Inside, it’s basically a vertical museum of stuff. Taxidermy. Rusty farm tools. A two-headed calf that looks like it’s judging your life choices. The climb to the top is narrow, steep, and feels like you’re ascending into a fever dream.
I made the mistake of wearing flip-flops. Halfway up, I was clinging to the railing like a cat on a curtain, praying the 1930s concrete would hold my 21st-century anxiety. By the time I reached the top, my lungs had a personal vendetta against me.
But then you step onto the outdoor deck. The wind hits you like a friendly slap, and you see forever. The plains stretch out in every direction, flat as a pancake that forgot to rise. It’s the kind of view that makes you forget your phone exists.
The Owner, the Legend
The tower was built by a guy named L.B. “Skeet” Leonard in the 1920s. He wanted to bring tourists to this forgotten patch of America. His plan? Build a giant, weird tower with a “Wonder View” and charge a dime to get in. It’s the most optimistic business plan since the pet rock.
Today, it’s run by his family, and they treat it like a beloved, slightly unhinged relative. You’ll hear stories about how Skeet used to fire a cannon off the top to announce lunch time. I wish my office had a cannon. I’d use it for every boring Zoom meeting.
World's Wonder View Tower I | Genoa, Colorado
They also keep a guestbook. People write things like, “Best bathroom break between Denver and Chicago” and “My kids think we saw God up here.” I’m pretty sure one entry just said, “Help.” It’s that kind of place.
