Enchanted Highway In North Dakota

Okay, friend, let’s talk about one of the most wonderfully weird road trips you can take in America. I’m talking about the Enchanted Highway in North Dakota. No, it’s not a highway that casts spells (though you might start believing that). It’s a 32-mile stretch of two-lane blacktop that’s been turned into a giant, open-air art gallery.

And by “art gallery,” I mean enormous metal sculptures—some as tall as a ten-story building—plopped right in the middle of a prairie. If you’re expecting fancy museum lighting and velvet ropes, you’re in for a hilarious surprise. Instead, you get wind, wheat fields, and the occasional confused cow.

The mastermind behind this roadside marvel is a guy named Gary Greff. He’s a local artist who—in the late 1980s—looked at the dying small towns around him and thought, “You know what this place needs? A giant metal grasshopper.” And honestly? He was right.

Why is there a giant metal grasshopper?

Let’s start with the first sculpture you’ll see if you’re coming from the south: “Geese in Flight.” It’s a massive flock of 110 steel geese soaring overhead, suspended between three 110-foot poles. It’s the world’s largest scrap-metal sculpture. Imagine a flock of Canada geese that ate too many protein shakes.

Then you drive a bit and—BAM!—you hit “The Grasshopper’s Delight.” It’s a 50-foot-tall grasshopper playing a fiddle, surrounded by huge bugs doing a jig. I’m not saying it’s haunted, but I’m also not not saying it’s haunted. It’s just… a lot of bug energy.

And you can’t forget “Pheasants on the Prairie.” Two 40-foot-tall pheasants, one of which has a 34-foot wingspan. You know, in case you ever need to be reminded that North Dakota takes its pheasants very seriously. It’s the kind of thing that makes you go, “Oh, right. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

The weirdest one? The one that winks at you.

My personal favorite—and I say this with all the love in my heart—is “The Tin Family.” It’s a set of five giant metal people (a dad, mom, two kids, and a dog) that are supposed to look like they’re made from tin cans. They’re cute, but here’s the kicker: the dad’s eye winks.

Yes. A 45-foot-tall metal man winks at you as you drive by. It’s powered by a solar cell. So if you’re driving alone at dusk and that giant tin soldier gives you a slow, mechanical wink, don’t panic. It’s just art being friendly. Or is it?

But wait—there’s more. There’s “The Teddy Bear’s Picnic” (a 40-foot teddy bear sitting with a picnic basket, because why not?), “The Fisherman’s Dream” (a 75-foot cutthroat trout leaping out of a sea of grass), and—my personal challenge—“The Deer’s Playground.” It’s a giant deer with three fawns, and I swear one of them looks like it’s judging your music choices.

Okay, but is it worth the drive?

Look, I’m not going to lie to you: the Enchanted Highway is in the middle of nowhere. We’re talking “you’ll pass more tractors than cars” territory. But that’s exactly the point. This isn’t a polished, corporate attraction. It’s one man’s crazy dream made real with scrap metal, welding torches, and sheer stubbornness.

You’ll find the highway off Interstate 94, exit 72, near the town of Gladstone. And the best part? It’s completely free. You just pull over at each sculpture, park your car, and walk right up to these absurdly huge creations. There’s no ticket booth, no gift shop (yet), and no one telling you not to touch. It’s pure, unadulterated Americana.

But here’s a pro-tip: bring bug spray. The mosquitoes out there aren’t sculptures—they’re real and they’re hungry. I’m pretty sure one of them tried to use me as a ride to the next town.

The tiny towns that almost weren’t

Greff’s real goal wasn’t just to make cool art—it was to save the dying town of Regan, where he grew up. He figured if he built something wild enough, people would come. And they did. Now, the highway draws thousands of tourists a year, from Japan to Germany to your weird uncle from Minnesota.

The town of Regan even has a gift shop now, and a café where you can sit and eat a burger while staring at a 70-foot fish. It’s the kind of small-town magic that makes you believe in the power of one person’s imagination. And welding skills. Lots of welding skills.

So, is the Enchanted Highway silly? Absolutely. Is it a little bit cheesy? You bet. But after a year of scrolling through screens and worrying about the news, standing under a giant metal goose that glints in the sun feels like a tiny, wonderful miracle.

Why you should go this summer

Because life is short. Because you deserve a road trip where the attractions actually surprise you. Because you haven’t lived until you’ve tried to take a selfie with a 40-foot grasshopper and realized your phone’s camera can’t even fit all of its eyeball. That’s a memory.

And here’s the best part: you’ll leave smiling. There’s something about these ridiculous, gigantic, handmade sculptures that just makes you happy. Maybe it’s the fresh air. Maybe it’s the sheer audacity. Or maybe it’s because you just got winked at by a tin man who’s been standing in a field for thirty years, and he still thinks you’re worth the show.

So go. Drive that weird highway. Let the prairie wind mess up your hair. Laugh at the birds. Take a blurry photo. And when you’re back home, telling your friends about the giant fairy-tale creatures in North Dakota, you’ll smile—and so will they. Because that’s what the Enchanted Highway is: a reason to smile on a road that seems to go nowhere, but actually leads straight to a small, joyful piece of the world.