Tag Archives: Colorado

Kings of the road

Well, if I’m going to spend all this time talking about roadside attractions, I would be remiss if I didn’t include the legendary Muffler Men—guardians of gas stations, presidents of photo ops. If you’ve ever taken a road trip, you’ve probably seen at least one of these guys along the way.

These behemoths started appearing in the early 1960s (the very first one was on Route 66), to promote the brand new International Fiberglass Company in California. For whatever reason, they usually ended up in front of gas stations, holding giant mufflers—hence the nickname.

By 1970 there were thousands of them around the country, but the 1973 oil crisis forced the decline and eventual demise of International Fiberglass. These days the muffler men are an endangered species, down to just a few hundred stalwart lads (and a handful of lasses, too!).

For me, finding them has turned into something of a quest—and not just because I’m a completist (though, of course I am). You see, the most fun thing about these guys is that they’re not identical—there are many, many variations on the original design (and a few knock-offs, to boot).

Probably the most common variation is the Paul Bunyan—they’re certainly the most recognizable, even when their axes get stolen.

And when they’re spiffed up to their original glory, they’re unmistakeable. (This one is a mobile muffler man! When he surprised me at the local Daffodil Parade a few years ago, it felt like Christmas had come early.)

Though I’ll never pass up any iteration of Paul Bunyan, I’m most excited about the rare, extreme variants, the roadside sideshow—the Uniroyal Gals, the Happy Halfwits, the Carpet Vikings.

And best of all are the mutant modifications that have happened to some of these guys (you should have heard me squeal when I found this one!). Some have been altered so much as to be rendered almost unrecognizable. But you can’t fool me—once a muffler man, always a muffler man.

So tell me: have you found any muffler men in your travels? Do you have one in your neighborhood? I’m always on the look-out for a good one, so if you have any recommendations, I’m all (rabbit) ears.

Save

Fossil fuel

It’s very common to find giant fiberglass statues and other roadside attractions plonked down in front of gas stations. After all, where are you more likely to stop along the way?

Gas stations that are roadside attractions in and of themselves? Well, now, that’s more of a rare bird.

Quiet on set

I loved Mork & Mindy as a kid—not simply because it was funny, but because it’s the first show I watched that had a strong sense of place. Silly comedies aside, it’s amazing how much that quality has affected me now—has affected the person I have become. And I realized that so much of Robin Williams’s work has had that inherent sense of place—The Birdcage, Mrs. Doubtfire, Insomnia, Jakob the Liar, Dead Poets Society, etc.—that I love so much, that I look for everywhere.

So thank you, Robin, for giving me so much more than a good laugh. May you be at peace.

Big rig

The day I made this sketch was the first time I’d ever stayed in any sort of RV or motorhome (the Tailor and I are more of a tent-camping couple ourselves). But when we joined the Tailor’s aunt and uncle for a few days in Rocky Mountain National Park, I felt like I was having some sort of exciting road trip rite of passage—like I’d suddenly, finally upgraded my Americana membership.

Besides, I have to say, it’s a pretty amazing feeling to wake up next to this:

…without the stiff neck and sore back of having to sleep on the ground first!

Front Range from the front seat

There are some roads I have traveled so often that I have permanently etched into my memory every landmark, every sign, every single geographical feature along the way. The seventy miles between Colorado Springs and Denver is one of those stretches. When I was a kid, I knew exactly how far we were from our destination by which butte we passed; the profiles of every mountain in every season; and which hill was next to appear on the horizon. Every time I go back, no matter how much farmland has been converted into brand new suburbs, the mountains never change—and my mental map gets retraced with the same lines. On this day, I sketched while the Tailor drove, but I just as easily could have done this from memory—laying out every hill and peak along the route on one long, continuous sheet of paper.

Quick Draw McGraw

What can I say? Sign says “Draw,” I reach for my pen.

Save

B.P.O.E.

Probably the most spectacular thing about Rocky Mountain National Park is the alpine tundra landscape above the treeline. The Tailor and I found a well-marked hiking trail up there and struck out, hoping to catch a glimpse of a pika or two among the glacier-strewn rocks.

What we got instead was a little more than we bargained for: a whole herd of elk caught up with us, stepping right into our path (literally!), just yards from where we stood, lazily blocking our way back. There was nothing for it but to stand still, pinned to a rock (uncomfortably close to the cliff edge, I might add), and wait patiently for them to move on. They were utterly uninterested in us, but still—big, unpredictable, wild animals with pointy weapons sticking out of their heads make me nervous.

When the path cleared and we got the heck out of there, we found more hanging out near the car. Sigh.

But hey. At least I had plenty of time to get a good look at them—and nowhere to go but into my bag for my sketchbook and pen.

Living library

I love sketching wildflowers and other plants—but unfortunately, I’m really not great at identifying them. Of course, sketching is an excellent way to cement the information into your brain, but it doesn’t help much when you’re not sure what you’re looking at. I’m not a fan of standing there, juggling sketchbook and guidebook, trying to find one particular yellow flower amongst a huge grid of yellow flower photos (that all look, well, frankly identical to each other, and not at all like what’s in front of me), just to label my drawing correctly.

Enter the National Park Service. Wondering what kind of unusual flower that is? Forgot the name of that cactus? Just look around—nine times out of ten there’ll be a little engraved label nearby. Not near a marked trail? Just look in the little pamphlet the ranger handed you when you arrived! I swear, park rangers are the librarians of the natural world (and since I’m always telling people that librarians and park rangers are the most helpful folks on earth, this seems to fit).

I rely on this so much that when I’m not in a national park (or arboretum, or conservatory), I get frustrated. I mean, how great would it be if every front-yard garden, every school hedgerow, every city park came equipped with tiny interpretive signs?

Because after all, you never know when a sketcher is going to happen by.

Retro Row

Manitou Springs has been a tourist attraction since the 1870s—first for its “medicinal” mineral springs, and then for its wild-west remnants and mountain location. For decades it’s been chock-a-block with midcentury motels and vintage neon—and by some miracle, nearly all of them are still around.

Every time I come back here, I run around town to do a sort of frantic inventory of these places, always amazed and relieved to find things more or less as I left them. These signs have been my old friends for over twenty years. I’m hoping against hope they’ll fare better than Giuffrida’s, and that there’s still a lot of life left in them.

Mile High City Hall

This has always been my favorite building in Denver. When I lived in Colorado as a kid, and my family would visit the city, I always wanted Dad to drive the loop around the Civic Center. Then, as we passed on Bannock Street, I’d look out the window and crane my neck to watch the curved colonnade sweep by.

I still do that, come to think of it. The Tailor and I still have family in Denver, and whenever we’re in town visiting, there I am gazing upward on Bannock Street.

The building becomes a riot of color during the holiday season, when they light up the façade at night. I still haven’t managed to sketch that yet—maybe I’ll bump it to the top of the to-do list.

ETA: Update! I finally got to sketch the City & County Building in its holiday colors—you can find my sketches here.