A week after battle lines were drawn over the main route to the Grand Canyon Skywalk, tourists can once again visit the attraction – and they’ll soon have not one but two ways to get there.
The Associated Press reports things around the Grand Canyon’s West Rim got tense last week when Nigel Turner, who owns a 100,000-acre ranch in the middle of the path to the Skywalk, closed his portion of the road to traffic and hired security guards that denied access to thousands of tourists. The Hualapai Tribe, who operates the Skywalk and owns 106 miles of the canyon, quickly took action and were granted a federal permit to create a paved bypass route that will be completed in the spring.
As for Turner, it looks like his standoff did more harm than good to his wallet. According to the news outlet, he has since revoked his roadblock and has lowered the fee to cross his land from $20 per person to $5 per car. But now, the Hualapai Tribe’s new road will ensure they are the only ones who cash in on the millions of yearly visitors who come to the Skywalk, which is just about two-and-a-half hours by car from Las Vegas.
Five years ago, when my wife and I had our first child, our lives as travelers changed. We still hit the road just as often as before, but now we find ourselves seeking out zoos and playgrounds and children’s museums and a host of other kid friendly attractions that we never would have visited during our childless years. Most of the time, I acquiesce to the child-centric activities more or less kicking and screaming, and although I enjoy watching my kids have fun, 3- and 5-year-old boys aren’t exactly well known for showing gratitude and appreciation, so I sometimes wonder if the kid stuff is worth it.
Over the Memorial Day weekend, we treated our boys to the one kid-focused activity we’ve never tried before: a circus. These days, many of the larger traveling circuses perform in large arenas, which hold little appeal for me. I wanted to bring my kids to an old-school circus performed under a big top, and I found what I was looking for at Circus World, in Baraboo, Wisconsin, about three hours northwest of Chicago, and just 10 minutes from the tourist trap insanity of the Wisconsin Dells.
Baraboo is ground zero for circus enthusiasts. It was here on May 19, 1884, that the five Ringling Brothers – Al, Otto, Alfred, Charles and John – staged their first circus act. There were 21 performers, a small tent, a hyena and three horses in the act. Tickets cost 15 to 35 cents and they soon took their act on the road, pulling into small towns all across the country with their hand-carved circus wagons, advertising strong men, bearded women, ferocious animals and the like.
Circus World is both museum and circus, and before the circus started, we took some time to check out the museum, which tells the story of how the Ringlings turned their little circus into a global juggernaut. The Ringlings were the offspring of August Rungeling, who emigrated from Germany to Milwaukee in 1848. He changed his name to Ringling, married and had 11 children, three of whom died in infancy. The five brothers got into the circus act, with Al, the oldest, serving as the ringleader. He married a snake handler from Iowa and could balance a huge plow on his chin unsupported.
In 1918, the brothers bought out Barnum & Bailey, their chief rival, and the business evolved into a national railway show. They got rich and used some of their money to build lavish homes and other buildings, including the gorgeous Al Ringling Cinema, which still stands today in downtown Baraboo. (The museum doesn’t mention the fact that just one Ringling heir still lives in the Baraboo area today, and he’s in prison for sexually assaulting a 10-year-old boy.)
A stroll through the museum’s collection of old circus posters and the even more interesting hall of circus wagons gives one an idea of how un-politically correct circuses were back in the day. Any sort of deformity could be turned into an attraction – a short-armed man was called “Seal Boy,” and various posters advertised bearded ladies, East Indian dwarves, “Giraffe-necked” women from Burma, sword swallowers, an Egyptian Giant and a “Man Without a Stomach,” among many others.
In the pre-television era, going to a circus was a common form of entertainment, especially for people who lived in smaller towns. Popular circus acts became household names across the nation. For example, some 40 million Americans saw a gorilla from the Belgian Congo named Gargantua the Great.
After watching a magic show, we scored front row seats under the big top, and settled in to watch the show. The first act was a woman in her 50s or 60s who was dressed up like a pop star in oversized white sunglasses, a gray wig and a revealing, open-backed shimmery, sequined costume. She brought out “the world’s only performing Persian cat” and a slew of “Afghan dogs” that performed a variety of jumps, tricks and dances. It all seemed preposterous to me, but my sons, who were devouring an industrial size portion of cotton candy, were transfixed.
The dogs were eventually replaced by a comically effeminate Columbia contortionist wearing eye makeup and a three-sizes-too-tight gymnast costume. I had to avert my eyes as he contorted his body one way and other, looking as though he was about to break a limb at any moment and resisted the urge to leave altogether when he actually fit his entire body inside a small, clear box.
The next performer was a comically buffoonish character who did a slapstick routine revolving around his supposed inability to jump on a trampoline. I thought it was ridiculous, but when I looked over at my sons, they were roaring and squealing in delight. I don’t think I have ever seen them so happy.
Next, we were introduced to Spirit, the “world’s smallest performing show pony,” as the PA system blasted the ludicrous “My Little Pony” theme song and an older woman in a garish Hungarian folk costume led Spirit around in circles.
The final act of the afternoon was easily the most preposterous. A woman wearing a feathered Indian headdress and a far-too revealing sequined costume brought out a host of little monkeys on leashes and proceeded to coax them into jumping from platform to platform, 20 feet up in the air. Her male counterpart was a Greek looking man with a unibrow who looked like Pete Sampras might if he lives to be 110. When the monkeys dawdled, he whacked them on the asses to get them to jump, and after they’d done their standard jump a few times he said, “Now we’re going to see if they can jump 12 feet. We hope they can make it!” I was rooting for the monkeys to go on strike, but it didn’t happen.
The monkeys made it and while the whole farce seemed exploitative and just plain dumb to me, I couldn’t deny how much my sons had enjoyed the spectacle. On the way out, we filed past a guy holding a huge snake, asking $10 for a photo, and my 5-year-old son, Leo, was uncharacteristically grateful.
“Dad,” he said. “Thank you so much for taking me to the circus!”
Standing 20,320 feet in height, Mt. McKinley is the tallest mountain in North America and one of the most challenging climbs in the entire world. While it doesn’t rival the big Himalayan peaks in terms of altitude, it more than makes up for it with a number of technical climbing challenges and notoriously fickle weather that can even be bad during the peak climbing season of May and June.
Last week marked the 100th anniversary of the first ascent of McKinley, which is generally referred to by its native Koyukon name of Denali in mountaineering circles. On June 7, 1913, Walter Harper, Harry Karstens, Hudson Stuck and Robert Tatum became the first men to stand on the summit of this imposing peak. A century later the route to the top remains nearly as elusive as it was when they first made the journey.
To celebrate this impressive milestone, the National Park Service released the following video that not only commemorates the accomplishment of the first ascent but also attempts to answer the age old question of why we climb. It is an inspiring and thought provoking short film, to say the least.
The thing about Fairbanks at this time of year is that the sun sets for only a couple hours a day. Even after setting, the sun is just below the horizon, so it’s not really dark out. I feel like I have jet lag, even though I’m completely adjusted to Alaska time and am sleeping fine.
Robert and I started the day at the Mr. McKinley Princess Wilderness Lodge at the edge of Denali National Park. The previous evening, as we’d been driving up, we had tried to figure out, through the haze, which of the monstrously high peaks in the Alaska Range was Mt. McKinley. We’d finally settled on one, which seemed higher than all the others, even though it didn’t match the pictures we’d seen.
Well, in the morning, with a clear sky, we finally saw the real mountain, which is twice as tall as the one we’d previously picked out. It is unbelievably huge, taller than anything you’d imagine — awesome in every sense of the word.
From the lodge we continued north toward Fairbanks, arriving in a little under four hours. We’re staying at the home of Jamo and Jane Parrish, members of the Fairbanks Interior Table Tennis Club, who are a retired lawyer and retired mediator, respectively. They have converted the garage of their beautiful, modern home into — guess what? — a table tennis room, with an athletic floor and excellent lighting. The four of us played there for over an hour.
Next we went to an outdoor party at the home of Diann Darnall, who runs the Fairbanks club. About 20 club members were there. Besides the potluck dinner, Diann led everyone in a couple original ping-pong-related games — like matches played with a 5″ rubber ball on a 3’x8′ table using egg cartons as paddles. Robert beat me in the final, and he was on the winning team in another wacky game later. In each case he analyzed the game before playing, figured out a strategy, and then applied a deft touch to his play. It’s no surprise he’s so good at table tennis, too.
From 7:30-10:30we played real table tennis with the Fairbanks club at the Patty Center at the University of Alaska. More than 20 players took part, with everyone playing everyone else. It was good fun. We’ll do it again tomorrow, this time with the event open to the public.
Regarding yesterday’s puzzle, my answers were DENIAL, NAILED, and LEAD-IN.
Here’s a new teaser: Take the last name of a famous person in American history. It has 8 letters, all different. The vowel-consonant pattern of the name is cccvccvv. What name is it?
Follow Will and Robert’s Trip across Alaska through next week at “Four Down Two Across.”
The Smithsonian Institution has received a unique donation – an intact slave cabin from a plantation in South Carolina. The cabin, which was on the grounds of the Point of Pines Plantation on Edisto Island, was donated by the current landowners.
While it will certainly make an interesting display and attract lots of attention, it’s a shame that it wasn’t left where it was. Historic homes and artifacts have a more immediate impact on the visitor when they’re left in the original location. The move has taken away the cabin’s context. It’s no longer in the area where the slaves worked, lived and died. Instead of experiencing the landscape – the heat, the insects, the thick undergrowth the slaves would have known – we’ll now see it in a modern museum thronging with tourists.
Perhaps it was impossible for the cabin to remain where it was. Perhaps the Smithsonian had to move it to save it, but we’ve still lost something.