Atomic City, Idaho: The Tiny Nuclear-Age Town That Is Still Hanging On

If you've ever wanted to visit a place that sounds like a Cold War superweapon but looks like a gravel parking lot with a drinking problem, welcome to Atomic City, Idaho. It's in the high desert of Bingham County, and it's the kind of place where the town name writes checks the town can't cash.

From "Midway" to Meltdown Adjacent: A Brief History of Atomic City, Idaho

Atomic City wasn't always Atomic City. It was called "Midway" until 1950, as it is halfway between the towns of Blackfoot and Arco. That's a name with all the ambition of a rest stop sandwich.

Then the Atomic Age rolled in. In 1949, the federal government established the National Reactor Testing Station on a vast tract of desert nearby, the roughly 890-square-mile site known today as the Idaho National Laboratory. More than a thousand construction workers descended upon the town in the 1950s to build it. The town did what any sensible small place would do: it rebranded. The town changed its name from Midway to Atomic City, but its hopes of becoming the site's headquarters were dashed when Idaho Falls was chosen.

That is the most small-town thing imaginable: changing your name to impress someone who then picks your more attractive neighbor.

The boom was brief. In 1953 the city's population was about three hundred, but by 1960 it had dropped to 141. The census says 24 in 1970, which is a decline of 83%. Even the radiation couldn't make people glow about staying.

And yes, the neighborhood has real nuclear history. Nearby Arco was home of Experimental Breeder Reactor I, the first reactor to generate usable electricity. The region also saw the SL-1 accident, the only fatal reactor accident in U.S. history, which killed three people. It's not exactly a selling point, but it does make "we've had worse days" a legitimate local motto.

Population: Small. Area: Smaller. Incorporation: Still Hanging On.

Let's talk numbers, because they're delightfully tiny. The population was 41 at the 2020 census, up from 25 in 2010. That's a 64% surge, which in Atomic City terms means a few extra pickup trucks moved in. You could cross town in the time it takes to say "is that a deer?" (And you might be asked that, because the residents like the deer wandering frequently into town.)

Then came the plot twist: nothing. The town didn't get nuked, and it didn't file its own paperwork and leave. It's the most Idaho thing possible: a government so small you'd think it had already given up, and yet it's still there.

The old guard also notes that U.S. Highway 26 used to pass right through Atomic City, but a newer alignment takes it a few miles to the east. So the town was bypassed by its own highway, a bit like being ghosted by asphalt.

One Store, One Bar, Zero Gas: The Atomic City Business District

Tourism boards love to say "something for everyone." Atomic City offers something for exactly one kind of person: someone who wants a drink and a stamp. There is one store and one bar in Atomic City; the store no longer sells gasoline, due to new laws pertaining to its underground gas tanks. Roadside America adds that the gas station is also the post office and bar. It's a triple threat, if the threats are "mail," "beer," and "what year is it?"

The area has some legitimately charming oddities, though. One local writer reported that once in a while, a pilot will land a small airplane right on the street out front and come in for a drink. That's the most Atomic City sentence ever written: a place where the main street doubles as a runway and nobody blinks.

Roadside America, for its part, says the signs around town provide for one of the country's best photo opportunities. So bring a camera, a full tank of gas from literally anywhere else, and low expectations.

Atomic Motor Raceway and the Legendary Race Taco

Here's where Atomic City gets weirdly wonderful. Despite the town's tiny size, less than half a mile of dirt draws hundreds of people here on summer Saturdays to the Atomic Motor Raceway. It's a 1/3 mile dirt oval. Drivers come from Utah, Wyoming and Montana to race, which means people willingly drive hours to a town with no gas station to burn more gas going in circles. We respect the commitment.

The track has some history of its own. One longtime organizer recalled that the then-mayor of Atomic City offered to lease him the space for one dollar per year. A buck a year! That's cheaper than a gas station candy bar, if there were a gas station.

And then there's the food. Race tacos are a blend of hamburger meat, shredded cheese and lettuce in a bag of crushed Doritos. It's a Frito pie's rowdy cousin, and honestly, it's the single best argument for visiting. Per the raceway's own website, after the races, you can join them at the Atomic City Bar & Store for the after party. So the full Atomic City itinerary is: watch cars turn left, eat a taco from a bag, and then drink at the only bar in town, which is also where you buy stamps.

Should You Visit Atomic City, Idaho?

Absolutely, as long as you treat it like the quirky roadside detour it is. It's a deeply weird, deeply Idaho footnote in the story of nuclear America, with desert views, friendly locals, and a name that gets you a double-take on any map. Just don't expect a Starbucks, a stoplight, or a functioning pump.

Think we were too nice? See the full roast on RoastMyTown.com.