MONDAY, MAY 24
We woke up this morning to sunshine yellow, aqua blue, and chartreuse finches fluttering around a bird feeder outside our motel window… Our first official wildlife sighting!
Today’s drive was beautiful; rolling hills and farmland, corn fields, flatlands covered in sage brush, and a breathtaking prelude to the Badlands via Buffalo Gap National Grasslands. I love observing the changes in landscape, and my eagerness possessed me to snap photos from the moving car window left and right. I was especially taken by any grassy knoll occupied by cattle, as all the spring calves were out frolicking and napping in fuzzy, clumsy, youthful cuteness.
South Dakota seems to fancy itself the gateway to the West, and much like a highway leading in to a beach town, we were inundated with billboards for reptile kingdoms, wild west replicas, and hokey museums. Surprisingly, we resisted the cheesy sideshow lure.
Until….
Giant Concrete Prairie Dog
The Ranch Store
Hwy 240 Badlands Loop
I-90 exit 131
Cactus Flats, SD
Like I said, I resisted every roadside oddity, theme park, and trinket shop on that long carnival highway…. And then in the distance, just over the horizon, a large rotund concrete silohuette rose past a series of wooden fences. The clouds parted and sun passed over to reveal a true vision, a coral and yellow painted concrete prairie dog with a sign that urged us to pull over and feed a colony of scurrying critters. Sold.
For fifty cents each we fished paper bags full of unsalted peanuts from a metal trashcan and carried them to a set of dusty corral-style pens of prairie dogs. The fences were built of only a few thin logs, nothing keeping the prairie dogs contained aside from the learned promise of infinite meals from human hands.
For me, there is no greater thrill in life than meeting a critter that wants to eat from my hands, and if he’ll stick around to let me pet his head, all the better. We walked in to the yard met with eager eyes and reluctant expressions, many doggies erect on hind legs shooting sideways glances at our peanut offering before granting their commitment of trust. One by one they scampered over, looking up with pleading eyes that fibbed, “I haven’t eaten in daaaays.” The more we fed the more surrounded our feet waiting their turn for a peanut. A particularly podgy fellow, one of our early followers, finally decided he’d had enough and plopped down flat on his belly, all four legs splayed to the sides, for a siesta in the sun. That was almost enough to kill me. Sean found a loyal friend that was happy to enjoy a peanut, teetering on his hind feet while Sean gave him gentle pats on the head.
I could have lived in that holey dustbowl, alas, the peanuts eventually ran dry as the dirt, and it was time to move on.
Buffalo Gap National Grasslands
Buffalo Gap National Grasslands spreads across either side of the highway in vast prairies that don’t end until they meet the horizon. When I think of the term grasslands I have a hard time understanding it to describe an entire biome, as my mind always conjures an images of something like a giant backyard, failing to account for the true magnitude. Buffalo Gap is one of 20 national grasslands in the United States; it surrounds all of the Badlands and keeps right on going past wall and in to Rushmore and Custer State Park. Given the hundreds of miles it encompasses, the landscape can vary dramatically from giant-backyard-with-extra-tall-grass to barren stretches of dust, to rolling hills alive with spring calves and crystal clear brooks carved through the hillside.
The sky is so big in South Dakota, a tell tale sign that you’ve entered the West, adding a dramatic layer of clear blue to the road unfolding before us. It was a mesmerizing view out the window; we were travelling at 70 mph or more, but because the land was an endless tessellation of blowing grass it looked as if we were barely in motion, surrendered to the movement of the land to push us along.
The grasslands were cinematic in the way the sun spilled over long rippling green waves. The motion was so fluid and rhythmic, forever folding over and over itself. If we watched too long the grass became hypnotic, and took on an illusory quality that completely rattled the senses. We didn’t see any wildlife for miles, just a panoramic emerald embrace.
Badlands National Park
20695 SD HWY 240
Interior, SD 57750
This was our first state park visit, the true start to our trip, and our chance to purchase a national parks pass. The pass is $80/year per vehicle, and permits access to all national parks and monuments, effectively waiving the individual park fees. We calculated that in the first week of the trip the pass would already pay for itself by far, as each park charges between $15-$25 for entry. We also stopped in the visitor center and purchased a national parks Passport. Each place we visit should have a cancellation stamp and commemorative sticker, a little extra keepsake that adds a scavenger hunt element to each destination.
Our tour book warned that the grasslands would seem to go on forever, but that one final stretch of highway would yield a rewarding surprise turn in to a vast domain of dramatic bluffs, ridges, craters, and canyons. Sure enough, on one side of the road I was snapping photos of the grasslands, and on the other jagged peaks were just visible over cascades of billowing green.
The first sight of the park was phenomenal; a crest of rock steeples as far as the eye could see gave the illusion of entering the ruins of an ancient castle. And just as a castle wall might do, these craggy pillars were enclosing an intricate kingdom of shale and sedimentary rock that was deposited in prehistoric times when the area was a flood plain adjacent to an ancient sea. The spires and saw-toothed pinnacles are created and recreated by the wind, which blows furiously through the plains, carving and sanding away at the rock.
The first trail we took was aptly named the Castle trail, and mostly followed a wooden boardwalk with interpretive displays of wildlife and flora lining the path. Every several feet were signs reminding us to beware of rattlesnakes, and though I didn’t want to run in to one, the thought of their presence thrilled me. I let my feet drag across the boards in a way that might stir a creature from rest and my eyes lingered over the space around each display in secret hope of spotting a rattler from a safe distance. Probably luckily, my best efforts were in vain… Apparently rattlers aren’t as interested in me as I am in them.
When the trail ended at the edge of small canyon the greatness of the Badlands revealed itself. As far as the eye could see, disappearing in to a hazy, overcast sky, knobs of rock layered in reds, corals, and off-whites crested in to the distance. A look straight down and across the base of the canyon displayed more jagged, harsh deposits of rock. Between each erect formation were varying degrees of depth, where two peaks may only have two feet in to the earth separating them, neighboring peaks had as much as a twenty foot drop between them. The place looked sinister; like cartoons of a vampire palace in Transylvania protected by miles of razor sharp terrain… But it was so beautiful. It looked as if nothing should live there, foreboding in formation but with dumbfounding grandeur.
After roaming the Castle Trail we decided, in the interest of time, to take the scenic drive through the rest of the park and stop at sites along the way before exiting toward Rushmore. Rugged buttes and mountain-like rock formations line the two-lane road, occasionally giving way to vistas of moonlike valleys. An interesting feature of the park is that the rock’s coloration and texture changes from one place to the next. In some places the shale adds an element of fragility and darkness to the landscape, in other places colorful sedimentary deposits rise from rare grassy patches. In some places it looks as if you have no hope of revisiting earthly civilization, and in others the notched and serrated stone looks like its encrusting the earth, and oblivion is just beyond the edge. The nooks and crannies, the endless possibilities for jumping and climbing, called to our inner child, and we responded by running up the sides of deeply sloped boulders and pushing the boundaries of safely teetering on the edge for a picture all afternoon.
As the early afternoon hours turned the sun got strong and hot, reflecting off the rock and absorbing in to its porous surface. Those moon-like valleys got boggy, which was a good excuse to keep moving. We drove down the road leading out of the park with maps and tour books covering our laps in search of the best path to Rushmore when Sean suddenly slammed on the breaks. “It was a snake! A snake in the road!” Feeling certain that I was about to catch a glimpse of that elusive rattlesnake, I jumped out and began jogging toward a tangled, pretzel-like silhouette in the road. Unfortunately that shadowy figure did not have a rattle, he was just a regular old snake, strayed from the grass and in eminent danger of being squished. Sean found a stick and flung him to safety, and on we went to the town of Wall.
Wall Drug
510 Main Street
Wall, SD 57790
There's a free bumper sticker at the counter of every shop within the ranch-style walls of Wall Drug that reads, “Where the HECK is Wall Drug?” Precisely the question I’ve asked myself for years… That is, until we were inundated with the infamous, “Free Ice Water” highway signs for thirty miles or more in South Dakota.
Though in a bit of a time crunch, a place as iconic as Wall Drug couldn’t go unvisited, and the promise of a giant concrete jackalope beckoned. Before we knew it we were craning our necks to take in the myriad shop signs, taxadermied critters, and wall memorabilia down the main hall of South Dakota’s famous drug store. A leather smith, candle shop, boot and Western store, apothecary, and t-shirt shop are just a few of the vendors off the main hallway. After tourists find just the right pair of cowboy boots, they can wear ‘em down the aisle a couple of doors down in the Wall Drug Chapel. A heavy wooden door opens to a dimly lit room with vaulted ceilings and impressive Gothic architecture. A little sign on the back of the last pew cordially reads, “Welcome Traveler.”
If I was in the market for anything at Wall Drug it was a pair of Minnetonka moccasins and a mounted jackelope head. Luckily, both were outrageously expensive, especially for being in the first days of our trip, so it was easy to skip right over shopping in favor of the backyard. The free ice water is dispensed from little water fountains with paper cups in the center of the yard, and all around are kitschy concrete and fiberglass statues. Of course, my favorite was the giant jackelope, which has stairs built in to its backside to make for an easier photo op. I hopped on the saddled creature and smiled with all my might for my camera wielding Sean. I found my jackelope, major goal accomplished! At that we left Wall Drug with menacing grey skies looming overhead.
Original 1880 Town
Murdo, SD 57759
“More than 30 turn of the century SD buildings, plus movie props and memorabilia from Dances With Wolves.”
Maybe still high from the roadside buzz, or maybe lured in by the impressive Old West-style highway sign, we felt drawn to make another quick pit stop. Covered wagons, funny signs, and old trucks were spread across the parking area, providing us with just enough laughs and pictures to make it worth a few minutes. My favorite feature was the population sign in the parking lot, which read: 170 ghosts, 9 cats, 3 dogs, and 3905 rabbits.”
The Corn Palace Est. 1921
604 North Main Street
Mitchell, SD
Curiosity got the better of us, and though we were on a tight schedule to get to Rushmore, we were totally suckered by the persistence of the Corn Palace’s highway advertisements. Assuming it was a few quick turns off the interstate, off we went in pursuit of the architectural mess of corncobs.
The Corn Palace was actually much further off the interstate, probably a ten minute drive through the little town of Mitchell. We snaked through a residential labyrinth, patiently obeying the direction of each little sign. I expected to see towers or steeples peeking up over the rooftops, but there was no sign of it until we rounded a corner and encountered a little lane of tourist souvenir shops, marked by a giant fiberglass corn cob, practically in someone’s backyard. Just beyond the shopper’s boardwalk the palace came in to view; indeed a palace shaped structure, ornately decorated in corn friezes. I’m not sure how the people of Mitchell decide what will be depicted in each mural from year to year, but this year’s selection included a panel portraying a man wearing a helmet on a segway in brown, black, and dusty golden cobs.
The interior of the Palace was perplexing; aside from being a gaudy attraction from the exterior, it doesn’t seem to have much of a purpose. We walked through a turnstile though there was no admission fee, and quickly made the rounds to a small gymnasium area and snack stand. It was a quiet day in the gym, just a bunch of bewildered tourists roaming in and out, but I suspect that in the town of Mitchell, that gym is where all the magic happens.
Mount Rushmore
Pennington County, SD
The trip from the Corn Palace to Rushmore was a most unsettling one. All day the threat of rain had been looming in the sky, with strong wind gusts and just slivers of sun peeking through heavy grey clouds. We got 50 miles or so in to the long, flat, stretch of grassland highway before the sky turned to granite and rained in sheets of Biblical proportion. I was having visions of us hydroplaning, or simply disappearing in to the tail end of the car in front of us for lack of sight. Sean, being the storm chaser enthusiast, was perversely invigorated by the challenge of making through such adverse conditions. I, on the other hand, a product of an over-protective-storm-fearing mother, was petrified. I sat silently, occasionally questioning our safety under my breath. Sean’s astute ears caught my wary remarks and reassured me over and over that this was only a storm. The radio was fuzzy, with snow over the airwaves punctuating sound bites of the weather update. It wasn’t until we almost reached Rushmore that we heard the news clearly… We had driven through a tornado. I guess I sort of know it in the pit of my stomach all along that we were travelling through dangerously inclement weather, and I suspect Sean did, too. But we pushed on in miles and pat our fear and made it to one of America’s most iconic national monuments unscathed and energetic.
Though the storms were well behind us, at 5725 feet above sea level, Rushmore was far from calm. Winds literally whipped against the windows, beating the glass in to a vibrating song against the frame. We barely cracked the window as we showed our national parks pass at the gate and the sound of the wind was such that we had to yell over it. What was once jeans and t-shirt weather in Wall and Mitchell now demanded fleece and a windbreaker with a hood just to be bearable.
The short trek to the Rushmore monument has two options; a series of outdoor stairs passing through a court of American flags, or a direct elevator to the Visitor’s Center and viewing patio. And so the impetus of one of the trip’s many themes was born: We are here. Find the experience. Against Mary Poppins force winds we pushed with hoods pulled tightly over our heads. Truth be told, I was freezing, and in any other situation I would have been whiney and pissed. But in this place as in so many others, I was grabbed by a sense of adventure and immediacy that carried me right in to that wind and up those stairs with enthusiasm, to four great stoic presidents, immortalized in stone.
This was one of the stops on the trip that I truthfully expected to be bored with. I’m typically not enthused by cheesy, touristy, patriotic tributes, but the first sight of Rushmore was a surprisingly moving experience. Whether one feels an intrinsic bond between self and country or not, it is hard to dismiss the show of civic and national pride that are the faces of Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Jefferson cut in to the Black Hills of South Dakota.
Maybe it was the souls of the 400 some workers who chiseled Rushmore looming in the valley below the presidential granite bluff, maybe it was a latent sense of patriotism, but the visage of our forefathers looking out across America the Beautiful was jarring. The cold climate and muted sky seemed the only appropriate backdrop for such a place… Something about the force of the wind and the steely grey skies made the sight that much more powerful, like the place was truly possessed by something almighty.
Custer State Park
13329 Hwy 16A
Custer, SD 57730
There's a beautiful road connecting Rushmore to Custer State Park that passes right through Black Hills National Forest. Needles Highway is forty five minutes of natural artistry. Named after the tall stone walls guiding the highway that are capped by needlelike spikes, the road reminded me so much of the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. We climbed through the forest on hairpin turns, surrounded on all sides by thick groves of Ponderosa Pine and Black Hills Spruce. Peppered in between the trees, as deep in to the forest as we could see, unusual bushels of branches were stacked in perfectly neat pyramids similar to the way one might stack logs to build a fire. Each stack was probably three feet wide and four to five feet tall, hundreds of them, placed without any noticeable pattern between the trees. The trees were so tall and thin, with dark black bark that cracked and peeled to unveil a smoother red wood. The combination of those colors and the eerie notion that someone had to have built hundreds of stacks of branches across the forest with such geometric precision was really kind of sinister. We joked about being on Blair Witch property, about to stumble upon a ritual or sacrifice at any given moment. It was the place that dark fairytales are made of, enchanting and disquieting.
The brothers Grimm would have found volumes of inspiration within the granite spires and deep dark forest, and most certainly would have been enchanted by the low, narrow stone tunnels carved in to the hill. Both of the tunnels occur at the top of a steep climb and sneak right up at the last curve. On one of the tunnels the road actually switches back so quickly that we ended up driving directly on top of the tunnel as well. It was a romantic, whimsical entry to Custer State Park.
The park is known for its wildlife, particularly the buffalo and the “begging burro.” Once inside the park, another few miles on Needles Highway turns in to the Wildlife Loop, an 18 mile trip through prairies and grasslands that sustain the majority of the park’s animal population. These eighteen miles were the sole reason we took Needles Highway out of Rushmore, which redirected our route from the original plan.
Once inside the park we were immediately greeted by grazing pronghorn, regal deer-like animals with a caramely, buttery coat and short stubby antlers. They showed up in small herds of 3-10, much less excitable and nervous than whitetail, they were happy to munch of grass and watch us pass by without springing in to action in a panicked scatter.
Also showing no ambition for hurried movement were the herds of buffalo occupying the larger open prairies. Before even entering Wildlife Loop Road we encountered a herd easily numbered in the hundreds, many of which were tiny, fuzzy, amber coated calves. The adult buffalo are a deep chocolate color, and most were showing patchy coats being shed from the winter months. I’d be interested to know the stages of a calf’s growth in terms of coloring, because these little guys were camel colored at the darkest, making it hard to imagine them growing in to the powerful beasts guiding them down the pasture. We pulled over to watch them, not only in awe of their numbers but the simple fact that we were sharing a fairly contained space with uncontained wild buffalo. Humans thrive on the delusional notion that the whole world belongs to us, that we own and control the universe… Standing unprotected and in close proximity that which is untamed and untamable was an exhilarating moment of perspective.
As we made our way up the Wildlife Loop, ironically, the wildlife seemed to disappear. Rolling green hills unfettered by tree cover made for incredible scenery, but the most we saw on the side of the road were a few pronghorn and a small rafter of wild turkey. Then something truly wild presented itself in the middle of the road, blocking our way any further in to the loop, a white and orange striped reflective barrier. The road was closed. Looking at each other, and then at the barrier, and then at the map and back at each other, Sean and I were both thinking the same thing; No way. We’re going around. Just as we were about to pull our defiant shenanigan, a sheriff’s car pulled up and we flagged him down to ask about the closure. Hit by the same rain storm that we passed through outside of Wall earlier in the day, we were informed that a creek had flooded out the road, and that the flooding was expected to get worse as rain water from the Hills trickled down in to the streams and creeks. We thanked the officer, who didn’t exactly discourage us from going around the barrier, and looked at one another with the same mischievous eyes… And with that, our Volvo wagon made a sharp turn in to the grass and found the road on the other side of the sawhorse. In hindsight, given the threat of a flash flood as waters rose, we probably didn’t make the sanest decision, but the desire to meet those begging burros was too much to bear. Anyhow, the sun was shining and the sky was clear and blue, it just wasn’t the setting to believe in such things as flooded roads.
Sure enough, just a few yards past the barrier a huge rainbow arched over the road, starting just at the edge and dissipating as it reached beyond a flat stretch of bright green grass; the good omen, nature’s blessing. We drove and drove, admiring the scenery with eyes wide open for wildlife. Hawks flew overhead and the occasional buffalo or pronghorn would look up from snack time, but the burros were nowhere in sight. Eventually we came to the creek that had supposedly flooded the road, and while there was a good amount of standing water, it was certainly nothing to be fearful of. The creek wound around the base of the hills which were lined by the occasional stretch of black wooden fencing, a striking contrast to the green green grass. I was beginning to lose hope of finding the burros, thinking maybe the flooded creek barricaded them further in the woods and out of sight, when suddenly a grouping of animals unfamiliar to us in color and form became visible from the driver’s side. The animals were at a pretty far distance from the road, casually grazing in the pasture, which made it difficult to make out what we were looking at. Then Sean, whose eyes are much keener than mine, exclaimed, “Burros!” We laughed and cheered and pulled over anxiously to allow the infamous “begging” burros to approach our car for treats. We waited a few moments, expecting that they were well trained in this tourist song and dance, but there they remained, uninterested in what promises of delicacies might befall them. We honked and cheered and called, “Come here, burros! Treats!” No response. We pulled up and backed up again to make our presence known. Nothing. But as soon as we rolled down the windows and began crunching paper bags full of modjeskas, they came running! It was such a funny thing to watch, like coming home to a pack of happy eager dogs, suddenly we had a new group of best friends. Sean grabbed for a bag of chips he procured from Subway earlier in the day and before we knew it twenty or more hungry mouths were lapping at the windows.
The burros were masters of the puppy dog eye, first looking at us with big brown peepers shaded by thick black lashes, then wedging their giant mouths in to the cracked window to receive payment. Their teeth were huge, and frequently licked clean by a big sloppy tongue that left goopy streaks on the glass. We tried a few times to roll our windows down enough to allow enough room for petting their heads, but the burros are strong, and the more room they had the more they took, to the point that three or four giant heads smiling big eager toothy grins just inches from my face was a little intimidating, so up the windows stayed, cracked just enough for comfortable feeding. The burros’ lips are thick and their teeth set deep in their mouths, making it difficult for the potato chips to properly land in the chewing zone. Crumbs of chips were being sprayed back at us as the animals nudged each other out of the way for a chance to get some grub. Not that potato chips are a healthy snack, but I was trying to hold myself back from feeding this South Dakotan beasts a taste of Kentucky confection. Finally I just gave in and split a Modjeska in half, giving my two favorite friends a mouthful of chewy sweetness. It was a riot watching them labor over chewing it, I thought for sure it would go right down the hatch. Eventually left treat-less, we rolled up the windows all the way and gave a little honk to disperse the crowd. After a minute or two our shaggy friends got the message and sulked away down the road behind us toward the fences, content to call it a successful evening.
Not a mile past the burros we came to a second barricade, noting the end of the Wildlife Loop. As we managed around it and back on the highway a couple pulled up hoping to enter. Sensing their disappointment we rolled down our window and said, “You have the road all to yourself! The creek is low and it’s a great drive, just go for it!” Exchanging that familiar rebellious glance, the couple thanked us and snuck around the other side.
Casa Real
Rapid City, SD
We were hoping to find a restaurant en route to a cheap motel, and were under the assumption that Rapid City was a decent sized town. What we drove in to was a main drag littered with fast food chains and tire stores. A quick deference to TomTom led us to a little Mexican place called Casa Del Rey. We cruised the strip a couple of times with eyes peeled, especially alert when TomTom said, “You be where you was wantin’ to go now sugah,” (we have it programmed on a silly voice), but could only spot a place called Casa Real, which looked decidedly closed. On the second trip up the strip, bordering on frustration, we pulled in to the dark Casa Real, just to make sure. A sign on the side of the building read “CASINO,” and a sign on glass front doors read, “Ring bell for service,” at 8pm. We rang the bell and peered in to the window of what looked to be a functional restaurant despite the strange welcome.
After a few moments there was still no answer, and intrigued by the sign, Sean decided he might as well try the solid casino door. Sure enough, in the back of this bizarre restaurant front was a basement casino den and bar with a few tables for dinner guests. There was a man at the corner of the bar playing video poker and a table of old men grumbling over beer. The place was decorated in vibrant colors and cliché Mexican décor, but it wasn’t much of a fiesta. Again I got the feeling that, despite the subdued atmosphere, we’d entered one of Rapid City’s only nightspots.
The food was mediocre, but the back door service made us feel like genuine townies… It hit the spot and won some points for being so strange.
Home Towne Inn
909 W. Main Street
Elk Point, SD 57025
Nothin’ too special about this cheap lil’ motel, but it was clean, and when Sean checked in the inn keeper passed a couple of Miller Lites over the counter with the key.
SUNDAY, MAY 23
We were on the highway this morning by 9am. Laura was struck by a rare McDonald’s Egg McMuffin craving, so with corporate death food, coffee, and OJ in our laps, we embarked with three weeks and over 9,000 miles ahead of us.
We are usually big fans of the Off the Beaten Path and Weird US series, but since it wasn’t practical to purchase a book for every state, we opted to download the Roadside America App for the iPhone. The app originates from RoadsideAmerica.com, a site that we also frequently reference before hitting the road. You can search the app by state, city, or attraction theme, and most attractions come with descriptions, pictures, stories and ratings. You can pay $2.99 to gain access to listings in one of six regions, or an additional $5.99 for access to all 50 states. We opted for the latter, and it has proven invaluable already!
We’ll be updating each day with an abstract of the day’s adventures, followed by specific breakdowns of each place… Enjoy!
Giant Indian
Curtis Apple Orchard
3902 S. Duncan Road
Champaign, IL 61822
We made it all the way through eastern Kentucky, Indiana, and in to Illionois before the itch to stop became overwhelming. Using Roadside America we found a giant statue of an American Indian in Champaign, Illinois. Our curiosity was piqued when the address directed us to an apple orchard.
We were driving along a tiny, rural two lane highway for about five miles before turning off on the dirt road adjacent to an unassuming wooden sign advertising the orchard’s entrance. Our eyes scanned the landscape for what we assumed would be an obvious behemoth monument, but could only spot rows of apple trees, a series of barns and buildings, and a locked gate to the property signifying something far more obvious- it is not apple season. The orchard was closed.
Suddenly we were faced with a dilemma that would come to define our trip, a foreshadowing of illicit rendezvous to come; to park and trespass beyond the gate, or to turn around in defeat? It was a quick decision.
The trees in the orchard were protected by small signs warning of pesticide danger, so we stuck to the dirt path, not venturing down the lanes. I couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of children picking apples in Fall that were once too toxic to walk past, a sinister thought that was only complimented by the creepy ghost town vibe of this child’s autumn wonderland.
Sean was ahead of me, trailblazing intuitively to the elusive Indian. We rounded a final series of barns, which looked far too industrial to be on the commercial side of the property, and I felt certain the Indian was forever lost, accessible only by forbidden hayride.
And then, there he was, standing at least 25 feet tall among barrels of firewood, the copper Indian posed with his bow and arrow raised, a long black mane of synthetic hair blowing in the wind. The sun was shining bright, a worthy backdrop for this much-anticipated roadside gem. Sometimes the best oddities are the ones you have to work for.
On our way out we walked a faux yellow brick road leading past two Wizard of Oz themed silos, pleased with our first successful stop.
World’s Largest Truck Stop
Iowa 80 Truck Stop
Interstate 80 and Exit 284
Walcott, IA
Another listing on Roadside America, and a practical one at that! We spent a good 20 minutes in the car trying to imagine what the World’s Largest Truck Stop might entail, but our wildest dreams never prepared us for approaching the threshold of the three-floor mall-sized gas station.
The place was large enough to house several souped up big rigs, which were displayed in various departments of the store; chrome accessories, steering wheels, attire, movies, hydraulic driver’s seats, and on and on. A blinking wall of neon lights and turn signals illuminated the South entrance like a slice of trucker Vegas. The upper floor housed a dentist, chiropractor, bank, showers, and trucker’s lounge. In the lower level was an arcade and casino.
There was a display of Christian themed t-shirts on the sales floor, one of which portrayed a Wii-style Jesus and read, “My Jiisus.” Just down the aisle was a rack of bumper stickers, with several selections that warned, “No Lot Lizards.” Those were my two favorite truck stop trinkets, though I can only imagine how the trinket fingers of burley men with names like Bubba and Derkus must fly in a place like that.
Court Avenue Brewing Company
309 Court Ave.
Des Moines, IA 50309
Admittedly, I had low, albeit unfounded, expectations for Des Moines. I’d never been to the town, or even talked to anyone who had visited, but the name suggests Rust Belt to me. Maybe it’s the phonetic similarity to Detroit. Tonight Des Moines was a prime dinner destination given the late hour and the rumbling of our road-weary stomachs, and I was a little nervous that I’d be eating a second chain restaurant meal.
Sean and I avoid chains at all cost (save the occasional craving for, say, a certain breakfast sandwich served under a golden arch). When we’re looking for food in a foreign place, we use our TomTom device for suggestions. We’ve found some great places, sight and menu unseen, going solely on the name of a restaurant on our GPS screen. Tonight led us to Court Avenue Brewing Company.
The Court Avenue area of Des Moines looks to be newly developed in the historical downtown area. Centuries old facades are given new life with hip boutiques and restaurants. New mixed-use condo/retail buildings are peppered in; the familiar and ever popular model of redeveloping Midwestern cities.
The Court Avenue Brewing Company is in the heart of this district, tucked in to an impressive historic building with giant heavy doors and iron columns. The interior is spacious and comprised of several rooms under 13 foot ceilings. The walls are decorated with brewery memorabilia and artifacts from the building’s past. The nostalgic vibe was fun, but the patio caught our eye. It was a clear sunny evening, and we were eager for some fresh air after a day of stuffy car ventilation.
Over a nice breeze and some good people watching we each had a burger, fries, and a beer. CABC’s microbrews were well-crafted and crisp.
I had the Topping Pale Ale, “An English style pale ale, also known as ordinary bitter. Slightly nutty, malt flavors, blend with earthy hop flavors and aromas. Citrus notes from dry hopping with Goldings. Copper in color, an exceptionally well balanced beer.”
Sean ordered the Honest Lawyer IPA, “Our west coast India Pale Ale. Brewed with huge doses of hops (almost 20 lbs. per batch). This beer features loads of piney, citrusy,hoppy flavors and aromas. Floral and grapefruit notes throughout.This bronze colored beauty is highly recommended by the brewer.”
??? Motel
Another TomTom travelling strategy of ours is to find a place to stay using nearby listings from the GPS. Unless our accommodations are part of the experience, like when we stayed at the Jailor’s Inn, we never plan a night’s stay ahead of time. We get a kick out of making calls on the road, comparing prices and amenities, ultimately making a decision much like our dining options, sight unseen. Of course, dining and lodging apps like Yelp and Priceline can help guide our decisions, but we usually go on a cheap price tag or a goofy name.
Tonight we opted for budget. The motel we stayed in was a couple of hours outside of Des Moines. Though we called ahead to check for vacancy and were able to talk with a person at the desk, we arrived to a locked door and a note directing us to ring the bell. The office looked dark, but we rang anyhow. A few moments later a gentleman emerged from a side door donning his pajama pants and a sleepy expression. It’s funny to think of being an innkeeper as a 24 hour job, and I think it’s safe to say that most independent owners keep regular office hours to avoid wee hour interruptions. Still, this guy, whose smiling face appeared in a frame behind the desk, lives and dies by the bell. And thank goodness, it was nearly 1am, and we only slept four or five hours the night before.
