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.

Breweries · Ghost stories · Golden Bear signs · Puns

Hey, Eugene!

February 16, 2026 steveboilard3 Comments

In the good old days, by which I mean the days before Covid and Chat GPT and the subsequent, rapid disintegration of society, I was living in the Los Angeles area, where Karen and I would occasionally catch a show at the Hollywood Bowl. For me, this hundred-year-old amphitheater reflects many of LA’s best aspects: warm evenings outdoors, a vibrant entertainment industry, people dressed to the nines, and free popcorn brought to your seat during intermission.

On one of these occasions we saw the band Pink Martini, which is a quirky but virtuosic orchestra/big band from Portland. And they played a catchy number titled “Hey Eugene.” That song has been running through my mind all day. Because this morning I flew to Eugene, Oregon. And boy are my arms tired…

Eugene (pop: 176,000) is described by Wikipedia as having “a significant population of people in pursuit of alternative ideas and a large original hippie population.” Which explains the endless stream of vintage VW minibuses rattling along in the slow lane.

Anyway, I came here to meet son Ian B., who recently took up graduate studies at Oregon State University in the nearby town of Corvallis. Attentive readers may recall that Ian and Katelyn are expecting my first grandchild this June. So clearly, between school and fatherhood, Ian has decided to give up sleep for the next four or five years.

Normally I would like to make the trip to Oregon by car, but various factors conspired to prevent that option. I therefore took a Delta flight that routes through Sea-Tac, near the ancestral Boilard home in Tacoma, and terminates in Eugene. As my plane was approaching the airport I was thinking, “Hey, the weather out here is actually nice! What’s all this about Seattle always being perpetually grey and cloudy?” Then we descended from our cruising altitude and were enveloped in dismal, soul-sapping, Vitamin-D-blocking, depression-inducing cloud cover, and my thoughts immediately turned to melancholy.

Ian met me at the airport, and we drove to Corvallis (pop: 61,000), which Wikipedia helpfully notes is “the westernmost city in the contiguous 48 states with a population larger than 50,000.”

What with the weather and the limited time, we focused mainly on drinking beer. But we did manage to go on a “Corvallis Ghost Tour.” The number of ghosts we encountered was precisely zero. At least we got to see this cool 1888 courthouse, whose heating radiators reportedly make weird sounds. Surely the only explanation for old radiators making noise must involve the paranormal.

But the Corvallis building that excited me the most was this:

Did you spot the cause of my excitement? Let’s zoom in:

Alert readers will recall that I’ve made a minor study of these Golden Bear signs, which were affixed to countless alignment shops in the postwar era. Additional examples are here and here. To this list we can now add D&B Bear Service on NW 2nd Street in Corvallis. It’s an old-school, family-run auto shop, and the inside appears to look very much as it did during the Truman administration. The online reviews are stellar, so I recommend it to loyal readers in the Willamette Valley.

* * *

And now, back by popular demand, we bring you the

Brew of the Day

The BOTD comes from Block 51, which is a local brewery in Corvallis. I ordered the Super Nebula, which is an imperial stout that’s been aged in bourbon barrels.

Sometimes these barrel-aged stouts can be cloying if they don’t properly balance the malty sweetness with a decent amount of hops. But you have to select the hops carefully, because the wrong kind of bitterness can destroy the bourbon notes. Meanwhile, a beer this dark and flavorful needs to have body, but not to the point of becoming syrupy. As you can see, creating a quality barrel-aged imperial stout requires lots of patience and nuance.

Fortunately, the good people at Block 51 were up to the task. The flavors come together wonderfully, benefiting from the addition of a judicious amount of cocoa nibs. The alcohol comes in at 13.8 percent, which is in the range of what you’d expect for an imperial stout without entering crazy territory like Bruery’s Chocolate Rain (18 percent) or even Firestone Walker’s Parabola (usually 14-point-something). In a word, I’d characterize Block 51’s effort as balanced.

The only thing I’d ding it for is the finish. After a nice, satisfying sip-and-swallow, there’s something missing. Interestingly, Block 51 also makes something called Super Nebula Valhalla, which includes cardamom, star anise, and juniper. I tried a sip of that and it seemed like there was a bit too much going on, but if they could maybe just add a little of that star anise to the regular Super Nebula, I think the finish would be better.

But this is a minor point. I recommend Block 51 and their Super Nebula. Get yourself a pint while you’re having your car aligned at D&B.

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.

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

Searching For Something Knotty

June 4, 2025January 26, 2026 steveboilard1 Comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BRIDGE CORNER

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

BEER OF THE DAY

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

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

"A Dying WIsh" · Puns

Get Your Poe On

March 24, 2025 steveboilard5 Comments

*Excuse me sir–Do you have a minute to talk about Edgar Allan Poe?*

We now bring you the latest Poe News:

First: I have a new Poe book out! It’s a short story titled Poe’s Last Lament, and I’ve submitted it to Baltimore’s Poe Fest for their Saturday “Visiter” Awards competition. Alert readers will recall that my earlier short story, A Dying Wish, was a finalist at last year’s Poe Fest, but I didn’t make top honors. I’m hoping that this year justice will be served and I’ll bring home the medal. This year’s winner will be announced at Poe Fest on the first weekend in October.

But there’s no need to wait that long; you can get your own copy right now! It’s available on Amazon. Note that it’s available both in paperback and as an e-book.

In related news: I was interviewed about the book last month by the Poetastic Two on their Poecast. I’ve embedded the video below:

Finally: This Saturday (March 29) I’ll be reading Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “The Haunted Palace” as part of the Third Annual “Poe-It Like Poe” reading event. The four-hour Poe-a-thon will be livestreamed on YouTube, as various narrators from all across the country read a variety of Poe’s works. The event is sponsored by Poe Unplugged. If you want to catch my dramatic reading, you’ll need to tune in from 9:40 to 9:50 am PDT. After that: Nevermore! (Well, unless they post a recording…which they might…in which case I will post a link on this site.)