A random Twelve Mile Circle reader became an unwitting inspiration for this article simply because of where he or she lived. The little dot within Idaho on my Google Analytics dashboard mentioned State Line. That seemed too good to be true. I’ve done plenty of articles about border towns although I’d never noticed that one before. It sounded like a good excuse to peel things back a layer and take a closer look.
State Line didn’t cover much area and only 38 people lived there (map). It seemed an odd situation until I uncovered a bit of history in an old newspaper article. This creation sprang to life in 1947 and existed for a very specific reason. Quite simply, "the town was incorporated so it could sell liquor and have slot machines." End of story.
Those who incorporated the town leveraged the adjacent state border, just enough over the line to fall outside of the laws of Washington State. Residents of the region’s dominant city — Spokane, Washington — needed only a short drive to take advantage of the more liberal alcohol and gambling rules of Idaho. Apparently incorporated towns in Idaho had some legal leeway to provide these services so State Line filled that niche. The town didn’t have to worry about do-gooders interfering with its business either; it carefully corralled a sympathetic population. I’ve explored similar themes before, e.g., in Right Up to the Line.
A lot of separate sins packed into that tiny package, too. I drove down Seltice Way, the main road through State Line, vicariously using Google Street View. From the border heading into Idaho I noticed a smokeshop, a liquor store, several taverns including a biker bar, and a building with no windows advertising "Show Girls." I wonder what could possibly be going on inside there? This is a family-friendly website so I’ll leave it at that. I also found the residential area consisting of a small trailer park. Maybe the show girls lived there? If so then one of them visited 12MC and landed on the Thelma and Louise Route Map. Maybe someone was planning a weekend getaway?
Idaho didn’t contain the only town with that familiar name. Stateline existed in Nevada, too. I talked about that one briefly in the Loneliest Road in the USA and it appeared in reader comments from time-to-time as well. South Lake Tahoe, on the California side, seemed like the average ski resort town. A gondola led up to the slopes, part of the Heavenly Mountain Resort. Just down the street, however, marked Nevada. Five humongous casinos rose starkly from the pavement barely inches onto the Nevada side of the border. This grouping represented the same basic premise as its Idaho counterpart, bringing convenient "sinful" businesses closer to the masses.
A morbid geo-oddity of sorts existed in Stateline. The ski resort included trails on both sides of the border. Skiers crossed the state border on several of the runs. That was a worthwhile oddity by itself of course, although that wasn’t the morbid part. Something awful happened there in 1998. That’s when Sonny Bono, the lesser-known half of Sonny and Cher, slammed into a tree on the Orion slope (map). Bono died in Stateline on a border-crossing trail.
Stateline existed as one of thirteen townships in Sherman County, Kansas. The name went back historically to the 19th Century and simply represented its geographic placement next to Colorado. Stateline didn’t exist to entice people across the border and only 344 people lived there in the most recent Census. The township contained only one settlement of any size, Kanorado (map), the home of about half of Stateline’s residents. That still made it large enough to serve as Sherman County’s second largest town. My attention automatically focused on that spot because, as longtime readers know, I love a good portmanteau. The name combined and shortened Kansas and Colorado into Kanorado. It’s website noted that someone originally named it Lamborn. I preferred Kanorado. Excellent choice.
This one also existed in a bit of a geo-oddity. Only four counties recognized Kansas Mountain Time, including Sherman County. Of course that also included Stateline Township and the village of Kanorado. From my experience driving directly through there on Interstate 70 several years ago, I couldn’t determine why the area felt more aligned to Mountain Time. It seemed really remote, regardless. Either one should be fine. Nonetheless residents apparently felt otherwise and aligned chronologically with Colorado. Actually, as I thought about it more, Stateline should probably exist on the Colorado side instead. Colorado seemed to feature more sins than Kansas, particularly cannabis and perhaps alcohol too. The current Stateline alignment represented lost economic opportunities.
I found other State Lines and Statelines. For instance, check out State Line Pond in Connecticut. It also had its own website, believe it or not. From its description,
State Line Pond is an approximately 75 acre lake in Stafford Springs, Connecticut on the Massachusetts border at Monson, MA. The lake was formed when a stream running through a meadow was intentionally flooded approximately 150 years ago. For many years, the Stafford Ice House "harvested" ice by horse from the lake during the winter and delivered it to restaurants, homes and businesses as far away as Boston.
Even more obscure places existed in the form of State Line, Mississippi and State Line, Indiana. I couldn’t find much about either place other than their existence.
I came home sooner than I would have wanted, the journey over, a feeling that always seemed to settle upon me after a trek through hidden rural corners. I decompressed and began to process a trove of memories, sharing many of them with the Twelve Mile Circle audience. Some of those thoughts didn’t fit neatly into bundles so I collected them into their own indiscriminate pile.
By now I’m sure everyone figured out that I finally got to see Steve from CTMQ in person again. We met for dinner at a well-regarded restaurant, Millwright’s in Simsbury, Connecticut (map). We caught-up on a lot of things since our epic Connecticut Road Trip of years ago and swapped a couple of rare bottles of craft beer to enjoy later.
Go read Steve’s blog. His writing and insight is much better than mine.
Reader "Joel" sent a message last March about a place he’d seen on a map of Northfield, Massachusetts. It was called Satan’s Kingdom. Indeed it was a real place and clearly included in the US Geological Survey’s Geographic Names Information System. There was even a Satan’s Kingdom Wildlife Management Area with a nice trail that followed "an old logging road from Old Vernon Rd. to the top of the ridge" with a "view of the valley."
I tried my hardest to find the history of Satan’s Kingdom and how it earned its devilish name. The only real source I saw, such as it was, came from a segment aired on a local television station. A person who worked at the wildlife management area explained that the name traced back to colonial times. It wasn’t meant to reference anything truly satanic, rather it served as a warning to people long ago that they needed to be careful in an uncharted area. There might be hostile animals or other dangers. That explanation seemed a lot more plausible than legends of demons roaming the dark woods as I bet circulated around Northfield.
Of course I had to visit Satan’s Kingdom and sift through the evidence firsthand. First I had to find it. I’d seen photographs on the Intertubes although nobody specified the exact location. I took an educated guess and picked the right spot. It was time for me to do my good deed for the day — the sign was at the trailhead, specifically at latitude/longitude 42.705583,-72.492348. You’re welcome. Tell Beelzebub I said hello.
Well, at least I didn’t dedicate an entire article to brewery visits this time like I’ve done before. My philosophy remained the same, that I needed to eat somewhere so it might as well be a place with decent beer. I visited ten breweries and/or brewpubs during the excursion, all but Harpoon for the first time.
The five bronze sculptures include Dr. Seuss busily working at his drawing board with the Cat in the Hat standing at his side as his muse, and lots of other favorite Dr. Seuss characters such as Horton the Elephant, Yertle the Turtle, the Grinch and his dog Max, the Lorax, Gertrude McFuzz, Things One and Two, and the lovable Thidwick the Moose.
The official website for the sculpture garden then went on to explain,
Theodor Seuss Geisel was born on Howard Street in Springfield in 1904 and grew up on Fairfield Street in the city’s Forest Park neighborhood. His father was a parks commissioner and was in charge of the Forest ParkZoo, a regular playground for young Theodor Geisel. Springfield imagery can be seen throughout his work in the names of streets, the drawings of buildings, the names of his characters, and numerous other references.
It’s been a long time since I read any Dr. Seuss tales although I remembered all of his characters fondly. The sculpture garden brought back a flood of pleasant memories from childhood. Someday I’ll have to see if I can find any of those Springfield references. There must have been some pretty odd places in town if buildings in Springfield influenced the architecture of Dr. Seuss books.
Oh Yeh, Natural Beauty
My whirlwind tour did little justice to an appreciation of the natural beauty of New England. We drove from race-to-race, touring each afternoon as we could, then going to bed tired and early so we would be ready for the next race starting at 6:00 am. That didn’t give us nearly enough time to really dig in and enjoy all that the scenery had to offer. Everything was a quick drive-by, a blur. Still, beauty sometimes appeared unexpectedly; a mountain view from a highway, a small town set deep within a hollow, a stream flowing through forest. The races were all held in very rural locations and sometimes the terrain provided wonderful backdrops, like these rapids in Vermont (map). I don’t think most of the runners noticed it though.
Bridges? Not another article about bridges gasped a sizable portion of the Twelve Mile Circle audience. Yes, I decided to feature more bridges, all from my latest journey. This time I added a bit of a twist. The first two bridges were more interesting than usual. Then I segued back to my standard fare of covered bridges that one should feel free to read about or simply look at the pretty pictures and move along. I won’t take it personally.
Steve from CTMQ and I continued trading tweets as my path finally hit Connecticut and we approached our in-person visit. I’d made it as far as Willimantic for lunch at Willimantic Brewing and would see Steve that evening. He noticed my lunchtime tweet and suggested I see a nearby geo-oddity. It was a bridge. He cited a Wikipedia page on the subject:
Willimantic Footbridge: Willimantic is the home of the Willimantic Footbridge (established in 1907), which is the only footbridge in the United States to connect two state highways, as well as crossing all three major forms of transportation (road, rail, and river).
It sounded fascinating and it was an easy walk so I strolled there after lunch (map). Wikipedia didn’t have a completely accurate listing however, a billionth example of why one shouldn’t place complete confidence in its claims. A marker at the base of the bridge said,
A landmark since 1906, the 635-foot-long footbridge connects the city’s commercial core with a residential area to the south. It is the only such structure east of the Mississippi to span sidewalks, vehicle traffic, an active railroad and a river…
The Willimantic Footbridge represented something remarkable either for the United States or for some portion thereof, I supposed. I walked from one end and back, then headed to my car for the onward journey towards Hartford. I never figured out why Willimantic even had a pedestrian bridge. It didn’t seem like it offered much of a shortcut. Maybe the larger crossings came later.
Walkway Over the Hudson
I debunked the Willimantic Footbridge claim the very next day. The-Very-Next-Day. I hadn’t planned to poke a hole in the pride and joy of Willimantic, it just happened. The Walkway Over the Hudson first appeared on 12MC in an article I called Impressive Pedestrian Bridges. It began as a railroad bridge, fell into decay, and blossomed again when preservationists converted it to pedestrian use, a linear park over the Hudson River. Guinness World Records proclaimed its 1.28 mile (2.06 kilometre) span "the world’s longest pedestrian bridge." I’d hope to see this ever since I started planning my trip. I knew we’d go there once we got to Poughkeepsie, New York (map).
Thoughts of Willimantic came to mind as I walked over the mighty Hudson. I passed above streets, several residential and even a highway. I passed over two sets of train tracks on either side of the river including one that serviced Amtrak. Of course I passed over the Hudson River itself, considerably more imposing than the diminutive Willimantic River. I supposed the marker in Willimantic must have been posted before 2009 when the Walkway Over the Hudson opened as a pedestrian passage. They needed to change it to read "the only such structure east of the Hudson," or something like that, although it wasn’t nearly as impressive. Or maybe they could qualify it by calling it the only such structure designed as a pedestrian bridge. Or maybe they could just pretend the Walkway Over the Hudson didn’t exist, which is probably what actually happened.
Days fell into themes. There was a day of geo-oddities, a day of history, a day of county counting, and a day of breweries. Our drive between races in Maine and New Hampshire was particularly brief so we had plenty of extra time to explore the countryside. Ironically, there wasn’t much to see besides the scenery. There were plenty of covered bridges though, all in close alignment while our path seemed followed the Contoocook River. I’d never hear of the Contoocook. It flowed for about 70 mi (110 km) through an attractive stretch of southern New Hampshire popular with anglers and boaters, a perfect backdrop for covered bridges.
Four bridges could be visited easily in less than an hour.
Contoocook Railroad Bridge
With a river called Contoocook, one might naturally expect a town called Contoocook, and so it came to pass. A railroad came through that town and over that river, and it needed a bridge. This was the first time I’d seen a covered bridge built specifically for trains (map). An historic marker at the site explained,
Built in 1899 on the granite abutments of an older span, this is the world’s oldest surviving covered railroad bridge. It was probably designed by Boston & Maine Railroad engineer Jonathan Parker Snow (1848-1933) and built by carpenter David Hazelton (1832-1908). Under Snow, the Boston & Maine utilized wooden bridges on its branch lines until after 1900, longer than any other major railroad…
Remembering once again that Willimantic marker, I didn’t know whether I could trust the longevity claim or not. Who was I to doubt it though?
Next came Hopkinton and Rowell’s Covered Bridge (map). This crossing was old, built in 1853, and still stood strong. We drove across it a couple of times and it seemed quite sturdy.
At the complete opposite end of history stood the Henniker Bridge, taking the name of the town where it stood (map). Its modern construction reflected traditional techniques so it was hard to tell that it dated only to 1972. This was more of an architectural statement than a utilitarian structure, a footpath between the main campus of New England College and nearby athletic fields on the other side of the Contoocook. It could be difficult to find parking on a busy campus although it wasn’t a problem here. The college dedicated a couple of 15-minute parking spots near the base of the bridge, behind Colby Hall, one of its residential buildings.
The final covered bridge on this brief excursion along the Contoocook River fell along our direct route without even a minor detour (map). We couldn’t have missed this bridge if we’d wanted to because we drove right across it on the way to our race at Greenfield State Park. Here the Contoocook marked the boundary between the towns of Hancock and Greenfield so that added slightly to my interest. This was a "newer" bridge too, albeit not quite as new as Henniker, being built in 1937.