It was the top down all the way to Texas for Mike and I in the Duke. That night the now-swollen caravan headed out of town and up into the valley of the Saguaro. Snaking through Saguaro National Monument outside Tucson around midnight, it soon became clear that the caravan was hopelessly lost. 'Who cares?' I thought. Part of a small nation of art cars, I felt safe, indestructible, indivisible with liberty and ample buzz for all. Finally resigned to not finding the campground, Harrod led us into a turnout somewhere in the darkness of the park and we disembarked for the night. There were people romping through the cactus, howls and hoots. Visions of scorpions kept me moored to the massive blue tarp laid out for general crashing purposes.

In the morning there was the brilliant blue sky above, cacti all around and Charles Hunt brewing coffee over a Sterno fire on the hood of The Grape. I haven't said much yet about Charles, perhaps because he's kinda difficult to describe. Charles Hunt is a beast, of sorts, a scary looking dude with a scary looking car. On the basis of outward appearances, Charles and his car go together like most pet owner's and their pets. German shepherd-like people have German shepherds; poodle-like people have poodles. But beneath his crusty exterior, Charles is a softy. The Grape, on the other hand, doesn't have a soft spot in it, so far as I can tell. A 64 Comet, the Grape is pure skeletal steel, driftwood, detritus and decomposition. It's bones and bombast, bullet holes and rusted bells. It's a thing from Hell. And it's beautiful. But its Sterno coffee production wasn't enough to sate everyone, so we went on a coffee run in The Land Yacht.

What can I say about Eric Lamb except that a ride in the crow's nest of his towering Land Yacht through Saguaro to a tiny diner in the desert for coffee was one wild ride. If you've never sailed the cacti and tumbleweed sea in a luxury yacht, well.. I recommend it highly. This massive white Cadillac done up like a yacht gives true meaning to the automotive pejorative, 'It drives like a boat.' An Art Car joke: Why did the Land Yacht drive to Michigan? To anchor in Ann Arbor.

That morning was the first and last I would see of Eric Lamb. Impatient with the caravan's snail-like pace, he would run on ahead of us toward Texas, although come to think of it I don't recall ever seeing him in Houston.

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Last update April 1, 2004