3,773 Miles Later…

June 1, 2022 steveboilard2 Comments

You’ll recall that I began this journey in Vermont and upstate New York, where I met with relatives and visited places where my grandfather grew up. After driving 3,773 miles, I’m ending the trip by visiting places where my grandmother grew up. There’s a certain symmetry in all that, which I find strangely satisfying.

I set out this morning from Wenatchee, and soon the environment was changing again. This time it felt like I was in Germany….and that’s because I passed through the town of Leavenworth (pop: 2,500), which for some reason has decided to dress up as a Bavarian village. Like so many towns along Route 2, Leavenworth was founded over 100 years ago as a Great Northern railroad town. It even housed the regional office of the GN. But the office was relocated to Wenatchee in 1925, and then the remaining major industry (timber) steadily declined into the 1950s. The town needed a new source of income, and by the 1960s it settled on a strategy: It would seek tourism dollars by recreating itself as a Bavarian village. No doubt you’re familiar with the town of Solvang on the Central California coast; it’s the same idea. Indeed, Leavenworth officials actually visited Solvang as they were developing their strategy.

I knew I should have packed my Lederhosen!

Are there no German tropes Leavenworth is unwilling to exploit?

Leavenworth has a live webcam trained on its town square. I’m sure it would be fun to watch during Oktoberfest. But right now, not so much.

They even made Starbucks alter its logo.

Immediately beyond the town the North Cascade Range looms, as you can see in the picture below. I was about to experience yet another change in scenery….

Route 2 through the Cascades is a truly beautiful drive. The road follows the Wenatchee River, which is impressive and scenic.

Flowing toward the Wenatchee Valley Brewing Company. Seriously.

You’ll recall that a few days ago US Route 2 took me over the Rockies at Marias Pass in Montana, and I noted that the Great Northern Railway ran its transcontinental route over that pass in 1889. The last segment of Great Northern’s transcontinental tracks to be completed was the section over Stevens Pass, right here in the Cascade Range.

So this morning I stopped on the Pass near the point where the final railroad spike was driven on January 6, 1893. There’s a placard commemorating the event.

A creek runs by this same spot. It’s called Deception Creek, and I’ve been unable to find out the story behind the name. (Please enlighten me, if you have info.) I did manage to take this short video of the creek running under Route 2.

On the other side of the pass I came to the town of Skykomish (pop: 190). Like Leavenworth and many other towns along Route 2, Skykomish was established as part of the Great Northern Railway’s surveying efforts. For about 80 years it provided maintenance and fueling services for the Great Northern. Today, however, the GN doesn’t even stop at Skykomish’s historic depot.

The tiny tracks in front of the depot are for a kiddie-size train ride.

Still, Skykomish continues to link its identity to the Great Northern. Indeed, the town seal incorporates a version of GN’s logo, and it calls itself “A Great Northern Town.”

Look familiar? GN’s goat (named Rocky) is everywhere in Skykomish.

Like Leavenworth, Skykomish seems to have found a niche with tourists. In Skykomish’s case, it’s railfans that they’re courting. They have a restored depot that’s now a museum, they offer train rides, they’ve plotted a walking tour of historic GN-era buildings. And while passenger trains no longer stop in Skykomish, plenty of freight trains pass through the town, making it a good location for train spotting. In addition to all this, the town has several upscale cafes, coffee shops, and outdoor equipment purveyors that are popular with a wide variety of tourists.

1905 Skykomish Hotel, restored and with viable tenants.

After an enjoyable walk among Skykomish’s streets (which, among the older historic structures, include this WPA-era school building that’s still in use), I eased back onto US 2. I was getting dangerously close to the western terminus at Everett.

Now, recall that a few days ago, when I was in Glasgow, Montana, I met a guy named Chris at the Loaded Frog who explained the “Middle of Nowhere” slogan to me. Well, Chris also told me that there’s a good taproom near the western end of Route 2. I’ve been looking forward to checking it out ever since I learned of it. With a little research I discovered that the place–the Route2 Taproom–is in Monroe, WA, which is about a dozen miles before the end of Route 2.

Serving beer to thirsty Route 2 travelers since 2015.

I stopped in and ordered the Triplehorn Nemesis Milk Stout on Nitro. So let’s get the BOTD out of the way:

Maggie at Route2 Taproom serves up a perfect stout.

What a great choice for my final BOTD! It’s got a complex range of flavors, and somehow they work together nicely: There are hints of coffee grounds, vanilla, tobacco leaves, and those miniature Hershey’s bittersweet chocolate bars I used to get at Halloween. The hops are reined in a bit, which is appropriate for a milk stout. The mouthfeel is creamy (that’s partly due to the nitro), and it’s pretty boozy at 10% ABV. It would be really hard to improve on this. I give it 5 stars.

Refreshed and rejuvenated by a good stout, I got back in the car and set out on the last few miles of the trip. And just when I didn’t think my luck could get any better, I spied a Golden/Laughing Bear sign! And what’s more, unlike some of the other such signs I’ve encountered, this one was affixed to a still-operating wheel alignment business. Surely the gods are smiling on me today.

If you zoom in on the window, you can see a second Laughing Bear on the other side of the glass.

And then, after all this, I was driving the final mile of Route 2. I had arrived in Everett (pop: 111,000, which might be about equal to the combined population of all the other towns I visited along Route 2!) The western terminus of Route 2 in Everett is where Maple Street and Interstate 5 meet. Disappointingly, I was unable to find a sign marking the end of the westbound highway. (I couldn’t find a sign marking the beginning of US 2 East, either.) So all I can show you by way of evidence is this photo of where, in theory, the route ends:

There was no brass band, no one to hand me a key to the city, no banner strung across the roadway for me to snap with my car. My journey simply ended.

Having dispensed with Route 2, I next headed down to Tacoma (pop: 216,000) to visit some places where my grandmother–and, later, my dad–grew up. This blog isn’t the place to go into any detail about the sites I saw, but I will offer this photo of Grandma’s high school, which is still educating students after 107 years.

Grandma walked these halls almost 100 years ago.

Finally, I will be making a final post tomorrow about a memorable visit I made to an abandoned Old West theme park in Wisconsin. I mentioned it in passing in my May 25 blog, but I didn’t have enough time to do it justice. This I will do tomorrow while I’m waiting for my plane.

Until then.

bridges · churches · Road trips · trains

Potatoland

May 30, 2022 steveboilardLeave a comment

This morning after an unhealthy breakfast I left Kalispell and headed west toward the Idaho border. This is beautiful country–the many small lakes, the Kootenai River, several national forests, the Purcell and Cabinet Mountains… The towns out here are much more vibrant than the towns along the Hi-Line (a term which no longer is used west of Glacier National Park). The towns also feel a bit more optimistic and playful, which shows up in the extensive roadside art installations.

Cross between a Sasquatch and Jerry Garcia?

What is it about Montana and these stick-mounted vehicles?

Giant fishing pole with the catch of the day.

Along this scenic stretch of northwestern Montana, somewhere between the towns of Libby (pop: 2,800) and Troy (pop: 800), I saw a large number of vehicles parked in a roadside parking lot, with lots of activity as couples and families walked toward a trailhead. I figured I’d park and see what all the fuss was about. It turns out the approximately 3/4-mile-long trail leads to the Kootenai Falls Swinging Bridge.

It’s a simple suspension footbridge, 210 feet long, strung 100 feet above the rushing waters of the Kootenai River. Now “swinging” is not generally considered to be a desirable characteristic of a bridge, but the lateral movement is limited by heavy cables, so it sways rather than swings. Plus, you have to admit it’s kind of fun to watch the people ahead of you freaking out. At great personal risk, I took a video of myself crossing the bridge, for the benefit of you, my loyal readers.

Yes I know I’m holding the camera wrong…

After surviving that ordeal, I got back on Route 2 and eventually entered the Potato State. (Idaho actually calls itself the Gem State, but what non-Idahoan has ever called it that?) The first Idaho town I encountered was Bonners Ferry (pop: 2,700). Bonners Ferry calls itself “Idaho’s Most Friendly Town” and that’s a plausible claim. The people seemed warm and welcoming, the motorists waved and yielded the right-of-way, and even the teenagers made eye contact and said hello while passing on the sidewalk. Of course, I’m told that Idaho is beset with an influx of expatriat Californians who are seeking lower taxes, cheaper housing, and fewer wildfires. So we’ll see just how friendly these Idahoans remain.

It was in Bonners Ferry that I saw my daily, obligatory converted church. This particular one looks like it could be haunted. It was built as a Roman Catholic church in 1894, and has been operating as the Pearl Theater since 2012. It seems to be a well-used facility judging by the list of events which shows something (poetry reading, music programs, language classes, belly dancing, movies) happening most days.

Although I left the Great Northern’s Hi-Line behind in Glacier, Route 2 continues westward alongside a set of railroad tracks. I clambered down a hillside to take a photo of the trains’ right-of-way beside the river. This would make a great rail journey!

Speaking of trains, when I got to Sandpoint ID (pop: 8,700) I noticed a historic railroad depot on the other side of Route 2, which runs on an elevated roadbed as it cuts through the downtown. It took me half an hour to find a way to get to the depot, and once I did I was rewarded with this beautiful 1916 structure.

Shockingly this is the only operating Amtrak station in the entire state of Idaho. It is served by two passenger trains a day (one from each direction). As I was taking photos I was greeted by Maggie, who was locking up the station. Maggie had been the station’s first female station agent (I hope I have that title right; Maggie, please correct me if you’re reading this) and is now retired from that position. But she still does contract work for Amtrak, which includes opening and closing the station, as well as some other property management tasks. She generously showed me around the station, which still has much of its original interior woodwork.

The city of Sandpoint sits on Lake Pend Orielle and is flanked by mountain ranges. As such, it is a major tourist destination. It even has its own miniature version of the Statue of Liberty.

“Bring me your huddled masses yearning for potatoes.”

By the late afternoon I was already leaving Idaho, since US 2 just cuts along the state’s northern panhandle for about 80 miles.

Red line is Route 2 through Idaho. Today’s drive went from Kalispell in the east to Spokane.

I crossed into Washington and I’m spending the night near Spokane. The only notable photo I took in downtown Spokane was of the 1913 Sunset Boulevard Bridge. (Route 2 travels on a more modern bridge paralleling this bridge, but I figured it was worthy of inclusion since it’s a feature you see while traveling Route 2.)

And for fun, check out this historic photo of the bridge under construction:

With that excitement out of the way, I had great hopes of getting a beer at Iron Goat Brewing. But when I got there I encountered a locked door and a sign saying that they’re closed for Memorial Day. (One wishes Google Maps had been made aware of the closure.) Two other brewpubs were similarly closed. So no BOTD today. I guess I’ll just have to have two beers tomorrow.

Obelisks · Road trips · trains

Rocky Mountain High

May 29, 2022 steveboilardLeave a comment

Today I finished crossing the Great Plains and made my way over the Rockies. But to start at the beginning:

The Hi-Line/Route 2 in Montana cuts through exceedingly wide, open spaces–at least until you get to the western mountains. I think this is what makes the smallest of ancient settlements stand out in such stark relief; one’s eye is drawn to any interruption of the rolling prairie.

Now, one of the great things about much of US Route 2 is that it closely parallels Great Northern’s transcontinental route. Small towns were established all along the Hi-Line, and almost all of those settlements still exist in one form or another. Most of them still retain some aspect of their original, century-old incarnation, which makes this drive feel like a journey through an earlier time. And the towns have looked for ways to remain relevant and economically viable–with varying degrees of success. If they don’t do it right, their young people seek opportunities elsewhere, the labor force goes away, business dries up, and the town shifts into ghost town status.

Let’s take two examples from today’s journey. The first is the town of Kremlin, MT (pop: 98). The unusual name owes to founding by ethnic Russian homesteaders in the early 20th century–before the Russian Revolution.

Kind of like Gangnam Style, only different.

I took a quick pass over the town’s dirt roads and saw only one business (a bar), several derelict granaries, and a handful of houses in various states of disrepair. The only public building I saw was a school house, which was evidently permanently closed.

The former Kremlin school (now permanently closed.)

Kremlin is fast approaching ghost town status, with the population dropping about 20 percent per decade. You can almost feel the despair in the air.

Just a few miles up US Route 2 is the town of Rudyard (pop: 200), named after Rudyard Kipling. (An outdated sign at the entrance to town boasts “596 nice people and one old sorehead.”) But it was the sign announcing the Rudyard Depot Museum that caught my eye. I turned down the narrow main street and came to the museum complex, which is a collection of tidy buildings behind a memorial rock wall.

Some of the Rudyard museum’s buildings. The depot is in the center.

A sign on a locked door said “We really want to show you the museum; call this number and we’ll come right over.” So I called, and within 3 or 4 minutes a friendly, talkative woman named Willie showed up. She then spent well over an hour showing me around each of the buildings. It’s really an astounding collection: Uncountable historic household goods, rows of showroom-quality refurbished tractors and buggies, various agricultural implements, shelves full of about 100 historic railroad lanterns, turn-of-the-century appliances, military uniforms, telephone switchboards, and beauty shop hairdryers that look like they could give you a lobotomy. The collections are housed in a historic upper-middle class house, a railroad depot, a post office, a homesteader’s cabin, and other buildings. After an hour we had barely scratched the surface; I could easily have spent the whole day there.

But beyond all that, they have something that drawfs the other collections I’ve mentioned: They have dinosaurs.

A small sample from Rudyard’s dinosaur collection. The skeleton in the foreground served as a model for Spielberg’s velociraptors.

You probably know that Montana is home to various fossil dig sites. It turns out that of the more productive sites is right here in Rudyard. And a very large number of specimens–individual bones, complete skeletons, and full-size models–are housed in a separate building at the museum. The collection is so authentic and extensive that it’s frequently visited by paleontologists and other academics. Plus, Stephen Spielberg came here when he was working on Jurassic Park.

All of this is collected, organized, and maintained by volunteers from Rudyard. Many hundreds of visitors come through each year, and they are all warmly welcomed by Willie and the other volunteers. It’s a significant labor of love, and really says something about the pride these people have in their comunity.

Willie wouldn’t give me permission to show her face in the blog, but here she is pointing out some of the detailed, historical town data that the museum has collected.

There are other aspects of the town that reveal a special pride, such as the playful population sign at the town entrance. (Willie acknowledged that the population has been dropping, not just in Rudyard but all along the Hi-Line. That’s why Kremlin’s school closed, and their children now come to school in Rudyard.) Rudyard is also distinguished by a number of historic buildings lining the main street.

One of the nicely preserved buildings on Rudyard’s main drag.

Rudyard’s 1949 Hi-Line theater is a little rough on the outside, but they still show movies on the weekends. It’s the only theater within a 100 miles. And their 1949 popcorn popper still churns out the popcorn.

I thanked Willie for her time and got back on Route 2, stopping at each small town that I passed. A few of them still have railroad depots, though many do not. The depot-less towns seem especially isolated and neglected. Still, each of these towns has at some point tried to market itself to the world with a nickname. For example, Joplin (pop: 150) calls itself the “biggest little town on earth.”

I hadn’t realized that Montana took up so much of the earth’s surface.

Meanwhile, Cut Bank (pop: 3,000) calls itself “the coldest spot in the nation.” Which is strange, because after I passed through Cut Bank and went up into the Rockies, the temperature dropped precipitously.

Cut Bank’s unusual 1918 depot. The young woman at the ticket window told me that the town is growing fairly rapidly.

Eventually, after hours of driving the flat, open landscape of northern Montana, the horizon suddenly changed. Route 2 was about to ascend 5,000 feet into the Rockies.

The Great Northern Railroad found a suitable pass and constructed a route over the summit of the Rockies in the late 1800s, but Route 2 didn’t extend over the mountains until 1930. In the interim, automobiles were loaded onto rail cars and transported over the Rockies by train.

Great Northern’s 1912 depot in East Glacier–where you’d load your car for the trip over the summit.

Speaking of the summit….Crossing the Continental Divide on Route 2.

…and at the summit there’s a 1931 obelisk in honor of Theodore Roosevelt. It originally was placed between the two lanes of the newly-opened Route 2, but it was moved to the shoulder in 1989 “for safety reasons.” Special thanks to loyal reader Peter D. for bringing this monument to my attention.

Once I descended on the western side of the summit, the Route 2 driving experience changed again. The road skims the southern edge of Glacier National Park, and you pass numerous ski lodges, outdoor equipment rental businesses, coffee shops, lodges, restaurants, and other tourist-serving businesses. It feels like South Lake Tahoe in the 1970s. What a far cry from the desolation and tiny, struggling towns of the past couple of days.

Finally I stopped for the night in Kalispell, MT (pop: 25,000). It feels like a vibrant, prosperous town, taking advantage of its location at the gateway to Glacier National Park. It’s also the county seat of Flathead County, with a nicely restored courthouse and other civic buildings. Moreover, as described in the BOTD report (immediately below) it has more than one microbrewery.

Brew(s) of the Day

Based on a recommendation from loyal reader Ron P., I stopped in at Kalispell Brewing Co for their Imperial Stout (10% ABV). I rolled in around 5:30 pm, and they were already putting chairs on the tables for a 6 pm close. But I did manage to get a glass of their imperial stout.

Now, I don’t want to sound too high-maintenance, but what’s so hard about brewing a malty imperial stout? The offering at KBC is definitely overhopped. I mean, it’s pleasantly roasty, with dark coffee notes and a good creamy head. That’s good. But there’s simply no sweetness on the palate. This is unacceptable.

Next I moved over a few blocks to Bias Brewing, where bartender Rem recommended the Logan’s Lass Scotch Ale (8.5% ABV). I had a sample, and it was a pretty beer, with a slightly peaty (but not exactly smoky) flavor. But what I landed on was the Barro Sabroso Mexican Chocolate Porter (6% ABV). It was superb! After badmouthing porters a couple of nights ago, I now have found one of my favorite beers. This porter tastes almost exactly like a Mexican hot chocolate, with dark chocolate and coffee notes and a generous sprinkling of cinnamon. It’s even slightly sweet. Seriously, this was an enjoyable, interesting, tasty beer. I give it 4.5 points.

Tomorrow I cross the state line into Idaho. Until then.

churches · Golden Bear signs · Road trips · trains

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.