Foam, Fiberglass and Fun

On Friday, December 19, Brooke and Aaron and I headed toward the tiny town of Natural Bridge, which is host to an assortment of eclectic amusements, most of which have been produced by a local entrepreneur by the name of Mark Cline. Mark is a mad genius (much more genius than mad) who has fashioned attractions like Dinosaur Kingdom http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/10790, Professor Cline's Haunted Monster Museum and Dark Maze http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/9210 and a Stonehenge replica made entirely of beaded Styrofoam appropriately named Foamhenge.
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Many of you, dear readers, are well aware of my proclivity for henges so it won't surprise you to learn that I had set my sights on visiting Foamhenge many years ago. When I found out it was conveniently located less than two hours from Brooke and Aaron's house, it was out of the question not to visit while I was in the vicinity!

When we arrived later that afternoon at the lonely Virginia tor that serves as the setting for Foamhenge, the rain that had been dogging us all day generously subsided and an enormous rainbow emerged in the ominous gray sky behind us. I haven't seen an arc of that immensity in a very long time - fabulous! The air was cold and crisp and the wind whipped little beads of Styrofoam by like flecks of foam blown from the tops of waves. The fluffy grey stele made an odd creaking sound as the wind battered their flanks. The three of us were utterly alone as we frolicked among the time worn slabs of polystyrene. We played several rounds of hide and seek, suggesting a vaguely Scandinavian scene of cinematic quality. The rainbow which had disappeared for a time, reappeared as we headed back to the car.

Our next stop was to be Dinosaur Kingdom, which advertisements assured us contained gripping life size tableaux of dinosaurs savaging Union soldiers. "It's 1863..." reads the glossy brochure "...living dinosaurs [something, something] Union Army discovers the secret [something, something]...to use as weapons of mass destruction against the South!" But of course, as is often the case in these situations, something goes terribly, terribly, wrong.

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We waved goodbye to Foamhenge and set out eagerly towards Dinosaur Kingdom, interrupting our urgent journey only when Aaron spied Mark Cline's workshop, Enchanted Castle Studio, just ahead. We decided to stop and see if we could take a look around Professor Cline's la-bore-a-tory before proceeding down the road to observe his monsters running amok.

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It was double lucky we did, too! Not only did we learn (sadly) that Dinosaur Kingdom and the Haunted Castle were closed for the season (saving us a long disappointing drive), but my incredible string of fortune in getting to talk to the minds behind these extraordinary places continued when we came upon none other than Mark Cline, working with an assistant to try and roll an enormous parade float into the warehouse.

Mark welcomed us warmly and encouraged us to look around as much as we liked. I felt like a showgirl cut loose in a sequin factory. There were so many fascinating things piled one on top of another that it made my head spin.

After helping Mark and his assistant wrangle the enormous Rudolph themed float into position (it was surprisingly light for its size), Brooke and Aaron and I went outside and spent some time poking around the large storage yard that surrounds the warehouse. We passed pile after pile of unpainted fiberglass castings interspersed with figures that had obviously already enjoyed at least one dramatic turn and had been saved for repurposing, all of them waiting for further transformation under the skillful hands of the resident roadside attraction genius. Giraffes idled unconcernedly next to gigantic squirming tentacles, headless dinosaurs commingled with bloody demons of hell and a pile of spacecraft scraps lay heaped in the back of an old Toyota truck. Why, it was just like my home planet, only without any glitter!

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After I'd had a chance to poke my head into every single nook and cranny of the storage yard, I finally headed inside to the workshop area to see what Mark was cooking up there. It felt a bit like unwrapping the ultimate piece of an Almond Joy - I'd been saving it, knowing it would be delicious, but also sensing it would all be over when I polished off the second morsel. The toppings on this confection, however, were a little more exotic than a single chocolate enrobed almond! The main area of the warehouse rises perhaps three stories high and houses an assortment of exotic creatures like the 14 foot high Frankenchicken...or Chickenstein...or whatever it's called! Unfortunately, we were not formally introduced. Shelves and cubbyholes are all filled to bursting with skulls and dismembered limbs and swags of holiday greenery. Perky little Christmas elves are nestled in with bloody zombie heads. Everywhere the florid imagination of Mark Cline is in evidence, and it felt like a lark to be able to bare witness to such. I'm so glad we stopped for a visit!

Not everyone, apparently, is quite as fond of Mark's work as we were. He told us a chilling story while we milled about in the warehouse of how his first castle had been burned by God-fearing zealots. After arriving one night to find his entire life's work consumed in flames, he discovered that his mailbox had been stuffed with a stack of religious tracts, a picture of Mark clipped from the local newspaper with the eyes burned out, and a written warning about fire consuming those things which the Lord did not love. Mark's tale of neighborly hate mongering was by far the spookiest thing I encountered on my visit. Put plainly, it scares the shit out of me that people could act that way to someone else. I find it way more horrifying than anything I saw at Enchanted Castle Studio.

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Still, Mark seems to be undeterred in his passion, and even makes the most of the fire by saying it seems like it was necessary for him to get to where he is today. An extremely generous and big take on it, if you ask me.

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But then I'm guessing you got to live pretty damn large to accomplish what Mark Cline hath wrought. After all, it's not easy being the Gepetto of our age - definitely not our father and mother's Norman Rockwell puppet master. So here's to doing what moves you, Mark Cline, even when it's risky!

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As the sun began to set, we realized it was time to head back to Roanoke to pick up my Mark, flying in from Austin to join me on the remainder of my trip. We thanked Mark for being so generous with his time and his studio and set off toward Roanoke inspired and renewed.