Jonneville
01-03-2013, 16:05
wonderland.wilderness.wasteland.america.com
Friendships are curious. Sometimes they make you do the strangest things, like driving all the way across America from ocean to ocean, from Sea to Shining Sea, just to carry out a last request and cast someone’s ashes into the Pacific. Last year that was why The Rolling Bones loaded up three hot rods early one June morning and headed west, on a coast to coast drive of over 6,000 miles.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsc89f9358.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps5d8cefc4.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsaab98130.jpg
The Bones are an interesting group of characters from different walks of life who live on borrowed time but the one thing each has in common is the desire to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of life. Their philosophy may read like a bumper sticker but they take it seriously: “You only have so much time on the playground”. Each time I say goodbye to the group to return to England, I never really know which ones will be there when I return. This time we were two down, both the victims of Saturday night excess; Ivan had bought the farm and Art had been sent down to ‘college’ for 18 months, which might be reduced if he behaves himself (doubtful).
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps56373de0.jpg
The plan was to drive hard for the first couple of days across the East Coast and the Great Plains, racking up about 7/800 miles a day to reach Colorado, then on into Utah to spend a day or two taking in the sights of Moab and Monument Valley, before pushing on to Phoenix and then LA.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsfb5e7901.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsab25edf7.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps322d59e8.jpg
This was a trip I had always dreamed of making and although some find the Mid-West tedious, I disagree – it all depends on what you are driving and the company you keep. Once we were out of the cities and driving through the small towns the shocking raw state of the American economy was revealed; so many one-horse towns struggling to survive with nothing but a gas station and a fading diner. East St Louis was like a war zone with the locals hanging over the wire fencing lining the freeway, just waiting for a victim to break down so that they could strip both the car and its driver of anything valuable.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps532cfe8e.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsd99f5b00.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsd79bcaf1.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps30e302bf.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps62b7d595.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps9fbbd20e.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsc555d3d0.jpg
Maybe we had a guardian angel watching over us since for once the Five-O left us alone, apart from one long game of cat and mouse with an unmarked black sedan which tried desperately hard to provoke us.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps7739432e.jpg
Somewhere in Utah we suddenly turned off the road onto a dirt track and headed into the canyons of Moab, a beautiful desert landscape which looked familiar from a thousand Westerns. After the wasteland of the inner cities this was an oasis and the hot rods looked like they were in their natural environment.
I was slightly apprehensive about Monument Valley as I had been waiting a lifetime to see it but it was as magical as I had expected, particularly watching the sun set over that famous vista of the ‘Mittens’, where Claudia Cardinale travelled to her new home in the opening scenes of Sergio Leone’s “Once upon a time in the west”. Like every good tourist we even bought beads from Red Indians, beautiful strings of turquoise which were hand-made by a little old lady who must have been at least a hundred years old.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps364968c8.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsfb3bfea7.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsb0298382.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo-42.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps45a7f37f.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps10966be1.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps3a3d62a8.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps457d88c7.jpg
After another detour to see friends in Phoenix, it was time to cross the Mojave Desert but we had a slight problem with the roadster as the crank pulley had sheared and the fan belt was hanging on by wishful thinking. There was no way that we could find a replacement pulley for a 1939 Ford engine so the only option was to leave early before the sun boiled the mercury and pray. You have to remember that these pre-war cars are rudimentary at best, with no luxuries such as a/c or even windows. When we crossed the desert the temperature was over 100 degrees so we resorted to ‘hillbilly air conditioning’, slashing open a 20lb bag of ice on the floor which then cools the cabin after being blasted with air from the cowl vent.
We left at 4am and took the back roads through the mountains, which quickly turned into a runaway train ride as we hurtled downhill onto the desert plains of the Mojave. I adored driving through the desert, which reminded me of one long MTV music video with a flathead Ford for our soundtrack. Joshua trees and cacti lined the road as we raced towards California.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps5207759f.jpg
We spent the weekend at the LA Roadsters Show in the Pomona State Fairgrounds but we never actually left the swap meet as we don’t really care for shows. Accommodation was at the Red Roof Inn in San Dimas, which seemed to have wild parties every night, often crashed by the homeless people living in the bushes behind the parking lot and the resident hookers.
Around midnight one evening we left for Santa Monica pier and the end of The Mother Road, to say our farewells to Ivan. 25 years ago I used to spend a lot of time in LA and the Highway 10 traffic was far, far worse than I ever remembered, yet it seemed to part like the Red Sea for our hot rod funeral cortege. I found my way around Olympic, Pico, then Lincoln Boulevards and there was the pier, lit up in a purple haze of gaudy neon. Richie carried out the honours, mumbling the lyrics to Jimi’s “Castles made of sand” as the waves washed Ivan away, eventually...
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps2dc50aed.jpg
We found a replacement crank pulley in the swap meet and persuaded a local machine shop to modify it to fit. The long haul uphill out of Pomona on Interstate 40 was going to be a hot slog for the flatheads, even with the hoods removed but we made it with only a couple of stops to cool down and admire the views.
The highway runs parallel to Route 66 which is where you stop for food and gas. Purely by chance we stopped off in Shamrock, Texas and found the art deco Conoco gas station used as the model for Ramone’s House of Body Art in Disney’s “Cars”, now restored and listed, unlike the rest of town which was deserted apart from a tough looking gang of accountants on their rented Harleys. I laid down in the middle of the road to take photos for what seemed like ages and not a single car passed by.
It was a poignant trip for many reasons; a lifetime dream fulfilled to see the wonderland of Monument Valley and the beautiful wilderness of the desert, contrasting starkly with the desperate wasteland of the cruel inner cities and sad, fading small towns with their dwindling populations. Poignant maybe but I guess the point is that castles made of sand always melt into the sea, eventually?
Regards
Jon'.
Friendships are curious. Sometimes they make you do the strangest things, like driving all the way across America from ocean to ocean, from Sea to Shining Sea, just to carry out a last request and cast someone’s ashes into the Pacific. Last year that was why The Rolling Bones loaded up three hot rods early one June morning and headed west, on a coast to coast drive of over 6,000 miles.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsc89f9358.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps5d8cefc4.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsaab98130.jpg
The Bones are an interesting group of characters from different walks of life who live on borrowed time but the one thing each has in common is the desire to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of life. Their philosophy may read like a bumper sticker but they take it seriously: “You only have so much time on the playground”. Each time I say goodbye to the group to return to England, I never really know which ones will be there when I return. This time we were two down, both the victims of Saturday night excess; Ivan had bought the farm and Art had been sent down to ‘college’ for 18 months, which might be reduced if he behaves himself (doubtful).
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps56373de0.jpg
The plan was to drive hard for the first couple of days across the East Coast and the Great Plains, racking up about 7/800 miles a day to reach Colorado, then on into Utah to spend a day or two taking in the sights of Moab and Monument Valley, before pushing on to Phoenix and then LA.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsfb5e7901.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsab25edf7.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps322d59e8.jpg
This was a trip I had always dreamed of making and although some find the Mid-West tedious, I disagree – it all depends on what you are driving and the company you keep. Once we were out of the cities and driving through the small towns the shocking raw state of the American economy was revealed; so many one-horse towns struggling to survive with nothing but a gas station and a fading diner. East St Louis was like a war zone with the locals hanging over the wire fencing lining the freeway, just waiting for a victim to break down so that they could strip both the car and its driver of anything valuable.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps532cfe8e.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsd99f5b00.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsd79bcaf1.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps30e302bf.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps62b7d595.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps9fbbd20e.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsc555d3d0.jpg
Maybe we had a guardian angel watching over us since for once the Five-O left us alone, apart from one long game of cat and mouse with an unmarked black sedan which tried desperately hard to provoke us.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps7739432e.jpg
Somewhere in Utah we suddenly turned off the road onto a dirt track and headed into the canyons of Moab, a beautiful desert landscape which looked familiar from a thousand Westerns. After the wasteland of the inner cities this was an oasis and the hot rods looked like they were in their natural environment.
I was slightly apprehensive about Monument Valley as I had been waiting a lifetime to see it but it was as magical as I had expected, particularly watching the sun set over that famous vista of the ‘Mittens’, where Claudia Cardinale travelled to her new home in the opening scenes of Sergio Leone’s “Once upon a time in the west”. Like every good tourist we even bought beads from Red Indians, beautiful strings of turquoise which were hand-made by a little old lady who must have been at least a hundred years old.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps364968c8.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsfb3bfea7.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zpsb0298382.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo-42.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps45a7f37f.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps10966be1.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps3a3d62a8.jpg
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps457d88c7.jpg
After another detour to see friends in Phoenix, it was time to cross the Mojave Desert but we had a slight problem with the roadster as the crank pulley had sheared and the fan belt was hanging on by wishful thinking. There was no way that we could find a replacement pulley for a 1939 Ford engine so the only option was to leave early before the sun boiled the mercury and pray. You have to remember that these pre-war cars are rudimentary at best, with no luxuries such as a/c or even windows. When we crossed the desert the temperature was over 100 degrees so we resorted to ‘hillbilly air conditioning’, slashing open a 20lb bag of ice on the floor which then cools the cabin after being blasted with air from the cowl vent.
We left at 4am and took the back roads through the mountains, which quickly turned into a runaway train ride as we hurtled downhill onto the desert plains of the Mojave. I adored driving through the desert, which reminded me of one long MTV music video with a flathead Ford for our soundtrack. Joshua trees and cacti lined the road as we raced towards California.
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps5207759f.jpg
We spent the weekend at the LA Roadsters Show in the Pomona State Fairgrounds but we never actually left the swap meet as we don’t really care for shows. Accommodation was at the Red Roof Inn in San Dimas, which seemed to have wild parties every night, often crashed by the homeless people living in the bushes behind the parking lot and the resident hookers.
Around midnight one evening we left for Santa Monica pier and the end of The Mother Road, to say our farewells to Ivan. 25 years ago I used to spend a lot of time in LA and the Highway 10 traffic was far, far worse than I ever remembered, yet it seemed to part like the Red Sea for our hot rod funeral cortege. I found my way around Olympic, Pico, then Lincoln Boulevards and there was the pier, lit up in a purple haze of gaudy neon. Richie carried out the honours, mumbling the lyrics to Jimi’s “Castles made of sand” as the waves washed Ivan away, eventually...
http://i557.photobucket.com/albums/ss14/StampeSV4/photo_zps2dc50aed.jpg
We found a replacement crank pulley in the swap meet and persuaded a local machine shop to modify it to fit. The long haul uphill out of Pomona on Interstate 40 was going to be a hot slog for the flatheads, even with the hoods removed but we made it with only a couple of stops to cool down and admire the views.
The highway runs parallel to Route 66 which is where you stop for food and gas. Purely by chance we stopped off in Shamrock, Texas and found the art deco Conoco gas station used as the model for Ramone’s House of Body Art in Disney’s “Cars”, now restored and listed, unlike the rest of town which was deserted apart from a tough looking gang of accountants on their rented Harleys. I laid down in the middle of the road to take photos for what seemed like ages and not a single car passed by.
It was a poignant trip for many reasons; a lifetime dream fulfilled to see the wonderland of Monument Valley and the beautiful wilderness of the desert, contrasting starkly with the desperate wasteland of the cruel inner cities and sad, fading small towns with their dwindling populations. Poignant maybe but I guess the point is that castles made of sand always melt into the sea, eventually?
Regards
Jon'.