Places bertshetler Wants to Go

An incredible airplane graveyard sits outside this small museum dedicated to preserving aviation history.

An important piece of history from mankind's journey to the moon sits in the lobby of a government science lab.

A nature and cultural preserve named for its multitude of petroglyphs carved by the Northern Sinagua people.

An artificial crater field that trained astronauts for lunar exploration.

The eroded core of an ancient volcano is now accessible by a short hike.

Eons ago, a rushing lava river formed this pristine passage through solid rock.

Bootleggers ran booze beneath this building before (and after) Route 66 appeared beside it.

This remote desert watering hole has a connection to a curious chapter of American history.

Standing guard on top of an old, vacant ice cream shop.

Ancient petroglyphs discovered only after a massive fire swept across Michigan in the 1880s.

A 14th century castle built on the seat of a mighty giant.

The city walls of Salé lead to the ruins of this seaside "bastion of tears."

Thousands of narrow alleyways in an ancient medieval city make up what's believed to be the world's largest car-free urban zone.

The abstract sandstone rock formations at this Algerian national park are rich with prehistoric art.

The most remote tree in the world survived desertification, but not a drunk truck driver.

These ancient giraffes are the largest known animal petroglyphs in the world.

Tacoma’s 25-foot coffee pot music spot has served up over 80 years of concrete kitsch.

The world's largest egg has been cracked a number of times over the years but has been repeatedly replaced.

This large Sitka spruce that appears to be floating in mid-air, has defied logic for years.

A tribute to the Nirvana frontman hides beneath the bridge that was the singer's beloved hangout spot.

A giant roadside black bird marks the location of this eclectic local mall.

Celebrate Earth Day with a menagerie of vibrant, artistic animal costumes.

A giant sculpture dedicated to a staple of South Bend food culture.

This grove of ghostly cedars was killed in 1700 by an enormous tsunami, felt from the United States to Japan.