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.

North of the Border II

I drove over a river today and stopped to look at the stream below. Thousands of pink salmon (also called humpies) have made their way back to spawn after a two-year stint in the ocean. I suspect it won't take the bears long to find this "all you can eat buffet..."

North of The Border

From time to time the blower sparks and Thelma tells me "They're callin' from [exhale] North of The [exhale] Border. Thelma keeps up with her nails at work. I don't mind as it makes a good impression on the clients, and frankly, there aren't so many of them--clients or nails--that doing nails at work makes a difference. Plus it keeps her from asking me what she's supposed to be doing to help me which I don't need any of most of the time anyway. I took the call.




The upshot was that there were people who needed talking with up north of where most Maple Leafs set their brakes. I'd been there before and I was game for a do-again, so I told them yes and had Thelma book me the Clipper north, change in Gastown, and then on to the end of the road. Keep in mind here that the Clipper isn't the sort of Clipper me and Dolly-girl are used to when we go to Venezia to visit la familia D'Mestiere. This is the sorta cruise line that serves something in a little bag that looks like salty snacks but are sour as hell. They call them Rocket Chips. They weren't chips and we weren't on no kind of rocket.


There's two things I look for soon as I set foot on terra frosta up north of the US of A. Coffee Crisp, the world's best candy bar, and poutine. I pronounce it just the way the Newshawk told me--poo-tin--and that gets me some good looks from the locals. Newshawk says the people who call it poo-teen call Celine Dion Se-lean instead of Se-linn. I take him at his word.




There's starting to be some places to get poutine in Stumptown, but as I told you a while ago, goats don't have any business around a poutine, at least to my way of thinking and I'm pretty sure Newshawk's with me there. Rouge, I'm not so sure about. She and Dolly-girl got some strange taste buds I'm here to tell you.





I scouted out the joints in the aerodrome and only one was slinging poutine--A&W. Now I hate to buy from a fast-food chain as much as anyone, but what's so slow-food about poutine? You got your murphy nails taking a bath, your chunks of wax, and your Mike and Ike. I told the Missy, "Dish me up one and make it quick." She looked shocked because they aren't used to being snapped at up North of The Border. I could hear and see Dolly-girl; I relaxed.



There's a few other things you gotta like. Jus de Tomate. South of the Border, ours isn't nothing like it --Canada Fancy. While I'm at it, you gotta like two languages. It's a lot easier to pass the time on a Clipper when you got a bilingual tomato juice can. Particularly when Canada Fancy translates to Canada de Fantaisie. I'm pretty sure that Jus de Tomate ain't no fantasie of Dolly-girl's!




And you gotta like Tim Horton's. Tim's is invading the USof A in case you hadn't noticed. I was disappointed that Tim didn't offer poutine, but then poutine on top of everything else he offers might just cause an acute clog of an artery or two."Give me a box of Timbits and a... CODE BLUE!' Dixie'd be all over that one...

You gotta love a country that names towns names like Sandspit. And Germans love to come fishing so the flight postings have German too.










You gotta love a country that provides health care for all its people.


I was pondering all this while wondering how fast propellers go on a clipper like this one. I figured 1250 RPM once using a different camera. This little movie camera can't freeze them.

Well, enough reflecting. The Clipper circled over Kitimat and headed into Terrace for a smooth touch down. I could still taste the poutine and Coffee Crisp and the Jus de Tomate, and, unfortunately, the Rocket Chips, but it was time to get to what I came up here to get to.

A Beautiful Evening in Portland: Happy Feet on Rainbow Lane

"Jack, Lili's on the blower. Wants to know if me, Kitty, and you can meet up with her and Mittsy tonite. There's people need talking with over off The Beach at Rainbow Lane. Kitty already gave it the up and down." The Beach is a main drag in Stumptown and one of the few on our side of the river that runs at an angle. Lots of action on The Beach and apparently some of it was going to spill onto Rainbow Lane. "Count me in, if trouble's on his way, Mittsy and Lili can use the help."


Lili Barbarula and Mittsy LaCroix were friends from back before me and Dolly-girl set our brake west of Big Muddy. Fact is, me and Dolly-girl saw the first time Lili and Mittsy locked lips. It was after what some would say was too much skidrow one time when Dolly-girl was saying hello to a new decade. Others would say that it was just the right amount of rosso, if you're with me. Anyway, Mittsy's called that from back when he was tending goal for the Les Maringouin des Chicoutimi, a junior hockey team up on the Saguenay. His mitt was so fast that mostly he hardly had to use his stick or blocker.


Lili's a people-sort-a-person who kept folks in line for a drug crowd back east. She left that behind like a bald tire in Pine Ridge, South Dakota, pulled Mittsy out of the penalty box in the Greek part of Gooberland, and did a Horace Greeley. Now they live down The Valley where Mittsy uses the web instead of a mitt and Lili's doing time with the State in Capital City. Lili's sister lives on Rainbow Lane and they were some of the who that needed talking with.


I tucked my heater in my belt while Dolly-girl picked up an applesauce cake and Kitty grabbed a cooler full of cold ones. "Hey, this ain't no picnic at The Beach," I told them. That got me a look through the wave and a "That's exactly what it is, Jack, a picnic. A block party. Food, music, fun. Leave Messrs. S&W home, will ya?" Well, you can imagine I felt 2 inches tall. Here I thought there was some sort of caper afoot but instead, there's just some foot-longs and some capers in a dip. I got to quit taking Stumptown so serious.


We arrived and right away, things were looking up. Turns out, Rainbow Lane is about in the backyard of a place where they brew some pretty good brew and someone had rolled a barrel of Hop Monkey down the street and it was cold.





OK, so The Beach doesn't have to be all business. There was plenty of food around which helped me get past that all-business-in-Stumptown sort of attitude. Plus there were kids, dogs, Tiki torches, and music. I decided to let sleeping dogs lie, got a plate, had a couple of brews, and talked with Dolly-girl, Kitty, Mittsy, and Lili.










The band, called the Slimjims were jammin' up a storm and they were easy on the ears. The pedal steel man knew his way around all sorts of guitars, the lead was singing songs we hadn't heard sung (some for good reason) since back before Stumptown was where we were setting the brake, and they had a chiquita banana on fiddle that was playing everybody's tune. Wasn't long between the Hop Monkey and the steel, and the fiddle, before there were happy feet on Rainbow Lane.


The band kept playing, the blue lights came on, and Kitty was cutting the rug on the street as you can see just to the left.






Me and Dolly-girl swung each other around a bit like Lawrence Welk and little Janet Lennon, and Dolly-girl was working up to a polka, but mostly we tapped our toes, sang along, and watched the Happy Feet on Rainbow Lane!

When the night was done and Kitty and Dolly-girl and me packed into the roadster to head back to our part of Stumptown, we agreed it had been a keen time!

A Beautiful Afternoon in Portland: Stopping for a Burger at the Stop and Go Burger

Dolly-girl was at the jawbones dealing with, as she calls it, dental destiny, so me and Books decided to talk with some people around town that needed talking with. It was just about an hour after the Stumptown noon whistle blew, so it was a good time to stop by the Stop & Go Burger go for a little fill-me-up. Books passed.

Stop & Go is a joint on our side of the river, but a ways from where me and Dolly-girl set the brake. The hashslinger/Missy was in the little silver shed that Stop & Go calls everything-we-got, which isn't quite true since they have a covered area with a few tables where we could enjoy the summer day, watch Stumptown motor by, and eat a Prince burger. Yep, the whaddaya-want was a royal offering, starting with Prince, then Queen, ...OK, I'm guessing you follow.




I settled on the Prince with yellow paint and a hemorrhage, pucker-ups, wax, and a rose pinned on. The sign said "Fresh Grilled" and the joint lived up to the billing. Me and Books rested our tails while hash/Missy burned one. She yelled out, "Yours is up, Jack", which I could guess since, being 45 minutes past the second whistle, nobody else was around. I work what you call a flexible schedule, follow? Anyway, Harry of Wales arrived in a little paper sack, on a piece of brown paper, on a plastic tray. Cute, Dolly-girl and Kitty would be giving the Stop & Go a D minus in the Save-the-Earth column. Especially after they saw that on top of the paper and inside the sack, the Prince was in a little paper cup thing...




The Prince looked like advertised and I dug in. Books looked over and gave me the whaddaya-think? "As good as one of those fast-food places for twice the price," is what I thought. But then it wasn't that fast, which isn't all bad, and I'm thinking the stockholders were doing the grilling. With me? Stop & Go won't stop you in your tracks, but I'd give it a go.

Oh, you won't find poutine...it's not that upscale a joint.