This isn’t a belated April Fool’s joke. No hoax. No ruse. No scam. It’s the real deal. Big Foot!
But let me back up a bit. Way back to 1983. That’s the year when a classic road trip film was released – National Lampoon’s Vacation. You knew what kind of movie it was going to be pretty early on, about the time Clark Griswold (played by Chevy Chase) declared, “Hey, hey, easy kids. Everybody in the car. Boat leaves in two minutes... or perhaps you don't want to see the second largest ball of twine on the face of the earth, which is only four short hours away?"
Yes, here in America we’re obsessed with superlatives. The biggest this. The tallest that. It has spawned a small-town frenzy to see who can come up with the quirkiest tourist attraction.
I’ve seen a handful of these – the World’s Largest Themometer (Baker, CA), the World’s Largest Wagon (Spokane, WA), the World’s Largest Buffalo (Jamestown, ND), the World’s Largest Muskie (Hayward, WI), the World’s Largest Dinosaurs (Cabazon, CA), the World’s Largest Tire (Allen Park, MI), the World’s Largest Drug Store (Wall, SD), even the World’s Largest McDonald’s (Orlando, FL).
But it gets weirder. Try hard enough and you can find places boasting, among other absurdities, the world’s largest spinach can (Alma, AR), ketchup bottle (Collinsville, IL), cheese wheel (Berlin, OH), yo-yo (Chico, CA), hairball (Garden City, KS), Ten Commandments (Murphy, NC), and fake nose and glasses (Michigan City, IN).
But if you really want to catch a glimpse of a bunch of strange sculptures – in one convenient location – all you have to do is point your RV toward Vining, Minnesota (population 68). Go there and visit Big Foot Gas and Grocery. You can’t miss it. It’s fronted by a sculpture of an enormous coffee cup suspended by a stream of coffee. It looks as though it is being poured by an invisible giant. Next to the gas station is Nyberg Park, which I can only describe as a sort of psychedelic sculpture garden. There are about a dozen oversized creations there – an immense watermelon being sliced by a knife as big as a canoe, a colossal set of pliers, a massive square knot, a giant elk, a huge potted cactus.
All of the creations are the products of the off-beat imagination of a friendly fellow named Ken Nyberg, who is now in his early seventies. I met him a few years ago at his workshop, which is about a mile up the road, not too far from the 20-foot-tall clothespin that looks down on the tiny Vining post office and the 1,200-pound foot (complete with swollen big toe) that was his very first creation. Yes, that Big Foot.
I asked Ken why he does it – sometimes for a commission (i.e. a huge otter for the community of Ottertail), but usually on a whim. He gave the answer I should have expected: “Why not?”
For one thing, his creations have put Vining on the map – or at least in the quirky pages of Roadside America guides. For another, he has learned to appreciate the great gift of retirement – the luxury of having options instead of responsibilities. So he simply opts to construct the World’s Largest Doorknob.
And here’s another factoid about Ken Nyberg: In June 2008, his daughter, Karen, was part of a seven-member crew that undertook a 14-day mission aboard NASA’s space shuttle Discovery, making her one of only a few dozen female astronauts ever to rocket into space. So I’d say she’s his most impressive creation.
Meanwhile, here’s one LARGE step for mankind:
So here I was, driving through northeastern Indiana, I was traveling with extra vigilance because the trip was part of the immersion experience for my next book (Turn Left at the Trojan Horse, coming soon to a bookstore near you). Specifically, I was headed for a town called Plato, one of many Greek-and-mythology-themed places that were part of my itinerary as I approximated a cross-country version of The Iliad and The Odyssey.
Plato is at the eastern fringe of one of the nation’s largest Amish communities. In fact, I had spent much of the previous day in the little town of Shipshewana, where there is a twice-a-week flea market in which some 860 vendors descend on the community of 536 people. There is also a museum there devoted to the history and culture of the Amish community (the Menno-Hof Museum). When late afternoon arrived, I took a horse-and-buggy ride into the countryside, where I was fed dinner by an Amish family – a enlightening, if slightly uncomfortable, experience.
So I wasn’t too surprised when I finally arrived in the little crossroads of Plato (and that’s pretty much all it is) and the first thing I witnessed was an Amish buggy clopping in the opposite direction. The second thing I encountered was basically the only commercial establishment in town – a business (LaGrange Monument Works) that sells tombstones.
But here’s the funny thing: Along the highway, right in front of the business, there stands a no passing zone sign. Can I possibly be the first person to get a chuckle out of this juxtaposition?
I revel in ironic signs like that, signs that break up a long drive by offering an opportunity for a spontaneous grin. I remember when Amy and I made our first visit to Yosemite, arriving at an RV campground at the Fishing Bridge area of the park. The current bridge itself is more than 70 years old now, and it used to be a very popular place to fish because it was apparently a major spawning area for cutthroat trout. But when the trout population began to dwindle in the early 1970s, the activity was curtailed.
So it was that we arrived to drive past a sign that said FISHING BRIDGE. And then, about ten feet later: CLOSED TO FISHING. That one’s in our scrapbook, along with snapshots of bison grazing and geysers spraying.
I’ve got one more. Right after my journey through Plato, I motored into Ohio and headed for a town called Pandora. Greek mythology aficionados may recall her as the woman who unleashed misery on mankind by opening the lid of a jar (or box) that was supposed to remain unopened. Out came a multitude of plagues – sorrow and mischief, spite and envy, everything from revenge to rheumatism. All that was left, sitting in the bottom of the jar, was hope.
So again, I wasn’t all that surprised when I arrived in the Rockwellian community in west-central Ohio to find an eatery called Pandora’s Lunch Box. But check out what I came across in the photo below. Given the tale behind the name, this cracked me up:
Last year, one of my New Year’s resolutions was to see some of the nation’s great locales that I haven’t yet visited. I listed 20 places on my to-do list – from Glacier National Park to Fenway Park – and I managed to cross five of them (including Key West and the Everglades) off the list this past summer.
I plan to cross off a few more this coming summer, including Burlington (Vermont), the Adirondacks and Acadia National Park. Meanwhile, I have another list that I’m resolved to solve. There are four quirky places (each sharing a similar motif) that I’d like to visit, if only to quench some curiosity:
Cadillac Ranch – Located in a cow pasture along I-40 just west of Amarillo, Texas, this is essentially a collection of used, graffiti-covered Cadillacs, half-buried, nose-first, all leaning in the same direction. Art, of course, is a matter of perspective. One person’s junkyard is another’s public sculpture masterpiece. But either way, it’s sort of irresistible. Besides, visitors are encouraged to add their own graffiti.
Carhenge – Like Cadillac Ranch, this attraction is open 24 hours a day, no admission (though donations are gladly accepted). And like the Ranch, there are mid-19th century cars involved. But these are painted gray and specifically buried or balanced to replicate Stonehenge, that mysterious Wonder of the World in England. All 38 stones of Stonehenge are represented. Also on site – outside of Alliance, Nebraska – is the Car Art Reserve. This consists of sculptures made entirely of cars and/or car parts.
Stonehenge – It’s the brainchild of an entrepreneur and road builder named Sam Hill. He envisioned a Quaker community in south-central Washington (on the outskirts of Goldendale), but he was the only Quaker who moved there. Instead, he built a French mansion on a cliff overlooking the Columbia River, which is now the quirky Maryhill Museum of Art (which includes original works by Rodin). Nearby sits an 80-year-old concrete replica of Stonehenge that Hill commissioned as a monument to the sacrifices of war. I’m not sure what the connection is, but it’s cheaper than sacrificing $$ to visit England.
Stonehenge II – Yep, there’s one more. About three-quarters the size of England’s original, this one is in the Texas outback, way off the beaten path, but not too far from the city of Kerrville. On either side of it are a couple of 13-foot-high Eastern Island statues, just for good measure. It’s sort of like putting a replica Statue of Liberty next to a replica Great Pyramid. But that’s just quibbling… (and that’s just Las Vegas).
There also used to be an attraction near Santa Fe, New Mexico known as – get this – Stonefridge: A Fridgehenge. That’s right – junked refrigerators placed in that familiar mystical pattern. It was created in 2003, but within a few years it had fallen into disrepair, and apparently it has since been removed.
Still, you have to admire American ingenuity. We take a world-class icon and make it our own, for better or for worse. So I vow to visit at least one of them.
