It takes us a good 20 minutes and several wrong turns to find it. There – just ahead – something shimmers against the cold, grey sky.
We made it.
“I wonder what the ancients were thinking,” I shout over the wind. “What divine purpose this was serving.”
Spray cans are littered all around. Sal picks up one and gives it a curious shake.
“I don’t know,” he says.
There are a half dozen Americana pilgrims on this sacred ground today, at 10 am on a Saturday in late October. Our guide book says the cars are aligned in the same configuration as the Great Pyramid of Giza. I climb on one, rubbing spray paint onto the toe of my shoe.
A fellow Route 66 road tripper offers to take our photo for us. She and her husband are in their fifties or so, bundled up in identical red windbreakers. They also lived in England for a few years.
“I wasn’t that impressed with Stonehenge,” she says. “Every time someone came to visit, they made us go back to those rocks.”
“Have you been to Foamhenge in Virginia?” Sal asks.
She laughs. “No. I hear there’s a carhenge too.”
We run back to Horatio, panting from the wind and cold and mystery. Cadillac Ranch, in that unassuming field of yellow grass, leaves us with more questions than answers.