Follow the signs

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

By Matthew Irwin

Last weekend, I drove down to Lander with my lady and our climbing columnist Pocholo Martinez. We all noticed that summer tourism had already begun in Wyoming – packs of bikers, caravans of R.V.s, children with ice-cream-stained hands, campground litter and of course open roadside attractions.

The latest attraction in our little tourist destination is the film, Jackson Hole to the Max, which is the subject of our cover story this week (page 8).

As families drive across the country, every entrepreneur within view of the highway tries to grab their attention with tours, mysteries, fiberglass animals, the world’s largest . . . whatever – collectively, I think of it as kitsch Americana, mostly hailing from the days of sensational, William Randolph Hearst headlines and Barnum and Bailey Circus wonders.

Some of my favorites can be viewed as outsider or folk artworks: Carhenge in Nebraska, Watts Towers in Los Angeles, Salvation Mountain on the Salton Sea – all built out of the strange imaginations of people with motives other than money. Leonard Knight, who built Salvation Mountain, wanted everyone to hear the wonderful news, passed to him by his sister, of god’s love. That’s it.

But who hasn’t also followed the signs to Wall Drug, knowing that all the hype would end in a drug store? And what makes most photographed barn in America the most photographed? Must the photos be developed or just taken? Can I pick any barn, and set my camera on “continuous” until the batteries run out?

In Dubois, you can have your photograph taken on the giant jackalope, which appears to be rabbit furs pieced over a wood or fiberglass frame. On the road outside, a giant and colorful jackalope lured us in. The entrance to the store next door was the mouth of an artificial steer’s skull. My lady noted that everything seemed to be magnified – that familiar things made large were an attraction.

Surrounding the huge jackalope inside were many mounted jackalope heads, one with two heads, and a mounted jackatrout. At the counter, the store also sold homemade chocolates. “Try one of these,” the woman behind the counter said, “and you’ll never have another Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.”

My sense is that these attractions, as ridiculous as they are, appeal to the part of us that marvels at historical sites and natural wonders – that is, we’re drawn to the mystery, to the evocation of our imaginations in piecing together something legendary and pre-historic, pre-our-selfish-little-lives anyway. They inspire us to ask, “What happened here?”

Native American stories speak of an animal people that existed before humans, the Christian Bible is full of visiting angels. That remnants of the Old World occasionally pop up seems to be indisputable. I remember an Irishman who told me, “Nobody believes in fairies, but sure enough, they do exist.”

Judging by the trailer, JH to the Max appears to be another roadside attraction that validates American myths and legends by encouraging us to continue believing in them.

I’m not sure that reimagining the namesake of Jackson Hole to be Teton Jackson rather than Davey Jackson, for instance, is good or bad, but tall tales conceived for the entertainment of tourists are a part of our history. If you have a friend who guides fishing or scenic rafting trips, you know this to be true.

More important to me is that roadside attractions give visitors an adequate glimpse into our real and present culture (mysteries included), rather than categorize us with a disturbing giant jackalope and the world’s largest ball of string. PJH
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Follow the signs | Planet JH News Article: Editorial

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