Meditation

March 25, 2026 steveboilardLeave a comment

Spending a few days in the desert gives you time to think. To ruminate. To meditate. To shorten your sentences to unconjugated verbs.

This morning I headed south on CA 127, and within the hour I was at Shoshone (official pop: 31). I say “official”population because one of the locals told me the actual population is now down to 13. In any event, Shoshone was founded in 1910 by Ralph “Dad” Fairbanks, by literally relocating buildings from nearby abandoned mines and towns. Shoshone was situated on the Tonopah and Tidewater Railroad line which, we learned yesterday, was launched a few years earlier to haul borax. Interestingly, the T&T’s name was an unfulfilled aspiration. It never reached north to Tonopah, and it never reach southwest to San Diego (which was the “tidewater” envisioned by the name). Anyway, “Dad” Fairbanks’ daughter married a boy named Charlie Brown (well, Charles Brown), and young Charles essentially became the heir apparent of the town.

Despite its limited population, Shoshone today remains a going concern. It’s well-positioned as the southern gateway to Death Valley, and it’s at the crossroads of a couple of important highways. Services are therefore oriented towards travelers, with a gas station, a market, a restaurant, a museum, and even a generic Catholic church.

*Note the ownership of the market. Also, is it just me, or is the sign done in the Googie tradition?*

I decided to get breakfast at the “famous” Crowbar Cafe & Saloon. There were a few other people at the counter, and they seemed to be travelers like myself.

I’m still not sure whether the restaurant has earned the term “famous,” but Brianna–the server–is memorable. Friendly, attentive, and effervescent, with a sly sense of humor, she gives the place a buoyancy that goes well with the strong coffee.

Directly next door to the Crowbar is an old service station that’s been converted into a museum and visitor center. What the heck, thought I. Let’s see what I can learn about this town.

Even though it’s small, every corner of the building is packed with artifacts: old railroad schedules, household appliances, guns, photographs, maps, sheriff’s badges, even an old mastodon skeleton that was uncovered by local students. And of course there’s the requisite box of that white gold of Death Valley: Borax.

If I have any critique of the museum, it’s that some of the exhibits lack enough descriptive backstory. Fortunately, there’s a remedy in the form of Eliza, who runs the place (or at least today she was).

It was Eliza who sketched the town’s history for me, who pointed me to the remnants of the T&T Railroad, who told me which local breweries were open and which were still getting their taps installed, and who insisted that I make a short detour to the date orchards of Tecopa for a date shake.

Based in part of Eliza’s suggestions, I first went across the street to Dublin Gulch, where miners dug rough-hewn caves into the hillside a century ago.

*The ground around the caves is strewn with old cans. Presumably these once contained dinner.*

Having seen what I could see in Shoshone, I got back in the car and headed out to Tecopa (pop: 169). Along the way I spotted a few of these 5-foot markers where the road comes close to the Amargosa River. I learned yesterday that flash floods are a real and persistent danger out here; the Amargosa Opera House has been flooded several times. I’m guessing the markers help drivers to judge the depth of water on the roadway?

Tecopa is a few miles off CA-127, and to get there you cross the Old Spanish Trail, that connected the settlements of Santa Fe with Los Angeles in the 19th century. I saw a small obelisk (about 5 feet tall, designated #32) marking the route. I surmise there are at least 31 others, and most likely many more. This may be the subject of an upcoming road trip…

The road to the date orchards passes along a string of privately-owned hot springs. Signage from competing outfits lines the road. Some of the claims seem a bit over-the-top…

I did eventually get to the China Ranch Date Farm, where I had me one of best of the two date shakes I’ve consumed in my life. But near the farm I encountered two sites that spurred the rumination suggested in the title of this post. First, there’s the U-We Wash:

It’s a long-defunct laundromat in a quonset hut. The equipment remains largely intact, seemingly spared from vandals.

It seems the place has been around since early in the last century, and has been abandoned for decades. It must have served visitors staying at the trailer and RV parks across the street. It’s got a bit of an eerie, Twilight Zone vibe, as though the the owners and customers all instantly disappeared decades ago, perhaps due to a nuclear explosion.

Now, hold that thought and consider the second site that got me ruminating: Just down the dirt road from the date farm is the self-proclaimed “Modest Museum,” which is a simple, old two-room building which a few neglected displays about the history of the area.

A sign on the wall reads: “We have deliberately made these exhibits accessible to the public, especially children, so they can get a real sense of the history here. Please behave honorably and do not remove or vandalize anything in this little museum.” And indeed, there are no signs of vandalism or theft, which is of course a good thing. And yet, there’s also no sign that the museum has been visited or cared for in the slightest. Dust is thick on the display cases, the photographs are sun-bleached and virtually indecipherable, and descriptive labels have fallen to the ground.

To me, the U-We Wash is cool and intriguing, an artifact in our midst that testifies to a different time. But the Modest Museum is depressing: a well-intentioned and hopeful endeavor that has fallen flat and/or been abandoned. Why my different reactions? Why are some artifacts cool, and others are junk? I’m thinking now of an old home-made theme park in Wisconsin that I visited in 2022. The man who lovingly created it had recently died, and the place was falling into disrepair. As I walked through it on a rainy afternoon I felt melancholy but appreciative of his effort. I did not feel like the remnants of his little park should be torn down. Just as I did not feel the U-We wash should be torn down. And to be fair, it’s not that I think the Modest Museum should be torn down exactly, but if the owners still believe in the mission, they need to give it some TLC or think of a new approach.

Part of this rumination comes from something that tourguide Sue mentioned at the Amargosa Opera House. According to Sue, Marta Becket had always insisted that, after her death, no one should ever restore or otherwise repaint any of the murals she had painted on the walls of the opera house and the hotel. She believed that the desert will rightly reclaim all that she did out here, and she was OK with that. Don’t fight it, she said. And so, as our tour group walked through the opera house, we saw areas of peeling paint and torn fabric that, according to Sue, the caretakers just have to accept.

I spent a lot of time thinking about this today, and the thought that keeps coming to my mind is the notion of burying the dead. Trees die in our gardens and we cut them down. Buildings become uninhabitable and unsalvagable, so we take a wrecking ball to them. An open bottle of wine goes bad and we pour it out. And, of course, our pets and our relatives die, so we return their bodies to the earth. I still don’t know exactly why I don’t feel that the U-We Wash shouldn’t be torn down. But I do know that the guy in my neighborhood with the weathered, broken, and rudderless boat in his side yard needs to get rid of the damn thing.

Out here in the desert there seems to be different attitude about death. Desert people appear to do a better job of accepting the concept. The imagery of death of all around the desert, including, of course, in the name Death Valley. So I’ll leave you with some of that imagery.

*I’m betting the deceased was a singer. Har.*

BEER OF THE DAY

OK, that was a little heavy. So let’s end with the Beer of the Day. I had a beer at Steelbound Brewery and Distillery in Pahrump, NV (pop: 44,000). (I had to make a 20-minute detour across the state line to find a place to spend the night.)

This brewery/restaurant feels a little weird, and seems to still be trying to find its niche. (I’m told the place recently changed ownership.) It’s attached to the Best Western hotel, which seems to seriously undercut its effort to appear like a hip microbrewery. Video gambling machines are situated at every seat at the bar. Giant TV screens show The Price is Right, a program that’s punctuated with endless ads for prescription weight loss and asthma drugs. The menu is overrepresented with Indian food. The Sirius country-western station is piped over the speakers. The whole place has a soulless corporate feel. Even the servers seem robotic.

But they make their own beer. Perhaps because they’re still in the start-up phase, they only had three beers on tap. I chose the Chocolate Peanut Honey Cream Ale. Believe it or not, I considered this to be the safer choice.

And I wasn’t disappointed! It’s got a golden honey color with a slight cloudiness. There’s no nose to speak up, but it is definitely refreshing. It’s not too hopped, not too carbonated, but neither is it flat or bland. I’d call it “brisk.” The mouthfeel is slightly creamy. I don’t taste the “chocolate” mentioned in the name, except maybe that slight chocolate essence you get from chocolate bitters. A full pint of this stuff was not filling in the slightest. If I lived near here, this would be my go-to summer beer. 5 out of 5 stars.

Gas stations · Obelisks

Space-Agéd

February 23, 2026 steveboilardLeave a comment

You may recall that last year I took an interest in the old Orbit gas stations that have somehow survived from the 1960s. My most recent Orbit-related post concerned an abandoned station near Lake Tahoe.

I mention all this because yesterday loyal reader Victor R. shared with us a news item about an old Orbit gas station in north Sacramento. It seems this Orbit station was built in 1963, and ceased operation as a gas station a scant 7 years later. Since that time it’s served various functions, most recently as a used car lot. But last year the car lot closed, and the building has sat vacant behind a fence topped with razor wire.

Vic shared a KCRA story about how the Sacramento Preservation Commission voted to recommend that the City Council place the station on the local historic register. Frustratingly, the news item only showed an aerial shot of the gas station. So I decided to head out to North Sacramento and get some ground-level photos for you, dear reader.

Even stripped of its gas pumps and signage, the structure is unmistakably an Orbit gas station. Here’s a photo I took by poking my camera through a gap in the surrounding fence:

But viewed from the street, the fence makes for an ugly tableau.

Still, the local residents spoke enthusiastically in favor of preserving the structure. “It’s got its own personality for sure; it’s got character,” stated one resident. “To have this go away would be a disservice to our community,” said another. A third noted “It reminds me of a flying saucer,” which, to be honest, it clearly does not. But there is something alien about it.

I think the point, though, is that residents in the area like the odd structure. Notably, while I visited today, it was clear that the neighborhood (which is dubbed “Gardenland,” not for any greenery, but because of its proximity to the Garden Highway) is struggling. Northgate Boulevard, on which this gas station sits, is lined with a depressing array of struggling fast-food eateries, grungy liquor stores, and predatory check-cashing businesses. I can see how a quirky retro-futuristic building might bring some much-needed whimsy and optimism to the area, particularly if it were repurposed as a community center or maybe a hip coffee shop.

*Wouldn’t it be great if the sign were changed to “Jetsons Java”?*

So I’d encourage my Sacramento-based readers to let your Councilmember know that you support having this building designated a local historical landmark. Meanwhile, please send me any sightings of other Orbit stations.

Obelisk Corner

Faithful Reader Ron P. shared this photo of the Wellington Testimonial (which is evidently a fancy way of saying “monument”) in Phoenix Park, in Dublin (Ireland).

(New readers may want to check this post to understand this blog’s fixation with obelisks. It’s not what you think!) Anway, the Wellington Testimonial was erected (so to speak) in 1861, and it’s 203 feet tall, making it the tallest obelisk in all of Europe. As a point of reference, the Washington Monument is 555 feet tall, which I think handily proves the superiority of America.

Obelisks

Accentuating the Negative

January 20, 2026 steveboilard2 Comments

A couple of years ago I was walking around Rome, as one does, and happened upon an obelisk. It turned out to be the Lateran Obelisk, the largest standing Egyptian obelisk in the world. (For the uninitiated, I seem to have developed an obsession about obelisks. Please don’t judge.) The Lateran Obelisk was constructed around 1400 BC, and moved to Rome by the Roman emperor about 1800 years later. Apparently, collecting Egyptian obelisks was a thing for the Roman emperors, and today Rome has more Egyptian obelisks than anywhere else…include Egypt.

*Photo of the Lateran Obelisk, taken from “the Internet.”*

I mention this because I just received a message from loyal reader Brian W. By way of background, he explained that well over a half-century ago his father carried home a box from work that contained sundry photography equipment. Included in the box were a bunch of old black-and-white negatives. The family fooled around with the photography equipment a bit but the negatives were eventually forgotten. Recently, however, Brian’s sister located the negatives and gave them to him as a birthday present. Brian, who is an accomplished photographer in his own right, has been busy converting those negatives into digital prints. Most of them seem to have been taken in Europe during or shortly after World War II. And here is one of those photos:

It is, of course, another Egyptian obelisk. This one is the Luxor Obelisk, in Paris. Brian guesses that the photo was taken in the late 1940s.

The Luxor Obelisk has suffered various indignities over the years, not least of which was being moved from where it had stood for 3000 years. And then, in 1993, it was sheathed in a pink condom for World AIDS Day. I am not making this up.

Finally, I’ll share with you one final photograph from Brian. It’s part of that same collection of negatives that his dad brought home in the cardboard box, of unknown provenance. I know little about military uniforms, but this appears to me to be an infantry lieutenant(?).

Maybe he is a fellow soldier known to the photographer? It’s simultaneously heartwarming and eerie to see him smiling across something like 80 years of history. Perhaps there is a reader out there with the ability to do an image search and see if he shows up in any other photo collections?

Meanwhile, take this as a friendly reminder to label your photographs!

Breweries · bridges · cemeteries · Obelisks · Road trips · trains

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.

California history · Golden Bear signs · Obelisks

Obelisk and Doggie Head Update!

June 19, 2024 steveboilardLeave a comment

Attentive readers will recall that last November, while in the Bay Area burg of Port Costa (pop: 200), I encountered this dachshund from the long-defunct Doggie Diner chain.

*That’s son Ian wearing his sunglasses improperly.*

Today as I was cruising CA Route 49 through Amador County, I passed another Doggie Diner head. This one is at the Vino Noceto winery in the town of Plymouth (pop: 1,100).

The giant heads adorned the 30 or so Doggie Diner restaurants around the Bay Area (concentrated mainly in San Francisco). It seems that when the chain closed in the 1980s, many of the doggie heads were purchased by private parties. The owners of Vino Noceto got theirs in 1985 at a fundraising auction for their kid’s nursery school. On a lark they had offered $300, expecting that surely someone else would outbid them. But theirs was the only bid. Let that be a lesson to you all.

These orphan heads remind me of the Golden Bear signs. I encourage all faithful readers of this blog to report any Doggie Diner Heads you might be aware of. And of course, also let me know of any Golden Bear sightings.

Speaking of crowd-sourced photo collections, loyal reader Brian W shared this photo he took of an obelisk in front of the South Carolina statehouse.

*The bronze frieze panels flanking the obelisk depict African American History.*

Brian has been commissioned to photograph all the state capitols, which is itself an impressive project. The obelisk is part of the state’s African American History Monument, and was installed in 2001. The artist who designed the monument asserts that obelisk is a form that originated in Africa. Wikipedia tells us that the earliest obelisks come from Egypt, so I guess it depends on whether you consider Egypt to be an African or an Asian country. Either way, the monument is an impressive one and is part of a historic compromise that also removed the Confederate flag from the statehouse building.

That’s it for this brief update. Next week I’ll have the story of California’s oldest operating railroad depot.