A giant can of fruit cocktail is all that remains of what was once the world's largest cannery.

A peculiar mansion built by the troubled heir to the Winchester Rifle Company fortune.

This concrete tangle of square pipes has stood as a proud thorn in the city's side since the '70s.

Not merely a museum – but a whirring powerhouse that offers a subterranean peek into the heart and soul of cable car operations.

One of the first skyscrapers in Santa Monica, and a famous getaway for the Hollywood elite of then and now.

Once strictly off-limits, this lower level housing curious and priceless vehicles of the Petersen Automotive Museum is now open to the public.

These delicate buggers are some of the rarest fossils that have bubbled up from the Tar Pits.

There are lots of hands and feet stamped in the cement in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, but Mel left behind something extra.

This California tree is the single source of the state's entire orange industry.

This historic tower in the California desert promises visitors a "vortex of good vibes".

The American rainmaker and a burst dam.

The Giant Lemon of Lemon Grove.

Not truly a ship nor a building, the Navy's first and last "landship" is now abandoned due to clerical issues.

San Diego's most historic and haunted home.

An extraordinarily ornate museum in San Diego holds wondrous anthropological treasures.

A sculpture of the famous photograph stands on San Diego's "Greatest Generation Walk."

Captain John Smith thought these cliffs were amazing in 1608 but sharks thought so 20 million years before him.

A dramatic, 360-degree recreation of Pickett's Charge in the Civil War.

The last holdout of a pre-Civil War rebel who took the matter of slavery into his own hands.

At Washington's Dulles Airport is a satellite museum (no pun intended) with three quarters of a million square feet of aircraft history.

This isn't your average roadway—it's actually a National Park and a transportation pioneer.

At 207 feet, one of the world's longest continuous escalators.

Decades before the scandal, this staircase on the river was a literal "water gate."

A monument in Washington D.C. marks the spot from which all other roads were supposed to stem.