Discovering quirky slices of Americana on U.S. 2

Andrew Abramavage was streaming the rapper Drake on his cellphone as he stood alongside U.S. 2, one thumb out, trying to catch the eyes of oncoming drivers.

The 23-year-old University of Washington-Bothell student wanted to make it to the mountain town of Baring, to visit friends.

He had nine miles to go.

"I've walked that far before, but not on Highway 2, the highway of death," he said, minutes before catching a ride.

U.S. 2 may be best known for its car wrecks -- 55 people have died since 1999 between Stevens Pass and Snohomish.

The road is more than a grim statistic, however. The two-lane highway is a sign of what the Northwest is all about: hand-carved originality.

Lined with curiosities and characters, it rolls across flood plains and up mountain foothills. It passes by cornfields and protected forests. It is home to roadside chapels and reptile zoos. It's a throwback to what America looked like before expressways sliced through every state.

Take a second look at the highway of death and you might find plenty of life.



1: Geary's Military Gear, milepost 10

Geary Edmondson's billboard doesn't exactly invite browsers.

"When in doubt," it read last week, "empty the magazine!"

The 56-year-old store owner smiled at the sign. He gets inspiration from the Internet for the one-liners. They appeal to his base: military veterans, police officers, the occasional FBI agent.

The shop, 14510 U.S. 2, Snohomish, lacks some of the bare essentials for a militia. That's by design.

Edmondson, himself a Marine veteran, said he would need more security to carry guns and ammunition. Plus, the red tape would stress out the Florida native.

"I'm not very good with paperwork," he said. "I'd be in trouble right off the bat."

Instead, he fills his shop with holsters, compasses, knives, 9-foot-wide American flags and flight uniforms.

He's comfortable with most of the stock, but a few items leave him flummoxed. One distributor sent him women's underwear emblazoned with phrases like "Police Booty." Women hold the underwear up to their waists and ask him if they'll fit.

"I'm like, 'I don't know.'"

2: Old Carnation Co. dairy steam stack, milepost 15

For 102 years, a single concrete column has loomed over Monroe.

Most call the 149-foot tower near the corner of U.S. 2 and Ann Street the old Carnation dairy steam stack. They're a bit off.

Beth Stucker, president of the Monroe Historical Society, said the stack always billowed smoke, not steam.

Whatever the case, most know the sight of the tower, which sits unused on the edge of a grocery store parking lot, taking up enough room for a couple of cars.

Ashley Robertson, 25, works at Skyline Espresso, near the tower. While she wishes someone would paint it, the gray stack doesn't strike her as odd.

"What's weird," she said, "is when people stop and look at it."

3: Reptile Zoo, milepost 17

The Gold Bar woman moved slowly into Barnabas' cage, holding a hose and an industrial vacuum.

The American alligator slowly raised his head and opened his mouth, displaying jagged white teeth.

Belladonna Ishara, 53, quickly cleaned the area. She still keeps front of mind the time he snapped at her.

"I was so amazed at how fast I can still move," she said.

Barnabas is one of the animals that fall under Ishara's care at the Reptile Zoo, 22715 U.S. 2, Monroe, a place that rivals some zoos.

Its Burmese python has a waist as large as a grown man's.

Its two-headed turtle sometimes can't decide which way to swim.

Its Madagascar hissing cockroaches are both a repulsive sight and a ready food supply for its Sonoran desert toads.

Scott Petersen started the zoo, also known as the Washington Serpentarium, when his collection of pets outgrew his home. He now gives presentations as the Reptile Man.

That leaves Ishara to tend cages and answer questions. She enjoys the work. She even considers Barnabas a friend -- albeit a sassy one.

"They're nice people," she said of the reptiles.

4: Wayside Chapel, milepost 21

Notes litter the pulpit at the Wayside Chapel.

"My husband of 29 years proposed to me here," says one.

"Pray for the soldiers at war and for world peace," says another.

"Lord," begins a third, "we thank you for keeping 3 women safe while camping. And not being eaten by bears."

Since its 1962 dedication by a dairy farmer, drivers have taken in the chapel's ramshackle charm.

The building east of Sultan has a cross on its steeple that appears to be made of steel rebar. Inside, there's room for a pulpit, four pews, a few moths and little else.

A sign outside encourages drivers to "pause, rest, worship."

Some do a bit more, as another note makes clear.

"I had fries here with my dad," it says.

5: Sky River Brewing, milepost 23

Denice Ingalls gets some static from the hard-core Renaissance fair types.

She ferments honey to make mead, the type of alcohol preferred by the Knights of the Round Table.

However, her mead tastes a lot like white wine. Some traditionalists prefer a darker, heavier brew.

She doesn't plan to change. She turns out 3,500 cases a year, sending mead to local groceries such as QFC and a handful of stores as far-flung as Kyoto, Japan.

She must be doing something right, even if King Arthur would be confused by the flavor.

"He also probably went his entire life without having Thai food," she said.

Low-key tours of the meadery, 32533 Cascade View Drive, Sultan, are available by appointment.

Guests walk into a sweet-smelling warehouse, see six steel fermenting tanks, each holding about 500 gallons, and sample some mead.

"When I think tour, I think trams and catwalks," she said. "So I warn them, it's a stand-and-point."

6: Hammock Shop, milepost 26

It looks like a boat sneezed onto the home of the fisherman and the artist.

Nets, buoys and floats are strung from most surfaces, dripping between posts and hanging limply from the porch.

Dexter Perkins, a 69-year-old retired Alaskan fisherman, turns the old nets into hammocks. He got the idea after moving to his Startup home, 36610 U.S. 2, eight years ago with his wife, Patti Perkins.

"I had a bunch of nets and stuff around, and nothing to do," he said.

The money helps pay for gas, food and his wife's medication. She's dying of cancer.

She sits indoors near a window while he tends shop. She can hear him chatter outside with customers.

Sometimes, he rises from the upholstered chair on the front porch and invites people inside to see her paintings.

She takes off her reading glasses and puts down her puzzle book. One painting shows a fisherman tending line. Another is of rhododendrons. He beams with pride, revealing the gap from a missing front tooth.

She says she used to sell her work, but no longer.

"They're all I have left," she said. "They will go to my family."

7: Haystack Company, milepost 26

Pam Norton doesn't need a magic wand to turn junk into money.

A welding iron will do.

Her U.S. 2 shop doubles as a workspace. Behind the building, she makes garden decorations out of farm tools.

"All the birdhouses, the welded stuff, the concrete, I do here," she said.

She opened two years ago in the house, 36701 U.S. 2, Startup. Inside, each room is devoted to themed collections: old books in the parlor, a saddle in the "man cave," washboards in the kitchen.

Her yard displays the rest: fountains, an iron woodpecker and horseshoes that form the word "welcome."

While she doesn't mind sitting at the register, she'd rather be out back, working.

"What appeals to me is being able to create," she said.

8: North Cascades Nursery, milepost 27

Two years ago, Jake Sharpe put the sign outside his plant nursery with a simple command: "Leave old skis here."

Amazingly, people did.

He's received roughly 450 pairs and about a dozen snowboards. He uses the old skis as multicolored fence pickets, hammering them up at the nursery, 38511 U.S. 2, Sultan. The old steel skis bend a few nails, but he manages.

"Most people throw their old skis away," said Sharpe, 41. "And I just thought, it's kind of art."

He hopes to eventually encircle the entire nursery. When he finishes, he plans to make a call to Guinness World Records.

Then, he might get to put up another sign: The world's biggest ski fence.

9: Big Eddy State Park, milepost 30

Big Eddy State Park518CBD50 hides in the open.

State park officials confirm its existence at the Skykomish River and U.S. 2, east of Gold Bar. They say it has 10 acres, seven picnic tables, one unhardened boat launch and, well, not much else.

Locals know better.

They swim in its crisp clear water. They bask on its yellow sandy beach. They scoop handfuls of clay from the Skykomish River for makeshift spa treatments.

"It's like commercial-grade clay," said Eli Dimsha, 41 of Sultan. "You just feel amazing afterward."

Dimsha's children, Noah, 11, and Naomi, 10, splashed in the water on a hot Monday afternoon as she sat on the beach with their rat terrier, Zoey. Like most families, they planned to leave after the sun dipped behind the towering fir trees.

"It's all just God's creation," Eli Dimsha said. "Absolutely God's creation."

Andy Rathbun: 425-339-3455; arathbun@heraldnet.com.

What do you like about U.S. 2?

E-mail your favorite U.S. 2 characters and curiosities to jdavis@heraldnet.com.

The best photos and descriptions may be added to an online map available at tinyurl.com/US2RoadsideAttractions.