Royal Roadtrip

August 2, 2024 steveboilard3 Comments

I’d always felt that there are two kinds of towns in California (and perhaps beyond). The first is the generic and undistinguished town, with the usual collection of faceless corporate businesses (Applebee’s, Chili’s, Home Depot, Target, etc) and the same tract home developments with names like “Willow Creek” or “Creek Willow,” where you literally would not be able to tell which specific town you were in without a sign to tell you.

The second type is the town that has some distinctive character that makes it recognizable. This second category can be further subdivided into towns with an organic distinctiveness (due to their history or topography or whatever) and those that fabricate their character out of whole cloth.

I was reminded of this distinction when I recently received an article from loyal reader Karen Y. The article lists six “themed towns” in the US that “lean into their own unique identities.” Some of these, like Tombstone, Ariz., have legitimate historic links that make them special. Others, like Santa Claus, Indiana, less so.

*Predictably pointless 11 months out of the year.*

Two of the six “Themed Towns” are Leavenworth, Wash. (pop: 2,400) and Solvang, CA (pop: 6,000). Alert readers will recall my 2022 blog post about Leavenworth, which postures as a Bavarian village. As I noted in that post, the civic leaders in Leavenworth had visited the Danish-themed town of Solvang as part of their planning to go Full Saxon.

*Faux-Danish Solvang (from* The Discover Blog’s “Six Themed Towns” article).

Though not mentioned in the article, there’s a Swedish-themed town in California’s Central Valley that might warrant inclusion on the list. And, like Solvang, this town’s civic leaders also visited Leavenworth before they launched their Scandinavian make-over.

The “Swedish” town we’re talking about is Kingsburg (pop: 12,600), which is about 20 miles southeast of Fresno on CA-99. It is sited next to the Kings River. And it’s where I spent an enjoyable day this week.

Kingsburg enthusiastically embraces the Swedish vibe. Everywhere (and especially on the main street that cuts through downtown) you see Swedish flags, dala horses, half-timbered facades, and even a gigantic Swedish coffee pot. Check it out:

*Traditional folkcraft “Dala Horses” are everywhere*

*Even the town’s water tower fits the theme.*

*At Peet’s, its the cup rather than the pot that gets the Swedish treatment.*

Like so many California settlements, Kingsburg owes its existence in part to the railroad. In 1873 the Central Pacific Railroad established “Kings River Switch” as a flag stop, where boat-borne freight was transferred to rail (and vice versa). The town’s name was changed a number of times, to Wheatville to Kingsbury to Kingsburgh and finally to Kingsburg.

Notably, the railroad station still stands today. And fortuitously, I arrived on the one day of the week the station is open for tours. Docent Steve (no relation) showed me around. The current building was constructed in 1888, and was moved to Kingburg in 1902 to replace the original station that had burned down. Remarkably, both stations were constructed from the exact same plans (“Southern Pacific Common Standard No. 18”), so the replacement station was simply dropped directly onto the foundation of the station that had burned down.

The station/museum is maintained by an amazingly dedicated crew of volunteers. It’s been restored to appear as it did in 1922, when it was modernized with electric lights, steam heat, and a stucco facade. The latest restoration took place 2007-2015, and it’s a well-executed, authentic restoration. The station is full of period-correct antiques, including many pieces (such as the telephone, freight scale, and some furniture) that are original to the depot.

*The stucco walls are period-correct for the early 1920s.*

*Docent Steve in the office, with original scissors phone and telegraph.*

Docent Steve is a knowledgeable historian who’s eager to share his knowledge, but the one thing I couldn’t get him to shed much light on was: Where does Kingsburg’s Swedish connection come from?

This is a question I pursued at the local bakery. The woman behind the counter said she thought there used to be “a lot of Swedes living here,” but that “these days hardly anyone is Swedish.” She said she never really gives it much thought.

Next I asked at the coffee shop: “What’s the story behind the Swedish theme of this town?” asked I. The young woman seemed to be taken by surprise. “What Swedish theme?” To her it was all just decoration, I guess. “I commute from Fresno,” she added, as though that explains everything.

The clerk at my hotel darkly observed that “The Church controls everything in this town.” I wasn’t sure if she meant the Church of Sweden or a local parish or maybe some kind of Elmer Gantry figure. I thought it best not to ask her to elaborate.

Finally, at a local cafe a friendly woman (who, alas, wouldn’t consent to being photographed for this blog) advised me to talk to the owner of the Svensk Butik gift shop. “She knows all the history of this town.”

And that wasn’t an exaggeration. June (for that’s her name) comes from honest Swedish stock, was born in Kingsburg, and opened her shop here 39 years ago. She’s been a major force behind the town’s Swedish theme. Dressed in traditional Swedish garb, she told me the story behind Kingsburg.

Here’s the short version, and I apologize if I have garbled anything. Back in the 19th century, Swedish immigrants came to the Midwest to escape religious persecution and find employment. They took up mining, agriculture, and other trades. But over time some became restless and began to the west coast, where the weather was better, might be the ticket. A scouting expedition was dispatched, and through some fortuitous encounters that featured someone’s cousin, the scouting party determined Kingsburg would be a suitable place. Many Swedish-American families subsequently came out to settle in Kingsburg, and by the turn of the century virtually the entire town was ethnically Swedish.

Notably, those early settlers didn’t try to replicate the architecture and other trappings of the Old Country. They were just trying to sink roots and make an honest living. It was a fairly prosperous town, served by the railroad and the river.

In the 1960s the railroad ended its passenger service, and then CA-99 became multi-lane freeway that whisked travelers past the town without stopping. To make matters worse, many local residents made use of that same freeway to shop in Fresno and other towns. Kingsburg needed something to bring business back to its commercial center, and that something became the Swedish Plan. The aforementioned visit to Solvang followed. June tells me that the good folks of Solvang warned the Kingsburg delegation against becoming too much like Disneyland. Evidently there’s some regret among Solvang’s residents that the Danish village is built to serve tourists but not residents. June tells me that, in her opinion, Kingsburg found a good balance, where the Swedish theme is evident and attractive, but the underlying services remain practical and accessible to the town’s residents.

She also mentioned that Kingsburg holds an annual Swedish Festival every May, with native food, crafts, music, and the like. I may need to come back.

After hearing June’s story, I reconsidered my typology of organic vs. contrived theme towns. In some ways Kingsburg is promoting its very real Swedish history, although few of the current residents have any connection with the Old Country. But what struck me was the friendly vibe of the place. Every single person I spoke with was kind and welcoming and happy to be there. The public spaces were clean and attractive and welcoming..The main street even had Swedish music softly playing over speakers. Even if the Swedish heritage feels a bit forced, it doesn’t feel fake. This is just a nice, friendly, attractive town that I’d like to visit again.

There is one dark postscript to this story–Kingsburg is the headquarters of Sun-Maid Raisins, which is nice so far as it goes.

Caption from the back of the box: “On July 1, 1992, this box was dedicated by Mrs. Gayle Wilson, the wife of California Governor Pete Wilson, as the World’s Biggest Raisin Box. The box was originally constructed and filled with 16,500 pounds of Sun-Maid raisins to establish a world record in The Guinness Book of World Records by business students from California State University, Fresno, as part of a class project.”

However, a neighbor to the Sun-Maid plant is evidently at war with the company, putting up combative signs, maintaining an expose-themed Facebook page, and offering passersby “free tours” of the environmental degradation supposedly caused by Big Raisin.

*It doesn’t exactly look like the Cuyahoga River.*

It seems the neighbor (Doug Johnson) is upset that some of Sun-Maid’s “raisin processing discharge” ends up in his ditch. I can’t offer any judgments about his claims, but I will say that this doesn’t appear to be a Silkwood situation. So let’s move on to the..

BREW OF THE DAY

For reasons that are too convoluted and uninteresting to get into here, I had my BOTD at the Seal Beach Grill in Seal Beach, CA. It was a warm day, so I decided an IPA would do the trick. The Seal Beach Grill does not brew its own beer, so I had an Elysian Space Dust IPA. Elysian Brewing is based in Seattle, and, like so many breweries, is owned by Anheuser-Busch. But let’s not hold that against them.

Space Dust is a bright, flavorful IPA. It’s got a fresh sweetness that’s nicely balanced with several different types of hops. It presents beautifully with a golden honey color, lively carbonation, and a decent surface of foam. At 8.2 percent ABV, this is a big beer that happens to go down easy. On a hot day it can be downright dangerous. Ask me how I know.

Four stars out of five.

California history · trains

Octopus’s Garden

June 25, 2024 steveboilard2 Comments

Very recently I visited the second-oldest railroad depot in California. And that naturally got me to wondering about the first-oldest (otherwise known simply as the oldest) railroad depot in California. And that would be the Santa Clara Depot, built in 1863.

I happened to grow up near Santa Clara, and I’m sure I must have visited the Santa Clara depot with my friend Detlef, as he and I would regularly ride our bikes to various railroad sites in the area to explore the ancient (though still-active) passenger cars and use our cassette recorders to capture the panoply of sounds emanating from the Southern Pacific locomotives as they pulled their trains to the platforms. Occasionally one of us would take a photo, but this was in the days before phone cameras, and lugging around an SLR was a hassle. Still, it was those experiences–seeing and hearing and smelling the various aspects of the moribund Southern Pacific passenger trains in the 1970s–that number among the best memories of my youth.

*Atmospheric photo at San Jose (*not Santa Clara) railroad depot, circa 1978, by childhood friend Detlef Kurpanek.

The Santa Clara Depot was built by the long-forgotten San Francisco and San Jose Railroad Company. Like most of the other small railroads in California around that time, the SF&SJ was acquired by the mighty Southern Pacific (non-affectionately known as The Octopus).

*“We would be so happy, you and me/No one there to tell us what to do”*

Though it’s survived for over a century and a half, the depot has undergone its share of work over the years. Notably, in 1877, the entire station was moved across the railroad tracks and joined to an existing freight facility. The historic photo below (lifted from my Uncle Edward’s celebrated Dome o’ Foam) clearly shows the original passenger depot in the front, connected to the larger freight building in the back.

*Santa Clara Depot circa 1895, c/o The Wx4 Dome O’ Foam.*

As you can see from the photos I took today, the original appearance remains largely intact.

*The platform at the back of the depot features a 1912 Pullman observation car.*

*Back in 1912, they knew how to work ornamentation even into a railing.*

A hundred and fifty years ago, before Starbucks and shopping malls, a railroad station like this would be a major hub of activity in the community. Santa Clara Depot’s fortunes of course declined in the automobile age, but it survived the shift of passenger service to Amtrak, the demise of Southern Pacific, and the arrival of CalTrain. Indeed, the depot still had a functioning ticket office as late as 1997.

Today the depot is part of what’s called the Santa Clara Transit Center, where several rail and bus lines converge. There are also plans to eventually tie in a BART extension.

*CalTrain made a stop while I visited. Seems to me the 160-year-old station is in far better shape that the trains.*

While the depot no longer offers its ticket office or waiting room or even restrooms to train travelers, it does house a railroad museum. Sadly, the museum is only open two days a week, and was closed when I was there. So I can’t report on the depot’s interior features. That said, the building lends an authenticity and ambiance to this transportation hub, and I’m pleased to see it featured so prominently.

Just a stone’s throw from the depot is another historic structure: This “interlocking tower” (whose purpose is to control rail switches in the nearby Santa Clara railyard) was constructed in 1926.

The tower was in service until 1993, when switch and signal controls were centralized at San Jose. Those of you who watched the 2010 movie Unstoppable know the risks of that kind of technological advance….

Anyway, next to the tower is a commemorative plaque installed by the City Council in 2002:

..and next to that plaque is a second one, installed by E Clampus Vitus in 2013. Note in particular the narrow secondary plaque beneath the main one:

*Raises more questions than it answers…*

Now, there are two notable points here: First, while E Clampus Vitus installed the second plaque 11 years after the City Council’s plaque, they take pains to point out they were prepared to be first. You’ve got to wonder what caused the 14-year delay. Second, and more importantly, is this: What in tarnation is E Clampus Vitus? You see their plaques all over the west. Are they a legit historical society? A dangerous cult? An Andy Kaufman-esque hoax? You can of course get some insight to these questions through Wikipedia, but I am going to do some hard-hitting investigative journalism on this topic and present a full blog post on ECV in the near future. If any of my loyal readers is a member of the ECV (i.e., a Clamper), please contact me.

In the meantime, I leave you with this sign that stands at the Santa Clara Depot, which raises a question that a Clamper might ask: Who is the “Lookout” for the locomotive?

bridges · California history · Hydrology · trains

“We’re Number Two!”

June 13, 2024 steveboilard6 Comments

The other day I passed a billboard near Sacramento State University, which touted the campus football team’s Number 6 ranking in a media poll. This of course raises the question: how quickly do bragging rights decay as you move down the list, from first to second to third to fourth….?

A 1966 novelty song (on heavy rotation on Dr. Demento’s radio show while I was growing up) poked fun at this phenomenon. “The Ballad of Irving” sang the praises of the “142nd fastest gun in the West.” My favorite line: “A hundred and forty-one could draw faster than he/
But Irving was looking for one forty-three.” Give it a listen:

I bring all this up because son Ian called my attention to “the second oldest railroad depot in California.” It’s in Calistoga, in the upper Napa Valley. The depot was built in 1868. (A quick Google search identifies the oldest Depot as Santa Clara Depot, which was constructed in 1863.)

The important thing about the Calistoga Depot is that it held a grand (re-)opening just a couple of months ago, and it’s now repurposed as a microbrewery, distillery, and restaurant venue. Once I learned this I decided it’s obviously time for a road trip. So this morning I set out for Calistoga.

The city of Calistoga (pop: 5,300) was established in the mid-1860s, centered on Sam Brannan’s Hot Springs Resort. Sam Brannan had come to California from New York in 1846, and made his fortune selling gold pans to the miners during the Gold Rush. It should be noted that he first bought all those gold pans and other gear from every supplier in the West, monopolizing the market shortly before the Gold Rush became big news. He sold the equipment at an enormous profit.

*Sam Brannan, doing his Honest Abe impersonation.*

As a result, Brannan became California’s first millionaire. In addition to building the Resort he co-founded the Napa Valley Railroad. The Calistoga Depot marked the northern terminus of that short line, carrying vacationers from the Bay Area.

Brannan’s Napa Valley Railroad didn’t last long, and was absorbed by what eventually became the Southern Pacific. SP dropped passenger service along the route in the 1920s, but today trains run again on those rails, in the form of the Napa Valley Wine Train.

Incidentally, the name “Calistoga” is supposedly the result of an unintentional Malapropism. Brannan liked to compare his Hot Springs Resort to the famous Saratoga Springs in his native New York. So at the grand opening of his resort, he intended to say something like “Here’s to the Saratoga of California!” But it came out as “the Calistoga of Sarafornia.” (OK, that’s not exactly a Malapropism. Leave a comment below if you know what specifically this error of speech should be called.)

One other thing about Sam Brannan: He built a distillery that cranked out huge amounts of bandy that, it’s said, rivaled the finest French cognac. All this, as a Mormon leader. The brandy will figure into our story a bit later.

Anyway, as I was saying, I headed out for Calistoga this morning. I took the scenic route roughly paralleling Putah creek westward from Davis. When I stopped for gas in Winters (pop: 7,300) this second-story window of an old office building caught my attention. I guess Sam (Spade, not Brannan) decided to relocate 70 miles eastward from San Francisco sometime after solving the Maltese Falcon caper.

“*Don’t be too sure I’m as crooked as I’m supposed to be.*” –Sam Spade, in The Maltese Falcon.

I followed Putah Creek to Monticello Dam, which was built in 1957 as a hydroelectric project that also resulted in Lake Berryessa. (Since we’re focused on rankings, Lake Berryessa is the 7th largest man-made lake in California.) After 65 years, the dam is showing its age, but the lake remains a popular spot for boating.

*Looking down at the spillway, where water exits the dam.*

Conveniently, I rolled into Calistoga around lunchtime. And there was the Calistoga Depot, in all its glory. If Monticello Dam is looking a little long in the tooth after 65 years, the Calistoga Depot looks fabulous after more than 150 years.

In fact, it might be a little too fabulous. Over the past few years the property has undergone an extensive renovation and repurposing, to the point that it doesn’t really feel as authentic as some of the dilapidated historic structures I’ve seen on other travels. I fear most of the Depot’s ghosts are long gone. Still, the building’s footprint and outward features are largely as they were in Sam Brannan’s time. Just compare the above photo to the historic photo near the beginning of this post.

Adding to the ambiance, a half-dozen vintage passenger cars are situated at the station platform. Each car is being used as a restaurant, bar, or boutique. Sadly, the “First Millionaire Saloon” car was closed today.

*I got the tickets and a reservation set for two/Luggage waiting on the track/But I got no use for reservations without you/I got to give the tickets back* -Lucky Millinder

But all was not lost. You can sit anywhere you like on the property–inside a lounge railcar, out in the biergarten, inside the Depot itself–and then you can order whatever you want–drinks, food, dessert. Roaming servers make sure you’re taken care of wherever you choose to sit. I opted for a seat in the biergarten, as the weather was perfect, and had me an awesome wood-fired pizza and a flight of local whiskeys.

*Number 2 is my favorite…which we’ll revisit when we get to the BOTD.*

Although all the whiskeys are local, none is distilled on site. It seems that the fire risk inside the ancient station is just high. So they work with other local distilleries to create house brands.

After lunch I moseyed into the Depot building itself. It’s an impressive space, with upstairs seating that looks down on the main bar, taxidermied animals, a regulation pool table, antique chandeliers, historic photos, and various artifacts.

*Worthy of California’s first millionaire.*

I bellied up to the bar and was served by the estimable Eddie. He’s been here since the (re-)opening, which admittedly was only like two months ago. But still, he’s in for the long haul. He served me a full pour of the second tasting from my flight: The First Millionaire Single-Malt Scotch.

While I enjoyed my Scotch, Eddie pointed out a few features of the bar. Such as the shovel handles lining one end of the bar, and the shovel heads lining the other. Obviously, these are a reference to the tools Sam Brannan sold to the miners at exorbitant prices.

*One of these things is not like the others….*

I’m sure you spotted the irregularity among the shovel heads. Yes, it’s a–ahem–hoe. Eddie informs me it’s a none-too-subtle reference to Lola Montez, who was a famous Bohemian courtesan (among other things). Could she have been a lover to Sam Brannan? Eddie thinks so.

Which leads us to today’s BOTD–which is not a beer, but a rye whiskey. (Let’s call it the “Beverage Of The Day.”) Named “Fame and Misfortune,” it features a picture of Lola Montez.

It’s a straight rye finished in Angelica (brandy) casks. Eddie poured me a healthy two fingers, and we were off to the races.

Now this is a soft and spicy rye. I’ll leave it for others to opine on how that might correlate with its namesake. But this is exceptionally smooth and warm, with no bite. I detect hints of cinnamon, cloves, licorice, and anise. The ABV is a standard 80 proof, which suited me just fine for the lunch hour. I enjoyed it so much I was ready to take a bottle home, but at $150 I found the price (but not the whiskey) hard to swallow. Four stars out of five.

After making my goodbyes to Eddie, I had one more mission: Remember that Sam Brannan had started out in this area with his Hot Springs Resort. It turns out there’s lots of geothermal activity in Calistoga. (It’s not for nothing that Calistoga Mineral Water is based here.) Today, one of the most famous such features is the Old Faithful geyser, which would be my final stop.

On my way to the geyser I crossed an old (1902) stone bridge over Gannett Creek. I can’t find much in the way of history about the bridge, but she’s a beauty. They just don’t make ’em like this anymore.

*Not a whole lot to see from the roadway….*

*But from the (dry) creekbed, it’s an impressive structure.*

Twenty minutes later I was at Old Faithful. Not to be confused with the geyser in Yellowstone, this one is, well, not quite as faithful. The time between eruptions can be anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour. Today it was about 30 minutes. While I waited, I checked out this photo op:

Now, doesn’t it seem odd that the hole for your face isn’t replacing the goat’s face, but just his forehead/nose?

*I know what’s going on* my Christmas card this year…

Finally, I was rewarded with a spray of 130-degree water that lasted over five minutes. Check out the video:

Near the end it seems to encounter prostate issues. Not that I’d know anything about what that’s like…

And thus concludes my trip to Calistoga. I must say that the Calistoga Depot preserves a worthy slice of California history, not so much because of the short-lived Napa Valley Railroad but because of larger-than-life Sam Brannan. And even those without a huge interest in early California History can enjoy some great food, drink, and hospitality.

Stay tuned for my visit to the oldest railroad station in California, in about two weeks!

bridges · movie theaters · Road trips · trains

Blob Blog

April 17, 2024 steveboilard1 Comment

By coincidence, I recently received as gifts two books concerning the Lincoln Highway. The first, which I read last year, is The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles. It’s a fictional account about a trip along the fabled transcontinental route. The second book, which I’m currently reading, is American Road by Pete Davies. It’s a true account about a caravan of military vehicles which traversed the Lincoln Highway in 1919, in an effort to raise awareness and promote the paving of the route.

Established in 1913, the Lincoln Highway was the country’s first transcontinental route for automobiles. It began as a patchwork of existing stretches of roadway, most of which were just rutted dirt roads. Over time it got re-aligned and paved, with gas stations and diners and motels dotting the roadside. Today, most of the old Lincoln Highway is long gone, superseded by modern interstates.

In California, I-80 roughly traverses the old route. There are a few markers and memorials a long the way. (A couple of years ago I hiked a crumbling, original section of the road near Donner Pass. Here’s the blog post and here’s the photo:)

I also discussed the Lincoln Highway and included a photo of an original Lincoln Highway marker in this blog post.

I bring all this up because today I drove around a hundred miles of the old Lincoln Highway route heading west out of Philadelphia. Most of the original route is now U.S. Route 30. I was hoping to see some ancient infrastructure and roadside structures from the Old Days, but most of the route today looks like any other two-lane highway. Yet I did spy a few elements that date back to the early 20th century.

*1922 bridge and (presumably) much older building. These were surely around for the Lincoln Highway’s early years.*

*Phone booth in Compass, PA might not have been around for the original Lincoln Highway, but it qualifies as historic.*

When I eventually arrived in Downingtown (pop: 7,900) I was feeling a bit peckish. I stopped at the mid-century Downingtown Diner, whose sign announces that it’s the “Home of the Blob.”

*For the 90 percent of the country that isn’t familiar with the movie, is “home of the blob” a winning slogan for a diner?*

You remember The Blob, right? It was a 1958 science fiction film that featured a young Steve McQueen in his first starring role. The plot (such as it is) involves a giant, carnivorous blob of Jell-O from outer space. Do yourself a favor and watch the trailer; there’s even a shot of the diner.

I went into the diner and was greeted by Shannon. I quizzed her about the Blob connection, but surprisingly (shockingly, even) she admitted to never having watched the movie. She did inform me, however, that the diner building was replaced since the movie was made. (“But the basement is original!”)

*Though not the original, it* does look a lot like the diner in the movie.

The Downington Diner doesn’t shrink from it’s B-movie connection. Not only is The Blob featured on their roadside sign, but the menu features a “Blob Special.”

*I couldn’t bring myself to order the Blob Special.*

Shannon, who was as friendly and helpful as they come, instead whipped me up a delicious mint chip milkshake. (“It’s green, like the Blob!”) Which is true, if you go by the green blob on their sign. But it should be noted that the Blob in the movie is red.

*Seriously the best milkshake I’ve ever had.*

Now that I was fortified with 1,700 calories of blended ice cream, there was only one thing to do: Head over to the nearby town of Phoenixville (pop: 20,000), where the Blob’s famous Movie Theater Scene was filmed. (You saw it in the trailer, above.) Phoenixville was founded in 1849, and for years the local economy was centered on the Phoenix Iron Works. The company closed in the 1980s, and Phoenixville suffered a economic decline. But in recent years the city has been transformed, and today it appears charming and downright prosperous.

I sensed a good deal of civic pride in the spotless business district and beautiful homes. I even encountered a group of students from the local college who were spending the morning sprucing up the public spaces with rakes and brooms. These kids are seriously the best–energetic, outward-oriented, positive, friendly.

But let’s get back to the reason I came to Phoenixville: to see the theater from The Blob. The place looks practically unchanged from its 1958 movie appearance.

The Colonial Theater actually dates all the way back to 1903, when it started out hosting Vaudeville shows. Showbiz greats like Mary Pickford and Harry Houdini have graced its stage. It’s gratifying that the good people of Phoenixville have seen fit to preserve and support this historic venue. In fact, every summer the town and the theater throw a major festival called Blobfest. I’m seriously thinking about coming back in July…

It was now time to return to the Lincoln Highway, which in the form of US Route 30, cuts through Pennsylvania’s picturesque Amish county. Farm houses, rolling hills, and horse-drawn buggies constitute the main scenery. I figure these scenes are pretty much unchanged from when the Lincoln Highway was established over a century ago.

Of course, when one travels through Pennsylvania’s Amish country one is obligated to take advantage of the Intercourse photo-op.

*There’s got to be a story behind the name change.*

After Intercourse I had a cigarette, and then headed into Strasburg, which is a well-known railroad Mecca. In addition to several impressive railroad museums, a steam-powered railroad, a model railroad display, and antique stores jammed with railroad memorabilia, Strasburg has a motel comprised entirely of old, full-size railroad cabooses.

*Not your father’s motel. (Well, not my father’s, at least.)*

When I was a lad I begged my dad to let us stay at a place like this while we were on a driving vacation. What could be more cool than sleeping in a railroad cabooses? Dad said no, however, figuring that the fun factor (such as it was) wouldn’t justify the compromises in terms of comfort. But today I made a different calculation. So, over a half-century later, I’m finally spending the night in a caboose. It’s actually a nice little room, and the funky floorplan and high windows really lends a certain charm. Plugs, I’m surrounded by other railcars and a full-size steam railroad. I admit, however, that if my wife were with me this would not be an option.

BsOTD

Today’s Brews (note the plural) Of The Day come from Spring House Brewing Company in Strasburg. Their tavern on Main Street is comfortable and inviting, with ancient dark-wood paneling and a dark-wood stairway to unexplained upstairs rooms. My server (Dani) didn’t know how old the building is, but the ripples in the front window glass suggest at least a century.

The brewery had 13 of their own beers on tap, and I found it hard to choose just one. So I ordered a flight of four. And then, I ordered another flight of another 4. What follows, then, are my eight Brews of the Day.

*Server Dani, who delivered my 8 Brews of the Day.*

*My first 4 Brews of the Day (in order from left to right)*

Empty Terrarium: Nitro Fruited IPA (6.3% ABV). Watery. Boring. A slight tinge of citrus but no real flavor and no fizziness. It’s like a chocolate Easter Bunny after the first, decapitating bite: no head and not hoppy. 1 star out of 5.

Commander Salamander: Fruited sour (4.5%). Seems to start with the same base as the Empty Terrarium, but somehow it’s fizzier (without really becoming hoppy). The sour taste is quite enjoyable–it’s fairly understated; more like sour apple gum than a lemon Warheads (TM) hard candy. This would be satisfying on a warm day (which today is not). It’s one of those beers that you should only have one of–not because of the alcohol, but because the second pint could be cloying. For the first glass, though, it’s quite satisfying. 3.5 stars.

Tasty Little Devil: Imperial Milk Stout (7.5%). Characteristic sweetness and creaminess of a milk stout. More roasty than chocolatey, But a slight peppermint note on the finish evokes a Christmas hot chocolate. Well balanced. I give it 3.5 out of 5 stars. I would have given it a 4 if they upped the alcohol at least to 8 percent, which in my mind is the floor for anything called “Imperial.”

Kerplunk! Imperial chocolate stout (8.0%). The punctuation is part of the name, presumably taken from the Milton Bradley game. A bit harsher than the Tasty Little Devil. But more importantly, this doesn’t really attain its potential. Reminds me of brownie mix stirred into water. 2 stars.

Painted Pony: English style brown ale (5.4%). Nicely balanced. A bit on the bitter side (which maybe is the “English style” coming through?) Definite chocolate notes. Good backbone. The kind of beer you’d enjoy at the neighborhood pub at the end of your 12-hour shift in the mines. 3 stars

The Angler: Cali Pale Ale (5%). Definitely the California style. Clean, citrusy, bright. It’s perfect for those of you who like this style of beer. Which I don’t. But I know quality when I taste it, so I’ll give it four stars.

Demon Squirrel: Amber lager (5.3%). Now this is interesting. Malty, with some hints of fruitiness. Very balanced hops. Heavy carbonation adds dimensionality and compensates for the neutral finish. Flavorful without being overpowering. 4.5 stars.

CASK Mild Party: Dark mild (3.3%). The name of the style (“dark mild”) says it all. Intentionally served at room temperature, this is a dark-colored beer with absolutely no structure, backbone, carbonation, or even flavor. It has the consistency and mouthfeel of dishwater. It tastes like watery tea that’s been left in a styrofoam cup on the dirty Formica counter for a day and a half. And it can’t even deliver a mild buzz. It’s the kind of beer that makes you question your faith in God. 1/2 star.

bridges · cemeteries · churches · Obelisks · Road trips · trains

Philadelphia Stories

April 16, 2024 steveboilard1 Comment

I’ve been working on a top-secret project (which will likely be revealed by the end of the year) and it involves, oddly, Benjamin Franklin. I’m not making this up. And this project has made clear to me how much my grasp of American history is lacking.

Growing up in California, I never learned much about the Continental Congress or the Revolutionary War or really anything that took place before 1849. I’ve made a few attempts to remedy this, including my trip with friend Vic to Salem, Mass.

So I’m now trying to fill in some of the gaps in my education Which is why this morning I found myself in The Quaker City for a few days of exploration. What could go wrong?

My crash course on Philadelphia actually began on the plane ride. I’d taken a red-eye from Sacramento, and my seatmate was a garrulous Philadelphian (if you’ll permit me that redundant phrase). He was on his way home after a vacation with his wife, but they were taking separate planes. It seems there was some kind of booking mix-up related to the use of frequent flyer points. But the real point, for my purposes, is that he was unexpectedly flying solo and looking for someone to talk to. And having learned that I was going to be sight-seeing around his home turf, he spent the next few thousand miles sharing his insights about the city. (Did you know that Elphreth’s Alley is the oldest continuously-habitated street in America?)

Anyway, I got breakfast and a Nissan Sentra near the airport and set out for downtown Philly. Ben Franklin is certainly well represented around the city. Bridges, parkways, institutes, boulevards, schools, and various other features of the city are named after Franklin. There’s even a large, modern sculpture of his distinctive bespectacled face and stringy hair on a random street corner.

While chatting up the National Park ranger at the Ben Franklin Museum, I learned the following story: Some years back the Philadelphia Inquirer was taking up a collection for a Frank Sinatra mural somewhere in the city. A rival paper objected, pointing out in an editorial that Philadelphia should instead create a mural for one of its native sons. And, perhaps as a joke, the editorial noted that Larry Fine (of Three Stooges fame) is one such native son. The idea nevertheless caught on, donations were made, and the mural was painted at the location (S. 3rd and South Street) where Fine was born.

*Giving Ben Franklin a run for his money.*

*A bar in the same building capitalizes on the Fine connection as well.*

But I digress. I was talking about how Ben Franklin has captured this city’s imagination. And in addition to all the named structures and graven images, the city has been tagged with various plaques that commemorate Franklin’s various activities in the area. For example, on St. Stephen’s Church is a brass plaque which claims Ben Franklin conducted his famous kite experiment on this site in 1752.

*Built in 1823 at 10th and Ludlow, which may or may not be where Ben flew his kite.*

Here’s a closer look at the plaque:

Now, it turns out that there’s considerable debate as to whether this is really the site of Frankin’s kite adventure. And while the “Certified” marker above the plaque would seem to lend credence to the plaque’s claim, it turns out the marker relates to the church building, and not to the plaque.

A few blocks from the dubious kite claim is a bare steel pipe structure outlining where Franklin’s last family home had stood. Ben’s kids had the house razed some years after he died. But in the 1940s, archeological efforts uncovered the foundations of the house. The steel “ghost house” was erected in the 1970s, since there were insufficient records or drawings to reconstruct the house itself.

*The ghostly outline of Franklin’s house, marking its exact location some two and a half centuries ago.*

Finally, and inevitably, Franklin’s body rests in Philadelphia, not far from the ghost house. He is buried at Christ Church Burial Ground under a smooth marble tablet that’s perpetually covered with a scattering of pennies from passersby.

*Even allowing for some resume-padding, it’s an impressive list of accomplishments.*

Of course, Philadelphia isn’t all Ben Franklin and Larry Fine. For example, there are these random nudes built into a pedestrian walkway. For no discernible reason.

*There’s got to be a flying buttress joke in here somewhere..*.

There’s also Auguste Rodin’s bronze sculpture The Thinker on the grounds of Philadelphia’s Rodin Museum:

You probably know of this piece. Rodin actually cast a number of identical bronze Thinkers. I remember once seeing one at Stanford University. But I’ll forever associate it with Dobie Gillis, who had a habit of sitting next to the statue in a copycat pose.

And if that’s not enough, today I also ran into some literary luminaries that you don’t often associate with Philadelphia. In the Philadelphia Free Library’s Central branch (built almost a century ago in the beau arts style) one finds a bust of Charles Dickens in the Rare Books Room.

*Have you ever noticed how Charles Dickens resembles Don Quixote?*

Not far from the Dickens’ bust is his actual pet bird, now stuffed and mounted in a glass box.

The bird is (was?) a raven by the name of Grip. Grip even gets some speaking lines in Dickens’ novel Barnaby Rudge. But she (for Grip is a female) also played a much more important literary role: She is said to be the inspiration for Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven.

*Wasn’t Nevermore the title of a Nirvana album?*

As we all know, Poe lived in Philadelphia for six years. And one of his Philadelphia homes still stands. I will be visiting it on Friday, so we’ll be returning to this theme later.

It’s now getting late, but I do have two more items to share from today. The first is:

OBELISK CORNER

I was taking an afternoon walk through Philadelphia’s Woodlands Cemetery. It dates back to the 1840s, and has a distinctive Victorian air about it. Many of the grave markers take the form of obelisks, with some quite large specimens cropping up here and there.

But take a closer look at that one in the center. Though it doesn’t appear especially large in the photo, it’s actually about 15 stories high. In fact, it’s the largest gravestone in the Continental U.S. Let’s take a closer look:

*For perspective, note the two stacked sarcophagi at the foot of the obelisk.*

The obelisk marks the grave of one Thomas Wiltberger Evans, who died in 1897. You never heard of him either? It seems that the man with the country’s tallest headstone was a….dentist.

And now, let’s finish up with the

BREW OF THE DAY

I drank my BOTD at Manayunk Brewing Company, which sits in a cavernous, historic cotton mill on the banks of the Schuylkill River. The cotton mill dates back to 1822, and it operated (making cotton or, later, wool) until 1992. At that point it became a brewery.

My words can’t do justice to the wonderful setting. Not only is the historic building awe-inspiring, but there’s an old railroad (?) bridge crossing the river right behind the brewery. And I had a great spot in the sun to enjoy the view.

*I couldn’t find any info on this bridge that’s directly behind the old cotton mill. Uncle Ed, please help!*

I had my heart set on getting one of Manayunk’s home-made brews. But sadly, my server informed me that they lost their entire brewing setup to a flood a few years back. It seems that flooding has been a recurrent problem, judging from the “high water mark” signs in the bar.

However, a few of their beer recipes are still being faithfully produced by local brewing partners. I selected the Schuylkill Punch, which is being brewed by Yards Brewing.

*“How would you like a nice Hawaiian Punch?”*

This is nothing like what I normally drink. It’s light, with a body light iced tea. There’s almost no malt. And with an ABV of 4.5 percent, it has about half the alcohol of my usual brews.

But this is an exceedingly smooth beer, and it complemented the warm weather perfectly. It’s slightly sweet, with distinct citrus notes of grapefruit, lemon, and some tropical fruits. Carbonation is low, but it has a nice head. Overall, I’d call this a “session” beer, especially if your session is outdoors on a warm day next to the Schuylkill River. I give it 3.5 stars out of five. If they could up the flavor a bit (maybe brewing it with more fruit), I’d knock it up to a solid 4.