There and back

I recently drove 3489.6 miles through five states with some friends and did a lot of interesting things (watched a football championship, drove Mulholland drive, walked the Vegas Strip, slept at the Grand Canyon, etc). What topped the list? Ten Cadillacs buried in the ground.


Cadillac Ranch is located just west of Amarillo along Interstate 40 (Old Route 66). Hours earlier, we had risen with the New Mexico sun to set out from Albuquerque on our way back from California. Thousands of miles had been driven. The Truck needed an oil change. Tensions were strained. The last few hundred miles were going to be the hardest of the thousands we had covered.

L.A. was interesting - like a bigger Houston without feeder roads on the highways. There is also an ocean and some mountains.


Vegas was too much. Too many lights, too many drinks, too many ways to spend money. One of our party was unaccounted for between 4 and 6 am. He came back with hundreds of dollars less than he had left with and does not remember much of that particular outing. His credit card statement served a harsh reminder of his whereabouts, but I'll leave that story for him to tell.

I did enjoy Vegas, though. Had I not won a few hundred dollars at blackjack, my thoughts on the town would far less favorable.


The above image kind of sums up Las Vegas - glossy business cards for hookers. They found there way into a gutter. Poetic. And convenient for those looking for the right match.

The Grand Canyon lived up to its name. I wish we had had more than a few hours of daylight to enjoy the place, but time was not on our side.


Like Vegas, the canyon's scale is hard to comprehend. The challenge at a place like that is to take a picture that isn't already on a post card. Before we left, we learned that the canyon suffers from year-round haze courtesy of urban areas west and south. Pretty lame.

So when we finally did make it back to Texas, there was something oddly friendly about Cadillac Ranch. The open Texas panhandle felt inviting; the horizon spread its arms out to welcome us in. Ten Cadillacs buried in the ground was perfect. A rusting Stonehenge with a chameleon-like skin of ever-changing graffiti set against a stark Amarillo sky. Beautifully simple, endlessly debatable, and like most good things in our state, only made better with a cold beer. St. Peter might as well have met us there with a sixer of Lonestar.