The other day I was driving along the freeway, observing the passing phalanx of big, blocky buildings behind the trees and sound walls that flank the freeway. These buildings all seem to have been conceived by a kindergartener for whom the words “office building” and “box” are synonymous, and then value-engineered to the apotheosis of vapidity–nondescript, slab-sided edifices with bands of tinted windows and, at a top corner, a single word in an unembellished font: “Kaiser,” “Allstate,” “Lennar.” We live in an age of soulless and tedious architecture.
And then, a little later, I spotted this in Sacramento:
Don’t scratch your cornea on that pointed roof!
Now this building has style and soul! I realize that’s not a great photo; it was difficult finding the right angle. But it’s an old Orbit gas station, now repurposed as a hamburger joint called Suzie Burger.
That this was once a gas station is obvious. Note the islands where the gas pumps once stood, and the enormous mullioned windows that used to be roll-up doors in front of the service bays.
These Times They Are A-changin’ indeed.
Orbit gas stations used to be all around the Sacramento area, first showing up around 1963. They represented the future, or at least what people during the age of black-and-white TV and AM radio thought the future would look like. It’s got a very Jetsons vibe, all upswept and angular and exaggerated.
Jane’s addiction.
According to this website, Orbit’s distinctive four-point architecture was the brainchild of some guy named Ed Ward. There were about a dozen of them at their peak. Now, it seems that most have been torn down in the intervening 60-odd years. And yet the good people at Suzie Burger recognized that Orbit’s retro look would be a great calling card for their old-school burger joint.
I remembered that when I lived in Sacramento (pop: 525K) in the 1980s, there was still a handful of Orbit gas stations in operation. In fact, I regularly gassed up the Studebaker at an Orbit station near my apartment in Carmichael. What had happened to it? Had it been torn down? Or had it been converted to some other use? I decided to take a drive out there to find out. And what to my wond’ring eyes should appear but this:
“It’s alive!”
Not only had it not been torn down, but it was still operating as a gas station. It even still bears the Orbit name!
So take that, you big, ugly, featureless office buildings! Even at age 62, this Orbit is still going strong. Next time you find yourself in Sacramento make sure you gas up at 4716 Auburn Blvd and support the preservation of Googie architecture!
Well, there goes yet another year. And that’s kind of sad, if you think of your lifetime as a gas gauge that is counting down to empty, and there’s no gas station anywhere on your planned route. In fact, there’s not even a gas filler pipe on the whole car. You just drive it til it’s empty and that’s it. Off to the crusher.
But surely that’s not the right way to think about these things; instead, we’re advised to roll down the window, turn down the radio, and pay attention to all the cool things we’re seeing and doing as we drive our car along the unsigned and mysterious Highway of Life. And if we’re lucky, there’s still enough gas in the tank for some more adventures. As they say, life is a journey.
And speaking of journeys, I’ve got some good ones planned for 2025, including a winter trip to Needles, CA (pop: 4,800) to see one of the last remaining Harvey Houses, and a visit to Blob Fest in Phoenixville, PA in July.
Adele seems to have fallen on hard times…
I’m also planning a return to the town of Kingsburg, CA to witness the delivery of a century-old, 82-ton steam locomotive. The delivery has been delayed several times, but the current best guess is January or February.
Old #1238 cools its heels in Fresno, waiting to be moved to its new home in Kingsburg.
And speaking of a hundred years ago: alert readers will recall that I received a cache of love letters my grandfather wrote to his then-girlfriend in 1925 and 1926. I have transcribed all 17 of those letters and I’ve posted them here. Feel free to read them while you’re waiting for the ball to drop in NYC.
And with that I will wish a Happy New Year to all. We’ll see you in 2025! Your mileage may vary….
The longer answer is this: Son Ian recommended I take advantage of my proximity to Baltimore (pop: 570,000) and check out the remains of the Francis Scott Key bridge, which collapsed a scant 3 weeks ago. It’s the kind of light-hearted whimsy we Boilards are known for.
The FSK Bridge opened in 1977, and it carried over 11 million vehicles annually until a container ship struck one of its piers last month. Much of the span is now underwater, posing a hazard to ships.
“My bad!”
This week the Army Corps of Engineers is supposed to be removing much of that wreckage. It should make for a cool photo op! And according to Google Maps, I was only about an hour and a half from the foot of the bridge.
How hard could it be?
So after getting a cup of coffee and a Power Muffin from The Speckled Hen in Strasburg, I set out for the greater Baltimore area.
Getting there was easy enough–until the last couple of miles, when I encountered a police roadblock. They weren’t going to let me get anywhere close to the foot of the bridge. I’m not sure what I was expecting. I guess I envisioned a big, Roadrunner-style “Bridge Out” sign on sawhorses a dozen yards from the shore of Boston Harbor.
No matter. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. I consulted Google and found a nearby spot that should afford a good view of the salvage operation. Alas, all the property in the area seemed to be a naval base or some other official facility that prohibits visitors. Undeterred, I drove under the harbor through the miraculous Baltimore Harbor Tunnel, and approached the Key bridge from the southern end. More roadblocks. Finally, I headed further south to a private beach community, where through a combination of illegal parking and trespassing I was able to get a decent view of the Francis Scott Key bridge in the distance.
Circles represent my failed attempts to see the bridge; the square is where I finally succeeded.
FSK Bridge in the background, terminating at the head of the arrow.
So, now with that pointless project out of the way, I began a leisurely drive in the direction of Philadelphia.
The drive through the Maryland countryside was pleasant and picturesque. The road carved its way through hills dense with trees and other flora. My only complaint is that some of the signage was a bit hard to comprehend at a glance.
Signs like these remind me of the nighttime driving scene in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. It appears in the following clip, which is only 45 seconds. Note that the guy who uploaded the clip wants to point out you can see a pulley system moving the scenery. But we want to watch the clip just for the signs.
I know just how you feel, Pee Wee.
Along the way I passed another bridge that, like the FSK Bridge, no longer carries traffic. The Gilpin’s Falls covered bridge in Maryland’s Cecil County was originally constructed in 1860, and restored in 1959 and again in 2010. And unlike the FSK Bridge, it still sits on the same piers where it was placed in 1860.
Straight out of The Bridges of Cecil County.
Where form and function come together
The next roadside attraction requires a bit of a setup: You may recall that I’ve been charmed by Tin Man-themed yard art that I’ve spotted on my travels. Here are two recent examples:
Now, recall my photo of Rodin’s “The Thinker” that I took in Philadelphia:
Put them together and what do you get? This sculpture of “The Tinker” (note spelling) that sits in front of a brewery in York, Pennsylvania.
For some reason I think this is brilliant!
The artist claims his sculpture says something about York’s industrial history. I don’t know about that, but I’m simply taken by the whimsy and humanity of the thing. As I’ve said before: This world needs more Tin Men.
I stopped for the night in Wilmington, Delaware–less than an hour from Philly. After my big splurge on the Red Caboose Motel last night I figured I’d bed down in a simple Days Inn. Upon my arrival, I was greeted by this sign whose reference to “”the best” seems like a dubious claim.
At least they didn’t make the common error of adding an apostrophe to “its.”
Then I got to the office and saw this idling near the front doors:
Must be check-out time.
Tomorrow I’ll head back into Philadelphia. God willing.
Mail Corner
Loyal reader Brian W sent along this photo he took of a Lincoln Highway sign he spotted near Route 30 in Tama, Iowa. It dates from 1915, which is just two years after the Lincoln Highway was established.
It’s a far cry from the boring, utilitarian signage I encountered today in Strasburg.
Brew of the Day
I got today’s BOTD at Valhalla Brewing Company in Elkton, Maryland. It’s an out-of-the-way roadhouse with an empty parking lot and an nearly-empty bar. The bartender spent most of his time leaning on the bar and staring at his phone. But to be fair, it was 2 in the afternoon on a Thursday.
Middle of nowhere. Which I guess is where you’d expect to find Valhalla.
Cool mailbox, though.
I chose the Zombie Ice Double IPA. It turns out it’s a guest brew, made by 3 Floyds Brewing Co, in Munster, Indiana. Behold the golden-copper color:
The first sip suggested that this is just a basic IPA. But with subsequent sips it became more interesting. The usual citrus and hops are omnipresent, but as you move through it you detect orange peel, library paste, and shoe polish. You might not think that sounds especially tasty, but somehow it works. There’s a total lack of pretentiousness about this beer (except for its name, of course). It’s solid, genuine, and hardworking. I give it a solid 4 out of 5 stars.
In the interests of full disclosure, I should note that I paired this IPA with Valhalla’s “Big Ass Pretzel,” which is served with mustard, beer cheese, and a maple-caramel sauce that is to die for. So consider that it might just be the pretzel talking. In fact, the Pretzel gave the beer 5 stars.
Thank you all for your kind comments, recommendations, and suggestions while I was cruising Route 82. I’m now back home, planning my next journey. Meanwhile, I leave you with a few additional photos from that trip that didn’t fit into the daily blog posts. Enjoy!
Impressive 1891 Steiner and Lobman building in downtown Montgomery, Alabama. But what’s that atop the front corner?
Yes, it’s a sarcophagus. The townsfolk say that the mortal remains of old man Steiner himself is entombed in it. Other sources scoff at that story.
Billboard in Eufaula, Alabama. If you want your limb saved, your first choice probably wouldn’t be a place called an “Amputation Center.” And are amputations so common in Eufaula that they have a special center dedicated to the practice?
To you it might just look like a junky front yard, but it’s said that the owner, one Charles “LaLa” Evans, decorated his front yard as a tribute to his wife when she passed some 13 years ago.
The good people of Eufala, Alabama call this “The Tree That Owns Itself.” The story is a bit confusing: in 1936, the mayor of Eufaula officially granted a deed to to a 200-year-old oak tree, which declared the tree to be “a creation and gift of the Almighty, standing in our midst—to itself—to have and to hold itself, its branches, limbs, trunk and roots so long as it shall live.” Sadly, it stopped living in 1961, when it was uprooted by a tornado. The townsfolk soon planted a new tree, which is the one you see here, and the mayor’s proclamation has been extended to it and all successor trees on this property. No one really knows why.
Plaqueunder The Tree That Owns Itself.
Speaking of trees that have been granted their freedom: Someone needs to free this truck from the tyranny of this tree in Midway, Alabama.
One more tree photo: This lone tree stands amid the carcasses of its brethren. Why it was spared, no one knows. But I took this photo when I was in Crossett, Arkansas, looking for the storied “Spook Lights.” Knowing that, doesn’t this photo seem a little sinister?
A miniature Statue of Liberty in Strong Arkansas. Not a bad reproduction…but wait, what’s up with her torch?
They cheaped out. Another Home Depot special.
Sidewalk bench in Union Springs, Alabama, which you’ll recall is the “hunting dog field trial capital of the world.” Check out the center of the backrest.
Former site of a Kress department store in Texarkana, Arkansas. As sad as it is to see a historic structure go, I do think it was a nice gesture to commemorate the place with its original signage.
Andrew College in Cuthbert, Georgia, dates back to 1854. This main building was constructed in 1892. It’s still an active, accredited college today. I just like how it looks.
This flying machine seemed a bit out of place in Montgomery, Alabama. But it turns out that the Wright Brothers opened a flying school here in 1910.
Distressed flag in Starkville, Mississippi. I asked a guy coming out of this building about it. He just looked up and shrugged.
This morning I awoke around 7:15, and looked out my window to see the world still cloaked in darkness. I figured it was still too early for the sun, since I was on the western edge of the eastern time zone. After my morning ablutions I returned to the window, but it was still dark outside. I looked up to see a blanket of black clouds covering the sky. The sun was entirely AWOL.
Undeterred, I got in my rental car and began to head out of Albany. But as I was passing through the historic downtown what do you think I saw? Yes, it was another Union Station. For those of you keeping score at home, I’m now up to four on this trip.
“Look for..the Union la-ble….”
Albany’s Union Station was constructed in 1913. It replaced an earlier depot that had been built in 1857, but wasn’t able to accommodate the vast increase in rail traffic. Union Station continued to serve trains until 1971, after which it was slated to be razed. However, preservationists in the town mobilized to protect the building from the wrecking ball that was knocking down so many old buildings in the 1970s. Union Station was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1975.
The station was renovated and became a museum. It was part of a larger “Heritage Plaza” project that includes several other historic buildings, including the old freight warehouse. There’s also a Georgia Northern steam locomotive and rail cars on the tracks behind the station.
Looks like it’s been awhile since trains ran on Union Station’s tracks.
Having gotten my daily Union Station fix, I got back onto US 82 East. The wind had picked up and it was beginning to rain. As I drove out of town I saw public works crews blocking off streets and clearing drains.
Do they know something I don’t know?
Then, all of a sudden, the leaden skies fully opened up, and lightning started flashing like paparazzi from hell. This continued for the rest of the day. And in the mid-afternoon I started receiving tornado warnings on my iphone.
Thankfully, US 82 was not closed down by the storm, so I carefully made my way across Georgia with my wipers working overtime and only a few incidences of hydroplaning.
Because of the weather, I didn’t make many stops today. But I did break for lunch in the city of Waycross (pop: 14,000). Like so many of the places along Route 82, Waycross sprung up as a railroad town. In fact, its name references the town’s location at the intersection of six railroad lines. The town’s large, 1911 railroad station (can you guess its name??) was at the center of those rail lines, and it now houses the Chamber of Commerce and serves as a visitors center.
Union Station No. 5
The guy at the visitor center encouraged me to visit the nearby Okefenokee Swamp, since Waycross is “the closest city to the Swamp.” Be that as it may, it would still require a long drive along a narrow road through peat bogs during a major downpour. Maybe next time.
Instead, I took a leisurely drive around the town and encountered two historic theaters. The Ritz theater opened in 1913 as a vaudeville house called The Grand Theater. In the mid-1930s it was extensively remodeled into a movie theater and its name was changed to the Ritz. It closed in 1977. However in the mid-1980s a group of Preservationist citizens resurrected the theater as a live performance venue. Today it’s the city’s main stage for community theater.
Everything’s better on a Ritz.
Waycross’s other theater has a less successful story. The Lyric Theater opened in 1923, and like the Ritz, it showed movies in the middle decades of the 20th century. I can’t find when it closed, but They Shoot Horses Don’t They? was playing there as late as 1970. For my money, the Lyric is far more interesting looking than the Ritz, but its interior is probably beyond salvation.
The Lyric Theater looks pretty solid, from a distance.
Note the detail in the original decoration of the facade.
2018 photo of the interior, from “Cinema Treasures” website.
The reason I came across those theaters is because I was looking for a Studebaker dealer. Let me explain:
Loyal reader Victor R sent me a link to a database of Studebaker dealerships all across the country. The database lists two dealerships in Waycross: Johnson Motor Car Co. at 302 Albany Ave, and J.N. Stinson at 406 Tebeau St. The first address is now just a vacant lot, but there is a building at the Tebeau address. I think the current building is not the same as Stinson’s dealership, though, because according the database Stinson was in business in 1925. And what I saw today is clearly not a 1925 building.
Probably was not used as a Studebaker showroom.
Eventually I got back onto Route 82 to complete the final 60 miles of the trip. The weather was worsening again, but it was still driveable. A cup of coffee from a Waycross coffee bar kept me alert.
It seems that I’m always able to sense when I start to approach the Atlantic, and today was no exception. I don’t know if there’s a scent in the air, or if the landscape changes (definitely the density of trees thinned out), or if the development patterns change, or maybe the style of architecture is different. All I can say is that it felt like I was getting close to the end of the continent. I was anticipating the satisfaction, the closure, of arriving at that final Route 82 sign that says “END” on it. Like this one at the eastern end of Route 60:
The rain was getting heavier, but I just knew I was almost there. I fixed my eyes on each sign I passed, straining to see past the rain on the windshield and the rapidly-sweeping wipers, anticipating the dopamine hit I would surely receive when I caught side of the “END.” And then, suddenly…I’m on US 17 north! What happened to US 82??
It took me some retracing of my steps to sort things out, but the bottom line is that there’s no END sign. Instead, there’s what I’ll call a “handoff” sign that marks both 82 East and 17 North simultaneously. This is the easternmost sign for US 82.
End of the line.
Well, that was anticlimactic. But no matter. I had safely made it to Brunswick, that’s what mattered. And to celebrate, I took a picture of the big stew pot that supposedly was used to make the first Brunswick Stew in 1898.
“In this pot the first Brunswick Stew was made on St. Simon Isle July 2 1898.”
There only remained two things left to do: First, I got my Brew of the Day (see below). And then, tomorrow, I will do a Mystery Travel Task that will complete an important collection for the Boilard Travel Archive. All will be made clear tomorrow. Now it’s on to the:
BREW OF THE DAY
Today’s BOTD came from Weber’s Growler Factory in Brunswick. It’s an interesting place, with forty beers on tap to fill your growler or to drink there by the glass. They also have a lot of bottled beers and an extensive selection of cigars. Sadly, they also have one of the most disinterested, unfriendly bartenders you’ll ever meet.
Eclectic taproom.(photo lifted from Yelp, since I didn’t want to tick off the bartender with my camera)
I was overwhelmed by the menu, so I asked for something local. Turns out the only beer from a Brunswick brewery is a Mexican lager. Lagers really aren’t my cup of tea, especially on a stormy winter day. So I asked if there was anything from elsewhere in Georgia. I ended up with a “De-stress Express” from Georgia Beer Company in Valdosta, GA.
All aboard the De-stress Express!
Interestingly, though I didn’t plan it, the De-stress Express is quite similar on paper to the Stone Xocaveza I drank last night. They are both stouts that are intended to evoke a mix of coffee and chocolate. But while Stone’s effort tasted flat and uninteresting and even a little off, today’s entry from Georgia was a winner.
De-Stress Express’s chocolate and coffee tastes don’t fight against each other; they complement each other. The coffee keeps the chocolate from being too cloying, and the chocolate keeps the coffee from being too bitter. Some light hoppiness is present, nicely balanced by the creamy, milky lactose. Today’s beer also had more carbonation than Stone’s, which helped to create a foamy head and to provide a nice tickle on the tongue. The beer comes across quite bright and fresh, which is a bit unusual for a stout. Perhaps that’s because it’s a local brew? Mouthfeel is very full-bodied and creamy. Definitely for sipping rather than quaffing. It took me almost half an hour to get through mine! ABV is a manageable 6.5 percent. I wish I could get it in California. Four stars out of five.
