An old man in a new white Cadillac was bending Chiquita's ear and holding up traffic behind me, while a huge human being in coveralls and resembling Hoss from "Bonanza" was saying, "Mr. Hew-sted would like to give you all a free ice water book." Huh?

To make a long story short, the old man was 96-year-old Ted Hustead, founder of Wall Drug, a drug store in the middle of nowhere made-famous by Hustead's initial genius act of giving out free ice water to travelers. The big guy was his driver and personal assistant. The Ice Water Book is Wall Drug's biography. And the story is that old Ted liked our cars, and that I was able to turn that appreciation into $20 off lunch for the gang. It wasn't much, but it was fun. I kicked myself later for not getting a photo of me and Ted. Nowadays Wall Drug gives out free bumper stickers (each one a tiny billboard advertisement of itself). We took them and stuck them on our cars. Seven altered his to read, "Drug Dakota." And on we rolled.

Rapid City

Well, this is a first. I'm sitting upstairs in the trunk sculpture while some cop runs Tex's license and Duke's info. Never been pulled over while writing before, and up in the trunk sculpture no less. The cops are breathalyzing the whole gang. Seems our wagon train formation in the parking lot of Dan's Market upset the management enough for them to call the cops on us. Apparently you have to be drunk to do anything resembling fun in this town. Rapid City. Arrive with style and we will rapidly descend upon you with cops and a fresh breathalyzer straw for everyone. Ah, hell. Tomorrow they'll send out a news team to brighten their gloomy news day.

The cop is apparently confused with the information given him. It doesn't match up. The cop wants to know who owns the car. Tex says, "The car belongs to the man upstairs." We're going to jail for sure now.

The cop figures out that Tex is telling the truth and calls me down from above. Cops. They would summon God from the Heavens if they could. I come down. I am flustered, unable to find my license and irritated to be disturbed from A: my nap, and B: my writing, all for no reason that I can ascertain. I mean, why does the guy need my license? And now he wants to breathalyze me! The absurdity of the whole thing is so bulbous and magnificent that I play along, utterly stupefied. What the hell. It'll make for a good story. I pass the breathalyzer with flying colors. Duh. It's the middle of the afternoon and I've been sleeping. Ok, now the reason for this charade is finally made clear. Cops. Keep you in the dark as long as they can. It seems Stockton's license is expired and they need me to drive for him. Phew. I thought I was going to have to go into a fit of insane laughter and dance around like a goofy chicken. Wouldn't that be good, eh? Stone sober, not even driving, man pulled over and dragged from his car for no good reason at all arrested for balking at police with mad chicken clucks. Fuck.

The Rant of Seven:
the artist speaks out on car art

[Based on interview notes scribbled in a frenzy in an industrial back lot, Rapid City, SD. Seven would like it noted that all sentiments expressed about Ramon were said before Ramon's mysterious disappearance.]

If it didn't look cool, they would arrest us. Even though they are lay people they have enough sense to know that this is art.

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Last update April 1, 2004