Even in an increasingly digital society, there’s no replacement for word-of-mouth advertising, whether the feedback’s good or ill. For example, if you want to know the finest hole-in-the-wall pizza place in Belleville, or the coolest thrift store in Bridgeton, you’re still best-served by getting the scoop from a local. Or so goes our theory, with no offense intended to the stakeholders of sites like Yelp.
Now, when you’re kinda known for enjoying off-the-beaten path destinations, you wind up getting some pretty interesting leads. A friend now living on the East Coast, but with family roots deeply planted in Jefferson County, recently reached out through the social networks to send the following message. Attaching a picture of the Sunridge Park Tower from flickr, this note proved the perfect combination of first-person testimony and online fellowship:
“This is in Hillsboro, on a road called Tower Road. This tower is really WEIRD, the way it is just there in the middle of nowhere. And it is SO SUPER SCARY to climb up!! It doesn't look so bad in that picture, but by the time you get to the top you are certain you are going to die.
“That area around there is also weird. Old Highway 21 has a ton of old run-down junk shops, trailer parks, etc. And if you go further up Tower Road, there is some kind of religious compound. I can't think of the name of the guy who runs it, but it is supposed to be really weird and cult-like... Just a thought, I know you like an adventure...”
A note like this can only mean: Hello, Hillsboro! Thanks, friend!
This past Sunday evening, not so long before dusk, the tiny Sunridge Park of Jefferson County was strangely bustling. No doubt, the last day of Indian Summer had something to do with that, as people were all over the little park space. One fellow was sweeping a gravel bed with a metal detector. A young couple sat under a shelter and chatted, oblivious to the world. Another young couple emerged from the woods, probably after... also talking. A trio of gents sat at a picnic table, with an comically oversized carton of Busch Bavarian Beer. A couple kids were semi-sleeping, semi-texting on another bench nearby. All of this on a plot of six small acres, including banked hillsides.
But what six acres! Located near hilly Hillsboro, Sunridge is found atop a high-up crest, which overlooks not a small amount of nearby Jefferson County. That’s especially true when you climb to the top of Sunridge’s true landmark: The Tower. As noted above, The Tower (and it’s really a structure worth capitalizing) is a former fire tower, standing 80 feet high, though seeming to be a good bit taller. At the top sits a small, four-sided observation deck, covered in green paint, including the tight, green mesh that rings the tiny room.
Though it pops up on a few exploring sites, The Tower’s still one of those places around our region that you’d only know if people took you there or told you about it. And kids that grow up around Jefferson County are surely the biggest fans and most outspoken advocates for this structure. The reasons are many and obvious.
First, a quick personal note: I’ve visited, for fun, abandoned crack hotels and six-story structures with foundation damage. I’ve been in some locations that don’t bear repeating in a public setting. I’m not totally averse to situations that seem, on the surface, a tad iffy. And, yet, when faced with heights, I’d... rather not face heights, thank you. And The Sunridge Tower’s height is only exaggerated a million-fold by the sense that you’re a) climbing into the sky, because you’re higher than anything you can see in any direction and b) there’s not much in the way of support as you go up, or down. Truly, in the litigious, safety-first society that we live in, full of closed-circuit cameras and "Do Not Touch/Climb/Enter/Play" signs, there’s something almost refreshing (as well as almost sinister) about the continued public use of The Tower.
Folks, the handrails are a thin, rusted metal. And the sides are nearly wide open. And the wooden steps creak, sometimes really loudly. At the halfway point of the climb, I sat for a moment, sweating as if finishing up a five-set tennis match, considering the meaning of mortality, while realizing that my shoes had suddenly become blocks of soggy cement on my feet. With my traveling companion already close to the observation deck, I couldn’t sit there too long, even as I peered down, slightly nauseous, while only wanting to crack the pop-top of one of the Busch Bavarian Beers on that table way below. With a deep breath, though, I continued, queasily, all the way up. And, of course, this is a point in the tale when all is well, right? My fears have been conquered and life seems swell, that’s how the story goes? Not exactly.
Instead, I looked at the narrow steps of The Tower and realized how nutty this experience really felt. I mean, there’s not much to block you, were you to miss a step—not much, at all. And the breezes at the highest point for miles around are strong, so much so that the creaks of the steps sounded inconsequential compared to the groans of metal and wood up there. Good grief. I snapped some snaps, recited some successories and headed down, passing a group of what were surely Jefferson County teenagers, the fourth one playing Metallica’s “One,” at loud volume from an mp3 player. Not exactly calming, Metallica, but I hummed my way down the last couple flights and was happy to hit the ground.
On the way back to town, I was curious about visiting some of the other weird stops my friend promised along Old 21, sometimes dubbed “Blood Alley,” for all the vehicular deaths that have happened along it. And, truly, there were a few spots, including a mostly abandoned trailer park, that had a bit of that Winter’s Bone vibe going for them. But the sun was going down, my nerves were shot, and we wound up driving right up to the first open bar, the 21 Rock Bar & Grill where bartender Randy was placing her liquor order on the phone and lighting up the room with her small-town charms.
Finally, at 21 Rock, I had my Busch Bavarian Beer. And after the climb, I’m not sure one’s ever tasted quite so good.
