Wigwam Village No. 6

I don't remember exactly when I discovered the Wigwam Villages, but I do remember that I was living in Ohio. I was living a life that was feeling less and less like my own, and I became fixated on the villages. I craved the freedom, joy and whimsy that they represented, but actually staying in one seemed unlikely. A road trip or flight required money, time and a willing companion, and at the time it felt as if I had none of those things. It seems silly and overdramatic to me now that I ever felt that way, but I've realized that when you're miserable in your daily life even the smallest goals can seem out of reach.

Fast-forward a few years and in 2016, I flew back to Ohio to hit the road with my friend JMP, a trip that culminated with a stay at my first Wigwam Village in Cave City, Kentucky. Of the seven original villages, only three remain (Cave City is number two). Even after sleeping in my first Wigwam, the other two still felt impossibly out of reach. But then my friend Jim moved to California, and I immediately began planning our stay at no. 7 in Rialto in December of last year. That left only one Wigwam Village—no. 6 in Holbrook, Arizona. 

JMP and I were already talking about an Arizona/New Mexico road trip earlier this year when Kaylah and Jeff graciously invited us to their wedding at Two Guns, which is less than an hour west of Wigwam Village no. 6. Just a few years ago staying at any of the Wigwam Villages seemed impossible to me—and in just two years I've managed to stay in all three.

My vacation goals (like South of the Border) might seem trivial now that I'm at the age when my Instagram feed is full of people traveling the world (or getting married, having kids, buying houses, etc.), but I try very hard to recognize and celebrate what will bring me the most joy, not what will be impressive to other people.

Arizona motel owner, Chester Lewis, visited Frank A. Redford's original Wigwam Village in Cave City, and bought the rights to his design. He also purchased the rights to use the name "Wigwam Village,"—as payment, Redford received every dime inserted into the coin-operated radios that Lewis placed in every room.

No. 6 was built in 1950, seven blocks west of downtown Holbrook, on old Route 66. The motel closed when Route 66 was bypassed in the late '70s, but remained in operation as a gas station. After Lewis died, his widow and children reopened the motel in 1988. The village has 15 wigwams (numbered 1-16 with no number 13), each containing one or two beds, a small bathroom, a TV and an air conditioner. 

No. 6 sits on a desolate stretch of old Route 66 filled with abandoned motels and restaurants. It's a testament to the owners and the design of the Wigwam Villages that it has remained in business. It's been listed on the National Register of Historic Places since 2002 and I can't think of one reason why you wouldn't want to Sleep in a Wigwam—or Sleepee in a Tee-pee, which is more accurate, but they're called wigwams because Redford, who patented the design in 1935, disliked the word 'teepee.'

If you've seen a photo taken at a Wigwam Village, chances are it was of no. 6. A distinguishing feature of this village is the parking lot, which is the permanent home to several vintage cars, including a Studebaker that once belonged to Lewis. There is still room to park your (probably) ugly, modern car, but the cars from the '30s-'70s really make you feel, even if just for a moment, like you've stepped back in time into the glory days of Route 66. 

There's always a mixture of excitement and sadness when I visit a place that I've been dreaming of, and that was definitely true when I completed my Holy Trinity of Wigwam Villages. To borrow from Joni Mitchell, although my "dreams have lost some grandeur coming true," I'm hopeful that there will be "new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty, before the last revolving year is through."

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Wigwam Village No. 6
811 W Hopi Drive,
Holbrook, AZ 86025

Albuquerque Statues

I will go almost anywhere if I'm promised a Muffler Man sighting, but in the absence of official Muffler Men, I'll settle for other big statues—whole, or in pieces. In Albuquerque, New Mexico, we met two big partial men—one missing arms, the other missing his entire lower half.

Referred to as the Bunyan Mutant or "Fidel," from far away you might mistake this guy for a real Muffler Man. This 2,000 pound fiberglass statue is perched on a customized steel beam 25 feet above the ground. His arms were damaged in a windstorm sometime after 2013, but he once held an axe just like a traditional Bunyan statue.

He originally stood outside of the Duke City Lumber Company store in the early 60's. The space is now home to a Vietnamese Cafe, and it's located on the corner of Louisiana Blvd and Central Avenue (old Route 66). He would be illegal to build today, but remains standing thanks to a grandfather clause in the Albuquerque sign ordinance. 

The second statue is a blobby concrete cowboy, who isn't missing anything but was only constructed from the waist up. He sits outside of Aesop's Gables, a cabinet company located just off the Pan American Freeway in Albuquerque. Our GPS was very confused trying to get us to this guy, and we circled around a few times before we finally found him.

The best part about this statue is how he appears on Google Maps. Before most trips, I try to look up attractions on street view just to verify that the address I have is correct. I know that Google's algorithm can't distinguish from real people's faces and statues, but I still laughed when I zoomed in on this guy and I wonder if I should feel bad now for violating his privacy. 

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Bunyan Mutant at May Cafe
111 Louisiana Blvd SE A,
Albuquerque, NM 87108

Half cowboy at Aesop's Gables
4810 Pan American Fwy,
Albuquerque, NM 87109

Happy Friday!

Pattern by Lindsey Frances | Download it for free here

Things that happened recently:

I won't link to that garbage piece about how libraries should be replaced by Amazon, but obviously I (and my fellow millennials) think that's a terrible idea. In fact, I think we need more socialist-based programs in this country, not less.

It's been another awful (and sweltering) week in Trump's America, but there have been some bright spots.

Locally, the subway still sucks, it will soon cost even more to use and some Air India flights out of Newark are infested with bed bugs.

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Things to do in New York this week:

There are several show times Friday-Sunday for See/Saw, an interactive evening of sleight of hand with illusionist Siegfried Tieber. I have magic on the brain since I finished this book recently and started this one, and I have plans later in August to see the magic exhibit at the New York Historical Society.

On Sunday there's a Central Park scavenger hunt hosted by the Museum of the City of New York and Untapped Cities, where participants race to match historic images of the Park to their present-day locations (I think I'd be very good at this).

Also on Sunday, my mom and I are going to take this New York Adventure Club tour of a Brooklyn apartment that has been called New York's greatest liveable cabinet of curiosities.

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Things I've discovered recently:

I'm very comfortable in my decision not to have kids, but sometimes it's nice to hear that I'm not making a terrible mistake. Speaking of incredibly personal life choices, you do you.

This guy is very slowly animating Donald Glover's This is America dance using very old computer technology (floppy disks!).

I waited far too long to watch Hannah Gadsby's emotional Netflix special, Nanette, but I'm officially obsessed with her. Here's a good profile of her, here she is on Seth Meyers explaining why the special is called Nanette and these three Renaissance Woman videos are so great I'm sad she never made any more.

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I think I've reached that point in every summer where I'm so over the heat and humidity and so ready for light jackets and fall delights. This is my 32nd summer on Earth and I still haven't figured out what to wear when there's 100% humidity (these are awesome although it's hard to find summery dresses that I don't hate). Before the tour on Sunday I think we'll grab brunch at Diner in Williamsburg—which surprisingly I've never been to. It may be insufferably "cool" but I can't pass up a chance to eat in a vintage Pullman dining car. I'm caught up on most of my TV watching (and impatiently waiting each week for a new episode of Sharp Objects), so I think I might finally tackle Friday Night Lights. I'm a huge Parenthood fan and I've heard good things even if I'm always years behind what's popular. Have a great weekend and stay cool wherever you are!

Recent Reads

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Let the Great World Spin: A Novel, by Colum McCann

This book was recommended to me by Lindsey, and it continues my tradition of having never received a bad book recommendation from someone I like. I loved Let the Great World Spin so much that I tried to read it slowly and savor every word. It's loosely based around Philippe Petit's 1974 tightrope walk between the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, and the interconnectedness of several New Yorkers in the days before and after his famous walk. I cared about each of the characters almost instantly, and I was interested to see how all of the storylines would come together in the end—some do neatly, other connections are a bit vague, but McCann's writing had me hooked until the very last word.  

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The World Only Spins Forward: The Ascent of Angels in America, by Isaac Butler and Dan Kois

I had seen the HBO version of Angels in America many times and read the play, but this oral history of how Angels came to be was so engrossing that I booked tickets to the Broadway production just a few days after starting it. I'm so glad I did because by the time I finished the book I was itching to see it on stage, and knowing the backstory made it even more enjoyable to watch. If you're not familiar with Angels in America, it was basically the Hamilton of the early '90s. It is undoubtably a masterpiece, and I have an even deeper appreciation for the story after reading about its origins. Sometimes I find oral histories to be confusing and disjointed, but this one was entertaining, fascinating and never hard to follow. 

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Putting Makeup on Dead People, by Jen Violi

I plucked this novel out of the dollar section at the Strand based on the title and its synopsis, but I didn't realize until I started reading that it's a young adult novel. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I was hoping for more gritty funeral business details—instead I got a light, easy-to-read coming-of-age novel about Donna, a girl adrift a few years after her dad's death. She finds her calling within the local funeral home (and pursues an education in mortuary science) with a little teen drama—an impossibly cool new friend, a scumbag college guy, a little bit of light witchcraft, a new boyfriend for her mom, etc.—along the way. 

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The Last Greatest Magician in the World: Howard Thurston versus Houdini and the Battles of the American Wizards, by Jim Steinmeyer

This book never quite lived up to my expectations and after reading nearly 400 pages about Howard Thurston's life, I'm skeptical of his standing as "The Last Greatest Magician in the World." Thurston isn't nearly as well-known today as his rival Harry Houdini—and this book does a good job of showing why (probably not Steinmeyer's intent). The evolution of different tricks and magic trends is interesting, but I just never cared much about Thurston or how he got to be one of the most famous magicians in the world at the time. Even the design of his beautiful stone lithograph posters—arguably the most interesting thing about him—was inherited from Harry Kellar, Thurston's predecessor and somewhat reluctant mentor.

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Broadway: A History of New York City in Thirteen Miles, by Fran Leadon

If you're a New York history nerd like me, you'll love this book about Broadway, one of the most famous streets in the world. Leadon travels north on Broadway one mile at a time and all of the great New York characters make an appearance—Robert Moses, PT Barnum, Boss Tweed, etc. I wish that there had been more recent history included—most of the stories are from the 1800s—but I plan on doing my own research by walking all 13 miles of the Great White Way sometime soon.

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Follow along with my reading challenge and let's be friends on Goodreads!

Abandoned Wonder Bread Factory

When David and I were in Buffalo recently, we had great luck exploring two abandoned spots in one day—an abandoned church in the morning and the Wonder Bread factory in the afternoon. The 180,000-square-foot Wonder Bread factory opened in 1923 on Buffalo's Belt-line. In addition to bread, the factory also produced Hostess brand snacks.

Wonder Bread was one of the first breads to be factory sliced and the company guaranteed freshness in every slice or your money back. Hostess introduced the Twinkie in 1930, and since then they've only been absent from store shelves for ten months—from November of 2012 until July of 2013—when Hostess filed for bankruptcy. Despite their reputation as a post-apocalyptic snack, Twinkies actually only have an official shelf-life of 45 days.

The East Buffalo factory was shut down in 2004 and the building has been for sale for $800,000 since 2010. Abandoned factories aren't high on my list of places to explore because they're generally sort of boring and often heavily vandalized. I didn't expect much from such a well-known spot, but it's relatively secure and still has a lot of stuff left inside.

I think the fact that it was not just a bread factory but Wonder Bread specifically, is what made it such an interesting place to explore. There's just something so optimistic and American about Wonder Bread and there are enough remnants of the brand scattered around the factory that you can almost imagine the smell of baking bread. 

The mostly-intact employee locker rooms add a human touch, with stickers and handwritten messages still decorating some of the lockers. Sometimes it's hard imagine these buildings when they were operational, but notes like "The torture is over!! I'm free!!" or "Prison life would have been easier," really give a sense of what the workers' lives were like (I'm guessing not great). 

Visible from the roof is a smokestack with "Ward's Bakery" spelled out in contrasting brick—the Ward Bakery empire included three independent companies: General Baking, Ward Foods and Continental Baking, makers of Wonder Bread. But the crowning jewel of this factory is its rooftop sign, constructed of huge, red metal letters that once announced to everyone passing that Wonder Bread was produced within—a fact that surely their noses had already suspected.

Happy Friday!

Illustration by Lindsey Frances

Things that happened recently:

Have you seen the new Sacha Baron Cohen show, Who is America? I was lucky enough to see an advance screening of the first two episodes and I've never watched something that made me laugh out loud at the same time that I was so deeply uncomfortable. The Kinderguardian segment is wholly disturbing, but I think my favorite of his characters is Billy Wayne Ruddick, Jr. The admissions and outrage from people crying that they were duped by Cohen only add to the impact of show.

Trump continues to be a threat and an embarrassment, Republicans continue to do nothing about it, and we could all learn a thing or two about shade from Queen Elizabeth's brooch game. Oh and if that's not enough, the unfolding story of Russian operative Maria Butina is equal parts terrifying and fascinating.

 A baby rat crawled out of a sink in a Brooklyn apartment and everything is totally fine.

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Things to do in New York this weekend:

Mamma Mia 2: Here We Go Again comes out in theaters today and I'm definitely going to see it even if Meryl is hardly in it—but I saw the first one 13 times in the theater, so how could I not go?

Saturday is the Mid-Summer Oddities Flea Market at the Brooklyn Bazaar in Greenpoint. I haven't had much luck at past Oddities markets and I'm annoyed by the admission price but it's always fun to look.

On Tuesday, the New York Historical Society is hosting a parlor mind reading by mentalist Kent Axell.

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Things I've discovered recently:

Have you watched Sharp Objects on HBO? I read the book so I already know who killed the girls, but you know I love spoilers. The director of Big Little Lies is an executive producer on Sharp Objects, and the soundtrack and production values are just as good—I'm very impatiently awaiting the next six episodes.

I've never wanted anything more than I want the US to adopt a four-day workweek.

I got super excited about two sculptures recently—this enormous statue of Jeff Goldblum and Ron Mueck's skulls—only to discover that they are in England and Australia, respectively. I'm holding out hope that one (or both! 🤞) will come to the US eventually.

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David and I are currently on an Amtrak train to Buffalo today for his high school reunion. We'll only be there until Sunday, but I'm always happy to get out of the city in the summer. I already have a few abandoned places on my list, but if you know of any good Buffalo spots, let me know! Hopefully we'll have time for some frozen custard and beef on weck from Anderson's or a Ted's hot dog (too bad we just missed the 91 cent dogs for #nationalhotdogday). Yes, that also means that I'm going to miss opening night of Mamma Mia 2, but fear not—I already have plans to see it Monday after work. Have a great weekend!

Twin Arrows

The Canyon Padre Trading Post was built in the 1940s on Route 66, but the name was changed to Twin Arrows after the construction of two, 25-foot wooden arrows on the property. Business picked up after the arrows began directing motorists to the gas station, diner and gift shop. Like so many other Route 66 businesses, Twin Arrows suffered after the construction of I-40, and it closed for good in 1995. 

The trading post is located between Flagstaff and Winslow, Arizona, on land owned by the five-year-old Twin Arrows Navajo Casino and Resort. We actually stayed at the resort the night before we attended Kaylah and Jeff's wedding, which took place at the nearby ghost town, Two Guns. In 2009, the arrows—made in part from telephone poles—were restored through a collaborative effort by members of the Hopi tribe and Route 66 enthusiasts, but the rest of the buildings have been left to crumble. 

I've seen fairly recent photos of Twin Arrows and it seems to be going downhill rather quickly. Some of the graffiti is thoughtful (or funny, like "Nothing Else Mattress") but other pieces are just unnecessarily destructive. I especially wish that the beautiful dimensional "Twin Arrows Trading Post" lettering hadn't been partially tagged over, and I would give anything to have visited this incredible little diner in its glory days. 

Twin Arrows was our first of many abandoned (or still-operating) trading posts that we visited on this trip, but it's probably my favorite. It had been on my list but I somehow forgot about it until we were magnetically pulled off the road by the two huge arrows, like so many Route 66 travelers before us.

New York Aquarium: Sharks!

The New York Aquarium is located on the Coney Island boardwalk and is part of a network of New York City zoos in the Bronx, Queens, Central Park and Prospect Park. More than half of the 14-acre aquarium campus was heavily damaged during Hurricane Sandy—about 85 percent of the collection was able to be salvaged, but six years later they are still in the process of rebuilding. 

Ocean Wonders: Sharks! has been in the works for years, and the exhibit finally opened in June. The 57,500-square-foot pavilion houses 115 marine species in 784,000 gallons of water, including wobbegongs, sea turtles, skates, dogfish and 18 different kinds of sharks and rays. 

The entrance to the Sharks! pavilion puts you inside of a forty-foot tunnel where you can watch zebra and reef sharks float above you (and divers scrubbing the fake coral). The rooftop deck has a bar and a touch pool overlooking the boardwalk, the beach and most fittingly, the ocean. 26 species of sharks live in the waters surrounding New York, so it's about time that Coney Island had a proper showcase for them.

The main restaurant and three exhibit areas—Playquarium, Spineless and SeaChange—are still closed but admission is currently discounted ($14.95 vs. the usual $29.95). In addition to Sharks!, you can see interactive shows at the Aquatheater, Glover's Reef at the Conservation Hall and penguins, sea otters and seals lounging on the outdoor sea cliffs.

We only spent about an hour at the aquarium but the Sharks! exhibition alone merits a visit—just get there right when they open if you want to avoid the crowds (this is a New York City life hack in general, but especially whenever children are involved). I found at least two squished penny machines outside near the sea cliffs, at the same time that we discovered that not one of the five of us had a penny. I scanned the ground and found one just before we were about to leave and while we may not have had good luck seeing the penguins, I'm happy to add their pressed likeness to my ever-growing collection.

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New York Aquarium
Surf Avenue & West 8th Street
Brooklyn, New York 11224

Muffler Man: Dude Man

After a long day on (and off) the Mother Road, exploring trading posts (both open and abandoned) in Arizona, we crossed into New Mexico and headed to Gallup. We had a room booked for the night at the El Ranchero and I was eager to meet another Muffler Man.

But as we pulled into Gallup, I realized that I was feeling overwhelmed by all of the roadside delights that we had seen that day, so I intentionally drove past the Muffler Man, saving it for the next morning when I could fully appreciate him. I trace my awareness of this phenomenon to my first trip to Italy—after days and days of seeing important works of Art, I eventually reached a saturation point where I just couldn't absorb any more. Since Muffler Men are basically the American version of the David, this has happened to me on nearly every road trip I've taken. Luckily, all I need is a good diner breakfast or a few hours of sleep and I'm ready to enthusiastically collect delights again. 

After seeing the very first Muffler Man ever made in Flagstaff, AZ I was slightly disappointed that there was only one left to see on our agenda for this trip. There are hundreds of Muffler Men spread out around the country but I get frustrated sometimes that I will probably never see them all at the pace I'm going. The Gallup Muffler Man (nicknamed "Dude Man") is the 19th fiberglass giant that I've met, but I might have better luck seeing every UniRoyal Gal since they're much more rare.

Dude Man stands on the roof of John's Used Cars, and while it's not technically located on Route 66, it's close enough to consider him a Route 66 attraction. I can't find any information on the provenance of Dude Man, but he appears to be well maintained. He has a cowboy hat and a pistol and wears jeans and a western-style shirt. I love the pennant flags that radiate around him, and the employees of John's were seemingly unbothered by me wandering in and out of their lot to take photos (his back side is visible from a nearby alley). 

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John's Used Cars
416 W Coal Avenue,
Gallup, NM 87301
Gates to the lot are closed after business hours, but Dude Man is visible at all times

Happy Friday!

Illustration by Lindsey Frances

Things that happened recently:

This is the best explanation of the Russia/Trump connection that I've read, and it made me feel very hopeless about the future of America—oh, and the pee tape totally exists.

Maybe we should all just move to Canada?

RIP plastic straws. I think it's a step in the right direction, but also maybe now we should focus on banning the things that hurt us the most? 

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Things to do in New York this weekend:

Yesterday was the last Manhattanhenge full sun date for 2018, but tonight will be half sun—avoid the crowds on 42nd Street and grab your sick Instagram shot from one of my favorite parks in Long Island City.

Does anyone want to go see the '90s classic Blank Check with me on Saturday? I had the clamshell VHS and loved it so much that I upgraded to DVD, but I don't think I've ever seen it on the big screen. I still talk about this movie more than I probably should but I love that the premise is that a kid gets a blank check and writes in one million dollars, which today wouldn't even get you a studio apartment.

This is the last weekend to see the David Bowie Is exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum. All advance tickets are sold out, but if you don't mind waiting in a crazy long line (a favorite pastime of New Yorkers) there will be limited tickets available in person.

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Things I've discovered recently:

Despite my love for New York City, I am constantly annoyed by all of the noises, but maybe that's a good thing?

I've been using my new camera for a while and I've been frustrated by my not-so-sharp images. I'm embarrassed to admit how long it took me to research this issue, but the fix was surprisingly simple.

How great are these wheelchair wheel spoke guards? The company was started by two sisters and they're the cutest. I discovered their company via my new favorite person on Instagram, Rebekah Taussig, and I love anyone who tries to make a utilitarian object whimsical and joyful.

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We're going to see the second part of Angels in America on Broadway tonight and I'm excited because the first part was extraordinary. I'm not normally a play person, but this production was riveting (you only have until Sunday to see it, sorry—but if you haven't already, read the play!). I wasn't a huge fan of Andrew Garfield's portrayal but Nathan Lane was even better than I expected and the staging is fantastic. I'm making my way through this book right now and it's a bit slow going but I've been reading this as well so I don't fall behind in my reading challenge. I suddenly feel as if there are a ton of things I want to watch on TV (Nanette, The Vietnam War, Sharp Objects) but the weather has been pretty lovely so I'm in the mood to get out and explore (I've been talking about a return visit to this abandoned hospital since I first went two years ago). Have a great weekend!

Route 66: Gallup to Grants

I have had a lifelong dream of packing up everything I own (well, more like everything I need) and traveling along Route 66 from one end to the other. But I also like having a paycheck and health insurance, so until I can somehow find out how to survive without those, I'll have to settle for seeing Route 66 piece by piece. On our recent trip out west we traveled a good chunk of the Mother Road, from Flagstaff, Arizona to Tucumcari, New Mexico. 

President Eisenhower's Federal Interstate Act of 1956 called for the creation of four-lane highways across the country and by the late '60s most of Route 66 was replaced, chopped up or bypassed completely by I-40 in Arizona and New Mexico. Route 66 was officially decommissioned in June of 1985 (just two months before I was born!), although about 85 percent of the original road still exists. 

Gallup, New Mexico is the largest city located between Flagstaff and Albuquerque. A large portion of the population is Native American, from the Navajo, Hopi and Zuni tribes. We stayed overnight at the El Ranchero (worthy of its own post) and headed east the next morning. JMP got in the driver's seat and when I offered to drive she replied, "so you can stop every five feet and take photos?" She knows me very well, of course, because that's exactly what I proceeded to do, and I didn't stop until a few days later when I boarded a plane back to New York. 

For anyone who knows me it might be surprising to hear that I didn't have much on our itinerary for some of the days. This flexibility allowed us to discover places like the abandoned diner or add extra stops when it looked like we'd have time, like the Rehoboth Mission Cemetery. The best thing about traveling on Route 66 is that you don't need to have an itinerary or to blindly follow your GPS from stop to stop. You're guided by the road, not the destination and we'd pull off whenever we saw something that caught our interest—like the Continental Divide, which we both learned is the point where all water to the west flows to the Pacific Ocean and water to the east flows to the Atlantic.

When I noticed that our drive from Gallup to Albuquerque was looking a bit sparse, I consulted my friend Tag who grew up in New Mexico. He confirmed that there wasn't much to see between the two cities, but mentioned that we should try to pass through the Route 66 town of Grants. 

We drove on I-40 when we had to, but tried to follow the Historic Route 66 signs as much as we could. Grants is a small town (population less than 10,000) about halfway between Gallup and Albuquerque. Founded as a railroad camp in the 1880s, residents found success with logging, Route 66 tourism, uranium ore mining and agriculture—at one time Grants was even known as the carrot capitol of the US.

Today, like most of the Route 66 towns we drove through, Grants feels like a ghost town, full of abandoned homes and businesses. The Hollywood Diner was a favorite of mine, and it looks like it has had several lives—we found evidence that it has housed not only a diner but a tattoo shop and pet grooming business (hopefully not at the same time?). Some of the buildings have been left to crumble but others have been demolished entirely—nothing left but their ambitious neon signs standing guard, no longer beckoning travelers at night, but cracking and fading in the desert sun. 

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A lot of these photos are available as prints over in my Society 6 shop, and I will be adding more as I sort through the overwhelming amount of photos I took on this trip.

Abandoned Diner

One of the things I love most about living in New York is that I never have to drive a car—but one of the things I love most about road trips is that I do get to drive, which means I have complete control over where and how many times we stop along the way. On our recent trip out west, I had wrested the wheel away from JMP (she caught on to me immediately but graciously allowed me to assume the reigns for most of the trip) and pulled off the highway to photograph some decaying billboards. As I was about to pull back onto the main road, I noticed a sign for the Pancake House Restaurant, and decided that it at least looked worthy of a quick photo.

When we pulled into the parking lot, it was immediately clear that the restaurant was not open and hadn't been for some time. The Pancake House was once part of the Fort Courage trading post, which was built to resemble a frontier fort and inspired by the 1960s show F-Troop. The trading post also included a gas station and a souvenir shop.

The entire trading post is for sale, but something tells me there hasn't been much interest. The trading post closed for good in 2014, but from the presence of Christmas decorations and a calendar on the wall, it appears that the Pancake House Restaurant closed sometime around November of 2005. There is also a Taco Bell Express sign on the outside of the building, but the inside looks as if it was operating as "Ortega's Tacos" before it closed.

The vinyl booths and kitschy light fixtures are still intact, and the inside is in surprisingly good condition for a building that has sat abandoned for thirteen years. There wasn't much left in the kitchen, but we did find some dishes, coffee pots, cups, fake plants and flower arrangements. The circular building with triangular details is beautiful on its own, and it's sad to see it just crumble. 

There was very little graffiti or overt vandalism, and much of the damage seems to have just happened passively. We did find piles and piles of poop and then I nearly stepped on what I assume to be the origin of these piles—the flattened skeleton of what I thought was a coyote but was probably just a regular dog. 

I didn't think there was anything better than diner breakfast at a classic diner, but we both agreed that exploring a surprise abandoned diner in the desert off of Route 66 was the highlight of our trip. I can research and make plans and Google maps, but sometimes you just need to pull off the road and have faith that the road trip gods will deliver you something unexpectedly perfect. 

Philadelphia City Hall Tower Tour

Construction of Philadelphia's ornate, Second Empire-style City Hall began in 1871 and it wasn't finished until 30 years later. It's currently the largest municipal building in the country—the ground floor is made of 22-foot-thick solid granite and the 548-foot tower is the tallest masonry structure without a steel frame in the world. 

It wasn't until I was researching for this travel guide of Philadelphia that I discovered that the tower has an observation deck. I'm not afraid of heights and I love surveying cities from above, so I was eager to get back to Philly and take the tour. Tower tours are offered Monday-Friday 9:30am-4:15pm and only on "select Saturdays." We were in Philly for July 4th and our train didn't leave until 2pm the next day so I took a 10:15am tour on Thursday. 

The most difficult part of the tour is finding the visitors' center in City Hall—I wandered in and out of the ground floor before I finally found it. Tickets for the tower tour can be purchased in the gift shop, and be aware that they are extremely limited. Although the official closing hour is 4:15pm, the tower was closing at noon on Thursday, probably due to the heat. You have to meet an elevator operator on the 7th floor no later than 15 minutes before your scheduled tour time, and the extremely small elevator only holds four people (including the operator). 

The elevator operator asked if any of us were claustrophobic or afraid of heights and I lied when I said no to the former—enclosed spaces are not thrilling to me on a regular day, but in the extreme heat and humidity the tiny, airless elevator ride could not have been over soon enough for me. The inside of the tower itself is mainly just filled with support structures and a few pieces of communications equipment, but you pass behind the four, 26-foot-wide clock faces—bigger than Big Ben—as you ascend to the top. 

The observation deck is small and mostly enclosed but the 360 views of the city are spectacular. The deck sits right under the 37-foot-tall, 27-ton statue of Penn, one of 250 sculptures created by Alexander Milne Calder for City Hall. In 1894, the statue was hauled to the top of the tower in fourteen separate sections and it is still the largest statue to sit atop any building in the world. A gentleman's agreement dictated that no building in the surrounding skyline was to rise higher than the top of Penn's hat—an agreement that held for nearly 100 years, until 1986 with the construction of One Liberty Place. 

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City Hall Tower Tour
1400 John F Kennedy Blvd
Philadelphia, PA 19107
Tours every 15 minutes Mon-Fri, 9:30am-4:15pm and select Saturdays

Happy Friday!

"All The People of New York City" illustration by Lindsey Frances

Things that happened recently:

Our country is still in the toilet, this weather is trash and Ohio continues to be a constant disappointment—but in happier news, these women are giving me hope.

I am so very here for Michael Cohen—not a criminal lawyer, but a criminal lawyer—flipping on Trump, and I'm still holding out hope that Trump's ultimate downfall is all due to American Hero Stormy Daniels.

This is a really fascinating look at the rise and fall of public housing in New York.

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Things to do in New York this week:

My former roommate hosts a monthly poetry reading in Brooklyn and it's always wonderful. I remember when she first mentioned it and I was so resistant because I'm a stubborn idiot, but once I finally got over that, I realized that poetry readings aren't as boring or strange as I had originally thought (life lesson: don't be a judgmental turd like me and try new things!). I don't go as much as I should, but I'm excited to go again tonight like old times.

The brand-new Sharks! pavilion, filled with hundreds of sharks, is finally open at the New York Aquarium in Coney Island.

If you're not sick of fireworks by now, Coney Island has a show tonight, and there's no better place to watch fireworks, IMHO, than the boardwalk.

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Things I've discovered recently:

I wish I had space to try something like this—built-in bookcases to house my out-of-control book collection is a lifelong dream of mine.

Here's a fascinating look at what happened to Natalie Jean, aka Nat the Fat Rat, who was once on top of the Mormon mommy blogger world (a world with which I am very, very obsessed).

I've mentioned before that I was trying to get a skincare ritual that worked for me, and I think I might have finally found one—every night before bed I wash my face, do a swipe of witch hazel and finish with this moisturizer, and it seems to be working. In the morning I just rinse my face in the shower and apply this sunscreen. I'm still far from being an expert, but consistency seems to be the most important element.

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My friend Jim is in town this weekend from California and I'm so excited to have my New York adventure buddy back, if only for a brief time (until I can convince him to move back for good, that is). We'll be going to the poetry reading tonight back in our old Brooklyn 'hood and I really want to take him back in time to Sam's in Carroll Gardens (I've been craving their giant meatballs for months!). Tomorrow we're headed to Coney Island and I'm trying to figure out how to cram as many diner breakfasts into a few short days as possible. The summer always goes by so fast after July 4th, and I'm trying to enjoy it (despite this crushing heat). Have a great weekend!

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A few shameless promotions:

Society 6 is currently having a huge sale, and you can get 40% off of everything (like ... my prints maybe, or Lindsey's illustrations?) with the code HAPPY4TH

If you download the Sweetgreen app, you'll get a $3 credit (and so will I, which is like one piece of lettuce but help a girl out)

If you still haven't bought the world's best no-show socks, you can get 25% off with this link (and I'll get free socks, which I most definitely would be happy about)

Blazing Star Cemetery

The Blazing Star Cemetery is located in the Rossville neighborhood of Staten Island. It's adjacent to the ship graveyard and I'm always happy to add a new cemetery onto the itinerary when I have a specific destination in mind. The earliest grave markers date to 1750, and it was one of the first community burial grounds on Staten Island. There are only a handful of stones on the small piece of land but they are beautifully carved and in remarkably good condition for their age. 

Alternately called the Sleight Family Graveyard, or the Rossville Burial Ground, this cemetery contains the remains of several different prominent Staten Island families. I couldn't find much more information about the history of the cemetery or its residents, but Peter Winant was the son of one of the first permanent settlers to the island. A sign declares that it is currently maintained by the Friends of Abandoned Cemeteries, Inc. of Staten Island, which is a group that I would definitely consider joining. 

I found a document from the Landmarks Preservation Commission on January 17, 1968, proposing that the cemetery be designated a landmark. The Commission found that the graveyard "has a special character, special historical and aesthetic interest and value as part of the development, heritage, and cultural characteristics of New York City."

The cemetery sits near the former location of a mooring slip for the Blazing Star Ferry—which once ran between Staten Island and New Jersey—right on the side of Arthur Kill Road, where it intersects Rossville Avenue. We took the Staten Island Ferry and then the S74 bus, which if you're very lucky won't make all of the 72 stops between the ferry terminal and the graveyard. 

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Blazing Star Cemetery
Arthur Kill Rd & Rossville Ave,
Staten Island, NY 10309

World's Tallest Uncle Sam

I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to write a post about the World's Tallest Uncle Sam, but I first met this 4,500-pound, American icon in 2014. We drove to the Magic Forest in Lake George, only to find that it had already closed for the season. I was devastated, but I could see quite a bit of the park from the parking lot, and the parking lot itself has attractions—including a huge Santa and what they claim to be the World's Tallest Uncle Sam. 

I went back to the Magic Forest the following year during the open season, and got to revisit the Uncle Sam along with their vast collection of other fiberglass animals, figures, fairytale structures and rickety rides. As tends to be the case amongst objects with "World's -est" titles, the "tallest" claim is a bit dubious—the Lake George Uncle Sam is 38 feet tall (David included in the photo above for scale), while there is one in Michigan that tops out at 42 feet.

The Magic Forest is a mecca for large statues—they have four Muffler Men variations, including a Bunyan, a clown, Pecos Bill and an Amish (?) happy halfwit. The Uncle Sam originally stood at the Danbury Fair in Connecticut (along with Chief Running Fair). He was purchased in 1981, and has stood at the entrance to the Magic Forest since the following year. According to the sign, he was "repainted with acme base coat clear coat system in 1992," and he seems to holding up very well. 

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Magic Forest
1912 U.S. 9,
Lake George, NY 12845
The park is open Memorial Day-Labor Day, but the Uncle Sam is visible year-round

Families Belong Together March

It's hard not to feel hopeless and helpless when every day brings news of fresh horrors coming out of the Trump administration's playbook of evil. My mind literally cannot comprehend the thinking—or perhaps the lack thereof—of the people that thought there was no difference between Hillary and Trump, or of the people that still think that Trump is "making America great again."

I am of the belief that America already is great—yes, we have many, many areas to improve upon, but the more I see of this country, the more I fall in love with it. And time and time again I find that what actually does make America great, and what we get right in so many places—but New York especially—is our acceptance and appreciation of immigrants. The racist, "go back to where you came from" bigots may yell the loudest, but they do not represent all Americans. 

Polling is a tricky business, but what a lot of Americans seem to agree on is that we should let DACA recipients stay and that the "wall" is a terrible idea. I won't pretend to know where to begin to try and change peoples hearts and minds—especially in a time when supposedly decent people are actually debating what exactly constitutes a child cage—but I do believe that it's the people who have the least interactions with immigrants that are most afraid of them. 

I had to join the Families Belong Together march on Saturday because I had to do something. To be honest, I didn't want to march, and there were several times along the route that I considered giving up. It was in the 90s and I'm made out of tissue paper. My eyeballs were sweating. The minute I would reapply sunscreen it would melt off my face. I ran out of water halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge. I was alone and my feet hurt from standing in place for hours because like a lot of "marches," progress along the route was at times painfully slow.

I recognize that we go to events like these to make ourselves feel better, and I definitely understand the appeal. To be surrounded by like-minded, passionate, sane individuals for a few hours in a world that increasingly feels isolating and infuriating is soothing to the soul. But ultimately it's about showing up—I don't take signs, just photos—lending my physical body to a movement, to say I am here, I am present and I am pissed. 

In the end, I did make it across the bridge and I'm proud of everyone else who did or who acknowledged the objectives of the march on whatever platform they have. Because I realized that no matter how uncomfortable I was, marching was a choice. I am privileged enough to opt in or opt out. I had access to water and could have left of my own volition at any time during the march. Families trying to enter the US with the hope of making a better life for themselves don't have that choice—and those of us that do will forever have an obligation to stand up for those who do not.

Five Year New York-iversary

When I (finally) moved to New York five years ago, I wrote, "I guess I'm really getting old because at least once a day I think: where did the time go? I'm sure in the blink of an eye I'll be thinking the same thing about my first five years as a New Yorker, but for now I'm trying to enjoy my first five days."

I did enjoy those first five days—I slept on my friend's couch until I found a sublet, went to Long Island for the first time, watched the Macy's fireworks from New Jersey (where I took the photo above, still one of my favorites) and discovered the home goods wonderland of Fishs Eddy. At the time, so many things in my life had changed quite rapidly—but also torturously slow, because sudden changes have their ways of stretching time. I found myself without a job, without a home, without a plan and for what felt like the first time in my life, I was rootless. 

I've been immersing myself in Angels in America lately and nothing has proven to be more true in my life than the thought that, "In this world, there’s a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we’ve left behind, and dreaming ahead." Change is painful but essential. As Kushner writes, "the world only spins forward," and we can dig in our heels like a cat on a leash or shed our skins and move onward. 

I shed many skins over the course of my move, some of which I had no idea I had until I felt them peel away. I've spoken often about my love for New York on this blog but I don't ever want to delude myself about its power. New York is a magical place, at times, sure—but the changes I made originated inside of myself. 

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“Harper: In your experience of the world. How do people change?

Mormon Mother: Well it has something to do with God so it's not very nice.

God splits the skin with a jagged thumbnail from throat to belly and then plunges a huge filthy hand in, he grabs hold of your bloody tubes and they slip to evade his grasp but he squeezes hard, he insists, he pulls and pulls till all your innards are yanked out and the pain! We can't even talk about that. And then he stuffs them back, dirty, tangled and torn. It's up to you to do the stitching. 

Harper: And then up you get. And walk around.

Mormon Mother: Just mangled guts pretending.

Harper: That's how people change.”

- Angels in America, Perestroika

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For an incalculable amount of time after I moved to New York, I felt like I was "just mangled guts pretending." I was homesick for a home I knew wasn't healthy for me and I missed people that I knew didn't miss me. I was dealing with a medical bombshell that I still haven't fully processed, five years later. But there was painful progress—I got that apartment and that job and had awkward first encounters with people that eventually blossomed into meaningful friendships and relationships. Then I got another apartment and another job, and then another apartment and another job—and each time I stitched myself back together, something is lost but something is gained, and time marches on. 

Try as I might to imagine the future, I had no idea what my life would be like after five years in New York when I wrote that post within the first five days. Recent events have made me feel deeply sad for this country but I firmly believe that we cannot move backwards. We are in control only of ourselves and how we treat others and we have to do better. But change won't be easy and it won't be painless.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the idea of 'remembering when you wanted what you currently have' and trying to be grateful for this life that I've made for myself—a life that I had romanticized for so long that I was blindsided by the pain inherent in its acquisition. Even now, I sometimes still find myself longing for what I've left behind, and it's a strange feeling to miss something that I so longed to be rid of. But, I know that I'm a better, stronger, kinder person not in spite of my past, but because of it—and I can only dream of what's ahead.