Road trip news, rants, and ruminations by the Editors of RoadsideAmerica.com
October 26, 2017
Set the dial on your time machine for 2014, and along America’s highways you’d find ziplines sprouting like “Hey, let’s make something exciting AND interactive!” weeds. As with any tourism trend, most ziplines are ultimately unmemorable, while a few achieved Roadside America status for their sheer excess or their oddball themes.
Today, the hot attraction is competitive ax-throwing. We visited and reviewed an example of this new breed in New Jersey in May, and since then over a dozen more have thunked their way into cities from Atlanta to Chicago to San Francisco. Las Vegas now offers two ax-throwing attractions, built by competing franchises. Visitors can even throw an ax on Route 66, at the Uranus Fudge Factory, whose owner told the St. Louis Post-Dispatch that he saw an ax attraction in Philadelphia, copied it, and then borrowed the name from one in Las Vegas (Axe Hole).
Ax-throwing offers a more nuanced approach to ultimate justice than another recent attraction trend, machine gun ranges. The only people who usually get axes thrown into them — at least in the virtual world — are zombies or henchmen of the Chinese mob — so there’s virtue as well as entertainment in mastering the ax hurl. We’ll keep an eye on this trend, as we do all others, and note that while there can always be too much of a good thing, who knows, maybe someone will figure out how to offer ax throwing while riding ziplines.
And remember, ax-chopping attractions are something else entirely.
May 14, 2017
Memphis was the capital of Ancient Egypt, but it didn’t have giant pyramids (Egypt’s famous pyramids were miles away in Giza).
That didn’t stop a Memphis, Tennessee, artist named Mark Hartz from sketching up plans to build three big pyramids overlooking the Mississippi River. Nothing came of it. But 30 years later Hartz’s son resurrected the idea as a single pyramid, 32 stories tall, and Sidney Shlenker was brought in to make it real.
Shlenker was a successful wheeler-dealer best known for staging the Battle of the Sexes between Bobby Riggs and Billie Jean King. He promised a lot. “The Great American Pyramid,” as he called it, would be home to an NBA franchise. It would have a Grammy Museum, a Hard Rock Cafe, the College Football Hall of Fame, a Secrets of the Pyramids Expo, and an amusement park named “Rakapolis.” It would have laser light shows and an incline elevator to take tourists up its outer edge to its pointy peak.
None of those promises were kept. By the time the Pyramid opened on November 9, 1991, Shlenker had skipped town, leaving a pyramid-high pile of unpaid bills. On opening night a water pipe burst in a bathroom and flooded the pyramid floor.
America has a history of cursed pyramids, but none as melodramatically hexed as the one in Memphis. Hot on the trail of American pyramids, cursed or otherwise, we’d visited the construction site in July 1991, scant months before it opened. Here’s some video as we were escorted inside by a city representative.
Even in size, The Great American Pyramid failed to live up to its greatness. Less than two years after its Memphis opening, the rival Luxor Pyramid opened in Las Vegas, 18 feet taller. Memphis residents no longer called it The Great American Pyramid. They called it The Tomb of Doom.
Shlenker’s career spiraled downward; he died in 2003. The long-promised NBA franchise finally came to the Pyramid in 2001 – then left in 2004. The Pyramid lingered on, hosting an occasional tractor pull, wrestling match, or concert, but even those stopped in 2007. The Pyramid then stood empty for years. Its giant statue of Ramesses II was hauled away.
The Memphis Pyramid, like its Egyptian predecessors, seemed fated to survive only as a spectacular ruin — until a magical Mississippi River catfish finally lifted the curse.
March 17, 2017
Prince Edward Island in Canada is known as “the cradle of Confederation.” it’s a pastoral place that has only 0.1 percent of Canada’s land but produces 25 percent of its potatoes.
So it was shocking news when Canada’s National Observer reported several examples of Prince Edward Island simply being left off of Canada’s maps: on t-shirts, on a big wall display in Vancouver International Airport, and even on a feature map in the Canadian Automobile Association’s magazine.
It was all extra-embarrassing for Canada because 2017 is the country’s 150th birthday and is expected to be a big year for tourism.
Admittedly, Prince Edward Island has never been #1 on the travel go-to lists of most Americans. But it is part of America, and it is one of Canada’s only 13 provinces and territories.
And despite being impossible to find on some maps, Prince Edward Island is a bona-fide travel destination, with a number of Roadside-worthy attractions, such as its outsider art Bottle Houses, a 21-foot-tall Optimus Prime, a full-size replica Space Shuttle, and, of course, the Canadian Potato Museum.
The National Observer story concludes that most Prince Edward Islanders are proud of their overlooked province, and quotes one, the woman who discovered the t-shirts, saying, “Maybe we shouldn’t tell anybody, or they’ll all show up.”
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March 6, 2017
For decades New Jersey was used and abused as a landfill by its urban neighbors, dotted with smelly, heaping, seagull-infested mini-mountains packed with everything from New York City’s garbage to Philadelphia’s dead mobsters.
Now tourists in The Garden State will be able to experience for themselves what it’s like to be trash.
Named “The Greased Beast,” according to its press release, it’s a first-of-its-kind thrill ride built into a giant dump truck by Diggerland, “America’s first and only construction-themed adventure park,” in West Berlin, New Jersey.
Down-and-dirty thrill seekers, the release explains, will be strapped into seats bolted into the dump bed of the giant truck, which was originally built to haul bulky waste from construction sites. The truck’s hydraulic piston will then slowly raise the dump bed higher and higher, finally reaching a steep angle over 30 feet in the air, and then, “the machine’s tail gate opens and vibration activates; giving the riders a simulated experience of being a dump truck’s payload.”
Or, as a promotional video for The Greased Beast promises, “You’re getting dumped just like the 80,000 pounds of raw material this beast was designed to haul!”
Plans are for The Greased Beast to dump its first human payload on March 25.
February 26, 2017
Since the early 1990s, a three-quarter mile stretch of Pennsylvania Highway 61 has been closed – blocked with berms of earth at both ends – because the ground beneath it is on fire.
The highway stretches south from Centralia, a town that was abandoned when a coal mine started burning underneath it, with no way to ever put it out. Most of Centralia’s buildings were bulldozed, but the highway was simply left to decay, probably in the belief that no sane person would ever want to visit it.
That theory, of course, proved wrong. The road attracted curious visitors, then visitors with spray cans (who christened it “Graffiti Highway”), and more recently visitors who perceive it as a kind of Damnation Alley playground.
A news story in the Pottsville Republican Herald reports that Pennsylvania state police are now ticketing people who visit the highway, after it was discovered on Facebook that a “Barbie Jeep Racing” event was being planned for the road, with about 1,000 people interested in attending. The race, according to the Republican Herald, “would have featured adults driving battery powered children’s vehicles.”
Purge, if you can, that disturbing image from your mind, and remember: the ground beneath the highway is on fire. Steam and smoke rise through cracks in the asphalt on cool mornings. One of the few buildings left standing in Centralia is its rescue squad, because people need rescuing after they fall into hot-pocket holes that have opened in and around the town, including holes on the no-trespassing Graffiti Highway.
The Republican Herald story ends by mentioning that, in addition to the highway, visitors aren’t welcome in Centralia, either, and that the town, despite its popularity, has been removed as a tourist destination from the county visitors’ bureau website.
February 16, 2017
Tourists who visit South Dakota’s Mitchell Corn Palace in 2017 may notice something familiar: the same outdoor Corn Palace murals that decorated the building in 2016.
For nearly 70 years the Corn Palace has filled its outside walls with large murals made of corn, each year tearing down the previous year’s artwork to replace it with something new. But this year, to cut costs, the murals that were new in the beginning of 2016 will be held over until the end of 2017.
Mitchell’s mayor and town council figured that few tourists would notice, since tourists rarely visit the Corn Palace two years in a row. What they didn’t count on was the amount of corn carnage inflicted on the murals by winter weather and hungry birds. And, unwisely, the murals they chose to carry over from 2016 depict well-known pop icons such as Willie Nelson. Maybe only a handful of visitors would have cared about a pockmarked leaf or a freckled buffalo, but everyone notices the ravaged face of Elvis.
In a news story in the Mitchell Republic, the Corn Palace director describes the mural damage as “worse than what I expected,” and quotes a dissenting councilman as saying, “I just think we made a mistake here, I really do.” And this is only February.
Will Michael Jackson have any skin left by July? Will John Travolta be disco dancing naked on Labor Day?
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