunately, the river eroded the bluff where Floyd was buried, and exposed part of his grave. His skeleton was salvaged and reburied a bit further inland. Then, roughly 100 years after his death, Sgt Floyd was reburied again and his grave was marked with a 100-foot obelisk. (And you know how I’m a sucker for an obelisk!)

After paying my respects to Sgt Floyd, I returned to US 20 and crossed the Missouri River into Nebraska. This is the point in the trip where one needs lots of coffee. The road is straight and monotonous, but not without a stark beauty of its own.

I stopped for the night in one of the few towns of any size, a place called O’Neill (pop: 3,575). As you might guess by the name, O’Neill is named after an Irish immigrant by the name of John O’Neill. Incorporated in 1882, the town was settled mainly by Irish immigrants. Today, it takes that heritage quite seriously. Shamrocks adorn the local fire station, the school, the bank, even the local Subway sandwich shop. The pubs all seem to be Irish themed, and there are several Catholic churches and a Catholic school.

At this point in the trip I was feeling a need for a long walk, and fortunately O’Neill has something called the Cowboy Trail. This is one of those “Rails to Trails” arrangements, where an abandoned railroad right-of-way is converted into a hiking and biking trail.

The Cowboy Trail runs 317 miles along the old Chicago & Northwestern railroad route from Norfolk, Nebraska to Chadron, Nebraska. There’s only one railroad station still standing on the route, and as luck would have it it’s here in O’Neill.

After visiting the station, I spent an hour walking along the trail. It’s a quiet and pleasant walk along a crushed limestone path, with plenty of trees and wildlife. Who knows what the other 300-plus miles look like, but I think it would make for an enjoyable mountain bike trip over a couple of weeks. Towns and sleeping facilities are located all along the route.

But that’s another trip. Tomorrow I’ll again be heading west on Route 20.

BRIDGE CORNER

At the suggestion of loyal reader Peter D, this morning I walked across the so-called Swinging Bridge of Iowa Falls. I say “so-called” because it doesn’t really swing. But then neither do I…

Anyway, it’s a pedestrian suspension bridge across the Iowa River. It was originally constructed in 1897, and then re-built in 1909, 1925, 1956, and 1989. In other words, the bridge has been rebuilt every 23 years (on average). It’s now been 36 years since the last rebuild. But why worry about these things?

*A good place for the Billy Goats Gruff to cross.*

I crossed the Iowa River on the bridge, and returned to my starting point without incident. It’s actually very pleasant out there in the morning. Here’s a video of the peaceful scene.

My only complaint is that the bridge barely flexes while you walk on it. It certainly doesn’t live up to its “Swinging Bridge” moniker.

Deep cut: Now here’s a real swinging bridge that I crossed in Montana in 2022. It’s the Kootenai Swinging Bridge. The full blog post is here.

BEER OF THE DAY

I really wanted to get the BOTD at Brioux City Brewery in Sioux City. The name alone makes the place worthy. Alas, they were not open when I got there. So instead the BOTD comes courtesy of Marto Brewing Company in Sioux City, Iowa. Though “courtesy” is probably not the right word, as will quickly become evident.

Sioux City actually has several craft breweries, but Marto was distinguished simply by dint of being open at 11:30 am when I came through town. Though “open” is probably not the right word, because they couldn’t be bothered to unlock their doors until well past opening time. At any rate, I eventually got inside and bellied up to the bar. I greeted the bartender behind the counter, though “bartender” is probably not the right word. He was occupied washing out a big plastic bucket in the sink behind the bar, and explained to me “I don’t work here.” He eventually disappeared. Meanwhile, there were approximately a half-dozen servers standing around a table where (I later learned) various new foods were laid out for them to sample so they could speak with authority to the customers. Which presumes, of course, that they actually bother to talk to a customer. The servers filled their plates and went to various corners of the (otherwise empty) restaurant to eat their free food.

Finally a young woman wandered behind the counter and I asked her for the barrel-aged stout. She disappeared and returned with a glass of water. Just when I was going to repeat my request she asked whether I wanted the “Art of Survival” or the “Maple Fluff.” Going against my better judgment, I chose the latter.

*That faucet in the background is where the random worker was washing out his bucket.*

I tell you all this backstory because I want to acknowledge that I wasn’t in the best mood to review their beer. Anyway, here we go:

The Maple Fluff is billed as a chocolate stout made with peanuts and marshmallows and aged in Jim Beam barrels for over two years. It’s also billed as 13.5 percent alcohol, which is why it comes in a small, 5-ounce goblet. Sounds promising, no?

From the very first sip, it’s clear that this is a case of false advertising. I don’t taste any marshmallow or peanuts. Without exaggeration, this tastes like I’m drinking molasses diluted with Trader Joe’s teriyaki marinade. I can’t overstate how sickeningly sweet this is. There is no trace of hops to even slightly counterbalance the unfermented sugars. And while I like robust, meaty stouts, this has the consistency of Pennzoil. Even after I finished the glass, the sides remained coated with a thick layer of the high-viscosity beer. You know how old glass window panes in a Victorian mansion are thicker at the bottom due to the gradual “flow” of glass downward in the course of a century or two? I suspect that’s how long it would take for this beer to drain from the sides to the bottom of the goblet.

Now, to be fair, a tablespoon or two of this beer would be good over vanilla ice cream. It also might make a good additive to your car’s crankcase if the piston rings are worn. But under no circumstances would you ever want to drink a full glass of this sweet sludge. Actually, that would be a good name for it: Marto’s Sweet Sludge. 1 star.

Breweries · bridges · churches · Movies · Puns · Road trips

Searching For Something Knotty

June 4, 2025January 26, 2026 steveboilard1 Comment

Today I took US 20 from Northlake, IL to Iowa Falls, IA. Near the beginning of the day’s drive I noticed this huge sign on a barn in the town of Freeport, Illinois (pop: 24,000).

Why not? I followed the directions and was soon at this miniature version of Wrigley Field. It’s kind of cool–I’m sure a Little Leaguer would get a kick out of playing on that field.

Now, while I was on Freeport’s surface streets I encountered this marker:

And do you know why Freeport calls itself “Pretzel City?” Is it because it produces more pretzels than anyone else? No. Is it because the roads twist and turn like a pretzel? No. Is it because the world’s pretzel production relies on Freeport’s proprietary yeast? No. In fact, it turns out that Freeport once had a German bakery that made pretzels. Like 150 years ago. That’s it.

And for that small and random fact, the local high school’s mascot is a pretzel. I’m not making this up.

*I wonder if they’re sponsored by Snyder’s of Hanover?*

Now, you may think I’m mocking Pretzel City. And I am. But I happen to love pretzels, and all this ruminating on the snack brought on a hankering for a big, soft pub pretzel with beer cheese. Surely I could get one here in Pretzel City.

No. “Pretzel City” does not sell big pretzels. There isn’t even an Auntie Anne’s in town.

So I ended up scanning each town I passed through for either a German bakery (unlikely) or a brew pub (more likely). Around noon, when I was passing through the town of Elizabeth, Illinois (pop: 694), I hit the jackpot. Right next to the road was the Highway 20 Brewing Company.

The brewery is in an 1875 Presbyterian church with beautiful stained glass and a large outdoor seating area. What could be better? I parked the car and strode up to the Narthex. And there I was foiled: The place didn’t open until 3 pm. I seriously thought about killing a few hours until they opened, but it was such a tiny town I couldn’t think of much more to do than drink a beer and eat a pretzel in a church. Muttering words that shouldn’t be spoken on church grounds, I got back in the Perigrinator (as I’ve taken to calling the Altima) and continued along Route 20.

Shortly before I got to the Iowa state line, I entered the town of Galena, Illinois (pop: 3,300). Now Galena is an interesting place. Most of the town is recognized as a National Historic Site, and just passing along the street feels like you’ve gone a century or two back in time. Virtually all the buildings in the downtown are historic, and most of them seem to cater to tourists. Among other things, Galena plays up the fact that General US Grant retired here after the Civil War, and his home is a major tourist draw.

Of course, the main draw for me was a place called the Galena Brewing Company. It’s in an old building from 1849, that once housed a print shop. They make a good selection of interesting beers, and I’ll discuss my choice when we get to the BOTD. But my immediate goal was to get me a big pub pretzel. Voila!

It’s a one-pound pretzel, which the brewery claims it is “famous” for. I don’t know about that, but I do know that it constituted my entire lunch. I was supremely happy.

While scarfing my pretzel I chatted with a few other people at the bar. We were all out-of-town visitors. Tom had just visited his sister nearby, and had a 300-mile drive home in front of him. Steve and Ann had come over from the greater Rockford area to spend a few days, and this was their third trip to Galena Brewing Company. There was also a woman from Denver visiting a relative in the area. Bailey the Bartender kept us all happy. It was a very enjoyable hour. And that’s not just the pretzel talking.

*Left to right: Tom, Bartender Bailey, mystery bartender, Steve, and Ann.*

OK, now that I’m done with that twisty tale of pretzels (har!), let’s go back to a couple of other sites of note along today’s drive.

In Marengo, Illinois (pop: 7,600), I spied this mysterious old tower right next to the road. It abuts a decaying, old stone wall–like ancient Italian ruins. Is it a watchtower of some kind?

*This wall behind the tower surrounds a plot of overgrown brush and random pieces of cast concrete.*

*Looking upward along an enclosed ladder on the side of the tower. You can see the enclosure above the door in the first photo. I considered climbing the ladder, but chickened out.*

My internet sleuthing didn’t turn up anything definitive to explain what the heck I was looking at. ChatGPT thinks it’s a fire watchtower, but it seems to be confusing the structure with a steel tower not far from there. Anyone know what we’re looking at here?

The most melancholy site of the day was Donley’s Wild West Town, also in Merango. This sign caught my attention:

Following the sign, I encountered what appeared to be a giant Frederic Remington sculpture:

Judging from the iconography so far, I assumed this Wild West Town would be similar to a place near my childhood home, called Frontier Village. Frontier Village depicts a sanitized version of the Old West, with rodeos and bloodless shootouts and gold panning and alcohol-free saloons and pony rides and such. I remember it being great fun.

So, hoping to relive a few moments of my youth, I turned into the parking lot. The place was clearly closed for the day, and despite the presentable-looking front doors, the facade was looking a little long in the tooth.

*Cue the whistle from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.*

*Must have been a pretty fun place, back in the day.*

A search of the internet confirmed that the place is permanently closed. This made me feel kind of melancholy, for two reasons. First, it’s always poignant when someone’s dream dies. From the little I know about Wild West Town, it seems like it was a family-owned, family-friendly place with a lot of heart. It reminds me of an abandoned place in Wisconsin that I discovered in 2022. You can read my post about it here. And if you do, make sure you scroll all the way down to the comments at the end, where the son of the park’s founder makes a surprise appearance.

Anyway, the second reason the demise of a park like this saddens me is because it reminds me of the passing of an era. It seems that these low-tech, sweetly-corny, flesh-and-blood places aren’t popular in the modern, digital world. I know that makes me sound like a Luddite, or at least an old man. Which I am. But still.

I encourage you to watch this 2016 video of highlights from the Wild West Town. You’ll see what I’m talking about.

But let me end on a somewhat more inspiring note: Near the end of the day I saw a sign along US 20 urging me to visit the “Field of Dreams.” Yes, that Field of Dreams. It turns out that after they made the 1989 Kevin Costner movie, the town of Dyersville, Iowa (pop: 4,000) preserved the baseball diamond that was created in a cornfield. It’s now a tourist attraction.

Sure, it’s a little corny (ha!), but it was heartwarming to see kids and families playing catch on the field. What a perfect bookend to a day that began at the Little League version of Wrigley Field.

BRIDGE CORNER

This overpass carries traffic from Seippel Street in Dubuque over US 20. To me it looks like a fairly new structure, and it seems to incorporate old steel arches from a prior bridge. I cannot confirm any of this with my research though. Our research team will keep working on it, but any tips would be appreciated!

BEER OF THE DAY

As noted early, the BOTD comes from Galena Brewing Company. I had the “All Day Reveille,” which is a black lager. It’s as dark as a stout, but with a much thinner body and less robust taste.

This beer is quite balanced, with a dark, malty base that’s countered with a moderate amount of hops. After fermentation, they add some cold-brewed espresso from a local coffee roaster. This gives the flavor a stronger backbone. Still, it’s not overpowering, and the flavor profile is fairly flat. The ABV is 5.7, which is about average. I’d call this a pseudo-stout for people who don’t like stouts. I’ll give it 3.5 stars, which means I wouldn’t go out of my way for one, but I’ll enjoy one if it’s in front of me. I give the accompanying pretzel a solid 5 stars.

Breweries · Cars · movie theaters · Road trips

Wow! Great Lakes!

June 3, 2025June 4, 2025 steveboilard4 Comments

Today’s drive along highway 20 was reflective. The route took me from Toledo Ohio (at the west end of Lake Erie), around the bottom of Lake Michigan, and up to the town of North Lake, Illinois, which is just west of Chicago. Here’s a map:

Though it doesn’t show up on this map, Route 20 passes through the city of South Bend, Indiana (pop: 103,400). Named after the southernmost bend of the St. Joseph River, South Bend has an interesting history. It’s been home to Notre Dame University since 1842 (Go Fighting Irish!), of course. But ten years later the Studebaker Brothers came to town and established a very successful wagon manufacturing plant that, around the turn of the century, switched to building automobiles. Studebaker was one of the larger “independent” auto manufacturers, and at its peak it employed 22,000 workers in South Bend. It would be stretching things to say that South Bend was a company town, but Studebaker certainly was a major contributor to the local economy.

*Studebaker factory in South Bend, circa 1940.*

Some of you young ones might never have heard of Studebaker; it closed its doors in South Bend in 1963, and then shut its last remaining facility in Canada three years later. But I actually owned one. It was my first car, which I bought in 1978. Behold!

*Parked at stately Boilard Manor around 1980.*

I owned that car for about 25 years, and then, in a rash act, I sold it. Recently I’ve been wondering if I should have kept it. I’ve even had dreams about it. And then, a couple of days ago, I spotted what at first glance appeared to be my old car on the side of US 20 in New York:

A couple of telltale signs convinced me this wasn’t the same car. But it was eerie nonetheless. And it was eerier still to see a version of the car again today, in the Studebaker National Museum in South Bend:

But I digress. My point was that Studebaker was a major contributor to South Bend’s economy. And so when it shut down in the 1960s, it had a major negative impact on unemployment. It’s estimated that, at the time of its closure, Studebaker employed two thirds of the city’s African-American labor force. To make matters worse, South Bend was already suffering from the general effects of deindustrialization that were besetting towns throughout the Rust Belt.

*Terra Cotta logo that once graced the Studebaker factory.*

South Bend gained national prominence with presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg as mayor from 2011-2018. He and others have worked to gain investment in the city’s businesses and infrastructure. But I can report from my visit today there’s still a long way to go. Block after block has vacant and dilapidated buildings. The area around the old Studebaker factory is especially rough. Most of the Studebaker buildings have been torn down, but a few, such as Studebaker’s main administration building, still stand, albeit to no good purpose.

*Used to be the nerve center of the Studebaker empire.*

Here’s another random, old building on Michigan Street that appears to be serving no purpose. It caught my eye for two reasons: First, because of the tubular external fire escape.

*I wonder if this is where the McDonald’s folks got the idea for their Playplace (TM)?*

*And Potter seems to still be in business today!*

Second, and more importantly, the building caught my eye because of this barely-legible painted signage facing the road:

“US 20” is still clearly visible. (Less clearly, it seems to read “7 MICH ST.”) Funny thing, though, I had to turn off US 20 to drive down this road (on my way to a brew pub. More on that later). It turns out that US 20 used to be routed through here, before being re-routed around the downtown in the 1960s.

Now, some of you know my pet theory that you can tell a lot about the health of a town by its historic theaters. Almost all older towns have had a theater or two along the way. And almost all theaters declined with the advent of television and VCRs and such. But what did the towns do with their old theaters? Did they knock them down to make way for “progress”? Did they let them decay? Did they repurpose them? The answers to these questions tell a lot about the priority of the arts in the community, the extent of civic pride in the city’s history, the functionality of local government, and so forth. And I’m happy to report that South Bend has restored and preserved its beautiful, large, historic Morris Theater. The original theater opened in 1922 as a vaudeville house. It’s now a performing arts center that seats over 2,500. It’s home to the South Bend Symphony Orchestra, and it hosts broadway shows.

*And the inside is even more beautiful than the outside!*

What’s more, South Bend has a second historic theater that it’s actively working to restore. The 1919 Blackstone-State theater was operating on and off up until 2016. As of a couple of months ago, the South Bend Redevelopment Commission approved the City’s purchase of the building for $800,000. Presumably, as a city-owned property, it will have more stability going forward.

So I judge South Bend to be on an upward trajectory, despite the significant challenges it still faces.

I’m less bullish on the next major town I drove through today: Gary, Indiana. I became quite depressed just passing through. Broadway was once a grand boulevard, but now it looked like it’d been bombed, with half-standing buildings, vacant lots, and rubble lining the street. People roamed the sidewalks in a fashion that seemed aimless and hopeless. And, most damningly, the historic theaters looked like they weren’t ever going to be saved.

*Detail of the marquee. That street lamp looks good, at least.*

While I was taking a picture of the Palace theater (above) a man who was passing by stopped to tell me about how it used to be his favorite movie theater. “Apple” (as he called himself) used to sit up in the balcony and watch double features in the 1960s. He was sorry to see it go. Now, he says, he lives in an “old people’s home” and walks past the theater every day on his way to the corner store. He was a kind and sympathetic man, but he didn’t seem to have any spark in his eyes.

Now, you probably know Gary Indiana for one of two things: the song from The Music Man (sung by a young Ron Howard), or the birthplace of Michael Jackson.

In fact, while driving through the town I passed a sign directing me to the Jackson House. I dutifully followed the sign and ended up on Jackson Street (whose name, I assume, was changed after the Jacksons became famous. Otherwise it would be too much of a coincidence!) The neighborhood is severely run down, and seems to be populated by people who haven’t had a break. There’s no obvious signs of graffiti or gangs or drugs or anything like that; just poverty and neglect. Many houses are boarded up and/or abandoned.

But then you come to the Jackson place. It’s a tidy and tiny (two-bedroom) bungalow, in which the eleven Jackson family members somehow lived. It makes me glad to know they hit the big time, but my heart goes out to the rest of the folks around here who didn’t.

*Memorials in the driveway. I don’t think I’d hire Diamond Yard Bricks to do any installation work.*

Anyway, I left Gary feeling sad for a dead city and the people who still live in it.

After passing through Gary Indiana, Route 20 skirts around the edge of Chicago. I happen to love Chicago as a city, but visiting it is a commitment, and this is not that kind of road trip. So I stuck to Route 20, skirting around the outer edges of the city. I’ve parked myself in a nondescript town called North Lake, about 13 miles west of Chi-Town. Tomorrow I should finish crossing Indiana.

BEER OF THE DAY

I nabbed my BOTD at the South Bend Brew Werks. It’s another example of how South Bend is on the way up: It’s a nice, bright, new space with art on the walls and a big outdoor patio. They’re part of an energetic business district near the Morris Theater. They take their beer and their food seriously.

My server–Jason–was incredibly knowledgeable about beer, not just the stuff they brew but also the beers at breweries throughout the region. He’s also a rubber-stamp artist, and his work is currently hanging in this restaurant.

On Jason’s recommendation, I had the “Disinhibited Ep. IV: A New Haze.” It’s a double hazy IPA.

It’s a highly drinkable beer, though it clocks in at 8 percent ABV. The appearance, as you would expect, is hazy. And as an IPA, it has the expected piney hoppiness and medium carbonation. But the flavor is more interesting than your average IPA. It has notes of grapefruit and dandelion, balanced by the aforementioned hops. There’s just a suggestion of sweetness. Overall, the flavor is more sunny than bright, and more juicy than refreshing. It’s a very solid effort and manages to stand out in a world dominated by endless IPAs. 4 stars.

COINCIDENCE CORNER:

Yesterday I posted a picture of the Christmas Story house in Cleveland. Today I saw this in the corner of the South Bend Brewing Company:

Also, in April I did a blog post about the stretch of the Lincoln Highway that runs near my home in El Dorado County, CA. Today I saw this on a street corner in downtown South Bend:

Breweries · bridges · Movies · Road trips · trains · Yard art

Bridge-A-Palooza

June 2, 2025 steveboilard4 Comments

You’ll recall that yesterday I filmed myself crossing the US’s longest covered bridge, and then ended the day in Geneva OH where I encountered the country’s shortest covered bridge. Loyal reader Detlef K. asked why I didn’t include footage of crossing the Geneva span. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. So first thing this morning I returned to the Geneva bridge to correct my oversight. Here is the fruit of my labor:

Today actually turned out to be a bridge-filled day. Take, for example, this bridge that carries US Route 20 traffic over the Vermillion River in Wakeman, OH. It was built in 1933, and I’m told it’s an “open-spandrel, concrete-arch” design.

I’m no engineer, but I can appreciate how graceful that arch design is. And the fact it’s been there for almost a century is certainly impressive.

I took the picture from atop a pedestrian/bike bridge, and got to wondering what that bridge looks like from the side. So I moved over to the Wakeman (US 20) bridge and took this picture of the pedestrian bridge:

Is that impressive, or what?? It turns out the pedestrian/bike path was placed atop an 1872 railroad bridge. Trains haven’t come through here in decades, so about a decade ago the “rails to trails” people retrofitted it.

But then there’s Cleveland (pop: 363,000). US 20 cuts through the town on surface streets, and the experience of driving it is infinitely different from the peaceful cruise through innumerable small towns that I’d experienced the past few days. This morning’s drive through Cleveland was crowded, people were honking, blight was evident on both sides of the road. I did make a small detour to find the house that was used for the exterior shots of A Christmas Story (1983). But I got lost and found myself in a jungle of massive, looming bridges that cross the river at all angles. And that’s when the magic happened: I saw what makes Cleveland unique. I saw 200 years of history. Would it be going to far to say I saw its heart?

I took most of the following photos from a trail that was once the “towpath” along the Ohio and Erie Canal. Mules labored along these paths pulling boats and barges up the canal via ropes. The modern trail/historic towpath runs alongside the canal for about 100 miles. I walked less than a mile of this path, passing under and next to innumerable bridges–some still in service, and some decommissioned.

*I was wondering if the rusty old Nickel Plate Road High Level Bridge was still operational, and suddenly a Norfolk Southern train clattered over it.*

*Detail of one of the eight “Guardians of Traffic” on the 1932 Hope Memorial Bridge. Note that he’s holding a truck.*

*Railroad center-lift bridge, now decommissioned.*

Want to see one of these types of bridges in operation? Here I am waiting in traffic for an automobile bridge to return to earth:

*One of the modern spans. (Can one of my loyal readers identify it for me?)*

*A remnant of the 1888 Central Viaduct.*

*Rubble from the demolition of old bridges and associated structures, now used as ground cover next to the Towpath.*

*The modern towpath in foreground, with old and new bridges in background.*

Evidently Cleveland has over 300 bridges, many of which cross the Cuyahoga River. I’m not going to make you view them all. But you’ve got to admire the engineering and the grit that went into building these over the past two centuries. And you also have to admire how modern Clevelanders somehow navigate daily through this confusing labyrinth.

We now move on to the non-bridge-related part of the day:

Here’s a different kind of engineering project, carried out by a high-school dropout who taught himself welding, electronics, power delivery, and a ton of other stuff:

This is all on a lot on a residential street. Let’s look a little closer:

It’s all the work of local artist Tim Willis. And those robots and dragons actually move with electric servos, and the trucks have powerful engines that presumably could get them into a monster truck show. My readers will recall that I have a soft spot for yard art; this is incredible. Spend a minute or two hearing from Tim himself:

Sadly, he wasn’t available when I dropped by.

Next up was the town of Kipton, OH. A new reader named Bob suggested I check out the site of the “Great Kipton Train Wreck of 1891.” There’s a marker at the site explaining how a head-on railroad collision occurred because the watch of one of the conductors was four minutes slow. Leaving aside the issue of whether it’s wise to create railroad schedules that have two trains occupying the same space just minutes apart, this accident prompted the railroads to adopt strict standards for railway timepieces.

*The marker sits in a park/bike trail that used to be the rail line where the accident occurred.*

Finally, can anyone identify the building below? (You already had a hint.)

Beer of the Day

I nabbed my BOTD at the Inside the Five Brewing Company, just west of Toledo, Ohio. It’s owned by two retired NFL players: Chris Morris (Oakland Raiders) and Brandon Fields (Miami Dolphins). They both retired in the Toledo area, and started this brew pub in 2018. I’m told “Inside the Five” is reference to the last 5 yards of the gridiron. But it’s all Greek to me.

Anyway, the place is evidently very popular–it was packed when I got there on a Monday evening. They have a big space, with comfortable outdoor seating on a deck that overlooks the street. They also have friendly servers, and the weather was perfect. What better place to get the BOTD?

I had a pint of their Deimos, which is an American Porter. As we all know (after consulting Wikipedia), in Greek mythology Deimos was the son of Ares (god of war) and Aphrodite (goddess of love). Somehow he turned out to be the god of dread and terror. Should I be worried for ordering this beer?

Deimos is made by brewing a traditional Porter and adding local coffee and vanilla. Both of these tastes are prominent in the beer, though the vanilla is more prominent on the nose than on the palate. The mouthfeel is incredibly smooth. It’s very lightly carbonated, and has no foam to speak of. The ABV is 6.5 percent. The color is quite light for a porter–it’s the color of honey, or maybe the color of coffee when you use the Kuerig pod a second time.

Speaking of coffee: The coffee flavor is not particular roasty; instead it reminds me of Coffee Nips (TM) candy. There’s also a sweetness to this beer that is just this side of cloying. The beer seems to have no bitterness at all, with just the slightest evidence of hops on the finish. I’d say this is more of a dessert beer, that wears out its welcome as you move through a full pint of it. I’d give the first half 4.5 stars, and the second half 3 stars. I guess that means the overall score is 3.75.

Breweries · bridges

A Geneva Convention

June 1, 2025 steveboilard2 Comments

When I awoke in Geneva NY this morning I was relieved to discover that yesterday’s rain had stopped. It was going to be a good day.

After my morning ablutions I eased the Altima back onto US 20, which at this point was feeling like an old friend. Those iconic white-and-black shield signs, with the reassuring “West” designation, appear every few miles, or even more frequently when encountering some complicated twists and turns through the towns. For it’s worth remembering this 3,365-mile road was largely assembled from preexisting roadways which didn’t always line up perfectly. I have to admit, though, the USDOT has done a great job of making the route clear. I have hardly used a map or nav at all, instead relying almost exclusively on the road signs.

I encountered today’s first sight of note in the town of LeRoy NY (pop: 7,700). Do you recognize this?

Doesn’t it reminds you a lot of this?

Surely you remember Mike Mulligan and his steam shovel. The rusty hulk I saw in LeRoy this morning was made by the Marion Steam Shovel Company in 1906. (Notably, the name of Mike Mulligan’s steam shovel was Mary Anne-almost certainly a nod to the Marion company.) For decades the LeRoy shovel worked in a quarry across the street from where it now stands. It was retired to that spot in 1949…just a few years after Mike Mulligan’s Mary Anne was converted into a boiler for a building’s heating system. I’m just impressed with the scale of this beast. It took a crew of four men just to operate the thing!

Next up was the town of East Aurora, NY, where I saw the first of several giant sculptures. This first one is affectionately known as Vidler on the Roof:

Vidler’s is an old-timey five and dime store founded by Robert Vidler in 1930. This East Aurora location was established 65 years ago by Robert’s son, Ed. The inside of the store still looks very much like the old five and dimes…except the prices are much higher. The statue of Ed was placed on top of the building in 2009; Ed died ten years later, at age 90.

*And yet I still couldn’t find a perpetual-motion bird!*

It seems that this part of the country really likes to place giant objects on their buildings. A few other examples from today:

*In East Aurora. Is that a phone number on the sign or is it the Klingon word for “gum recession”?*

*Giant coffee cup in the town of North East, PA.*

*In front of a pizzeria in Erie, PA. The handle is 8 feet long, and the stainless steel wheel is 5 feet in diameter.*

My main objective of the day was to see some lighthouses on Lake Erie. Alert readers will recall that I’ve had a passing interest in lighthouses as interesting pieces of history, architecture, and (possibly) ghost lore. More to the point, though, last time I visited a light house I bought one of those souvenir “passports” that can be stamped at all the lighthouses in the US. I’ve already got five stamps. I only have 772 more to go…

Anyway, today I climbed to the top of the Dunkirk Lighthouse and the Barcelona Lighthouse. Both had docent-led tours, but I had to fake an emergency to escape the endless, meandering stories and dad jokes from one of the docents. I’m not making this up. Anyway, both lighthouses date from the 19th century, and the Dunkirk Lighthouse is still active. The Barcelona Lighthouse had the world’s first natural-gas powered lighthouse light. It hasn’t been active for well over a century, and is now run by the NY Parks Department. It was recently renovated and re-opened just this week!

*Dunkirk Light’s Fresnel lens (from 1857) is still in use.*

*View of Lake Erie from Dunkirk’s light tower.*

*Barcelona, NY Lighthouse, freshly restored.*

It was now getting close to dinnertime, so I went to a pizzeria in Ashtabula, PA that’s situated entirely within a covered bridge. Seriously. The 1862 town truss bridge was originally located about 11 miles south of its current location until it was slated for replacement in 1972. It was auctioned off, and the highest bidder was Gary Hewitt. His bid was five bucks. Gary had the bridge disassembled and then reassembled on its current site. He named the place Covered Bridge Pizza Parlour, which is kind of on the nose.

Sitting in the dining room of Gary’s restaurant you’re surrounded entirely by the bridge. It’s a neat and well-executed concept. I wish I could say the same for the pizza.

Now here’s where things start to get a little weird. Just minutes after leaving the covered bridge restaurant, I encountered this monster of a covered bridge:

I stopped to get a better view, but couldn’t find a decent angle.

*From here it looks like an elevated BART trackbed.*

A nearby kiosk explains that this is the longest covered bridge in the entire country, at 613 feet long. It was built in 2008. Come with me as I drive over it!

Now, a few minutes after crossing the country’s longest covered bridge, I enter the next town and decide to get a motel for the night. During my search I encounter another covered bridge. This time it’s the shortest covered bridge in the US!

*I’ve seen Eagle Scout projects more ambitious than this…*

What are the odds of the country’s shortest and longest covered bridges being within a few miles of each other along Route 20?? Of course, this is easily explained: Shortly after Ashtabula got all the attention for building the longest covered bridge in 2008, the folks in this neighboring town decided to replace an old cement culvert with an 8-foot-long covered bridge. It’s not a joke, exactly, but it’s certainly a lighthearted statement piece.

And what’s the name of this town where I’m ending my day’s travels? Geneva, Ohio. Which is fitting, since I started the day in Geneva, New York. There’s been a lot of doppelgangers today…

BOTD

I got my Beer of the Day here in Geneva, OH, close to the banks of Lake Erie. It’s a brewery called The Darkroom Brewing Company, for the space it occupies used to be a commercial photography darkroom. (Note to you young ones: In the old days, before pics were digital, you had to develop your photographs on paper with chemicals in the dark.)

I had something called “Nachthexen” Russian Imperial Stout. The name–which translated from German means something like “Night Witches”–was a term the Germans used to describe a special all-female bombing unit in the Soviet air force during the Second World War. So that’s cool.

The Nachthexen is very approachable for an imperial stout. It’s not as sweet or as heavy as some renditions of this style can be. It has decent carbonation, and it has 10% alcohol by volume..which may sound like a lot, but I typically encounter imperial stouts that have ABVs of 12, 13, even 15 percent.

This is an interesting beer. The nose is very malty, and a bit like unfermented wort. On the tongue it’s roasty almost to the point of burned. It starts out like dark coffee, but midpalate you get hints of burned popcorn, cork, and pencil lead. The finish has some bitterness and astringency, somewhat reminiscent of the volatile organic compounds in PVC pipe glue. Somehow, when you put it all together, it’s pleasantly interesting and strangely balanced. I give it 4.5 out of 5 stars.