Don’t have a cow, man – have two! Scottish Angus Cow and Calf are udderly adorable, and can be found lounging about next to the Denver Art Museum.
The dynamic duo exist at the intersection of realism and fantasy, and bring a little country style into the heart of the city. At 13 feet tall, and weighing more than five tonnes, it’s time for you to meat them!
Local sculptor Dan Ostermiller built them as a moo-ving tribute to the cows on a nearby cattle ranch. The owner, Leo Hindery, revered his herd and treated them like royalty – in fact, they became famous throughout Cow-lorado.
Dan doesn’t do things by calves, so he spent time getting to know the cows on a first-name basis, before heading into the moo-dio – oops, I mean the studio.
He built a 30-inch bronze sculpture of the cows and then, when he was sure there were no mi-steaks, made a full-sized plaster cast of them. From there, styrofoam pieces were made, they were sent to a foundry to be recreated in bronze, and the moooo-sterpiece was assembled on-site.
But for more details go-vine here to read the full story!
When Leo’s property was sold in 2006, the Scottish Angus Cow and Calf waddled into the big smoke, where they surprise and delight all who visit the downtown precinct. Head there after hours, and you won’t have to cattle the crowds.
Hopefully these Big Cows will remain there for-heifer.
Things to do in Denver when you’re grain-fed
If you and the herd find yourself in Denver, the mile-high city has a beefy selection of Big Things. Big Sweep is at the other end of the museum, or you can hoof it down to the Denver Library to visit The Yearling.
For those of us attracted to bears, the city is also home to I See What You Mean – better known as The Big Blue Bear. Miss out on this cute carnivore, and you’ll be the one feeling blue!
He’s tall, yellow and handsome – please say hello to bRICK, an eight-foot Lego man who lives in Grand Junction, Colorado.
Ooooh, what a stud!
This towering toy boy welcomes visitors to the eBricks Lego shop, a true Aladdin’s cave full of blocks, playsets and minifigures. Come for the 2,000lb Lego gentleman, stay for the extensive collection of the world’s favourite plastic building toys.
bRICK dominates 7th street, his cheeky grin and garish outfit transforming the sidewalk into a playbox of fun and frivolity. Standing before bRICK, that oversized ode to childhood, roles are reversed. The viewer becomes the toy, and the world feels just a little bit bigger – and more magical.
I guess you could say he was the missing piece of downtown Grand Junction!
This giant Lego man has proven to be a real brick-magnet. Not surprisingly, business is booming – and not just for the fine folk at eBricks.
“Honestly, every like 10 or 15 minutes, I see people taking pictures with him. It’s a pretty epic sculpture,” chuckled Cole Rath, charismatic owner of Mountain Air Roasters, which is lucky enough to be next door to eBricks.
bRICK may be a dream come true for blockheads, but building him was certainly not child’s play…
If you build bRICK, they will come
As the popularity of eBricks blossomed in the early-2020s, Kenneth dreamed of installing a set of giant Lego blocks outside the front door, to lure in yet more customers. But this build was too much even for a Lego master like him.
And that’s when, by pure chance, Kenneth bumped into Brandon Sloan. Yes, that Brandon Sloan – the renowned blacksmith and enigmatic owner of Ironics Forge in nearby Dolores.
Brandon built the bundle of bricks, and Kenneth was so delighted he decided it was time to go big. Well, sort of. He initially asked Brandon to build him a four-foot-tall Lego man and then, after mulling it over, told him to double it.
That’s right – EIGHT FEET of grinning Lego man.
Brandon, who was not just there for bricks ‘n’ giggles, carefully measured up a regular-sized Lego man. Then, using advanced mathematical algorithms that would make Pythagoras blush, he created a blueprint for an eight-foot-tall version.
A blueprint that was juuuust different enough from Lego Movie‘s main character, Emmett, to avoid legal problems.
The end result, Brandon promised, would be bRICK-tacular.
The Sacred and Propane
After scavenging metal from all over western Colorado, brave Brandon found an old propane tank that would serve perfectly as bRICK’s head, shoulders and oh-so-muscular arms.
Erm, Brandon – isn’t that a bit dangerous?
“You’re worried about blowing yourself up,” he shrugged afterwards.
With the plans and materials in place, our fearless forger spent the next few months putting the big fella together.
“The worst part was grinding. I ground on that for days and days and days,” Brandon wept. “Legos aren’t welded, they’re smooth. I ground and ground and ground and ground.”
Well, they do say hard work keeps you grounded – teehee!
When bRICK was finally in one piece, he was loaded onto the back of a truck, driven to Pro Powder Coatings in Grand Junction, and slathered in glossy automotive enamel paint.
“I was surprised at how much detail they did in the paint,” Brandon yipped excitedly. “It’s one of the coolest, biggest public things I’ve done, but the paint really made it.”
Sounds like you had a brush with greatness, buddy!
When bRICK was finally unveiled one sunny day in August, 2022, his admirers were lined up around the block to see him. After snuggling in for a cuddle with this joyous behemoth, most didn’t wanna lego!
“I called him the Legolith,” Brandon reminisced afterwards. “It was so stinking big!”
Kenneth Riskey, however, couldn’t believe his wildest dreams had come true. He had the store. He had the customers. And now, he had a large Lego man of his very own.
“It’s so much fun,” Kenneth grinned, ushering another group of Lego-heads into his shop.
You’ve built quite a Lego-cy, Kenny!
The Brickman Cometh
As I was admiring bRICK, I was approached by a vibrantly-dressed ghost from my past – Ryan McNaught. You might know him as Brickman, bad boy of the international Lego scene and co-host of the hit show Lego Masters Australia.
I know him as the man who shattered my dreams.
During season two of the popular program, Brickman made some pithy comments about a Lego dinosaur I’d lovingly constructed, then unceremoniously dumped me from the show. I haven’t touched a Lego brick since.
“I suppose you’re here to apologise,” I sniffed. “Bigs, I’m actually here to see bRICK,” he grinned.
“So you step on my soul and then swagger back into my life like nothing happened?” “Bigs,” Brickman blubbered, tears cascading down his cheeks, “my heart weeps every time I send someone home from Lego Masters – and what happened to you left me shuddering for days. But please understand that I have my responsibilities as a TV host. Your dinosaur was quirky and charismatic, but it lacked the technical precision of the other builds.”
Brickman’s words stung, but they made sense. He didn’t have a vendetta against me, he was simply doing his job. With bRICK grinning down at us, we embraced, and a decade of unresolved tension lifted.
“Brickman,” I sobbed, “can I take you to breakfast to make up for all these years of detesting you?” “That would be delightful, Bigs,” he blubbered. “I’d love a couple of slices of crusty sourdough toast, slathered in avocado and salmon.” “Erm, I was talking about Breakfast – you know, the giant apple statue down the street.”
Silence descended upon us.
“So I can expect a grovelling phone call from Hamish?” I asked sheepishly. “Gosh, no!” Brickman chuckled. “He thought it was hilarious when you got kicked off the show!”
Pull up a chair and sit back to admire The Yearling* – an enormous red seat with a life-sized pinto pony perched on top of it. Nicknamed Scout, the gorgeous gelding offers an impressive sense of scale to the piece as he peers wistfully over the vast plains of downtown Denver.
I’ve got a nagging suspicion he’s going to gallop his way into your heart!
At 21 feet in height, The Yearling is the mane attraction of the Denver Public Library, and was built by the incomparable Donald Lipski. Proving he’s no one trick pony, Land of the Bigs fans will remember him as the provocateur behind Spot the Dalmatian.
Not surprisingly, this very unique Big Thing has been mired in controversy. Back in 1993, Donald was asked to build a statue for a new school in New York. Donald being Donald, he didn’t hold back.
“So I designed this sculpture, and my idea about it was that kids are really interested in scale,” Donald told a reporter from Westword, who must’ve been on the edge of her seat. “Understandably so. They’re little people in a world of big people, and their literature is full of scale references – Alice in Wonderland, Gulliver’s Travels, James and the Giant Peach.”
It would be-hoove you to read those tomes if you want to understand the true meaning of this horsey.
“I had this idea about a horse on some sort of prominent level, looking out. It just seemed like a narrative; there’s something heroic and contemplative about it,” Donald whinnied. “I then came up with the idea of the chair and making it look like a child’s chair, which was easy to do by putting the hand grip in the back.
“Everybody loved it,” chuckled Donald. “Or at least everybody I was talking to loved it!”
Tragically, it wasn’t long before Scout seemed headed for the glue factory.
*Please, please, please do not actually do this. There are many drug-addled homeless people hanging around the library, and they will steal your Hello Kitty lipgloss as you’re stretched out on the sidewalk, staring in open-mouthed wonder at The Yearling. Trust me, I know.
The Colt of Personality
The Yearling was a hit with the kiddies of New York City. But local fuddy duddies didn’t feel the same way. Concerned the sculpture would encourage children to indulge in horseplay, they demanded its removal.
And then the Dominicans got involved.
“For the Dominican people, the horse is a symbol of oppression, because the conquistadors had horses,” Donald lamented. “Everybody loved the chair and wanted me to put something else on it instead of a horse. They wanted a child, a rainbow…. None of the ideas interested me.”
There were long faces all around when the school board decided the giant chair and horse had to go. Fortunately, The Yearling wasn’t put out to pasture, and Donald took back ownership of his masterpiece. In November of 1997, Scout and his big bench trotted up the road to Central Park.
The sculpture soon ran a-foal of a streetwise youth gang, however, and after a few months Donald decided it was time for The Yearling to go west. Well, life is peaceful there, and there is lots of open air.
The good people of Denver, Colorado were looking to add some culture to their fine city, so they ponied up the money for The Yearling and plonked it in front of the library in 1998. But hold your horses, because there’s no happy ending just yet.
I’ve been through the desert on a horse with a chair frame
Scout – poor, kind, sensitive Scout – was fried alive by the harsh Colorado sun. He was swapped out for a bronze version, and the original was given to Denver’s Mare John Hickenlooper as a gift. Wowsers, a present like that must be as rare as rocking horse droppings!
John kept the dashing chap in his office for years. Scout v1.0 even joined him in the State Capitol when he became Governor. John probably didn’t a scrap of work done the whole time; he’d just sit there in his equestrian cap, looking at Scout with bedroom eyes and neighing quietly to himself.
When the guv’nor moved on, he parted ways with his bestie. Scout moved to the Denver Coliseum and Mr Hickenlooper, the last I heard, was roaming free in the Rockies with a brace of wild broncos. A short sentence.
As for Donald Lipski, he’s just happy that The Yearling finally has a place to call home.
“I wanted to give kids something that would really be a cause for wonder,” he reflected. And that comes straight from the horse’s mouth!
If I could turn back equine I’d give it all to you!
Sadly, The Yearling is locked away behind a wrought-iron fence to stop overzealous Bigsthusiasts from riding Scout – or Venezuelan gangs from stealing the whole thing.
Of course, I considered climbing over the fence. Scrambling up one of the chair’s legs. Hoisting myself atop Scout for a memorable photo. But then I remembered I was in Denver – where laws are really heavily enforced and criminal activity isn’t tolerated in any way – so I thought better of it.
Teehee!
Without being able to get up close and personal with this Big, it’s hard to appreciate its scale in the way Donald Lipski intended. We must stand and admire The Yearling from a safe distance. Unfortunately, this is what we’re saddled with.
On a brighter note, as I was posing for these happy snaps, I spotted a statuesque homeless chap in a dark wig and fishnet stockings sashaying his way towards me.
“Excuse me, friend,” I cajoled him, flashing my award-winning grin. “But I’m here to see The Big Chair.”
“Oh, my mistake, Bigs,” he splurted, wiping gruel from his square jaw. “I thought you said you were here to see The Big Cher!”
The hills above Fruita, Colorado, are full of dinosaur bones, but it’s in the centre of town that visitors can get up close and personal with Grrrreta, a bombastic, bright-green tyrannosaurus.
Radiating with a pleasant retro zeal, Grrrreta has served as the symbol of this quirky outpost for more than 80 years. From her spot in Circle Park, she watches over Fruita’s laidback coffee shops and bohemian craft beer emporiums.
It’s a bit like Jurassic Park, with slightly less chance of having your head bitten off. Well, unless you’re Mike the Headless Chicken.
Grrrreta’s syrupy smile, however, hides a prehistoric pain. Despite her legendary reputation in western Colorado, the old girl has more than once stood upon the precipice of extinction.
Her story starts way back in the primordial soup that was the 1940s. Local chap Ray Thomas and his wife owned The Dinosaur Store on the outskirts of town, which sold a scrumptious array of candies, sodas and, erm, rocks. Well it was before PlayStations and Tamagotchis, so the kiddies made do with what they had – and Colorado certainly has its share of rocks.
When Highway 50 was rolled out right outside his shop’s front door, Ray knew he needed something BIG to pull in customers, and decided on an enormous dinosaur. The only problem? He didn’t really know what they looked like.
“They wrote to the Smithsonian and asked them to send them specs for a dinosaur,” explained local character Sherry Tice, who later leased the building the creature guarded. “And so they sent the specs and they built that dinosaur out of railroad ties, chicken wire, and ferrocement.”
Looking at the beastie, maybe that should be ferocious-ment – teehee!
Ray named his creation Dinni – but let’s just stick with her current name, Grrrreta, to avoid confusion. Thousands of curious travellers popped in to see her, and the commemorative rock business had never been healthier.
But that’s not all-osaurus, folks!
They said you’d never get anywhere Well, they don’t care and it’s just not fair That you know, that I know Grrrreta
Anyone who thinks ancient lizards don’t have a flair for fashion, has never met Grrrreta. She’s had more looks than Greta Garbo, Greta Thunburg and Greta the disturbingly sensual mogwai from Gremlins 2 combined.
As The Dinosaur Store changed hands over the years, her new owners festooned her with their own quirks and peccadilloes. One year she was green with orange spots, the next a handsome shade of chartreuse yellow. One owner, feeling festive, replaced her eyes with bright red lightbulbs, which must’ve freaked out the local drunks.
“Later on, there was a speaker put in its mouth and a remote control from inside the gas station, and they could press a button and the dinosaur would roar,” Sherry revealed. “One lady was pumping gas and the dinosaur roared and it scared her so bad she jumped in the ditch nearby.”
These days it’s just the gas prices that terrify customers – teehee!
Much like the age of the dinosaurs, however, all good things must come to an end. But instead of a colossal comet, it was the twin terrors of gentrification and corporate gluttony that almost wiped out this prehistoric princess.
In the early-80s a truck driver – terrorised, perhaps, by her jagged teeth and relentless claws, but more likely overwhelmed by lust for her exotic curves and come-hither eyes – got into a tyrannosaurus wreck, destroying Grrrreta’s tail. The tricera-cops turned up to drag him off to the gulag for the crime of damaging a Big, but the damage was done.
When The Dinosaur Store shut its doors for good, Grrrreta was left to decay in the relentless Colorado sun. A metaphor for the downfall of society, the old girl’s predicament became a saur point for the good folk of Fruita.
But, as chubby, bearded gentleman from Jurassic Park would say, “Life finds a way!”
When I say, ‘I love you,’ you say, you Grrrreta You Grrrreta, you Grrrreta you Grrrret
Seizing upon Grrrreta’s cultural value, some art boffins in nearby Grand Junction raised funds to have the dinosaur completely rebuilt. The old one was thrown in a bin somewhere and a brand spankin’ new metal skeleton was crafted, with some sort con-cretaceous poured over the top. With a new lick of paint, Grrrreta was ready to charm the locals for another four decades.
But it ain’t easy bein’ green (or whatever colour Grrreta was at the time).
Shortly after Sherry Tice took over the former Dinosaur Store and turned it into a pizza shop (the marrrrgherita was, not surprisingly, delicious!), the building was condemned. Grrrreta, tragically, was to be torn down. Well, jurassic times call for jurassic measures, and Sherry wasn’t going to let her gal pal become part of history.
“When we found out, I went down to the federal building in Grand Junction and I asked if the federal government would give us that dinosaur for the town of Fruita,” Sherry spluttered.
The pollies, empathetic to the plight of a fellow sharp-fanged, scaly creature, gave a resounding, “Yes, ma’am!”
One warm day in 2000, Grrrreta was loaded up on a truck and driven through the sun-dappled streets of Fruita to her new home, as thousands of besotted locals watched on. To ring in this new era, the local kiddies were given the opportunity to rename their favourite dinosaur.
They of course chose Barney, but the town went with their second choice – Grrrreta. I assume the ‘r’ key must’ve gotten stuck when they typed out her nameplate.
Grrrreta the Devil You Know
The old gal was placed behind a sturdy fence to keep distracted truck drivers – and hormonal teenagers unable to restrain their lurid desires – away from her hedonistic curves.
She also had a leash strapped around her ankle to prevent her from going crazy and storming through the streets of Fruita, chasing cars and peeping in windows. Or, at the very least, popping into one of the town’s colourful, yet competitively-priced restaurants for a snack. Just a tip, this dino likes her steak rawwww!
The locals took to dressing Grrrreta up for special holidays. A pumpkin on her head for Halloween, a Santa costume leading up to Christmas, a yarmulke for Yom Kippur, that sort of thing.
Grrrreta’s whimsical nature harkens back to simpler times. No, not the Triassic period, that would’ve been vaguely horrible. I mean a time when men and women across the world built giant roadside dinos, like Tyra and Big Kev and Digby and the marvellous, majestic Ploddy.
Millions of years from now, long after we’re all gone and the Land of the Bigs servers have been shut down for good, the next inhabitants of this planet may, perhaps, stumble upon what’s left of Gretttta and the thousands of other roadside attractions that decorate our lonely blue planet. The only remaining trace of mankind’s existence, they’ll tell the stories of our culture and history, our triumphs and failures and wildest dreams.
Perhaps they’ll stand before Grrrreta, their six mouths agape, 23 eyes non-blinking, antennae wobbling around comically, feeling the same sense of wonder that the rest of us did the first time we saw this prehistoric masterpiece.
Gretttta, my fellow Biggies, is the ultimate expression of what it means to be human.
Oh give me a home, where a Big Buffalo roams. Where a Big Lego Man and Big Ant like to plaaaaaaaaay. Well, pardner, it looks like your new home is Grand Junction, Colorado, a leafy oasis that’s just bursting with beautiful Bigs.
It’s right there in the name – they don’t call it Small Junction, after all!
Mosey on down the quirky main street, past the eccentric coffee shops selling kiln-roasted lattes, and you will stop, mesmerised, before a gleaming beast of epic proportions. This, my friend, is Chrome on the Range II, a 7ft-tall buffalo pieced together from shiny chrome bumper bars.
The chrome critter was crafted by Aspen artiste Lou Wille, as the centrepiece of the town’s Art on the Corner initiative. The United Bank, where he was to be placed, took the bull by the horns and tipped in $20,000, with enthusiastic locals matching that effort. He was installed in 1989.
‘Chromey’ stands as a monument to a nation in a state of flux. The untamed past collides with a corporate present. The wild west meets offbeat small-town charm. Brazen yet bashful, vulgar yet wistful, this artwork offers a nostalgic look at the beating heart of America.
As his name suggests, Chrome on the Range II was based on a similar attraction – known as Chrome on the Range I – located a few hours drive away at the John Denver Sanctuary. It’s a rare case where the sequel is even more incredible the original.
I do think, however, they missed a trick by not naming him Chrome on the Range II: Chrome Harder.
There’s No Place Like Chrome
With Chrome on the Range II inviting a higher calibre of tourist into town, Grand Junction evolved into a bohemian enclave. Sadly, like the buffalo that once roamed these pastures, these halcyon days of economic prosperity were driven away by the endless march of time.
A number of banks occupied the building behind Chromey, before the most recent said, “bye, son!” and abandoned it a couple of years ago. The Big, Shiny Buffalo, once an ode to the American dream, now serves as a melancholy meditation on economic and social decay.
But wipe away those tears, because this overgrown cow will stand proudly on the corner of Main and 4th for-heifer.
“Nobody needs to worry,” bellowed Sarah Dishong, project coordinator for Downtown Grand Junction, amid rising concern. “The buffalo has been here for decades and is a part of our permanent collection. The piece isn’t going anywhere.”
So grab a tumeric mocha and spend a moment beside this perfectly-polished buffalo. Look into his big, knowing eyes. Rub his bulbous head. Kiss his glossy, yet mournful, cheek. Sit, cross-legged beneath his learning tree, and allow the history of the United States to wash over you.
Of course, some ‘haters’ claim that Chromey doesn’t count as a Big, because he’s not much larger than a regular bison – but I say that’s a load of bull!
Have you been running round like a headless chicken in search of roadside attractions? Then strut over to Fruita, Colorado, where you’ll find a bonkers statue dedicated to Mike the Headless Chicken!
The bizarre story of a chook who lived for 18 months after having his noggin lopped off – and went on to become a national celebrity – has long enthralled locals and visitors alike. A four-foot effigy to Mike, lovingly created by local artist Lyle Nichols, can be found outside the Aspen Street Coffee Co on the town’s leafy main street.
There’s no need to walk around on eggshells when visiting, because the mother hens at the cafe are really quite lovely. Maybe give the omelettes a miss, though – you might offend Mike.
The headless heartthrob’s no spring chicken, having been revealed to a bemused gathering of admirers back in March of 2000. Carefully crafted from 300 pounds of old metal farm castoffs, including axe heads and sickle blades, Mike fits in with the many oddball artworks scattered around this quirky village.
“I made him proud-looking and cocky,” Lyle cock-a-doodle-dooed, before joking that he gave the Fruita chamber of commerce a discount because Mike didn’t have a head.
Despite living just up the road from another Big, the legendary Grrrreta the Grrrreat Big Dinosaur, Mike certainly rules the roost in Fruita. The locals even throw a festival – or should that be nest-ival? – in his honour every June. With a 5km fun run, chicken dancing competition and displays from the region’s craft breweries, there’s always a few sore heads the next morning.
But I guess that’s better than having no head at all!
Where’s Your Head At?
The legend of Mike the Headless Chicken goes back to September 10, 1945. Fruita chap Lloyd Olsen, long henpecked by his domineering mother-in-law, decided to win her over with a succulent chicken dinner. Taking his prized cock, Mike, into the backyard, Lloyd kissed him goodbye and then lopped off his head with an axe.
And that’s when things got interesting. Instead of laying down to be served with a side of steamed vegetables, Mike went about his day, strutting around and fluffing up his feathers. Lloyd, who couldn’t believe his cluck, fed the decapitated bird with an eye-dropper. It was then that he saw signing signs.
Leaving his mother-in-law was unfed, Lloyd scooped up his headless chicken and rushed off to the University of Utah. There, the resident boffins proclaimed that Mike had just enough of a brain stem left to go on as if nothing had happened.
Well, it’s not as though fully-intact chickens are solving the secrets of the universe, anyway.
Lloyd hired a manager for Mike, and the bonceless bird immediately beaked the curiosity of the public. Soon he was travelling across America and appearing on the front cover of everything from Life magazine to Bird Fanciers Quarterly. Thousands – if not millions – lost their minds when they chooked him out.
Mike was the cock of the walk. Tabloids of the day caught him partying with Hollywood bad boy Gregory Peck, and stepping out with actresses Ingrid Birdman and Vivi-hen Leigh. The biggest star since Cluck Gable, many thought him destined. But one should never count one’s chickens – headless or otherwise – before they hatch.
One windswept night in Arizona, after a year-and-a-half without a head, Mike choked to death on a kernel of corn.
Beakle-Mania was over. Lloyd’s mother-in-law finally received her chicken feast.
Mike was immortalised in The Guinness Book of Records (as the longest surviving headless chicken), and the docu-hen-tary Chick Flick: The Miracle Mike Story. Pop royalty penned ballads about him. Mike the Headless Chicken by Sandy Lind lit up the charts, as did Headless Mike by The Radioactive Chicken Heads (An instant celebrity/He toured the country in an auto/Probably the greatest thing/To ever come from Colorado).
Mike brought newfound respect to chickens worldwide. He inspired other Bigs such as California’s Chicken Boy, and Charlie, Chickeletta and The Big Chook over in Australia.
Quite a chicken-feat, but nothing serves as a greater tribute to his legacy than the BIG statue in his hometown of Fruita. Cheeky, handsome and truly individual, you’ll have egg on face if you don’t see it!
