This building in the city of Vandalia falls solidly into the "roadside artifact" category: It's an old Texaco building in the Walter Teague style that was so common everywhere once upon a time ago. It's also unusual for having three service bays (most had two), and for preserving the original porcelain enamel coloring instead of being slathered over in an indifferent shade of paint.

I came upon this billboard somewhere near the edge of Pike County, and felt right at home.

As a final treat of the day, while driving through Louisiana, Missouri (see what I mean about being geographically confused?) I glanced out the window and saw some familiar-looking archways on the far end of a shopping center. It turned out to be the calling card of a 1970s-era Kroger store at the opposite end of the concourse...an artifact of their long-defunct St. Louis division, no doubt. The building itself was now housing a store by the name of County Market, and had a fresh and modern renovation.

In reverse scenario from my drive the other way, the sun set on me as I crossed the bridge into Illinois...so my pictures ended there. I soon found myself driving through utter darkness looking frantically for a spot to take a diarrheic toilet break, since my lunch of the day had not gone over well.

And so ended my conference and road trip repertoire of 2015.

It seems that the canopy roof on this onetime gas station in Springfield had a little...mishap. Either that, or it lost the will to have any semblance of structural integrity. I believe it was a Conoco originally.

I stopped and stared when I discovered a building by the old city hall in Lebanon, Missouri with the unfortunate name "Reagan" inscribed into it. Oh well...

This is the ex-pizza Insurance Hut of Mexico, Missouri. (Yes, I was starting to feel increasingly geographically confused.)

Like Wisconsin, the state of Missouri refers to secondary highways by letters rather than numbers. Usually this is fine, but once in a while this causes a truly horrible juxtaposition to result.

To be continued in part 2...

The weekend of November 13th to 15th was the weekend of Skepticon…the signature conference of the atheist/skeptic movement; held every year in the Bible Belt city of Springfield, Missouri.

I drove straight home the evening of the 15th, collapsed into bed, and plunged straight into a hectic work week. If there was time for any respite, it didn't last long: Days after that I was in the hospital, having a cyst on my finger removed. The surgery went well, but my hand was wrapped in bandages and I could barely type for the next two weeks.

December was yet another month of preoccupations. Once going through the year-end household chores and Christmas routines, however, it was time to go right back and finish what I had set out to do more than a month ago: A write-up about my experiences at Skepticon.

Skepticon was a new experience for me, but Springfield wasn't: I passed through the city on my way to the year's ALPCA Convention in Arkansas last summer. Not surprisingly, my journey through Illinois and Missouri closely paralleled my path from five months earlier; though I bore southwest from Rockford and drove on different highways to provide a bit of variety.

As for artifacts and roadside architecture sights along the way? There was plenty of that to go around. I'm not sure which of these may have been the better find: This early 1960s Texaco station in Milan, Illinois with perfectly-preserved green and white porcelain enamel, or this 1930s-40s Standard building in Macomb with art deco lettering.

Eventually I ended up on U.S. 54...a highway that would take me out of Illinois and far into Missouri. Alas, the Clark 54 Drive-In in Rockford had recently closed; though I wouldn't have had time for a movie show that evening anyway. Seems the property was a victim of the digital projection transition.

Minutes after the sun disappeared over the horizon, I crossed the Mississippi on a quaint, narrow truss bridge built in 1928. By driving this way, I had the feeling that I was partaking in an experience not long for this world...and indeed, a new bridge is reportedly in the works.

Then, I was in the dark. Since it was too dim for any sightseeing or photography, I drove like hell through the bulk of Missouri; eventually reaching my hotel after approximately 12 hours on the road.

The hotel in Springfield was easy to find, but it felt like an enclave. It was removed from downtown, separated from the road by a long driveway and security gate, and directly attached to the host convention center so that I didn't even need to step outdoors: Undeniably convenient, but isolating. I felt as if I was in a world away from the spectacle of southern Missouri that surrounded me...and if I was going to have a taste of local happenings, it was going to have to come through the words, actions, and interactions of the people who were there.

Why hadn't I attended Skepticon before? Years ago, I didn't attend Skepticon for the same reason I didn't attend the Reason Rally in 2012: I was confined by my circumstances. In more recent times, the main impediment was simply the fact that the conference was in the middle of November...and I usually don't feel like doing anything at that time of year. I got as far as pre-registering for Skepticon 6 in 2013, but chickened out at the last minute. 2015, however, has been the year of cons: After the Freethought Festival in Madison, the aforementioned ALPCA convention, and River City Reason Fest in Manitoba, Skepticon was merely the cherry on top.

For a ways through Wisconsin, I wound up drafting behind the creaky promotional vehicle of a California longboard purveyor. Not sure where they were heading to (it turned north at Tomah and I never saw it again), but they got my attention.

Shortly afterward, a minivan barreled by in the passing lane...and I scarcely could believe what I saw on the back. It was a Yukon Territory license plate: A rare reminder of Canada's remote and distant Arctic north, with a population of barely 33,000 and separated from the present place by thousands of km. This is the only one I have ever seen on the road in my life.

The rest of the last leg of the drive was fairly uneventful. I did manage to stop the car to shoot one final kitchy roadside sight: An upended truck and trailer mounted to a pole near Mauston, Wisconsin. In case you're skeptical, that is a real truck, and it even had a license plate on the back...a really ratty semi trailer issue from the late 1980s, if you're really curious. The sign used to look even more bizarre, with a repurposed Amoco torch-topped signframe at the very top: This was replaced by a more prosaic rectangle in the recent past.

Dusk fell and an hour later I drove into Madison, where everything was more or less the same as it was when I left it. Home sweet home; such as it is.

Was the excursion to Manitoba worth it? Yes. I met great people, heard great messages, had great experiences, and saw great scenes both there and along the way...even if not every part of the trip was great. Winnipeg in particular had the feel of a very diverse and humane city, and I hope to go back there someday.

Since I returned, Canada underwent a federal election and managed to elect the Liberal Party to a 184-seat majority government with Pierre's son as Prime Minister. While Trudeau wouldn't have been my first choice, he's helluva lot better than the "Republican north" leadership of Stephen Harper that's reduced Canada to a terror-milking, Kyoto-withdrawing, voter-suppressing laughingstock over the last ten years. One USA on this continent is more than enough.

The history of the brewery dates back to 1854, when John Gund opened a small operation at the corner of Front and Division Streets. Gund expanded into a partnership with Gottlieb Heileman four years later, who eventually took over the business outright and branded it under his name. Heileman spent the 1960s and 1970s buying up other breweries, stumbled in the 1980s fending off competition and corporate raiders, and spent the 1990s in a state of sporadic bankruptcy. By 1999 Heileman had ceased to exist as an independent company and the brewery closed, with Pabst walking off with the trademarks. The premises didn't stay quiet for long, however, for they were sold to investors who promptly reopened them under the City Brewing name.

The oldest portion of the property is the Gottlieb and Johanna Heileman family mansion, which adjoins the brewery and dates back to 1875.

Today, the brewery's primary purpose of existence is to produce beers (and non-beer beverages) under contract for other firms. City Brewing does however produce its own La Cross Lager for local distribution, which is allegedly the real Old Style recipe while the Old Style currently in stores is an imposter. (Not that it matters...most beers of a certain color and consistency taste a lot alike, and I doubt a pack of sweaty Cubs fans would tell the difference if their life depended on it.)

Old Style labelscar is still discernable in a number of places.

Decorated storage tanks (dubbed the "world's largest six pack") were added by Heileman in the 1960s. Although impressive, the graphics on the tanks are starting to look a little worse for wear and fading...and in fact, the wrap-up had separated on one tank entirely, revealing the Old Style logo.

For lack of anything better to do, I wandered to the Crossroads Center mall. It wasn't quite ten o'clock; so while the interior corridor was open, the stores weren't. Were there any interesting relics to be found of retailers past? Yes, in the singular: The south anchor was a two-story JCPenney store that was disturbingly similar to the one at Dixie Square...right down to the vertical channels in the facade. There wasn't much else, though: The mall reportedly opened in 1966, but it had been expanded and renovated so severely and so often over the years that nothing else even the slightest bit original remained. The interior did feature a loop-shaped corridor that left about a third of the stores "mall-locked" in the middle, which was a bit unusual.

More roadside artifacts in and around St. Cloud: A vaguely Bavarian-styled service garage with a pegasus indicating a past existence as a Mobil station. Surprisingly, the business has its own website with a history page, which notes the construction year as 1927.

Moments later on U.S. 10, I stumbled upon a barn-style Dairy Queen with a 1960s mascot statue on the roof...worth a few points in rarity, if nothing else. (The picture also turned out as proof that my digital camera is brimming with dust, as splotches appear on any frame taken with the optical zoom on a sunny day.)

Sadly, I scarcely got to see any more of Minneapolis and St. Paul on the last day of the trip than I did at the beginning. After realizing that half the day was gone and I hadn't even gotten out of Minnesota's 6th congressional district yet, I drove...and drove, and drove, and drove, until all traces of traffic congestion and city life were left behind. I didn't catch a break until I was in Winona, where I got a bite to eat (promptly discovering both a price error on the menu board and a cent from 1930 in my change) and wound up with one more JCPenney picture for my collection...this time in the form of a bizarre construct split with a Fastenel industrial warehouse at the other end and a whole lot of nothing in the middle. Evidently an Econo Foods supermarket was housed here until 2005, but I really wonder what the full story behind this place was.

Eventually I came to the town of Thief River Falls, where I happened upon a strange, non-taxpaying reuse of what appeared to be an old Conoco station. The less said about their doctrine, the better: Near as I can tell, their members think they're deluged in original sin and are salivating for the rapture to arrive.

Thief River Falls was also home to my single best "roadside artifact find" of the trip: A downtown JCPenney store of 1950s or very early 1960s vintage, bearing no fewer than three generations of signage on the building...including the incredibly-rare "funky P" symbol of 50 years ago.

Another random Minnesota observation: License plates on passenger cars are replaced every 7 years, but license plates on other types of vehicles may never get replaced at all. As if to prove the point, here was a Recreational Vehicle plate in the pre-1987 graphic style with a current 2016 sticker.

I couldn't stay put for long, though. Minutes later I was back on the road, trying to cover as much ground south and east as I could...when I heard the single most satisfying news of the entire trip. Governor Voldemort was ending his presidential campaign (no, I'm not going to use his real name...hearing it is enough to make me smash my fist into the wall), and the United States had escaped a bullet from the foremost source of my life's anxiety and fear.

Dusk fell somewhere in Otter Tail County (how did they name these things?), and I started idly looking for a motel. Accommodations were a little tough to find, though, and I didn't finally stop for the night until I had driven all the way to Saint Cloud...and acquainted myself with the lumpiest mattress and the noisiest air conditioner I had ever endured.

It was luxury.

As recently as five years ago, Winnipeg still featured two operational Safeway stores in the arch-roofed "Marina" motif of the 1960s. Due to Safeway's present-day corporate foibles, however, that's no longer the case: The last survivor on 1441 Main Street morphed into a Co-op store a year ago. Happily, little else about it has changed: The store still sells groceries, and the original ceiling beams and entrance details have been preserved.

The 1081 Ellice Avenue location was less lucky, as it closed in 2010 and the building subsequently gutted and re-fronted for a new tenant. The arched roof is still clearly visible, though.

Over on 1319 Pembina Highway, the original Safeway building was replaced by a nondescript structure long ago. But happily, the original googie sign by the roadside still stands...albeit modified and shorn of flash.

All three of these stores (or the remnants thereof) date to 1963-64.

Morning broke in Fargo, North Dakota. Leaving the city was slow going, though. First, I was enticed by the smell of Perkins...even though they weren't running their all-you-can-eat pancake special and I got food poisoning the last time I went to one of their restaurants. Then, I was enticed by the distraction of another nearby construct: The West Acres Mall. I stepped inside and promptly discovered two epic surprises: A operational, coin-filled fountain original to the mall's 1972 construction, and a roman-lettered Sears sign that was miraculously still intact.

I came dangerously close to buying a tank top at 50% off (forgetting that I'd almost never have a reason to wear one) until I discovered that it had screen printing inside the front of the garment. Somehow, that was enough to wake me from my shopping stupor...and I made tracks north on U.S. 81.

Most of North Dakota was very sparsely populated...and it felt very peaceful. Almost discordantly peaceful, given some of the sinister shit that goes on within the state's bounds.

One of the few incorporated places I encountered was Hillsboro, home of the forlorn Traill Theatre and county courthouse.

The moderately larger abode of Grand Forks (third largest city in the state) offered some roadside artifacts of its own, including a Phillips 66 gullwing canopy and a rare Matawan-style Texaco building. Both had been shorn of their pumps decades ago and turned into adaptive reuse.

U.S. 81 had dumped me quite a few kilometres west of the main highway. When I slowly wheeled the car to the border crossing at Gretna, the customs official seemed suspicious. "Why are you going this way? Were you rejected at the other crossing?" I had nothing to incriminate myself, however, and was traveling lightly. The official collected my passport, followed up with questions about my trip details, employer, starting point, and other expected minutia, asked to look in the back of the car, jostled my suitcase momentarily...and left me to go on my way. I was mildly annoyed that I had to open my car (a far cry from the 1990s era when you could cross the border with a driver's license and no searching at all)...but compared to the experience I'd have four days later, it was quick, upfront, and painless.

I was thrilled and psyched to be in Canada at last. Which way to Winnipeg, though? I didn't have a good map, and I was well off the beaten path...I even ended up on dirt without trying. Everything in the prairies is laid out on a grid, though, and I successfully worked my way to the main road that I should have taken in the first place.

50 kilometres later, I was there. The day wasn't done, though: I stopped at Tim's for dinner, where I mustered up some energy and had the added bonus of receiving an American nickel in my change. I then drove around for over an hour both to gain a crash course on Winnipeg's street grid layout and to find my conspicuous, yet strangely hard-to-find hotel. I wound up arriving in the city the same day as an AC/DC concert, so traffic was tied up to oblivion in some corridors.

Winnipeg had the aura of a decidedly multicultural city, and I often heard languages other than English being spoken. It was also a vast place where seemingly anything and everything could be. I had been in Manitoba's capital for less than a day, but I liked it already.

I'd get to explore the city on my own in another day's time...but for now, it was time to relax.

I left home around 9 a.m., pointed the car northwest, and drove like hell until I reached the Minnesota border. Well, almost the Minnesota border: I wound up getting sidetracked in La Crosse long enough to visit the Valley View Mall, which features a JCPenney store with the (bricked-over remains of) auto service bays along one side. This wound up being a recurring theme on the trip.

Minutes later, I had crossed the Mississippi and was safely in Minnesota. Yes, Minnesota...the wonderful land of milk and honey I came within a hair's split of moving to in 2012; the state that legislated marriage equality while my back-stabbing neighbors were legislating Wisconsin Synod Sharia Law.

I was somewhat stingy with pictures on this portion of the trip. During my journey to Arkansas a couple months earlier, I ran out of room on my memory card and I was fearful that the same thing would happen again. Still, there were a number of scenes of artifacts and coincidences that captured my attention...and my photo frames. How often do you see one Geo Prizm hatchback on the road...let alone two in the same color? Both of these are probably '89s, since they have pillar-mounted seatbelts.

A former Ben Franklin variety store in Lake City, with a rather creative reuse of the original sign.

After creeping through Winona, Wabasha, Lake City, Red Wing, and Hastings, I reached the Twin Cities area...the cultural and economic epicenter of the upper midwest. Sadly this wasn't the day to stay there for long...and since my view of it was miles upon miles of a gray, gridlocked concrete jungle under the dim glow of a cloudy day, I didn't get to see Saint Paul or Minneapolis at their most congenial or inviting, either.

Soon it became apparent that there were two Minnesotas. There was the Twin Cities area, which was cosmopolitan, reasonably secular, and free of the worst kinds of economic disparities that affect many other cities in the USA. And there was the interior of the state, which basically consisted of farmland and wilderness peppered with anti-abortion billboards. By the time I was halfway to Fergus Falls, my arm was so tired flipping the forced-birthers off that I wanted to take a rest break then and there. But there were no facilities to be found...so I drove on until night fell and I was able to cross one more state off my list.

The street grid of Fargo, North Dakota is divided into numbered streets and numbered avenues, each with directional splits. An incomplete address like "210 7th" is therefore useless unless you trek over all four corners of the city trying to find it. Some streets are disconnected, further complicating matters. After doubling back on myself and wasting time driving in Fargo for nearly an hour, I checked into a Motel 6 room with an air conditioner that leaked on the floor and plotted out the plans for the next exciting day.

Compared to the last motel I stayed at, it was bliss.