Dem Bones

May 28, 2022 steveboilard2 Comments

Back in Devils Lake I took a photo of an art deco sign for a chain called “Home of Economy.” (It didn’t make my cut for that day’s blogpost, though.) “Home of Economy” is a small chain of discount stores in North Dakota. It’s said to be America’s first discount chain. The story is here. Well, it turns out there’s another one of these signs in Williston. And when I came into town last night it was illuminated. I thought I’d share it with you, so you can get the whole effect:

Welcome to 1952. I love how garish this sign is–especially when it’s promoting “economy.”

I was back on the road this morning around 7 am, and before long I crossed the state line into Montana. The flat plains and distant horizon reminded me that they call Montana “Big Sky Country.” My dad (rest his soul) used to complain that the sky is the same size wherever you go; what right does Montana have to claim it as their distinctive characteristic? But a few hours on Montana’s roads convinced me that Dad was wrong and Montana is right. Sorry, Dad.

Anyway, today’s theme seems to be bones. For starters, Montana is well known for its dinosaur fossils. There are some good specimens at the “interpretive center” at Fort Peck.

Second, Montana seems to have adopted the cow skull as some kind of a mascot. I see it everywhere, from storefront logos, to ranchhouse decorations, and even to art installations in the roundabouts on Route 2.

Third, there are actual skulls scattered about on the landscape, the inevitable result when Montana’s extensive wildlife clashes with predators.

Throughout the day I drove about 300 miles. A goodly portion of Route 2 between Wiliston and Havre follows the Missouri River, and, not coincidentally, it tracks with the Lewis and Clark route.

My favorite town on today’s drive was Glasgow, MT (pop: 3,300). It was named by Great Northern Railroad magnate James Hill, who supposedly picked the name by spinning a globe and randomly dropping his finger on Glasgow, Scotland. Glasgow, MT embraces its Scottish connection by depicting plaid color schemes, bagpipes, and Scottie dogs on various buildings and logos. And to contrast with Rugby, ND’s “geographical center of North America” claim, Glasgow proudly calls itself “The Middle of Nowhere.”

I went into a Glasgow coffee shop (“The Loaded Toad”), which, surprisingly for a town this size, offers honest-to-goodness espresso drinks, and I asked what’s up with the “middle of nowhere” slogan. The barista didn’t really have an answer, but one of the patrons (a guy named Nick) told me that it’s actually a scientific fact. It seems that a team of researchers at Oxford University collected data from all towns in the continental US with populations of up to 1,000 residents, and then determined which one of these is the farthest from any city of at least 75,000 residents. The answer: Glasgow, MT. You can read about it here.

For such a small and demonstrably isolated town, Glasgow has a lot to offer. Not only does it have hipster quality coffee, but it also has a healthy, historic downtown, centered on the recently-renovated Rundle Hotel that dates back to 1915.

Glasgow also has an operating, historic depot with daily passenger service. As I noted in an earlier post, trains no longer stop at many of the small towns along the Hi-Line.

And as if that’s not enough for a town of 3,300 souls, Glasgow has a well-curated, large Pioneer Museum of Valley County, which covers the history of the region. It has displays on the railroads, schools, agriculture, industries, domestic life, government, and many other aspects of life in northeast Montana. The staff was very welcoming and opened up a frozen-in-time 1924 home for me. They even let me take a selfie with them.

Although Glasgow was founded as a railroad town, much of its growth occurred in the 1930s, when a major influx of workers and their families came to build the nearby Fort Peck Dam. It was an monumental undertaking, and the completed dam created a 134-mile-long lake in the course of the Missouri River. The flood control, electrical generating, and recreational benefits of the project were enormous (not to mention the economic stimulus during the Great Depression).

To parallel my earlier visit to the headwaters of the *Mississippi*, here I’m overlooking the point where the *Missouri* resumes its course after passing through Fort Peck Dam.

Sadly, though, 60 men died in the course of construction, and six bodies couldn’t be recovered. They are forever entombed deep in the dam.

Naturally, churches made another appearance today. My eye was once again caught by the classic Prairie architecture of an old, whitewashed, clapboard church with that distinctive belfry. Built in 1904, this particular church has some real history behind it. It was attended by some of the Sioux Indian band that was once led by Chief Sitting Bull. (Some of that band had converted to Christianity.) There are also some urban legends about a “goat man” occasionally seen jumping from the church’s belfry. A little info is here.

If I were a supernatural being, I’d probably hang around a church like this too.

Inside the Chelsea Church. Pretty minimalist.

I wound up today’s travels in Havre (pronounced “HAVE-er), Montana (pop: 9,500). It’s one of the larger towns on Route 2, and it seems to have a pretty vibrant economy. Once again I encountered a functioning railroad station, with some impressive art installations (if I can call them that).

Havre Train Station, built in 1904 and significantly remodelled (in streamline moderne fashion) in 1949. Is it just me, or is it intended to look like a railroad passenger coach?

Great Northern’s #2584 was built in 1930, retired in 1957, and has been on display at the Havre station since 1964.

Even if you’re not into trains, you have to find this piece of machinery impressive, right?

Statue of James J. Hill, Great Northern’s founder and CEO. He was called “The Empire Builder.”

Not far from the station I spotted what seems like it could be a Laughing Bear. (For a refresher on what I’m talking about, click here.) It has the same outline and expression, but inexplicably it’s blue rather than gold. Please let me know whether you think this was originally a proper laughing bear, or just a coincidental doppelganger.

BREW OF THE DAY

In honor of my visit to Glasgow, I had the Aberdeen Scotch Ale at Triple Dog Brewing Company in Havre. Triple Dog is a hip brewery with the usual industrial-chic vibe, and it’s populated by 20-somethings (both employees and clientele). The only reason that I didn’t significantly increase the average age is because this place was packed. I mean, for such a small town, this place was hopping (brewing related pun unintended). They don’t have a kitchen, but a food truck in the front parking lot supplied me with a wonderful concoction called Irish Nachos. I love this place, and if you’re interested in the back story, here’s an interview with the young founder:

Anyway, as I mentioned, I ordered a Scotch Ale. I had fully intended to get myself an imperial stout, but evidently the folks out here in northern Montana aren’t manly enough for this kind of beer. (Note to the guys sitting behind me here at the brewery, who look like they could snap me in two: I’m just joshin’.)

Scotch ale is a difficult beer to do right. You really need to get your hands on some good peated malt, so that the resulting drink evokes Scotch whisk(e)y. The other key characteristics of a good Scotch ale (in my humble opinion) are a malty-sweet backbone and a boozy ABV. Sadly, this beer had none of these characteristics. (The ABV clocked in at 6 percent.) That said, and in contrast with last night’s beer, this Scotch ale got better the more sips I took. I’m thinking that the first sips were disappointing because they didn’t match my expectations for a Scotch ale. But with further sips, I was able to appreciate it for what it was: Essentially, a good brown ale. Judged by that standard, this was flavorful, suitably hopped, and pleasantly fresh and, dare I say, bright. I give it a 2.5 as a Scotch ale, but 4.0 as a brown ale.

BONUS: DISTILLERY SIGHTED IN HAVRE

After dinner I was driving to my hotel when I spotted the Crawford Distillery. It’s an awesome place: they hand-craft their own whiskies, vodkas, and rums. It’s not the kind of place I’d expect to find in a small Montana town along the Hi-Line; the attention to quality, enthusiastic atmosphere, and craft cocktails would seem more common in a place like San Diego. So I wasn’t surprised when I learned that the owners (Alyssa and Neil Crawford) are transplants from San Diego. Alyssa’s mom also helps out behind the bar and offers humorous, Shirley Booth-like commentary. I felt welcomed and their cocktails were first-rate. Alyssa even burned wood chips to make me a smoked whiskey. You can buy their spirits online. Just sayin’.

Alyssa and Neil Crawford–owners of my new favorite bar.

Tomorrow I cross the Rockies.

Obelisks · Road trips · trains

For Whom the Bell Tolls

May 27, 2022 steveboilardLeave a comment

On my way out of Devils Lake I drove through its historic downtown. With numerous buildings dating back to the early 1900s, it feels like you’ve stepped back in time.

The downtown feels viable, with various renovated structures that are occupied by active businesses.

The Great Northern Hotel, originally constructed in 1911, now is home to apartments and business offices.

I stopped in at a coffee shop taking up a good chunk of the first floor of the historic Bangs-Wineman building that dates back to 1895. The Liquid Bean seemed unusually hip, vibrant, and busy for a coffee chop in the historic section of a small North Dakota town. It had local artwork on the walls and a steady stream of college students and moms with kids dropped by to get their coffee while on their way to school. (Today was the last day of the school year.) There was also a handful of regulars parked on stools at the coffee bar.

When I sat down with my coffee, the owner came to my table to ask about my road trip. Dan Johnson has owned The Liquid Bean for 28 years, and appears to know all the locals who drop by his establishment. He’s watched the downtown experience something of a renaissance in recent years, and he is an enthusiastic booster for the community. (He also works at the local two-year college.) Dan was familiar with Route 2’s long reach, and commented that the route is popular with bicyclists–though they tend to travel west to east, in order to avoid the prevailing headwinds.

“I’m fifteen years past retirement age, but I keep working to support the cost of owning a business.” –Dan

After mingling with the locals a bit longer, I got back out onto the highway. Before long I arrived at the small town of Rugby (pop: 3,000). Rugby claims it’s the geographic center of North America. And they’ve erected an obelisk (!) to commemmorate that claim.

Now, calculating the continent’s geographical center was performed in 1931 by the US Geodetic Survey Office–and it’s said that it involved a laughably low-tech process of teetering a cardboard cutout of the continent on a pencil point, and marking where it evenly balanced. That point was Rugby, ND. A year later Rugby’s Boy Scout troop got a bunch of stones, mixed up some cement, and made this obelisk. In 1971 the obelisk got moved somewhat to accommodate the widening of US Route 2, but it’s still in the ballpark.

All roads lead to–or maybe *from*–Rugby.

However, modern calculations place the actual geographical center over 100 miles away. About a year ago CBS News did a story on the controversy. You should read it through, all the way to the surprise ending…

Anyway, geographical center aside, my main objective in Rugby was the railroad depot, which was built in 1907. Unlike most of the other depots I’ve stopped at along this trip, the Rugby depot still receives passenger service.

There’s something romantic about an American midwestern railroad depot. Just look at that classic architecture and that deco waiting room. And it’s all the more special when it’s still in daily use, rather than behind a museum rope. I soaked up the atmosphere a bit, watched a freight train come through, and then headed back out of town. Along the way a large bell tower caught my eye:

I really wish these had been in Devils Lake; then I could say “Hells Bells.”

The tower stands in the parking lot of a local mortuary. I saw that there were some pull cords on the bells, and a sudden urge to ring them came over me. I parked and approached the tower, and then noticed a sign requesting that I “ask before ringing.” While I was pondering whom to ask, a middle-aged man drove into the parking lot like he owned the place. As it turned out, he owned the place. Dale Niewoehner (of Niewoehner Funeral Home) is a friendly man, and when I asked him if he knew the story behind the bells he said “Sure. Which story do you want?” He’s been collecting bells since he was a kid, and eventually he mounted the biggest ones into this tower in 1999. Among the 15 bells in the tower are church bells, school bells, fire bells, and railroad locomotive bells. He gave me a small booklet describing all the bells.

We chatted for awhile about the town. Dale is Rugby’s unofficial historian, and has been involved in a number of preservation efforts (including the mortuary building itself, which dates back to the turn of the last century). And then he mentioned that he and his wife had purchased an old Episcopal church just down the block. I was stunned; in two days, I’ve encountered two different couples who have purchased deconsecrated Episcopal churches! Is this a thing??

St. Paul Episcopal Church in Rugby. Built in 1903, and now owned by the Niewoehners

Finally I got back on the road, following the now-familiar US Route 2 West signs. Then, about 10 miles after leaving Rugby, I spotted a tall, proud whitewashed church standing alone on the prairie about a mile or two to the south. I figured I’d give in to the obvious ecclesiastical turn that this trip is taking, and I turned down a dirt road toward the church.

Tunbridge Luteheran Church, pretty as a picture.

The church grounds were being prepared for a dedication ceremony planned for tomorrow. Chairs and barbecues were being set up, the lawn was being mowed, signs were being put up. I introduced myself to the guy who seemed to be in charge, and learned that Tunbridge Lutheran Church was essentially being re-opened to the community after sitting vacant since 1988. Jason, who’s my age, grew up in the community and his family is very closely connected with the church. His great-grandfather is even buried in the churchyard.

It turns out that Jason has spearheaded the effort to restore the 1914 building, which involved replacing the roof, repairing the steeple, replacing light fixtures, painting, and other work. Almost all the work is now done, and tomorrow they’ll be holding a church service, with the regional bishop serving communion. There’ll also be some speeches and then food and drink and celebration. Jason feels strongly that the church should be a place for the community to come together and support one another. It’s a worthy sentiment, and I sense that he’s providing great benefit to his community.

At the end of the day I arrived in Williston, ND (pop: 29,000). By Route 2 standards, this is a big city. I’m now at the western edge of North Dakota, and clearly I’m in oil country. Not only is Route 2 dotted with oil wells, tanks, and gas flares, but even the local playground has an oil rig-shaped see-saw.

Gotta indoctrinate ’em early about the benefits of oil production!

BREW OF THE DAY

I ate dinner at a place called Doc Holliday’s Roadhouse. It’s one of those slick-looking places, with fancy signage and integrated artwork that suggests it’s part of a corporate chain. But evidently it’s not; it’s just a one-off outfit here in Williston. The lone driveway is lined with life-size, metal buffalo and horse sculptures, which must have cost a pretty penny.

The draft beers weren’t really exciting me, so I ordered a bottle of Black Butte Porter from Deschutes Brewing Company in Bend, Oregon. For a decade or so in the 1990s we used to go on vacation in Bend every summer, and I’ve been to the brewery a number of times. Black Butte Porter (BBP) had been my go-to beer. But it’s been awhile, so I figured I’d try one for the BOTD.

Since it’s a road house, I was too embarrassed to ask for a glass.

Porters are a little lighter than stouts, but they both make use of lots of heavily-roasted malt. While there’s no hard and fast rule, I think of porters as a little less malty, a little less chewy, and maybe a bit hoppier than a stout.

Tonight’s BBP had a bit of a burnt taste, but not in a bad way. The mouthfeel was more watery than creamy, but it definitely had some heft. Unfortunately, the BBP got worse as my tastebuds acclimated to it. The flavors are not complex at all, and there’s a little bit of inexplicable Budweiser mustiness on the finish. And at 5.5 percent ABV, this is kind of a wimpy beer. I wondered why this used to be my go-to beer.

Here’s the breakthrough that came to me tonight: There are two kinds of (good) beer in this world: there are the lighter beers, which are good for quenching thirst and cooling you down on a hot day. They’re astringent, hoppy, refreshing. Think IPAs. Second, we have the darker beers. Their purpose is not to refresh, but to comfort. They are the port wine of beers. Malty, heavy, thick. The extreme of this is the imperial stout, and maybe also some barleywines. The imperials are high-gravity beers, sometimes called “big” beers, that are bold and not subtle at all. Often they are served in “tulip” glasses, which further advances the comparison to port.

The problem with BBP (and perhaps most porters) is that it falls between the light/refreshing and dark/comforting categories. It’s not at all a lighter beer, but it also pulls its punches on the key dimensions of a high-gravity dark beer. I suppose that a porter is an IPA drinker’s stout. As I’ve aged since those days at Deschutes Brewing Company in Bend, my palate has been worn down to the point where I can’t appreciate nuance. So the porters just don’t work for me anymore. I don’t want to criticize the BBP for not being something that it’s not supposed to be, so rather than give it a low rating, I’ll just say I wish I’d had an imperial stout. With any luck, tomorrow’s BOTD will feature a good one.

Road trips · trains

Mich-again

May 26, 2022 steveboilard3 Comments

This morning I woke up in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, and drove westward into North Dakota. So imagine my surprise when, hours later, I found myself again in Michigan!

Yes, it turns out that a community along Route 2 in North Dakota is named Michigan (pop: 263). The town was founded in 1882 by an emigrant from the state of Michigan. I’m not making this up.

Michigan is barely a wide spot in the road, and the population (such as it is) has been declining for decades. The most notable thing I could learn about the town is that it’s the site of North Dakota’s all-time worst railroad disaster, killing 34 people and injuring over 300. (Two trains collided, carrying mostly returning servicemen.)

Look out! The spot where disaster struck 77 years ago.

But let’s get back to the beginning of the day. The Jeep’s low fuel light came on just as I was passing this colorful, Bavarian-inspired gas station halfway between Grand Rapids and Bemidji.

A small plaque noted that the building is on the National Register of Historic Places. So after fueling up (at $4.19 a gallon–eat your heart out, my fellow Californians!), I asked the gas station manager what’s the story. She told me that the place is called The Big Winnie, that it was built in 1932, that it’s remained in the same family for five generations, and that it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. (A little internet research says that the Frank Llloyd Wright connection is unproven. But FLW did stay in the adjoining cabins on multiple occasions just before the structure was built, and it has FLW design elements, so it’s a plausible theory.)

Replenished with gasoline and coffee, I headed back out on US 2 West. You’ll recall that Sheena at the Judy Garland museum recommended that I visit the headwaters of the Mississippi. It required a 25-minute detour off US 2, which I figured was managable. So before you could say Hernando de Soto (or even Walter Chrysler–get it?), I was standing at the spot where a small stream of water leaves Lake Itasca and begins its journey as the Mississippi.

If you’d been online around 8 am eastern time, you could have watched me on the livestream.

I was now moving into the Great Plains. Some of my loyal readers have commented that this part of the country is exceedingly boring. But you just have to know where to look. For example, I saw this:

Okay, okay–how about this?

14-foot tall bra sculpture in a nursery in Grand Forks, ND

Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games on the road today. I did pass a few quiet moments at this roadside chapel in Fosston, Minnesota. It’s only eight feet wide, and (barely) seats eight people on four pews.

Speaking of chapels, near the end of today’s drive I was passing through the town of Lakota, ND (pop: 700). It’s a surprisingly charming and hardy small town, with well-maintained homes and nicely-landscaped parks. As I was driving down a side street I saw this picture-perfect, small Episopal church.

A sign on the front lawn told me that this is the Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, and a plaque told me it’s on the National Register of Historic Places. I went to the door hoping that the church might be open to visitors, and then I noticed a man and a woman doing some planting and landscaping work. I introduced myself, and asked if I might be able to look inside. They said sure…but as soon as I opened the door I realized that this was not a church but a private residence! It turns out the two “gardeners” were the owners, who’d purchased the deconsecrated church from the Episcopal diocese in 2015.

Steve and JoAnna Martens (as they introduced themselves) have since been converting this former church into their vacation home. (They live in Fargo the rest of the time.) They graciously showed me around the home and explained its history. It seems that when the church was being organized in 1883, the priest asked parishioners to bring large stones that they may have plowed up from their fields, and these were used to build the church building. It was completed in 1885.

One of the original stained-glass windows, about 130 years old.

Smokey wasn’t happy that I’d invaded his home.

After a pleasant, 45-minute visit I had to get back on the road, but first they let me ring the bell in the belltower. I am grateful for Steve and JoAnna’s hospitality. In this era of Twitter flame wars, they give me hope about us as a people.

So, after leaving this former House of God, guess where my next stop was? Yes, it’s Devil’s Lake, ND (pop: 7,200). And that’s where I’m spending the night. Pray for me.

MONEY-SAVING TIP OF THE DAY

Before we get to the BOTD, let me share with you my money-saving tip for the day. Have an unwanted tree stump in your yard, but don’t want to pay to remove it? Here are two ways to avoid the cost that I saw on display:

Option 2: I call this the Tom Sawyer ploy.

BREW OF THE DAY

I couldn’t find a proper brew pub in Devils Lake, so I opted for Mexican food at Charras and Tequila Mexican Restaurant. The fajitas were awesome, but the beer options were abysmal. I opted for a margarita, to which I award 4 stars.

bridges · Cars · Road trips · trains

Of Badgers and North Stars

May 25, 2022 steveboilardLeave a comment

As I headed out of Ironwood this morning, I passed another venerable old railroad depot.

Ironwood Railroad Depot, looking good at 130 years old.

The Ironwood depot of the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad was the town’s transportation hub since it opened in 1892, but the trains stopped coming through in 1970. It’s now a museum and the headquarters for Ironwood’s Chamber of Commerce. It was a few minutes after 7 am when I arrived there, but I found the door unlocked and entered, being greeted by the Chamber of Commerce’s director, Michael Meyer.

Michael gets points for wearing the railroad overalls.

Michael spent close to an hour with me, explaining the history of the depot and of the town. He’s a transplant (from Indiana, if I recall correctly), and thus can speak somewhat objectively about the Yoopers. He’s also a great booster for the town. Apparently the economy took a major jolt when the railroads left and mining petered out, but now, to listen to Michael, the town is experiencing a renaissance.

Michael hepped me to a documentary film about Route 2 called “Route 2 Elsewhere.” (I wish I’d thought of that name!) I’ll have to check that out when I get home. He’s the first person I’ve talked to on this trip who even knew that Route 2 spans the entire country.

After we’d talked awhile Michael was called to a meeting of some kind, and I wandered the displays of the museum. It was the usual stuff–interesting to me, but not really worth describing in a blog. With one exception:

The museum has an old telephone switchboard, and on it was this brochure that evidently was provided to all phone customers in 1963. Now, I’m not saying that Ironwood was a little behind the times, but the brochure explains in excruciating detail how to dial a phone. (I realize that some of my younger readers might not understand this concept, either.)

From the days before instructional Youtube videos.

After reviewing these eye-opening displays about my own early childhood, I got back into the rental car (which is a Jeep, for those of you who have asked) and headed into the great state of Wisconsin.

I have to say this about Route 2: It’s really a very reliable, comfortable, friendly road. This is in part due to the fact that it goes through very few big cities; most of the towns you encounter are small villages that aren’t going to ticket you for parking in the wrong spot or prohibit you from turning left. The gas station attendants and restaurant servers are uncommonly friendly, and graffiti is practically unheard of. Moreover, property owners seem to be compelled to communicate with passersby through yard art. A few examples:

On the side of the road in Solway, Minnesota

In front of a liquor store. The keg is a nice touch.

Made from car parts. Note the spark plug teeth.

There’s something reassuring about people taking the time and making the effort to add some whimsy for the benefits of passersby. I encounter a lot of this kind of thing out on the US highways. If you were to seek out the opposite of a twitter flame war, surely this kind of thing would qualify. God bless these people.

In the town of Mason, Wisconsin a gas station attendant encouraged me to check out an old, abandoned, Wild West theme park that was homemade by a man (recently passed) named Ed Sandor on his farmland. This I did, and it was one of the most enjoyable hours I’ve spent. It deserves its own blog post, which I hope to write in the next day or two. Here’s a photo to whet your appetite:

Eventually I came to my first biggish town on this trip: Duluth, Minnesota (pop: 87,000). While stopping to get a sandwich, I asked the proprietor what Duluth is known for. Without skipping a beat, she said “Dylan.” It turns out that one Robert Allen Zimmerman (aka Bob Dylan) spent his early childhood in a modest home on North Third Avenue. I made the pilgrimage, and offer this humble photo.

While in Dylan’s neighborhood, I passed Duluth’s Central High School. This is a breathtaking gothic building, originally constructed in 1893, and it didn’t close until 1970. And even then it remained open as administrative offices until 2011.

I can’t figure out what’s happening with the property now, but this is a staggeringly-impressive, large, historic property. Clearly it speaks of a day when public buildings were not just respected but revered. I do hope that Duluth’s leaders find a suitable use for this historic property.

I ended the day’s travels in Grand Rapids, Minnesota (pop: 11,000). Based on my experiences as a tourist, Grand Rapids is known for two things. The first is that it sits at the upper navigable end of the Mississippi River. I noted this when I crossed the Mississippi on Route 2–it was nice to see a body of water that wasn’t one of the Great Lakes, after the past few days of Lakes Erie, Michigan, and Superior! I took a few photos of a picturesque, turn-of-the-century railroad bridge, and I noticed that the Mississippi wasn’t as mighty as I remember it from past encounters further south. (Edit: I later learned that this river is only a tributary of the Mississippi–the Prairie River.)

Second, Grand Rapids the birthplace of Judy Garland. Indeed, the hotel in which I’m staying tonight is next door to the Judy Garland museum, which includes the (relocated) home where Judy grew up.

Now, to be clear, I’m not a total fanboy of Judy Garland, but I certainly find her story to be compelling. And I always loved The Wizard of Oz. So the museum (which I toured) intrigued me, with various artifacts from her movies and her (somewhat tragic) life.

Naturally, my primary objective at the Judy Garland museum was to see the ruby slippers. And behold, there they were, just sitting on a pedestal with no barrier separating me from them!

“Their magic must be very powerful, or she wouldn’t want them so badly.”

Alas, a sign explained that while this was the “original pedestal” on which the ruby slippers used to sit, the slippers were reproductions. The original slippers were stolen in 2005. A docent (Sheena, pictured below) told me that the slippers were recovered in 2018 in Minneapolis, but they remain in the possession of the FBI, which continues to gather evidence of the crime. What’s worse is that the slippers were just on loan to the museum, so if and when the FBI releases them, they’ll go to the owner, and not to the museum.

Sheena, the Wizard of…the Garland Museum.

Still, the museum contains numerous authentic artifacts, and I recommend it. Meanwhile, when she heard I was driving the length of US Route 2, Sheena encouraged me to visit the headwaters of the Mississippi River, which are a short drive from the highway. This I will do tomorrow. Until then.

BOTD

The Brew of the Day was a “Cocon-Oat and Boat Stout” from Rapids Brewing Co., in Grand Rapids, Minnesota. RBC has only been around for about 3 years, and it looks like your typical modern brewpub with a spacious floor in a warehouse-like building, minimalist industrial-chic decor, and lots of bearded hipsters. But unlike some other such brewpubs that I’ve visited, this place has nailed the food and the staff really makes an old guy like me feel welcome.

As its somewhat-forced name suggests, the “Cocon-Oat” stout is an oatmeal stout brewed with toasted coconut. This won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but it totally worked for me. The toasted coconut isn’t overpowering, but it adds just the right amount of sweetness and interest to the flavor profile. Don’t think Mounds candybar; think macaroon. The oatmeal lends a creamy smoothness, and it has just the right amount of hops. It goes down really easy, but at 5.9 percent ABV, this isn’t going to put you on the floor. I give it 4.5 stars.

PS: The bartender told me that today is Whiskey Wednesday, which means that I get $2 off any bourbon cocktail. So I chased the stout with an Old Fashioned, to which I give 5 stars.

Cars · Hydrology · Road trips · trains

My Day as a Yooper

May 24, 2022 steveboilard4 Comments

This morning I awoke to a pleasant, clear, sunny day in St. Ignace, Michigan—a city that straddles Lake Huron and Lake Michigan.

Uncharacteristically, I even sprang for a room with a view. When I awoke in the middle of the night and observed that there were virtually no lights to be seen out around the lake. I guess there’s very little development out in these parts.

After a virtually inedible continental breakfast at the hotel, I drove a few blocks to the beginning of US Route 2’s western segment.

The day’s travel took me about 300 miles due west across Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, or UP (sounds like “you pee”) (that’s a quote from a helpful cashier at the local BP [“bee pee”?] gas station). Residents of the UP are therefore called “Yoopers.”

Anyway, I pointed the car west and soon the touristy town of St. Ignace was in the rearview mirror. US 2 is a simple two-lane road surrounded by pine and spruce, and offers occasional glimpses of Lake Michigan to the south. It has virtually no stoplights or even stop signs, except when it passes through the occasional small town. It’s a great road for decompressing and pondering the meaning of life.

As I went driving that ribbon of highway/I saw above me that endless skyway.

Now, I don’t pretend to be an expert on the UP. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever set foot in the territory. But after 300 miles of driving, with numerous stops and exploratory side trips, I can offer the following top five things that the UP is (or should be) known for:

1: Moose. Moose are native to Michigan, but they were heavily predated and largely eliminated from the lower part of the state in the 1800s. In the 1980s Michigan’s Department of Natural Resources introduced more moose into the UP, where they maintain a self-sustaining population. The moose seems to have become an unofficial mascot, which I came across repeatedly.

2: Bigfoot. His likeness is everywhere. I guess the fact that the UP is remote, with lots of trees to hide among, makes for good Sasquatch habitat. There’s even a UP Bigfoot Conference each year.

And perhaps inevitably, I even encountered a Bigfoot with a Moose on a leash…

3: Trains. Railroads played a key role in the development of Michigan, of course. But with the long stretches of undeveloped land in the UP, trains were especially vital for communications, transportation, economic development, etc. in the region. Parts of the UP are major producers of iron, and railroads made it possible to export the ore to far-flung markets. Throughout my drive I encountered remnants of the old railroad infrastructure, now largely abandoned.

1911 steam locomotive from the Soo Line, now in Gladstone, MI

Iron Mountain RR Depot, built around 1910. Note the still-operational semaphore!

The Curio Fair antique shop/tourist trap, in Saint Ignace. The closer of the two structures is an old railroad depot from the Duluth, South Shore & Atlantic RR. You can also walk up the adjoining tower structure to get a good view of Lake Michigan. Sadly, it was closed when I visited.

4: Pasties. No, pasty doesn’t rhyme with tasty; it rhymes with nasty. Pasties are advertised everywhere in the UP. Supposedly they were introduced by Cornish settlers to the region in the 19th Century. Essentially, they’re meat pies. I had one today and it was definitely tasty–not nasty at all.

5: Rust. Winter in the UP brings freezing temperatures, ice, and snow, which requires that the Transportation Department spread salt on the roads. The combination of continuous moisture and salt hastens the formation of rust on iron and steel, which means that your F150 is going to gradually disappear.

Anyway, that’s my view of the UP, based on a drive along Route 2. I’m sure I’m missing some key elements… But before I get to the BOTD, let me share one other historic structure I came across in the city of Manistique, MI (pop: 2,800). It’s a water pumping station that was constructed in 1922. It operated into the 1950s, but then was replaced by a more modern facility. It’s currently part of a museum complex. It’s a good example of neoclassical, brick structures that I saw in historic downtowns throughout the UP. Courthouses, city halls, theaters, even office buildings have a similar grandeur that, to me, seems really out of place given the UP’s rustic culture.

Might make for a good haunted hydro? (see yesterday’s blog)

Now, as we move into the BOTD, let me set the mood with one more structure: The Richter Brewing Company building was constructed in 1915 in Escanaba, MI. Brewing operations were shut down with Prohibition, and Richter sold off the building. But it was again used to brew beer by another company until 1940. Then it stood vacant for about 50 years. It was renovated in 2012, and now houses loft apartments.

Tonight I’m in Ironwood, MI, and will drive across the border into Wisconsin tomorrow morning.

BREW OF THE DAY

Close to the Richter Brewing Company is the Delta Hotel, built in 1915. The first floor of the hotel building is now a brewpub named Hereford and Hops.

It was here that I ordered a pint of the Blackbird Oatmeal Stout, which is made on the premises. It was a beautiful pour: a dark mahogany color with a perfect, creamy head. The temperature was just right, with a bit of condensation on the glass.

Pretty as a picture. But not as pretty as a pitcher.

Sadly, though, I can’t recommend this beer. It seemed overhopped–just too bitter for a stout. And the malt flavor that did manage to make itself known was one-dimensional, completely lacking in that kaleidoscope of changing flavors you expect from a stout. It had more of an earthy taste than the caramel, malty taste I was hoping for. Partly redeeming it was a satisfying, creamy mouthfeel courtesy of the oatmeal. I’ll give this a three out of five stars.