A Trip Across America: The Studebaker National Museum

Me and Gus Bianchi, Dolly-girl's old man, were motoring our way across the country. We pulled up short in South Bend, Indiana when we found out what was there that needed looking at. I know, you're thinking Gus is a big Notre Dame fan, but what with a name like Giuseppe Bianchi do you think he'd be screaming for the Irish? Not likely. No, what pulled us off Highway 31 was the Studebaker National Museum.


Gus fancies old cars and this was the place to see them on parade. Mint condition. Stylish. Building crammed with them. We walked in. "Two seniors?" "Back in Stumptown, that sort of crack and you could find the Trouble Twins walking up your garden path there chiquita. I may look the part, but one and one will do us." "Sorry, I was just thinking that we don't get too many people coming to look at Studebakers looking like you and so I figured..." "Relax, I won't pay it anymore nevermind."


We walked in and checked the joint out. They had them all, starting with Conestoga wagons built back when horse power was the real thing. The beauties from the 20s and 30s lined the room, all polished up and looking like they were wanting me and Gus to drive one out the door and head it to Stumptown. And we would have done it, too, except they would have chased us down like a cheap shot with a cold beer.


It just happened to be August 31st when we came across this Studebaker Commander that left New York City on August 30, 82 years earlier, and arrived in San Francisco just short of 78 hours later. The Commander was piloted by Ab Jenkins, who later with his son would be called The Mormon Meteors for their exploits at the Salt Flats. Over the 3,302 miles they averaged 42 and 1/2 miles per hour--not bad for those days and a lot better than me and Gus were going to do--we covered 3,362 miles in 8 days!


It was pretty clear walking around the place that what goes around comes around. These styles and colors are just what people are looking for today. We tried to remember what sort of appetite for gas these babies had.


Well, I thought, we can find that out on the intertubes and, sure enough, I found that not only did they look better than cars today, but they were going 25 to 30 or more miles on a gallon of gas in the 50s--better than a lot of today's iron. So what was the problem? The answer seems to be volume and the ability to mass produce millions of ugly cars. The Big Three could do it, Studebaker wouldn't. My theory is that when they started to make cars that looked like the Big Three's, well, they lost their mojo.

What was left in the wake was a collection of beautiful autos in South Bend, and the wreckage of the auto industry today. Me and Gus waxed on about the ills of the world, but maybe a bumper sticker that said this summed it up best...

BRING BACK STUDEBAKER AND
BAIL THEM OUT

After giving the place the twice over, me and Gus hopped in our car--it was a let down after the last couple hours--and I pointed her west. On the road again...

A Trip Across America: Steering Wheel Cam

I took a series of pictures from my vantage point: the steering wheel. I hope you enjoy the view as much as I did.

Central Ohio--Corn Variety Trials

Central Ohio








Hammond, Indiana, looking towards Chicago

Headed towards Iowa, northwestern Illinois











Eastern Iowa
and wind farms, central Iowa











Eastern South Dakota











Western South Dakota











Badlands, Western South Dakota








Eastern Montana





















Northern Wyoming











Light at the end of the tunnel, Cody, Wyoming









Bugs on bumper, Central Idaho









Western Idaho







Eastern Oregon








Central Oregon










Columbia Gorge, Western Oregon

A Trip Across America: The World's Only Corn Palace!

Jerry (that's Nancy's father) and I had our sights set on the Mitchell Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota from the minute we climbed into our Chrysler 300 for Road Trip 2009. I'm guessing that Jerry hadn't ever thought much about The World's Only Corn Palace until I started talking about it, but he was a good sport and got on board with the fact that this one destination was going to shape the route of our whole trip. I'm here to tell you: we were not disappointed.

The World's Only Corn Palace is where you would expect to find it--Main Street--in Mitchell. We were a bit disappointed that there wasn't a World's Only Corn Palace Cafe as we had worked up quite an appetite and were hoping for the sort of South Dakota cafe I remembered from the old days. Not to be found.


Now what is it about the United States? Things always seem to have to be billed as The World's Largest or The World's Only. In the case of the World's Only Corn Palace, I suspect a number of people, not totally convinced that the world needs even one corn palace, think that the designation of The World's Only Corn Palace should be endorsed by the United Nations and any nation, including ours, that tried to create another would be the subject of sanctions and a blue-helmeted enforcement army.


Anyway, this World's Only Corn Palace thing has been going on a while. Here's a photo of a photo of the first edition (1892, I believe) of the World's Only Corn Palace. The World's Only Corn Palace featured a nice little museum about, of course, TWOCP, a souvenir shop, and a penny smashing machine. Penny smashing machines seem to have become very popular again. Note to Rouge, yes there will be a TWOCP smashed penny in your future...



The outside of TWOCP is decorated with murals of Americana made out of, you guessed it, corn. Several varieties provide a small selection of colors, along with a little help from milo and corn husks.




The murals are redone every year and luck of luck, the morning we arrived, September 2, 2009, was the day the crew started to strip the old murals off in preparation for installing the new ones. A committee decides on the theme and a local artist designs the murals.


Featured to the left are actual pieces of TWOCP that I picked up off the street where they were working. We sure would have been disappointed if we'd arrived to a naked TWOCP. I don't know what the schedule is but the big Polka Fest is coming up September 18-22 so I can't imagine it would be completely stripped for that.

I think I'll suggest that they install a web-cam to watch the progress.



Of course, TWOCP is more than just a pretty face on the street. What started as an exhibition of the bounty produced by local farmers is now a full-fledged event locale featuring arena-style seating, a basketball court, a performance stage, and, when filled with a person, Cornelius, TWOCP mascot.

Go see TWOCP--it's worth the trip to Mitchell, South Dakota!

A Trip Across America: Breakfast at Our Place, Cody, Wyoming

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a joint that looked like the sorta joint me and Dolly-girl's father were looking for. I jerked the wheel hard to the left, crossed Highway 20, and slid to a stop in the gravel lot of Our Place. I set the brake on the Chrysler we'd borrowed for a trip across the country and we moseyed--we were in Wyoming, so moseying is sort of a required pattern of movement--on in. It was birdseed time and this looked like the place me and Giuseppe Bianchi--Gus for short--would be cozying up to the feeder.

The decor on the inside made us think this would be a real good place. I saw some art that if it had been for sale, I would have picked up to hang over the fireplace back home. Dolly-girl would have been so happy she wouldn't have been able to purr or nothing. She just would have rolled her greenies at me and given me a look through the wave--one of those mysterious ones. Come to think of it, I do wonder from time to time what those looks mean.


Me and Gus were just starting Day 6 of a road trip across the country in honor of some birthdays we were having this year. We'd been looking at straight and flat for Days 1 through 5 and I'm here to tell you that we took a lot of South Dakota grasshoppers out of circulation, follow? Anyway, we were hoping to see some new kind of territory, and we weren't going to be disappointed. Not that there's anything wrong with flat and straight--it's got its own good points.


Anyway, Our Place, I'm guessing here, looks about the same as it did when Carolyn and Ida Helen, the two main missys, were girls and I'm guessing that was sometime after wagon trains but before air conditioning. People looked up from their cuppas when we walked in--the joint was full of people who looked like they belonged in a cafe in Cody, Wyoming and we didn't. Spoons stirred blonds and eyes followed us following Ida Helen to a table about halfway through the place.


It wasn't my favorite seat, but tables were turned and they were thinking we were trouble. I saw a few holsters get re-positioned just to let me know that if it was birdseed and a little idle chatter we were after, we were in the right place. Anything else and we'd better be mounting up and heading west like we had a bur under the saddle. We settled in. and looked over the whaddaya-want. It was full of old standards. If you were looking for some of that fancy feedbag stuff you see in Stumptown, Our Place isn't your place.



Ida Helen poured us a couple a cups of what was going to have to pass for joe and it sure wasn't what we'd be stirring in Stumptown, but then I hadn't had a taste of good grounds since I caught the Clipper back east to start this motor adventure. Carolyn strode up--mosey wasn't in her corral, see? "What'll it be, fellas? I see Ida Helen already got you started with our famous 25¢ joe." "She shor has," I drawled, trying to blend into the place and thinking that the mud was priced just about right. "I'll have the Noah's son in the wreckage, whisky." "What the hell kinda talk is that, stranger?" "I mean, the ham scramble with rye toast. Sorry, I thought I was someplace else." "It's yours, but mind your self in here Jack, and..." Gus looked up from the menu. "Double it, but wheat toast please." Gus wasn't looking to be on the wrong side of Miss Carolyn, if you get my drift. How did she know my name?


I could see the hash slinger through the feed slot in the business end of the joint. He had a full house on the ticket spinner, but he was working it like a roulette wheel at the casino down the street and plates were flying out for Miss Carolyn (I was showing a little more respect now) Ida Helen, and a young missy--I'm guessing a grand daughter--to pick up and put down in front of hungry cowboys.

Miss Carolyn brought us our orders and said, "Dig in boys." We did. Somebody in town musta been keeping cluckers 'cause the cackleberries were as fresh as they get. Noah's boy was the real thing, grilled, cut in chunks, and then tossed in the wreckage. The whisky was just what you'd expect a long piece from where you might rightly expect whisky, it was marbled with white like they do out there, but it hit a spot that needed to be filled. We finished up, young missy brought more joe, and Miss Carolyn came by with the damage. A Jackson more than covered it and Miss Carolyn got a better tip than Mine That Bird in the Derby. Our Place was just the joint we were looking for to put on the feedbag, but bring cash 'cause the only plastic in the joint is the Formica tables.