Been There, Done That, Got the T-Shirt

August 29, 2025 steveboilardLeave a comment

This morning I headed downstairs from my motel room to partake of the “free” breakfast. Then I spotted this sign in the breakfast room:

*But a “D” is technically passing right? At least that’s what I used to tell my parents when I brought home my report card.*

Instead of the motel breakfast, I got a gas-station coffee and donut. I then got onto the U-28 scenic byway, which carves its way through the Colorado River gorge towards Grand Junction. It was so spectacular it even made my donut taste good.

*That’s the muddy Colorado River on the left.*

*A perfect setting for a Western…which it has been, many times.*

After maybe half an hour of driving I came across a pedestrian suspension bridge that crosses the Colorado River. Attentive readers will recall that I’m a sucker for these things, so I looked for a place to pull over and sway my way across the (not-so-) mighty Colorado.

So imagine my disappointment when I discovered that the bridge’s decking was entirely missing.

*…but wait–what’s wrong with this picture?*

Turns out the Dewey Bridge (for that’s its name) was built in 1916 and is Utah’s longest suspension bridge. It was fully restored in 2000….and eight years later some kid was playing with matches and the whole thing went up in flames.

*Kids, don’t play with matches! (2008 photo from Wikipedia Commons.)*

A sad and ghostly air hangs about the skeleton of the Dewey Bridge. It set back my good mood a bit.

A little later I came to the town of Fruita, Colorado (pop: 13,400). I could live in this town. It’s one of those places that’s figured out how to preserve its history, cater to modern tastes, create a livable community, and attract tourists. The town is jammed with public art, and the main street has plenty of outdoor cafes and benches to relax, have a cup of coffee, and watch the world go by. It seems that most of the buildings along Main Street are historic and well-preserved or restored.

One public art installation that made me scratch my head was this rooster with no head:

A friendly fellow drinking coffee at an outdoor table noticed me photographing the sculpture and gave me the story of Mike the Headless Chicken. (Trigger warning for those sensitive about food preparation by carnivores.) It seems that in 1945, a local farmer by the name of Lloyd Olsen was attempting to behead one of his chickens for dinner. His aim was a little off, and most of the chicken’s brain stem remained with the body. The chicken survived his beheading, flapping his wings and running around headlessly. What was Lloyd to do? He spent the next year and a half carefully feeding Mike (for that was the chicken’s name) individual kernels of corn through the throat and addressing Mike’s thirst with milk and water from an eyedropper. Mike became a sideshow attraction and gained national fame. Indeed, I remember reading about Mike in a “Ripley’s Believe It Or Not” paperback in the 1960s. Fruita still remembers Mike with the sculpture, T-shirts and other souvenirs, and an annual “Mike the Headless Chicken Festival” each spring. I am not making this up.

Fruita also has a lot of non-headless-chicken art around town. In fact, I noticed that many of the towns in eastern Utah and western Colorado feature interesting public art installations. Here is a sampling:

*Sculpture honoring children’s music teacher David Carl Moore in Delta, Colorado.*

*Windrider Custom Cycles sculpture in Delta.*

*Sculpture at Dennis Weaver Memorial Park in Ridgway, Colorado. Dennis Weaver (I remember him as McCloud from the NBC television series) reportedly loved eagles and lived in Ridgway for many years.*

I also randomly ran into these women playing the tubular bells (?) xylophones(?) that are installed at the park. Somehow I think Dennis Weaver would have appreciated it.

*I’m not sure if it technically qualifies as art, but there is a large number of long-parked classic cars on both sides of the street in downtown Delta, Colorado.*

Also related to this theme of public art is the 1928 Egyptian Theater in Delta. It’s obviously been loving restored, and it regularly shows movies and hosts performances. It’s much smaller than the Egyptian Theater in Hollywood, but it similarly reflects the fascination with all things Egyptian in that era.

But let’s get back to the purpose of today, which was to complete my trek to Placerville, Colorado. You’ll recall that the California version of Placerville was originally called Hangtown, and the tree where those hangings took place (in 1849) stood on Main Street for many years. Even though it was cut down in 1853, the stump remains in the basement of an old Main Street building, where a dummy perpetually hangs from a noose.

*Photo by the author, from my 2021 blog post about Placerville, CA.*

So it was auspicious that, just as I was getting close to Placerville, Colorado, I spotted this hangman’s tree in the town of Montrose:

*According to the sign, George Bikford was hanged from this tree for robbery and “horse stealin'” in 1878.*

And so, with that preface, I finally came to the storied town of Placerville, Colorado. Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly El Dorado.

*This is seriously about all there is to the town.*

Pretty much all that makes up Placerville is a post office, a general store, a storage facility, and a few houses. In the 1800s it was a mining boom town, but as with many boom towns, the mines dried up and the population went elsewhere. Later, the failure of the local Trout Lake Dam in 1909 wiped out most of what remained.

But be that as it may, I think we can declare this mission a success.

And (shockingly) I was even able to purchase Placerville merch at the general store!

*I was hoping for “My husband drove from Placerville to Placerville and all I got was this stupid T-shirt.”*

BREW OF THE DAY

We have a winner!

In the town of Ridgway, Colorado (pop: 1,300) I stopped in at the Floating Lotus Brewery. It’s a friendly, casual place with an airy atmosphere, two outdoor patios, a stage for live music, and a great view of the neighboring property where John Wayne filmed some scenes from True Grit. Owner/Brewmaster Kenny Conley hooked me up with his favorite beer: the Blastoplast IPA.

This was hands down the best beer I’ve had on this trip. Of course, that’s an admittedly low bar. But this is seriously a tasty brew. Unlike so many modern IPAs, this one is perfectly balanced. It’s not too hoppy, not to carbonated, not too pungent. At the same time, it’s flavorful and a bit “richer” than you’d expect from an IPA, without the astringent IPA afterburn you sometimes experience by the end of the glass. And at 6.3 percent ABV, I’d say the alcohol content is right where it should be. This is a five-star brew.

*Kenny at his post. If you ever find yourself in Ridgway, or even in the vicinity of Telluride, pay him a visit!*

bridges · California history · cemeteries · Road trips · trains

The Placerville Chronicles–Day 1

August 27, 2025 steveboilard4 Comments

This morning I picked up my rental car in Placerville, California, and headed in the direction of Placerville, Colorado–some 900 miles to the east. (For those coming late to this story, the details are here.)

As I left Placerville I passed this mural that honors John Albert “Snowshoe” Thompson, a Norwegian immigrant who settled in Placerville in the mid 19th century. Every winter for 20 years (1856-1876) he made a twice-monthly trip over the Sierra Nevada range to deliver the mail. He made the 90-mile trek on skis (despite his “Snowshoe” nickname) from Placerville to settlements in Nevada.

Unlike Snowshoe Thompson, I chose an easier passage over the mountain, driving a Nissan on US 50 over Echo Summit. I ended up in a little tourist trap of a town called Genoa, NV (pop: 1,300). Genoa brags that it’s the oldest settlement in Nevada…but I was struck by something that’s more relevant to this journey: Genoa was the eastern terminus of Snowshoe Thompson’s mail delivery route. And they have a statue to commemorate the fact.

*Snowshoe Thompson, doing his Gorton’s Fisherman impression.*

At some point Snowshoe Thompson moved his residence from Placerville to Genoa. In fact, Genoa became his final resting place.

*Those pruning shears on the face of his tombstone presumably are meant to be skis. But who knows, given the misspelling of his last name.*

Having appropriately honored this (quasi-)native son of Placerville, CA, it was time to continue my journey toward Placerville, CO. To do this, I passed through the “independent and sovereign nation” of Molossia.

What, you’ve never heard of Molossia? Neither had I. But it seems that there are about 11 acres of land in the town of Dayton, Nevada, whose owner (Kevin Baugh) has declared to be a sovereign nation. Molossia claims to have its own currency, postal service, navy, railroad, and various other trappings of a proper nation. President Baugh does have to pay property taxes to the county assessor, but he calls this “foreign aid.” Molassia’s back story is actually quite interesting and entertaining; if you’re interested, you should check their Wikipedia entry or their actual website.

The president of Molossia is very clear that you need to arrange your visit ahead of time. So a few weeks I emailed His Excellency, and got this response:

Steve, Greetings, and thank you for your interest in visiting our nation as a part of your travel blog. It is an honor.

I regret that we will be unable to host your visit to our nation on that date. … There are other events and activities taking place in Molossia on those dates, thus we will not be able to welcome you to our nation. My apologies. Hopefully you will make it back out this way on a future tour date and we will be more than happy to welcome you to Molossia then.

Regards,

His Excellency President Kevin Baugh
Republic of Molossia

Undeterred, when I came to Dayton I drove up to the border of Molossia. Conveniently, there was an open parking spot.

The Molossian flag was flying proudly, and a sign made clear that I was indeed about to leave the United States.

A sign next to a bench even invited me to “take a seat in a foreign country.”

Despite my inability to secure a reservation, I decided to approach the customs building. Alas, it was locked up.

So I had no choice but to follow the signs back to the United States.

I plan to try to get on Molossia’s official tour list for 2026. When I have a date, I will announce it on this blog in case any of my loyal readers want to join my delegation. But for now, I had to bid a sad farewell to Molossia.

Almost all the remainder of today’s journey involved traveling US 50 across Nevada’s enchantingly bleak Great Basin. This stretch of highway is often called “The Loneliest Highway in America.” I’ve driven it several times (see my blog post here) and I always find it to be relaxing and contemplative. Today was no exception. Here are a few pictures to give you a sense of the landscape:

*Inevitably, even out here in the middle of nowhere, you run into jackasses…*

*One of the few watering holes along the way, in Austin, NV.*

As the sunlight was wanting I stopped for the night in Ely, NV (pop: 3,900). Ely is well known for its superb railroad museum and heritage railway, but beyond that there isn’t much besides smoky casinos. I took a room at the Jailhouse Motel, whose reception desk is inside the adjoining smoky casino.

Also in the casino was something that passes for a bar, so I figured I’d try to get my Brew of the Day. But the beer selection was positively abysmal, and each seat at the bar was equipped with a huge, noisy video poker terminal. Looking at the bar’s sad patrons, I mumbled “terminal indeed,” and headed across the street to my room.

BRIDGE CORNER!

Although we don’t have a BOTD for today, we can offer you this 1906 railroad bridge over the Carson River in Fallon, NV:

As should be painfully obvious, this is a Pratt subdivided through-truss bridge. And, as a steel marker certifies, it’s made by the American Bridge Company of New York.

OK…thanks for indulging me. Tomorrow we’ll return to the BOTD.

California history · Road trips · trains

Tale of Two Cities

August 26, 2025 steveboilard3 Comments

I’ve called many places “home” during my many years here on this big blue marble. Currently, I hang my hat in Placerville, California—a medium-sized town halfway between Sacramento and Lake Tahoe on US 50. Placerville started out as a mining camp during the California Gold Rush, and today it is the county seat of El Dorado County. And it may or may not be where Edgar Allan spent his final years, incognito.

The settlement was originally known as “Hangtown” because of the way justice was meted out from a big oak tree on Main Street. After the town got bigger and more respectable it changed its name to Placerville—a reference to the placer mining (that is, the relatively simple collection of gold from stream beds) which characterized the first years of the Gold Rush.

In addition to its gold mining heritage, Placerville is steeped in transportation history. Spurned by the original transcontinental railroad, Placerville was the eastern terminus of the Placerville and Sacramento Valley Railroad. It also served as a relay station for the Pony Express, and it’s where John Studebaker made his fortune selling wheelbarrows before he went back east to produce automobiles. (See my earlier blog post for more on these last two items.)

*Faithful reproduction of Placerville’s 1889 depot. Placerville had hoped to be a stop on the original transcontinental railroad, but a more northerly route through Truckee was chosen.*

So, Placerville is a historic town with a unique and colorful history all its own. And yet about a month ago, my brother-in-law Scott was in Colorado and came across this sign:

Who knew?? It seems there’s a second Placerville about 900 miles to the east. Evidently this eastern upstart was founded on Colorado’s San Miguel River in 1878, about three decades after “my” Placerville.

The two Placervilles presumably take their name from their shared history of placer mining. And yet there are significant differences: California’s Placerville sits at about 1800 feet in the Sierra foothills, while Colorado’s Placerville is perched at 7300 feet in the Rocky Mountains. The California version has a population of about 10,700, while the eastern upstart only has about 3 percent as many souls.

*ChatGPT generated this image for me…and seems to have some trouble with spelling.*

So, what to do with this discovery of Placerville’s doppelganger? Why, plan a Placerville-to-Placerville road trip, of course! And that trip starts tomorrow morning. To spice things up, my route is going to take me through a foreign nation. All will be revealed over the next couple of days. Stay tuned!

Breweries · California history · Cars · Puns · Road trips

Life in the Slow Lane

July 1, 2025 steveboilard3 Comments

With a level of complication that rivals the Normandy Invasion, my son (Ian) and I decided to rendezvous at a resort near Bend, Oregon, where we used to spend summer vacations once upon a time. Ian flew there from Vermont (which took two days, thanks to United Airlines), while I decided to drive up from Placerville along the east side of the Sierra Nevada range on US 395.

*One of the more contemplative drives in California.*

As alert readers will recall, I’ve driven various stretches of 395 at various times, most recently on my famous search for the remnants of the Nevada-California-Oregon narrow-gauge railroad. You can read about that trip here. Heading north on this stretch of US 395 is simultaneously one of the most contemplative and dramatic routes in California, with the craggy east slope of the Sierras on your left and lots of open range and the occasional lake on your right. Traffic is fairly sparse and the occasional towns are small and infrequent. My two favorite stops on the route–partly for their names and partly for their oasis-like qualities–are Hallelujah Junction (pop: 1) and Likely (pop: 99).

While I didn’t cover new ground during this week’s trip up to Oregon, I did have a new rental car experience. I typically reserve the smallest, cheapest car on offer, knowing that the rental car companies will almost always “upgrade” me to an Altima because that’s pretty much the only car they actually keep on the lot. Ian correctly points out that the price difference between renting the bottom-of-the-line subcompact and just a normal sedan is only a few bucks a day. But it’s that kind of thinking that led to our current $36.2 billion national debt.

So I booked the cheap-o car. And this time they called my bluff. Meet the Mitsubishi Mirage–with three working cylinders and a total displacement (1.2 liters) that’s literally the same as my motorcycle.

A little research reveals that the Mirage was the lowest-priced car available when it was manufactured in 2023. In a zen-like way, those savings come at a cost. The interior is as bare-bones as it gets, with manual seats, basic AM-FM radio, hard-plastic door panels, and a no center console of any kind.

*I’ve eaten pizzas with a larger diameter than the Mirage’s spare tire.*

Plus, in a throwback to the Clinton era, this is one of the last production cars to still require an old-fashioned key to get its three cylinders firing.

But the most remarkable thing about the Mirage is the (lack of) acceleration. This car notoriously has the slowest zero-to-sixty time of any production car. Ian did a Google search and found this review that Carbuzz did of the ten slowest cars. Here’s their take on the Mirage:

And finally, the number one slowest vehicle in America is the soon-to-be-dead Mitsubishi Mirage. It takes you an impressive 12.8 seconds to get from zero to 60 miles per hour in this sad excuse for a passenger vehicle, and it’s all thanks to the minuscule 1.2-liter three-cylinder engine that only produces 78 hp and 74 lb-ft of torque. It isn’t fast, it isn’t comfortable, it isn’t nice, and it’s pretty old. The Mirage won’t be missed.

Now, Ian’s an engineer, and he insisted that we subject this claim to empirical testing. So I stopped the Mirage on a flat stretch of road, Ian readied his stopwatch, and I stomped on the (aspirationally-named) accelerator. The analog speedometer began move, like Frankenstein’s monster on the slab. Five mph, ten mph….my fingernails and hair became noticeably longer….twenty mph…empires rose and fell….thirty, forty, fifty….North America drifted another few inches away from Europe…finally we achieved 60 mph.

The feat required 17 seconds–almost a third longer than even even CarBuzz’s incredulous estimate. On the positive side, the Mirage gets good gas mileage.

Anyway, we spent a few days near Bend simultaneously consuming water, hops, and barley. It was a relaxing break from my mile-a-minute retired life.

Then, just like that, it was time to head home. For the return trip we took US 97 from Bend to Weed, where we connected to Interstate 5 and continued south to Sacramento. A few notable items along the return trip include this decaying roadside relic in Chiloquin, OR (pop: 769).

I found an online photo from some years back that helps to clarify what it’s supposed to look like:

Is it a tapir? A cross between a horse and a cow? A dinosaur of some kind? There’s a lot of online debate about this. It’s sort of the Rorschach test of roadside kitch. Turns out it’s a remnant from a place called Thunderbeast Park that opened on this spot in the 1960s. There are some rumors on the internet that the remaining dinosaurs were relocated to a spot along highway 1 on the north coast. Ian claims we actually saw them on an earlier trip, but I think he may be hallucinating. Please let me know if you have any insights on the whereabouts of the Thunderbeasts.

Meanwhile, the town of Crescent (pop: 400) has this unusual, but better-preserved, roadside art on top of the town library. I’m assuming the bear had some meaningful connection to an earlier use of the building?

The town of Crescent also features this lumberjack, who appears to be suffering from a cervical fracture:

Near Klamath Falls we encountered this unexplained castle sitting in a field along US 97. To me it looks like a giant version of the kind of thing you’d see on a miniature golf course. Turns out it’s a trademark display from a bygone place called “Kastle Klamath,” which billed itself as a “Family Fun Land.” It had go-karts and a swimming pool and, yes, miniature golf. Like so many such places, it seems to be a victim of changing tastes in the Internet age.

Eventually we crossed back into California and came to the town of Doris (pop: 860), whose claim to fame is its 200-foot-tall flagpole. A plaque claims it is “America’s tallest flagpole.” (As of this writing, the tallest flagpole in America is actually in Wisconsin, and it stands at 400 feet. Meanwhile, the tallest flagpole in the world currently resides in Cairo, Egypt, at 662 feet.)

The southern end of US 97 terminates at Interstate 5 in the town of Weed (pop: 3,000). Located close to Mount Shasta, the town of Weed is named after Abner Weed, who founded the town when he built a lumber mill here in 1897. Today, the name provides endless opportunities for hilarious puns. For example, the town’s motto is “Weed like to welcome you.” And there are a half-dozen souvenir shops hawking T-shirts saying “I love Weed” and similar phrases that will make you the envy of Deadheads everywhere.

*The historic archway to downtown Weed.*

Finally, what is a road trip without a Studebaker sighting? We spotted this heavily-modified 1950 Starlight Coupe on the side of the road…where most Studebakers eventually spend a good portion of any outing.

And now, it’s time for the…

BEER OF THE DAY

The BOTD comes from McMenamins Old St. Francis School in Bend, Oregon. McMenamins is a privately-owned chain of historic structures that have been converted into pubs, restaurants, and hotels. This location had been a Catholic school which was built in 1936, and today the classrooms are hotel rooms. It also includes a full restaurant, a brewery, and movie theater, and a public pool.

The offspring and I had lunch in the back patio, and for my beverage I selected the Bamberg Obsession. It’s a Munich Helles (a lightish German beer) to which they’ve added beechwood-smoked malt.

It’s a beautiful, golden beer the color of light honey. I was mesmerized simply by the look of the thing, radiating sunshine and pot-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow good luck. The taste didn’t disappoint, either. This is a refreshing beer, as you’d expect from a Helles. But the addition of the smoked malt lends a subtle complexity that keeps things interesting. It’s not overwhelming, but rather gives just a hint of peat or a distant campfire. There’s not much bitterness to this drink, which again is consistent with the Helles style. A slight sweetness also comes through. The ABV clocks in just under 5 percent. This is the Arnold Palmer of beers. Highly recommended on a warm day. 4.5 out of 5 stars.

California history · Road trips · trains

Central Controversy

April 16, 2025 steveboilardLeave a comment

In a recent blog post, I asserted that Kingsburg, CA is “smack-dab in the middle of” California. I based this assertion on nothing more than a quick glance at a map.

Several alert readers called out my unsubstantiated claim. The reader with the best case was Jeff N., who wrote: “To go to the official center of the state, head a little North out of Fresno to a spot near the town of North Fork. There’s an official surveyors mark noting the exact center of the state.”

A quick search of various sources provided unanimous corroboration of Jeff’s claim. For instance, check out this newspaper article from the Desert Sun.

Coincidentally, I did stumble across a (sort of) competing claim in the town of Shafter, CA (pop: 22,000). Shafter is home to a 1917 Santa Fe railroad depot, which now serves as a railroad museum. I visited the station because the folks at the Kingsburg Depot meeting I attended the other evening told me that Shafter was their “sister depot”…whatever that means. So I made a quick visit.

Anyway, during my visit I noticed this marker, which proudly boasts “California 2010 Center of Population.” So while North Fork is the geographical center of California, Shafter is the population center…at least based on the 2010 census.

*“Center of Population” marker on the ground.*

But upon closer inspection, the plaque above the marker reads:

The survey monument below commemorates the geographic location of the center of population of the State of California for the 2010 Census. The actual location of the 2010 center lies in a farmer’s field on the south side of San Diego Street and 2,132 feet east of Wasco Avenue, four miles southwest of this point.

All of which raises the obvious question: Why couldn’t they put the marker any closer than 4 miles from the proper location???

Incidentally, the 2020 census still places California’s population center in the town of Shafter. Here’s a good article, for context.

As an aside: close to the Shafter depot is this historic middle school, the facade of which reminds me of a creepy Twilight Zone episode where the school messed with the students’ minds.

*…But aren’t these column-topping figures a little creepy?*

But to return to the competing claims as the “center” of California: I would be remiss if I didn’t reprise this 2022 photo I took in Glasgow, MT. Few could argue with their claim!