Ron P. shared this photo of himself behind the wheel of his dad’s 1951 Studebaker Commander. The photo was taken in 1960. Ron does not identify the specific day the photo was taken, but let’s assume it was on the second Saturday of September, which is International Drive Your Studebaker Day.
The 1951 Commander is an iconic car, with a bullet nose and a wrap-around rear window reminiscent of a B-52. It was truly distinctive and unique. Here’s a shot of the front of the car, theoretically being washed by Ron’s sister:
Meanwhile, the Rev. Jonathan C. shared his own Studebaker story: In 1964 his family drove from New York to California in a Studebaker. Much of that journey followed the storied Route 66. The Studebaker was a 1953 Conestoga. You’ll recall that Studebaker started out making Conestoga wagons in the 1800s, but Jonathan’s Studebaker was a station wagon. (Although his family may have purchased the car in 1953, 1954 was the first model year of the Conestoga.) Also notable about the car: It was the company’s first all-steel station wagon, and it only had two doors. The Conestoga was also available in an ambulance form, which Studebaker called the “Ambulet.” I’m not making this up.
Next, there’s this: Loyal reader Brian W. reminded me that Frank Zappa had a symphonic fairy tale (?) from 1971 titled “Billy the Mountain,” with a short movement that featured Studebaker Hoch. Among the unforgettable lyrics:
Studebaker Hoch, he’s really outta sight! Studebaker Hoch, he does it every night! Studebaker Hoch, he treats the flies all right Studebaker Hoch, that’s why they never bite, hey!
Don’t believe me? Have a listen:
And speaking of Studebaker-associated musicians: Did you know that Alice Cooper owns a Studebaker Avanti? It’s true!
Meanwhile, high school buddy Detlef K. shared this Studebaker reminiscence:
[Driving with the Studebaker Hawk] was an off-the-charts exceedingly cool experience. I can recall back the two of us cruising side by side up Foothill Expressway – I seem to recall driving my mom’s 1974 Chrysler T&C Station Wagon – both machines each with a massive V8s reverberating between the cars made for an unforgettable experience! But keep in mind a 1960 Studebaker in 1979 is only a 19 year old car. Barely can be acknowledged as a used car, let alone a classic. It’s an entirely different thing to consider driving a 1963 production vehicle in 2026. That is a whopping 63 years old!
Finally, my brother David B. was musing about how the well-known oil additive STP was a property of the Studebaker Corporation in the 1960s. In their advertising they claimed STP stands for “Studebaker Tested Products.” To which Dave scoffed “As if ‘Studebaker Tested Products’ would be a selling point for anything!”
Note Studebaker logo in lower right-hand corner of sign.
Thus concludes today’s episode of Stude-Talk. Send in your own Studebaker stories and we might do another one!
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, surely you’re aware that today in International Drive Your Studebaker Day. Or, as my friend Vic cheekily calls it, “International Push Your Studebaker Day.” For Vic had been my neighbor many years ago, when I owned a 1960 Studebaker Hawk. And thus Vic witnessed the not-infrequent appearance of a AAA towtruck bringing home the Hawk from its travels.
In its natural state: stationary.
Those of you who have read my memoir know that that Studebaker Hawk was my first car, purchased immediately after I got my license, and it remained my main source of transportation for a good 20 years. I finally felt compelled to get rid of after I found myself married with a young son. My wife wouldn’t let our son ride in “that death trap,” and in any event I didn’t have the time or money or space to maintain it.
You’d think that would be the end of the story. But about five years ago I moved to the town of Placerville, California, which, it turns out, is (almost) literally haunted by John Studebaker. As every schoolchild knows, John Studebaker was lured to Placerville during the Gold Rush, but quickly realized his fortune could be earned not in the gold mines but by selling provisions to the miners. Studebaker took a job at a local blacksmith’s shop, and in his off hours built wheelbarrows that he sold to the miners. After he amassed enough money, he returned to South Bend Indiana, where he and his brothers formed the Studebaker Manufacturing Company. They built wagons for the Union during the Civil War, and in the early 20th century they began producing automobiles. Like my 1960 Hawk.
Living in the town that played such a crucial part in the history of Studebaker reignited my interest in the marque, and so earlier this year I went out and got me another Studebaker–this time a 1963 Studebaker Avanti.
The Avanti was Studebaker’s last-ditch effort to turn around its flagging sales figures. It was conceived as a “luxury sports car,” designed by the legendary industrial designer Raymond Loewy during a six-week crash program in Palm Springs. Alas, the Avanti could not save the company and Studebaker shuttered its South Bend factory in 1964.
So the Avanti, like all Studebakers, is considered an “orphan car,” and their owners keep them on the road thanks to a network of specialty vendors and the mighty Studebaker Drivers Club. It’s the SDC that promotes “International Drive Your Studebaker Day” each year.
So today I did my part: I took the Avanti on a nice, scenic drive along CA Route 49 into downtown Placerville.
Action photo from my drive this morning. The more things that can potentially go wrong with a car, the more gauges you need…
When I got into town, I parked at the site of that old blacksmith’s shop where John Studebaker built his wheelbarrows some 175 years ago. (The site is now a bagel shop.)
175 years later, one of John Studebaker’s progeny returns to the wheel barrow site.
Stude-plaque in front of Bagel Works/blacksmith shop.
I also made a drive out to the Placerville Fairgrounds, where every year they hold the “John M. Studebaker Wheelbarrow Races.” I’m not making this up.
Placerville also has a road named Studebaker Road. I have not been able to determine if John Studebaker had any direct connection to this street, or if it simply honors him. If you have any leads, please share them!
Sadly, I did not see anyone else driving a Studebaker in town. (There is local guy who owns four Studebakers from the 1920s, but they were all parked in his driveway this morning. Maybe he’ll be making a drive later this afternoon.) I am aware that there’s a local Studebaker group based in Sacramento that’s driving together to the Sacramento River Delta for lunch. Me, I mainly just cruised around Placerville’s Main Street.
I’m still getting the hang of parallel parking without a backup camera…
No matter how you choose to celebrate International Drive Your Studebaker Day, I hope all my readers have a Stude-tastic holiday.
As a result of poor planning and inconvenient flight schedules, I had some time to kill today in southeastern Pennsylvania. So naturally I decided to visit the “American Treasure Tour.” What is the American Treasure Tour, you ask? It’s got to be seen to be believed, but let me try:
Some years back wealthy, anonymous collector who goes by “Mr C” started collecting old theater organs and other rare musical instruments. (For example, he has a hundred-year-old device that automatically plays two violins simultaneously.) After a bit he also started collecting old automobiles. Given the size and quantity of the stuff he was collecting, he needed a large building to keep it in. So he purchased a 1937 B.F. Goodrich tire factory in Oaks, Pennsylvania, sold off all the machinery inside, and turned the second floor into a private museum of sorts.
A couple of the Wurlitzers
His storage space was now essentially as unlimited as his budget. The tire factory building has over a million square feet of floor space, so he started to expand the range of his collection to include all sorts of American pop culture memorabilia. But he’s not interested in the small stuff, like Little Orphan Annie decoder rings or Hot Wheels. Instead, he focuses on big stuff: neon signs, a giant bust (ha!) of Britney Spears, an animatronic Chuck E. Cheese, a Stanley Steamer, an enormous jack-in-the-box, the world’s largest slinky… It’s sort of like if, instead of pillaging European cathedrals, William Randolph Hearst had been enthralled with American kitsch.
About one one-jillionth of Mr C’s collection, as viewed from the tram ride.
Since 2010 Mr C has opened his collection to the public. The main part of the tour is a 45-minute electric tram ride through over 100,000 square feet of the collection. Frankly, it’s overwhelming. There’s just too much stuff, there’s almost no context or explanation for it, and you end up succumbing to sensory overload. It’s impressive, but it’s not especially edifying.
But here’s where things get interesting: Upon leaving the tire factory/museum, I spotted this item that was too tall to fit indoors:
Yes, it’s a muffler man, as evidenced by the distinctive work shirt, the unusual hand positions, the lumberjack build, and the massive height. But what’s up with the head??
It turns out International Fiberglass made a number of these goofy-looking muffler men for mini golf courses. They used the usual muffler-man body, but changed out the head and gave him different clothes. The official word is that these mini-golf versions were meant to look like Mortimer Snerd, but to my eye he’s a dead ringer for Alfred E. Neuman. Almost everyone these days refers to them as “Happy Half-Wit” muffler men.
Mortimer Snerd
Alfred E. Neuman
Two of the Happy Half-Wits resided on the boardwalk at Seaside Heights, New Jersey, for many years, but they were destroyed by Superstorm Sandy in 2012. And this is where Mr. C came to the rescue, purchasing one of the Halfwits, having him restored, and placing him on display here outside the tire factory/museum. Oh, and he is not on the official Wikipedia list!
Taller than a giraffe!
OK, that’s enough of the muffler men for awhile. Tomorrow will be our Blobfest Extravaganza! I promise!
My hotel for last night was in Pahrump, NV, and when I checked in, the desk clerk explained the town is pronounced “paw-RUMP.” And so, when I awoke this morning, a Christmas carol was running through my head: “Pa-rump-a-pum-pum…”
I was eager to make the 25-minute drive back to Shoshone and finish my trip along CA-127. But first I settled onto a Pahrump park bench and enjoyed my coffee and muffin in the warm morning air. But what’s this? Next to my bench was a plaque commemorating Pahrump favorite son Art Bell.
Why was his name familiar? I pondered a bit, then recalled he’d been mentioned by Sue at the Amargosa Hotel on the first night. Sue had explained she’d spent years working in radio, and was always intrigued by a guy who used to broadcast a paranormal- and conspiracy-related radio show from his home “compound” in Pahrump. That man was, of course, Art Bell. Sue was born in Canada and her career moved her around a lot, but because Art Bell had a strong transmitter (or maybe just because his show was syndicated), Sue was able to listen to him wherever she lived.
Art Bell was a complicated guy. Sure, we are all complicated, but Art was especially so. He definitely trafficked in conspiracy theories, but it’s unclear how much of it he actually believed. He set records, won awards, and had a huge influence upon the medium of radio from the 1970s until his death in 2018. He was married four times and had many children. There’s far too much to go into here, but if you’re interested, check out his Wikipedia page. But remember his name; we’ll come back to it.
After I finished my coffee with the graven image of Art Bell, I returned to Shoshone and resumed my southward journey along CA-127. It was a relaxing and uneventful drive, as there was nothing but desert to be seen for about 50 miles.
But then, just as I was reaching the highway’s southern terminus, I entered the town of Baker, CA (pop: 480). Like the other towns on CA-127, Baker owes its existence to the Tonopah & Tidewater Railroad and to “Dad” Fairbanks. And because Baker is situated where CA-127 meets Interstate 15, it benefits from significant tourist activity.
Sadly, there was no sign marking the End of CA-127 South. The closest approximation is the first Northbound sign, and it’s been obliterated by stickers. (I guess this is one of the downsides of having a steady inflow of interstate travelers.)
Paging CalTrans. Clean-up on aisle I-15.
Deprived of my customary end-of-the-highway photo-op, I had to settle for this alien-themed selfie:
As should be obvious, Baker’s primary tourist draw is an extraterrestrial-themed snack store called Alien Fresh Jerky. The enormous space-fighter(?)-shaped building looms over the main drag.
Inside are a million different flavors of beef jerky, as well as alien-themed snacks, sodas, T-shirts, and plush toys. There are also various aliens posing on benches for selfies, and several “fortune-telling” booths.
In the back parking lot there’s a giant flying saucer. I’m not making this up. The clerk in the store explained it’s a hotel that, for reasons she didn’t want to get into, hasn’t yet been approved for occupancy. I am so staying there next time I come through.
Across the street from the alien jerky place is The World’s Tallest Thermometer (134 feet!), which was registering a comfortable 82 degrees.
The thermometer was erected by Willis Herron, the owner of Baker’s famous Bun Boy restaurant that used to stand next door.
The Bun Boy restaurant had been around since 1926, and Willis bought it in 1956. Things were going well, then it burned down in 1990. Undeterred, Willis had the restaurant rebuilt the next year, but he added the giant thermometer as a gimmicky attraction. This was the state of affairs until 2005, when Willis sold the restaurant and the thermometer.
Willis died in 2007. And sadly, the new owner neglected the thermometer, which began to malfunction and eventually went dark. Even the Bun Boy fell on hard times, and briefly became a Bob’s Big Boy before closing entirely in 2013.
But that’s not the end of the story, obviously. Willis’s widow bought back the thermometer, had it restored, and held a grand re-lighting in 2014. And that’s why I was able to see it today.
There’s a Gift Shop near the base of the thermometer, because of course there is. On the wall of the gift shop is an antique Bun Boy sign.
And, at least for now, a towering Bun Boy sign still beckons travelers on Interstate 15.
And so, lacking a Bun Boy, I decided to have lunch at a different local institution: The Mad Greek Cafe.
It’s delightfully tacky, painted up in the colors of the Greek flag and surrounded by statuary. It’s sort of a Greek version of Buca di Beppo. But it’s not a chain–the same Greek family has been running this place since 1974. And this place is not just surviving; it’s thriving.
I ordered a gyro and took a seat in the enclosed patio…
…which, it turns out, is home to the restaurant’s pet cat.
I managed to keep maybe 3/4 of the Gyro for myself.
That kind of sums up Baker, and thus it kind of sums up CA-127. But before I close, I want to return to the “Last Word” promised in this blog’s title. And it’s claimed that the last word in the English dictionary is (or should be) “Zzyzx.”
Zzyzx (pronounced ZYE-zix) is a community just a few miles west of Baker. It was originally known as Soda Springs, But in 1944 a self-proclaimed doctor and radio evangelist named Curtis Springer filed mining claims for almost 13,000 acres in the area, and he named it Zzyzx (because, he said, it’s “the last word in the English language.”)
Springer reminds me a bit of Art Bell, the conspiracy monger who broadcast from Pahrump. Springer claimed to be a minister (but he was ordained by no church), and he developed a nationwide radio following. And, like Bell, he would set up his own broadcast studio on his property.
Springer created the Zzyzx Mineral Springs and Health Spa on his Mojave mining claim, which was fed by natural springs. People flocked to this putative health oasis in the desert, where Springer blended some legitimate physical therapies with spiritual programming and some outright quack nostrums. The place was a destination to be sure, but like some other oasis, it was something of an illusion. The property’s “naturally occurring hot springs” were actually heated by gas boilers. And Springer’s “mining claims” contained no valuable minerals. Thirty years later, in 1974, the federal government reclaimed Zzyzx on the grounds that Springer’s mining claims weren’t valid. Springer would (unsuccessfully) fight that decision for the rest of his life. He died in 1985, at the age of 88.
The federal government handed the property over to the California State University, which to this day uses it for a Desert Studies Center. Many of the original buildings, palm trees, and water features remain. When I visited today, there wasn’t a soul around. It was eerie to see this abandoned oasis just sitting in the middle of the desert. Here are some of my pictures.
That’s a dry lake bed in the background.
(Now-defunct) fountain originally put in place by Springer.
As the desert sun reached high in the sky, it was time for me to put a wrap on this road trip and head back to the airport. CA-127 isn’t an exciting road. In fact, it’s pretty empty, with only three towns of any note to drive through. Even in March the weather is less than hospitable, and rattlesnakes hide in the shadows. And yet, the scene through the windshield is entrancing, and the (few) people you meet are warm and welcoming. I wouldn’t choose to live here myself, but I’m glad places like this exist.
Post Script
Now, you’d think Zzyzx would truly be the Last Word. But on my may back to Las Vegas International airport, I made a brief pit stop at the Primm Valley casino. And what did I see inside but the 1934 Ford sedan that Bonnie and Clyde were driving when a posse ambushed and killed them. There are over 100 bullet holes in this car.
Not only that, but the shirt that Clyde had been wearing is also on display:
Which brings us back to yesterday’s meditation about burying the dead. Bonnie and Clyde’s bodies are both buried in Texas, but the scene of their death–this car–has been on display literally around the world for some 90 years. And here I am gawking at it. But I ask the question again: What’s the interplay between embracing our past and moving on? When do we bury the dead? At this moment, I think the car is a legit artifact of history. The shirt, not so much.
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 far so good…
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:
Bionic bicyclist in Fruita.
Sculpture honoring children’s music teacher David Carl Moore in Delta, Colorado.
Detail of the Moore sculpture.
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.
Artistic Chrysler hood ornament.
Used car lots, frozen in time.
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!
