Mines and Bordellos at Idaho's Center of the Universe
Wallace, Idaho, is humble in size but bold in every other respect. Known as the Silver Capital of the World and the "Center of the Universe" (more on this in a moment), this licentious mining and timber town is one of The Gem State's quirky standouts. I happened upon Wallace's good people and historic infrastructure while driving down the panhandle in search of a good old-fashioned American adventure. Here, just an hour east of Coeur d'Alene, I joined a heartwarming community event, toured a defunct bordello that has been frozen in time since the FBI raided it in the 1980s, and got to appreciate the misty, pine-shrouded beauty of the surrounding Bitterroot Mountains. With its storied past and touristic novelty, Wallace is a proud, scrappy place - one that deserves a deeper dive.
A Bit About Wallace
Wallace takes its name after Colonel William R. Wallace who settled here in 1884 - beckoned by the abundant deposits of the aptly named Silver Valley. The following year, his wife Lucy became the town's first postmaster. Two years after that, the railroad arrived and downtown began to blossom as miners from around the world came to claim their loot. Unfortunately, a major fire broke out in 1890, effectively leveling the fresh wooden structures at Wallace's core. But thanks to the emerging wealth and continued promise of the town, all of the buildings were rebuilt with brick. Devastatingly, the "Big Burn" of 1910 (i.e. the largest forest fire in U.S. history) once again hit Wallace hard - this time destroying one-third of its downtown. Once again demonstrating their robust ways, Wallaceonians rebuilt. In fact, most of the buildings standing today are the original 1890 structures or those renovated in the early 20th century.
Another amazing example of Wallace's fighting spirit emerged in the early 1990s when Interstate 90 was set to plow right through town. Rather than lay down in the face of heartless bureaucracy, an unprecedented mission was concocted. Every single building in Wallace's downtown was listed on the National Register of Historic Places (making it, to this day, one of the only communities in the U.S. to do so), giving transit authorities no choice but to build up and over the audacious town.
Emboldened by the incorrigible momentum, Wallace made another unique move in the early days of the new millennium. One night, a gang of spritely saloon hoppers declared that a manhole on Main Street was the center of the universe. Snowballing on the idea and incorporating the Ancient Greek doctrine of probabilism, which states that if you can't prove something isn't true, then it must be so, the mayor officially declared Wallace as the "Probabilistic Center of the Universe." Faulty logic and double negatives aside, you have to give Wallaceonians points for creativity. Something about the simple signage around a manhole sure does draw a steady crowd of out-of-towners. Invariably, when a local tour let out, I saw patrons beeline for this spot (having obviously just been informed of the silly factoid) to take pictures.
Community
Whether it's the enthusiastic elderly ladies overseeing the Oasis Bordello Museum, the salt-of-the-earth first responders, the welcoming barkeeps, or the off-the-beaten-path visitors, Wallace is all about community. Sure, Wallace does have a weird side to it. You'll undoubtedly meet the odd toothless Joe or sloshed Sally as you make your way around the few square blocks, but nothing beyond the usual fringe small town dynamics. So, let's focus on the positives.
The community spirit was thrust upon my girlfriend and me during the early hours of our first morning in Wallace. We were in the midst of a camper van tour and, having rolled into town late the previous night, parked on an unassuming side street to sleep. Upon awakening, I trotted over to 6th & Cedar Espresso Bar to get a hot cup of coffee while Irina slept a bit longer. Mesmerized by the rain and low-lying clouds that plunged into the dark green hillsides, I failed to notice a swarm of fire trucks and other vehicles surrounding our dinky Ford Transit Connect. Irina, on the other hand, took notice, and summoned me back with a concerned text (one of the unexpected tribulations of van life). It turns out that the area's first responders were setting up for their 9/11 Memorial event (the infamous date slipped my mind, but these folks will clearly never forget).
After clearing the street, I doubled back to ask about the fundraiser. Each year, the local firefighters, police, paramedics, and anyone else who wants to join climb lap after lap of the Wallace Stairs (a series of 100-foot-long wooden cases that have long brought residents from downtown to their homes in the hills) until they amassed the number of steps of the late World Trade Center - bottom to top. Most carried heavy gear on their backs, and everyone clipped on a laminated picture/bio of a brother or sister who made the ultimate sacrifice that fateful day. Despite the inclement weather, the turnout was great, the messages were moving, and I was grateful to have been able to join in at the last minute. It gave me the chance to chat with the friendly residents (who taught me about the ghost of Sixth Street Theatre, the Center of the Universe gag, the surprisingly celebrated brothel history, and the filming of the Pierce Brosnan thriller Dante's Peak), and it instilled a little bit of that good old fashioned American patriotism into this listless Canadian.
Nature
Wallace has its share of indoor highlights. There are underground mine tours, four distinct museums, and plenty of cozy cafes, craft breweries, and edgy saloons in which to wash the day down. But Wallace also sits at the north end of the Bitterroot Mountains, and at the base of the 2.5-million-acre Idaho Panhandle National Forest - together forming a dynamic, lush, and sparsely-populated swath of wilderness. There are 1,000 miles of backcountry logging/mining roads in the vicinity - now repurposed to form the largest mountain bike, snowmobile, and ATV trail system in the world. Cyclists, in particular, are drawn here because of the famed Route of the Hiawatha and Trail of the Coeur d'Alenes. Even with the steady rain over my three-day trip, the pelotons persisted.
One of the most immediately accessible ways to peek into the national forest, and into Wallace's past, is by walking the four-mile (out-and-back) Pulaski Tunnel Trail. Now a serene, creekside path, this route was taken by a team of firefighters (led by Edward "Big Ed" Pulaski) attempting to escape the "Big Burn" in August of 1910. Interpretive signs dot the trail on the way to the Nicholson mine overlook, informing curious tourists of the horrendous fire.
Northern Idaho's naturescape is the epitome of purity. The air is clean, the atmosphere soothing, and the possibilities are as endless as the thick blanket of evergreen trees and huckleberry bushes. And one need not be an athlete to enjoy it. I loved simply getting up into the hills, feeling the cool moisture in the air and smelling the earthy, oxygenating greenery while gazing back down over the timeless town.
Photo Highlight Reel
Despite my efforts to expound, the reality is that Wallace is a rather ineffable place. So, I think I'll leave you with a montage of boots-on-the-ground pictures to butter you up for your own 2025 road trip. Whatever your fancy - nature, formative American history, no-holds-barred culture, or classic small-town charm, you are sure to find it at the center of the universe. Until next time, Wallace!
