The Right Side Of The Road

WALL, SD – “I was totally unprepared for that revelation called the Dakota Bad Lands,” once commented Frank Lloyd Wright. “What I saw gave me an indescribable sense of mysterious elsewhere.” That pithy commentary is decidedly apt, as these vast expanses prove creepy and fascinating; stunning and endearing; and, above all else, wholly mysterious. Indeed, there is no literary prepation for Badlands National Park – the experience itself is a forceful reminder of the power images hold above words.

Those images (one pictured above) are haunting. Quite simply, this is not the prototypical landscape to which we have become accustomed – nature has offered a genuinely bizarre deviation from the norm in these regions. The sites presented here are not mountains, nor are they sand dunes, nor are they rock faces – they are, rather, entirely unique. Where more mundane scenery like simple grass forces its way into the landscape, the resulting contrast is entirely surreal (pictured below).

Juxtaposed to the mountanious likes of Banff, Jasper and Glacier National Parks, or even the underwhelming scenery of Yellowstone National Park, the Badlands are a fully different experience. These acres share little in common with their similarly-protected brethren; the colors here are almost entirely muted, the climate is not outwardly welcoming, and the landscape is downright intimidating. While most of those expanses managed by the Department of the Interior enjoy a palpably romantic quality, these lands are somehow the oxymoronic incarnation of a blissful horror.

Nearby towns like this community seemingly live off the tourism the Badlands attract. Here, the Wall Drug Store is something of an institution, consuming an entire city block with retail outfits that range from souveneir clothing to fresh donuts. There is a quaint Western feel to the town, though with tourism being the primary trade, it is often difficult to ascertain just which qualities are genuine and which are manufactured.

Such a dillema, however, is entirely absent in the Badlands themselves. This experiece must be genuine – it is far too surreal to be manufacted. And, as Frank Lloyd Wright so eloquently noted, the resulting sense of “indescribable mysterious elsewhere” is supreme.

No Responses »

HILL CITY, SD – Whether it is irony or postmortem harmony, there is a decidedly strange historical feel to the western region of South Dakota. Here sits a town, county and state park all named for George Custer. Here, too, sits the construction site of a massive monument dedicated to Crazy Horse, a Native American leader who fought on the other side of the Battle of Little Bighorn (or, as it is more commonly known, “Custer’s Last Stand”). Finally, here sits Mount Rushmore, a commemoration of four of the presidents of the nation that once employed Custer and fought Crazy Horse.

Incidentally, viewing that commemoration of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt is a precisely par-rich experience, neither underwhelming nor overwhelming. The tribute (pictured below) appears exactly as pictured in numerous articles of tourist literature and, for that matter, an Alfred Hitchcock film. The totality of the project is predictably impressive, yet nothing about the monument surprises in the least.

The Crazy Horse Memorial (pictured above), conversely, proves a highly surreal experience. Perhaps most obviously stunning, this mountain carving, despite having begun more than 60 years ago, is still far from complete. The side of a face is clearly visible, as is a large cavity in the rock; beyond that, one must look to a scaled model or various drawing to appreciate just what is underway. On the premises of the nearby tourist center, from which the endeavor can be observed, is referenced the famed Crazy Horse quote, “My lands are where my dead lie buried.” This at once summarizes the grandiosity of the project itself, and the somewhat palpable anger that resonates from the premises – treaties were broken, arms were raised, and at least this project is partially dedicated to ensuring that such not be forgotten.

After more than sixty years in the making, though, one must wonder if this project will not itself be forgotten. The four presidential busts down the road are already iconic, and Custer makes troika of appearances on the local map – it is difficult to believe the history of Crazy Horse will be truly appreciated until visitors have an actually complete monument at which to peer.

One Response »

CODY, WY – Around the same time P.T. Barnum was busy introducing “The Greatest Show on Earth” to the American Midwest, William Cody took to presenting Buffalo Bill’s Wild West to the American West. Though scarcely linked, the two men’s legacies prove comfortably analogous, as each parlayed legitimate acclaim into raw entertainment during the era of great showmen. In the case of Mr. Cody – for whom this town is named – that legitimacy was borne via a stint in the armed forces and, ultimately, receipt of the Medal of Honor for “gallantry in action” during the Indian Wars (though, bizarrely, the award was later revoked before being posthumously reinstated). It should be noted, however, that unlike Mr. Barnum, the man better known as Buffalo Bill never earned the widespread infamy attendant to humbuggery.

Today, the Buffalo Bill Historic Center sits at the heart of this community. Inside may be found not just a museum dedicated to the site’s namesake but, too, ones concerned with firearms, natural history and Native Americans. There is also an art gallery inside this sizeable center, rounding out a venue easily large enough to provide a full day’s educational perusal.

In fact, that venue may well be the preferable local tourist attraction, beating out Yellowstone National Park. Though one of this country’s most storied lands (as well as one of its most generously sized), the park is too often either a forum for the wholly mundane or a reminder that untold masses of tourists and untold dollars of government construction can beat down much of the natural beauty allegedly protected therein. The attraction’s crescendo, Old Faithful, is today less a spectacle than the obnoxious construction underway in its shadow. That the geyser is so intimately surrounded by manmade walkways is wholly tragic; that once can scarcely snap a photo without inadvertently including masses of people is wholly annoying.

To be sure, Yellowstone is not without its charms – to suggest the whole park to have been abused would be hyperbolic. Visually engaging natural selections are still very much present in parts of the park (pictured above), and the promiscuity of wildlife in other portions of the protected locale does prove amusing (pictured below). Still, when juxtaposed to the likes of Canada’s Jasper and Banff National Parks, or the United States’ Glacier National Park, it is difficult to appreciate the totality of Yellowstone. Perhaps those other locales simply spoiled this tourist; perhaps the Department of the Interior simply mismanaged the site.

Back in nearby Cody, there is a rodeo in town. Garth Brooks’ tribute to that variety of entertainment comes to mind, “It’s boots and chaps, it’s cowboy hats, it’s spurs and latigo, it’s the ropes and reins, and the joy and the pain, and they call the thing rodeo.” That passion only begins to describe the sheer pleasure of this Wyoming community, where the populace is as friendly as it is proud of its Western heritage. Whether or not Yellowstone is on the itinerary, this town ought to be.

No Responses »

GREAT FALLS, MT – Much in the same way portions of Texas have a tendency to project their expansive prairies on to a seemingly massive sky, Montana proves unashamed of its gargantuan acres. Coming south from the Canadian border, the drive toward Glacier National Park is visually stunning, with mountain ranges crowding the westerly view and the eye falsely suggesting an indefinite easterly visibility. Telling of the substantial distances regularly traveled within the state, and the relatively scarce populace doing that traveling, local speed limits are astoundingly high; numerous two-lane, undivided roads weaving through farmland are regulated at 70 MPH.

As for Glacial National Park, the site is very much a southern expansion of the scenery appreciable in Jasper and Banff. True to its name, the park boasts of numerous glaciers, many of which interact with otherwise largely baron mountain faces (pictured above). The natural beauty is accented by certain bodies of water lingering about the premises, and while there may be no local equivalent of Lake Louise, some of the juxtapositions are nevertheless riveting (pictured below).

With regard to Great Falls, the city seems a rather genuine artifact. While various tourist-rich regional locales do their best to feign cowboy culture, this community is a bona fide member of the modern West. The main drags of town are heavily littered with saloons, many using slot machines and card games to lure patrons. Meanwhile, various steak houses – ranging widely in economic demand –crop up regularly, offering a vivid reminder of cattle’s regional supremacy. To be sure, citizens are not parading around town with holsters adorning their hips, but the collective ambiance is still decidedly Western, even if such presupposes the modern evolution of that categorization, which is often selectively frozen in time.

One Response »

BANFF, AB – A town facing something of an identity crisis, this picturesque locale seemingly waffles between assuming the dapper status of a Canadian Aspen and propagating the more rustic ambiance of an old Western town in Calgary’s distant shadow. This quasi-schizophrenic aura manifests awkwardly, with saloons plating gourmet cuisine and high-end retail establishments operating out of storefronts clad in stone and wood. To be sure, there is a veritable charm to Banff (pictured above), just not the precise community ethos one might expect from a locale literally surrounded by a similarly-titled national park.

That wilderness, incidentally, is breathtaking. Coupled with abutting Jasper National Park, Banff furnishes a citizen-friendly tour of the Canadian Rocky Mountains in their most pristine condition. While the gem of the production is surely Lake Louise, the oft glacier-clad residue of the experience ought not be discounted. The government not only makes the cumulative journey remarkably affordable (less than $10.00CAD for a day pass), but the literal construction of the internal highway infrastructure is as tourist-friendly as one might imagine. Copious shoulder space on many stretches of road, numerous turnout pits in which cars can temporarily park, and top-notch service facilities all render the experience a pure joy.

As with Banff, the community of Jasper is visible from a nearby peak, accessible by both hiking trail and express cable cars. The descending view (pictured below) juxtaposes brilliantly the scenery of nature and man, with refreshing – albeit thin – mountain air seemingly purifying the ascent. Throughout this northern park such gleeful panorama abound, with sporadic wildlife sightings contributing a certain depth to the context.

Perhaps it is that depth upon which the town of Banff is merely extrapolating.

2 Responses »

YELLOWKNIFE, NT – North of the 62nd latitudinal parallel, a nearly 1500 kilometer drive from the nearest major city, and showing many of the signs of arctic wear, this community fits nicely the stereotype of a frigid, remote outpost. Yet, at the center of a negligible “downtown” comprised of various low-rise buildings sits… Harry Winston. Not far away is… De Beers.

Think of Yellowknife not as a diamond in the rough but, rather, a rough in the diamonds. Aside from serving as the Northwest Territories’ capital, this community is at the heart of fertile gem country, with the infrastructure to connect otherwise wholly remote mines to the civilized world. Indeed, the downtown Harry Winston and De Beers are not poorly-chosen retail locales; they are office space for those overseeing the extraction of these precious jewels.

Made semi-famous by the inaugural season of the History Channel’s “Ice Road Truckers,” the Diavik Diamond Mine is located in a so thoroughly remote portion of the Northwest Territories that the grounds have no link to Canada’s highway system – not even a low-grade, poorly maintained gravel pathway. However, for a brief period each winter, the waters between the mine and Yellowknife form blocks of ice on which even large trucks can drive. Numerous ice roads (and similar “winter roads”) – some private, some public – populate this region, with Yellowknife being near many of their respective termini.

The more “traditional” paved roadway leading out of town, however, is also far from mundane. Wild bison are incredibly populous in this region of the world, and have a tendency to congregate near – and on – Highway 3, the first essential link back toward the Mackenzie Highway (pictured above). The overall quantity of automobiles in the Northwest Territories is generally insufficient to produce anything even vaguely resembling a “traffic jam,” but bison are wholly capable of furnishing a stop-and-go experience. Whatever the reason may be, these creatures do not appear the slightest bit intimidated by cars, trucks, or much of anything else. Resultantly, it is not at all unusual to shift a vehicle into park for several minutes while bison casually meander about the road, roaming back and forth at a rather leisurely pace. The experience is both frightful and surreal.

There is, of course, more to Yellowknife than diamonds and ice roads. The community itself is rich with native culture, with Inuktitut enjoying a certain modicum of lingual prominence, alongside the obligatory English and French, as well as certain other cultural tongues. Partially fueled by this native identity, there is an appreciable local art scene, with murals proving commonplace on building exteriors, and an almost-Bohemian culture touching certain local neighborhoods.

In exiting town, these strong roots continue to manifest alongside the highway itself. When not dodging bison, drivers are likely to take note of various stone structures known as inuksuit (a single inukshuk pictured below). Long used as literal landmarks – whether to guide a safe way home from the fields or note a particularly bountiful locale – these structures have become somewhat symbolic of Canada’s various northern regions, from Yellowknife to Goose Bay. Interestingly, early indications suggest the forthcoming Olympiad in Vancouver will provide a platform for the systematic commercialization of this ritualistic practice, with inuksuit appearing on t-shirts, pins and any number of other commemorative items.

Cumulatively, Yellowknife strikes as a unique haven of contrast. The high society of Harry Winston furnishes a foil to the blue collar truckers who navigate the local ice roads; the primitive inuksuit furnish a foil to the quasi-beatnik art scene; and the bison furnish a foil to the vehicles they delay. Many of these contrasts are simply precise manifestations of a much more macroscopic contrast: old versus new. Here, however, a charming balance is achieved, with certain elements of modern society somehow taking hold without diminishing the charm and heritage of society as it once existed on the northern shores of the Great Slave Lake.

One Response »

HAY RIVER, NT – A decidedly surreal element controls the drive up the Mackenzie Highway, from northern Alberta into the Northwest Territories. Thanks to the season and the locale, the sun begins its steady creep into the sky just after 5:00 AM, with clouds lingering over a local field (pictured below). After departing Peace River and nearby Grimshaw, the road leads predictably and casually north, with nature being interrupted only by the occasional small roadside community. A few hours later, however, one such community compounds the surrealism: just off the main road, in High Level, Alberta, sits the Flamingo Inn. Behind this lodging may be found the Sahara Motor Inn. And behind that establishment may be found the Stardust Motor Inn. (Cumulatively pictured above). Viva High Level!

The most surrealistic element, however, may well be the smallest. Though cars from the Northwest Territories are surely present all throughout the region – and the continent – it is around this juncture of the Mackenzie Highway that they truly become commonplace. Yet, in peering at such vehicles, it is quickly evident that one basic element is far from commonplace: the license plates. These tags do not match the usual rectangular mold that is standard in the various Canadian provinces (and entire United States). Nor, for that matter, are they the sort of ultra-wide rectangular markers that crop up throughout Europe. No, these license plates are not rectangles at all – they are shaped like polar bears. There is a head with an open mouth, a full body, the outline of a small tail, and four feet, with a the motto “Explore Canada’s Arctic” and a five-digit number (a subtle reminder of the scarce population).

In western Canada, the 60th latitudinal parallel marks the provincial/territorial border, with Yukon, Nunavut, and the Northwest Territories all emerging at this point, above British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba. East of the Hudson Bay, only Quebec and Labrador stretch north of this marker. It is at this point that a sign adorns the side of the Mackenzie Highway, and the speed limit temporarily declines. Why the speed limit thereafter increases is unclear; various wild animals – especially bison – have a tendency to freely roam the northern expanses of this roadway.

Ninety minutes north of the border, and a short drive down an offshoot of the Mackenzie Highway, is the community of Hay River, on the southern shores of the Great Slave Lake (named for a local native group of persons, not thralldom). Despite being a town of just over 3,500, Hay River is the second largest population center in the Northwest Territories, complete with an airport that literally bisects the community’s two primary drags. Railroad tracks weave through the locale, oftentimes alongside the river that offers forth the area’s name; boats can be seen scattered along this aquatic body and onto the Great Slave Lake, into which the river feeds.

Perhaps most symbolic of the utterly surreal experience that is the drive into the Northwest Territories, however, is a recent political anecdote concerning the lands themselves. With acreage having been chipped away from the region over time – forming various provincial areas and, most recently, Nunavut – a campaign was undertaken to rename the massive expanse. With various native identities running thick through differing parts of the territory, the search for an appropriately encompassing title proved difficult. Moreover, the Northwest Territories have eight official languages, a factoid as indicative of the underlying issue as compounding of the problem itself. Yet a name did emerge – one that played no favorites amongst heritages and, moreover, that could be evenly pronounced in every native tongue: Bob.

Yes, popular support actually started to accumulate behind this entirely bizarre notion – so much that this absurdity became the second most favored choice, before the government scrapped the whole renaming process. In a way, it might be poetic (inasmuch as the Jabberwocky is, too, poetic): driving through a strange Las Vegas satire, noticing metical polar bears affixed to local cars, crossing the 60th parallel, and slowing for the likes of bison – all to visit Bob.

One Response »

PEACE RIVER, AB – “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler,” famously lamented Robert Frost in “The Road Not Taken.” Passing through Valleyview, Alberta, the poetically wistful sentiment rings particularly true. A mere 151 miles to the east is Dawson Creek, British Columbia, and the foot of the Alaska Highway. A mere 101 miles to the north is Grimshaw, Alberta, and the foot of the Mackenzie Highway. An article of signage informs motorists of the fork in the road (pictured above).

Something of a pavement institution, the Alaska Highway allows travelers to follow the lyrics of Johnny Horton’s famed country ballad and make their way into the expansive land once mocked as “Seward’s Folly.” From there, a contiguous road system leads ultimately to the Dalton Highway, which offers a clean route to Deadhorse, just shy of the Arctic Ocean’s shores. The Dalton Highway, incidentally, is one of only two North American roads to venture inside of the Arctic Circle.

The other path into the Arctic Circle is the Dempster Highway, which, fittingly, is accessible through an intermediary road that shoots off of the Alaska Highway. The Dempster Highway’s terminus is Inuvik, inside the Canadian Northwest Territories, which can be found near the northern end of the Mackenzie River.

The southern end of that same river is tracked by the aforementioned eponymous highway. Oddly, this river is the only genuine commonality of the two roads; while the Mackenzie Highway does lead into the Northwest Territories, as well, it does not offer a path inside of the Arctic Circle, much less one to Inuvik. Those wishing to travel between Yellowknife and Inuvik via car must do so by way of both British Columbia and Yukon.

With this in mind, the significance of the fork in the road is all the more apparent: a western turn leads to the Alaska, Dalton and Dempster Highways; a northern turn leads to the Mackenzie Highway. Each of these four roads accompanies its travelers to some of the continent’s most remote outposts, yet each of these four roads also suggests to motorists a far different destination.

For various reasons, I bore right at the fork in the road, and am headed north, via Peace River (pictured below). The Mackenzie Highway begins in earnest just a few miles away, and soon enough I shall set off along its expanses. It may or may not be the road less traveled – I sincerely do not know – but I feel comfortable asserting it would only be a slight exaggeration to borrow Mr. Frost’s suggestion that “both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black.”

2 Responses »

LLOYDMINSTER, CANADA – To be clear: In western Saskatchewan, there is a city known as Lloydminster. In eastern Alberta, there is a city known as Lloydminster. These cities are one and the same. Four massive orange markers (two pictured below) separate City Hall from a side street; these denote the provincial boundary that roughly dissects this unitary community. Built to resemble massive survey sticks, these posts each soar 100 feet into the sky, making them the world’s largest known border markers.

This cross-provincial arrangement is relatively unique. While partner municipalities like Kansas City, Texarkana, and even the international Sault Ste. Marie may serve as informal communal fusions, Lloydminster is overseen by a single local government. This reality is rendered all the more impressive when one considers that Canadian provinces are generally viewed as enjoying far greater individual autonomy than the various states and commonwealths south of the border.

Aesthetically, the city of Lloydminster is mostly unremarkable. The highway leading into town from the southeast, however, is visually breathtaking. As referenced in my discussion of Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan’s countryside frequently displays relatively flat acreage highlighted by stunning shades of blue and yellow. Those of the former variety, when sufficiently dense and expansive, can even falsely suggest a flora-rich pond, at first glance (pictured above). The illusion, even if only momentary, proves endearing.

Incidentally, while the notion of a unitary cross-provincial community may strike as equally endearing – albeit in a different sense – it should be noted that Lloydminster’s geography is very much an accident. When the municipality was originally settled in 1903, the entire community was located firmly within the Northwest Territories. Two years later, on September 1, 1905, Saskatchewan and Alberta each became provinces, with the 110th longitudinal parallel being selected as their common border. Of course, here in Lloydminster, that parallel is better known by an alternative name: 50th Avenue.

One Response »

MOOSE JAW, SK – Meet Mac, a blissfully-named faux moose who entered this world in 1984. Located adjacent to one of this city’s entrances, Mac (pictured above) stands some 32 feet tall and, accordingly, is widely thought to be the world’s largest moose (real or otherwise). Visible from the Trans-Canada Highway, Mac furnishes an eye-grabbing contrast to the otherwise mostly flat, agricultural grounds that populate the Saskatchewan roadside, and offers an implicitly welcoming invitation for passersby to venture into this colorfully-named community.

To be sure, there is far more to Moose Jaw than Mac; the city is a veritable playground for history buffs, with – among other attractions – the Tunnels of Moose Jaw, which ask tourists to “Step into the life of a 1920s bootlegger in Al Capone’s illegal liquor operation…” Other local highlights include a riverboat tour, art gallery, and trio of museums. Though officially donning the slogan of “Surprisingly Unexpected,” the locale’s better-known, informal moniker is the “Friendly City,” and residents – at first blush – do their best to live up to this reputation. Tellingly, a recent bicycle theft proved sufficiently shocking to garner column inches in today’s edition of the local newspaper.

Near the center of Moose Jaw sits Crescent Park, home to expansive walkways, lengthy ponds, a playground, and a fountain surrounded by rather vivid floral arrangements (pictured below). Throughout the park are various commemorative markers, noting such things as a garden’s celebration of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II’s Golden Jubilee. These neatly-manicured grounds provide an interesting background to a downtown area that hosts architectural achievements that range from boldly creative to sadly mundane. The juxtaposition is occasionally extraordinary.

Most extraordinary, though, is surely Mac. As though the site of an enormous sculpted moose would not be invitingly bizarre in any surrounding, the oddity is personified in the context of Saskatchewan’s otherwise mostly-muted expanses. Though the southeastern portion of the province is highlighted by colorful fields bearing remarkable tones of yellow and blue, its topography is nearly one dimensional and consequential communities strike as few and far apart. That 32 vertical feet of fake moose appear roughly halfway between the Manitoba and Alberta borders is invitingly surreal; and the invitation proves a welcome one.

2 Responses »