We’ll be exhibiting at Newark Show Ground this weekend of June 10th to 12th
Step back in time to the evocative music of yesteryear. Whether you seek to capture the lost glamour of the 30’s or the nostalgia of the 40s, you can rock n roll to 50s tunes, then get down to some rhythm and blues.
There’s family fun for everyone at this epic retro weekender. You can have a whirl on the dodgems, jump & jive at a tea dance and set your senses alight at our burlesque cabaret show.
Adore the classic & vintage cars we have on display. Browse the vintage clothing and retro treasures on offer with stalls aplenty. Hosting some of the best talent in the UK across 3 stages. With extended camping facilities to accommodate, Retro Festivals are not to be missed!
We’re looking forward to exhibiting at Peterborough Show Ground this weekend for the Hot Rod, Custom & American Car Show, along with the Modified Show.
It’s shaping up to be a great weekend. Will we see you there?
My website has recently had a major overhaul in the background including a security update, you may have noticed the new https status.
All good news apart from the possibility that some of you who have subscribed for email updates on New Artwork and info on upcoming Shows and Exhibitions may have lost your subscription for which I apologise.
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We hope you are all healthy and coping in the best way you can in these challenging times.
I just wanted to let you know that although the Corona Virus may have caused the cancellation of car-show events, we are still OPEN here online. And I’m pleased to emphasise that the Delivery Services are all still working so we can process our online sales with no problems at all.
We have lots of artwork here with us and if you want some of it there with you just send Mandy or myself a message and, if you’re struggling, we can play some haggle games on pricing. Don’t be shy, I mean who would have thought that the governments of the world would have the entire population standing 2 meters apart within just a few months, so anything is possible! and as a helpful tip Mandy is usually much friendlier than I am when it comes to a deal (I still scavenge through skips looking for something that might “Come in handy”! )
In the meantime I’m going to be displaying my latest work for sale online together with any offers, so don’t forget to subscribe for updates.
I never set out to be an artist! I’d never taken myself seriously enough to know really what I was doing or why and to be honest the art world and art galleries kind of scared me. I was just compelled to draw, an impression in my own mind of the finished piece wasn’t what drove me forward it was more a feeling or an emotion that I needed to express, confidence was something that evaded me.
Moving on quite a few decades and wondering how I had got to this point without real plans or direction I’m realising more and more that it’s the love and appreciation of my work that is the very catalyst of everything that I am and for that I will be eternally grateful. There is a certain vulnerability to this too which feeds my adrenalin, you guys have the power to make or break me, the decision is in your hands and you are always surprising me.
A couple of years ago whilst we were trading at one of the more arty shows I was approached and asked if I would be interested in selling my used palette! My disposable palette? After some confusion on my part I signed and exchanged my used cast-off for cash and wondered what the hell had just happened.
A year later and in the lead up to the same show, I realised because of my commission work load that I didn’t have any original paintings to display and then remembered the palette sale. So I began to play with the idea of rendering a vehicle in oils onto a used palette knowing that I would have to loosen my style and colour combinations to compliment this abstract background squelch of tones and hues that lay before me.
For me this was a huge ask. I am obsessively a stickler for detail, often far beyond need or want, never happy with a finished piece and I was now challenging myself to be, for want of a better word, loose, messy even. The clock was ticking as I sent myself down a road to which the consequences could not only have been messy but there was the distinct possibility of an explosion of emotions leading to self-destruction. I console myself sometimes about my strange behaviour by thinking back to the day a very wise older lady turned to me and said “You’re allowed to, you’re an artist”. This was the excuse I was using now for my change of style and possible reaction to comments such as “What the hell were you thinking”…
This Palette Painting sold on its first showing along with such comments as :
“I think I prefer these to your normal paintings”“These are much more arty”“I love the idea of owning an actual physical piece of the artist’s creative process”
The question that I have tried to push to the back of my mind now however is, has my obsessive attention to detail previously been influencing my customers’ choices with regards commissioned work? I’ll leave that there for now. The art lover who took it upon himself to ask to purchase that first palette I’m sure doesn’t realise how that action and his kind words activated a shift in my thinking, helping to change my perception of how I work and within reason how I deal with my life/work balance. I really enjoy the looseness of these paintings, the freedom to experiment and explore.
A year on and I have a growing list of new commissions for these strange paintings that manifest from ready and waiting incidental background splashes of oil paint that hold within them the mystery of previous creations. And the attitude of the customer has changed too.
“We’ll just leave it to you” and “You’re the artist, you just go with the flow”
I will always love creating a ‘story’ with my more detailed paintings but the freedom of movement I have with these new sporadic palette paintings is strangely empowering, encouraging me to take risks and venture to places that have previously been my own private guilty artistic pleasure. The best thing of all is that it’s ok, you said, and anyway, I’m allowed, I’m an artist! …
.
And here’s my latest, they both sold quickly after writing this. I’d be interested in what you think but I’m not fully liberated yet, so be gentle …
These palette paintings are proving to be so popular I’m now having prints produced. Here’s the new range so far including new palette art not seen in this article :
This painting, which I’ve called “Low Flyers”, had been festering in my mind for some time before I was able to capture it on canvas. I knew it had to be imposing and I wanted it to take the viewer through a varied range of emotions. The canvas needed to be large to make an impact not only when viewed but I wanted it to be ‘heard’ too. So deafening yet so humbling that it almost falls silent, begging the question, if a young girl screams excitedly but no one can hear her, does she actually make a noise? I chose a 2ft by 3ft canvas and had to force myself to find enough time to put aside to create this piece. This decision was helped along by my family telling me that putting it on hold was starting to affect my commissioned work and I was also becoming impossible to live with! Incentive enough!
Canvas primed and eagerly grabbing my oils and brushes I was ready to capture the feeling of speed and raw overwhelming power.
So here it is. Just as the boys and the girl think they’ve reached the edge of a full adrenalin rush in their hot rods suddenly from nowhere comes the almighty sound and overpowering presence of a B17 Flying Fortress bomber accompanied by a P51 Mustang and a P47 Thunderbolt!
Being our first trip to the USA we were curious about so many things, bombarding friends or friends of friends who had travelled there before with so many questions.
“So what’s the deal with the highways and all those lanes?” more often than not the reply was:
“Ahh just drive where ever you like, same as in the films really, you can just snake in and out, I think it’s out of boredom because of the length of the roads out there”
Nobody told us you can exit from both sides of a highway! In built up areas leaving from the left means keeping left on a two lane exit, same for the right. “Ahh so it all makes sense now.”
Ian did try swerving from lane to lane because in his mind one of the reasons we were in the US was to become part of a 70’s movie from beginning to end, and that involved car chases, picking up hitchhikers in tiny shorts, and running into trouble at every pit stop.
“Ian”
“Yeah”
“What do you think speed enforced by aircraft means?”
We were driving south on US 550 after leaving Arizona into New Mexico.
“Where did you see that?”
“On a sign, further back”
We looked at each other, leaned forward to check out the sky in front then opened the side windows just to make sure we hadn’t been allocated our very own aircraft which had taken its place directly above us.
“Enforced? Wouldn’t that imply that you’re not actually in control of your speed somehow? Put your foot down I want to see what happens”
30mph over the speed limit and nothing happened, the road was empty of cars, and as far as we could see there were no airplanes brandishing state of the art laser beams of mass control. Ian slowed down.
I’m sure we wouldn’t have been having the conversation, but right then on that part of desert road there wasn’t much to see. The red hue of the Arizona desert had turned to grey and it looked like rain.
There had instantly been a different vibe on entering New Mexico, the Spanish feel was overwhelming evident. Not Spain by the sea where you eat your under enthusiastic paella and watch Sky TV in the bar, but the bits you get lost in on dull days when you decide to make use of your hire car and just drive for miles eventually seeing nothing and going nowhere at all.
I was enjoying the reality of it though for the moment, from what I’d seen so far the area wasn’t a place frequented by tourists, maybe in the mountains there were hidden treasures, historic wonders but we weren’t going to see them this time we were on a mission. Albuquerque bound and Route 66, museums and such weren’t going to lend themselves to a possible Dirty Mary Crazy Larry ending.
I had booked two nights at the Enchanted Trails RV Park and Trading Post on Route 66. It sits on a high desert Mesa overlooking Albuquerque. We would be staying in a 1959 Spartan Trailer named ‘Flossie’.
“Hey Ian”
“Yeah”
“What’s the date? I think we could possibly be a day or two too early to turn up at the RV park”
The cancellation of Speed Week was still throwing us out of sync.
After establishing that we were in fact two days early to check in and only 120 miles from our destination we decided to stop at the next town and stay over a couple of nights
“Hey there is a place around 80 miles north of Albuquerque called Cuba.” Since heading east the days seemed to be getting cooler, especially travelling some of the mountain roads.
We headed for Cuba hoping for sunshine, cocktails, possibly a pool, Luis Ernesto would roll us a fine cigar and play music that would just make us want to Salsa.
It was getting dark when we pulled up outside the motel, and it was cold. Being British and of that mentality these type of conversations would run through my mind.
“Hello do you have a room available?”
“Have you booked?”
“No Sorry we ha…..”
“Do you have your passports?”
On showing passports “We don’t have a free room but can you work every other day until the end of your stay? Your only other option is the Ramsden’s, they’ll take you in but they’re a good three hour drive”
“Say we did work every other day, where would we stay if you have no rooms”
“With Jesse”
“Who’s Jesse?”
“He stopped here one night looking for a room too in 1974”
Of course nothing like that ever happened. With the exception of the large cities most Motels will have space and at a very reasonable price too. In privately owned rural places you may find yourself directed towards someone’s sitting room standing behind a barrier interrupting the latest repeat of T J Hooker.
In Arizona we had stood for a good ten minutes behind a sofa, the guy had acknowledged we were there and were wanting a room. He sat with his back to us, hand in the air pointing at the ceiling until the interval of his programme. We have never been checked into any one place so quickly!
This place turned out to be a lovely motel, really friendly folks and an actual reception area. Although it didn’t seem to be a major stopover for travellers it is the gateway to the Santa Fe National Forest and the Jemez mountain trail.
We walked just a few hundred yards to the nearest restaurant and on entering it became quite clear that some serious hunting shooting fishing went on there. Real men in real hunting gear, elk seemed to be the talk of the day. The place was dimly lit, dark wood decor and heads poked out of walls at every angle. We spoke to a guy named James who offered to take us horse camping, his passion and his business but he was no salesman. I did however hang on his every word. He lived and breathed the wild outdoors, rivers, meadows and mountains. This was a world away from where we were heading, it felt real, these were real people, generations of families living in the same area. Apparently Native Americans have occupied the area for centuries and you can kind of feel it. Spanish settlers arrived in the 1700’s.
It rained for most of our stay, the first day we decided to take one of those drives, the ones I spoke about earlier. We drove back up the 550 and decided to turn right when we thought it felt the right thing to do. The idea was to do a huge loop back to the motel, we drove over 150 miles through forests and sparsely occupied towns, tiny single story wooden houses scattered across areas of barren land. Wooden extensions that looked makeshift and had been added over time possibly coinciding with the birth of another child maybe. No visible boundaries, an array of vehicles that had served their time, parked up in order of when they made their final journey, and dogs, lots of dogs.
At one point we realised we were going way out of our way and decided to double back causing us to make a sharp turn to the right in quite a populated town. We were met immediately by a barrier crossing and a man in military clothing with a gun. He asked us where we were going, we explained we didn’t really know, but we knew where we wanted to be and were looking for the quickest way there. We showed our passports and were eventually let through with no explanation as to why we were told to stick to certain roads and not leave the car. We were back in the forest, most of which was behind thick high barbed wire, we saw deer still and staring, if only they could talk.
Another day and back on the road. The sun came out but there was still a chill in the air. Today’s CD the Eagles “One of these nights”.
80 miles from Albuquerque. “Hey look, Route 66 Pizza”
After a few more miles Route 66 Gas, Route 66 Coffee, Soda, Laundry, Beef Jerky.
Albuquerque has the longest stretch of Route 66 in an urban area but we weren’t going to get to travel it on this occasion. The Mustang had driven like a dream since picking it up in San Francisco but right now lost and confused we found ourselves stuck in congested traffic on a street that seemed to go on forever and a car that wouldn’t idle. It was really fast or stop, and the conditions on the road didn’t lend themselves to either. I don’t know who was looking after us that day, I closed my eyes through most of it as Ian sped from stationary as if he was hoping for a personal best on the quarter mile, a chirp from the tyres and a race up through the gears to the next set of lights. It was after quite a few miles we realized we were heading east, the plan was to go west. Turning around in a diner car park we went through the whole thing just one more time It didn’t cross our minds to contact the hire company, even with the Eagles “Take it to the limit” one more time blasting from the speakers. We decided to stay away from that part of Albuquerque for the rest of our stay.
Leaving the city behind we eventually arrived at Enchanted Trails RV park. Route 66, the land of reinvention. Some did it well, with others it was plain to see a kind of desperation. For me it was a place like nowhere else, the history was there, not always visible to see but again I could feel it in parts, how could you not feel it 2451 miles from Chicago to Los Angeles, crossing 8 states and 3 time zones over 6 decades. Built in 1926 and decommissioned in 1985 all for a faster more convenient way of life. The length of Route 66 we would be driving that ‘convenience’ was in the form of the I 40 highway. We were heading west from Albuquerque to Barstow.
We didn’t arrive at this quirky stop-over in the best of moods, but this place just made me smile. We parked up next to a flat roofed adobe style building, constructed in the late 40’s apparently and altered many times as a means to attract passersby on Route 66
“Ian there’s a bear by the door”
“Yeah and is that a donkey over there?”
A real reception area within a shop packed with Route 66 memorabilia, books, crafts, Native American jewellery. A Laundry 1950’s style with a wringer, TV room, Games room, a swimming pool. We were greeted by Vicki Ashcroft, the owner, who instantly gave us a brief history of the place. Originally known as the Hilltop Trading Post but converted into a campground in the early 1970’s. The vast collections of memorabilia throughout the building honour a bygone time and it’s plain to see that Vicki is very proud of her heritage. The furniture is 1950’s vintage with its aim to take you right back to the Heyday of cross country travel. Flossie did just that, almost 50ft of gleaming aluminium she sat amongst a collection of around eight other vintage trailers, a 1947 Hudson super six and a fine collection of pink flamingos.
After checking out our home for the next few days and unpacking some essentials we decided to take a look around.
On our return….
“Ian the door’s open, I’m sure we closed it”
“We did”
“There’s someone wandering around inside the caravan”
“Ok you distract them and I’ll hit them good and hard across the back of the head with a flamingo”
“You go first”
“No you go, you’re distracting them I’m hitting them to the ground and putting them in a headlock”
“Ian, this is the 1950’s, you’re being too Starsky and Hutch”
Before we knew it we were inside. A middle-aged man was sat on our chair at our dining table reading a book with a map opened up next to it.
“Hey Honey it’s 163 miles to the Arizona border and around 90 miles of drivable 66”
Honey? Who, where was Honey? Why hadn’t this guy seen us? What was he doing in our caravan?
“Oh golly you should see these quaint little trinkets in here”
Ok we had located Honey she was in our bedroom.
“It say’s Route 66 in New Mexico is all about making choices , and following short loop drives, looks like we are going to be on the freeway for some miles”
“They have an old bath tub, oh this is just so fine”
Why hadn’t this guy seen us? Honey appeared from the bathroom with my hairbrush and makeup bag.
“Someone has left these behind”
Mr Honey looked up and all our eyes met at once, it was Mrs Honey who spoke first.
“Oh hi, isn’t this place just the best, Vicki has such a gift, such an eye for detail”
Ok let’s just forget gifts and detailed eyes for a minute, she had her hands wrapped around my roadtrip survival kit in a way that suggested she had claimed them for her own. Panic and paranoia had set in and on quickly checking out Ian I noticed he hadn’t brought the bloody flamingo.
“They’re mine, thank you” This was not spoken like a genuine thank but more like one you would say to a small child whilst trying to prise your new shoes out of his mouth. Why was I saying thank you. I held out my hands to retrieve my precious things.
Honey introduced herself as Gina, Mr Honey was Mike. Mike seemed polite initially but obviously massively distracted by the book and the map.
“You heading east or west?” he asked, not really looking up from the book.
“We’re heading west, just as far as Barstow though then up to Bakersfield for the Hot Rod Reunion”
“Ahh, I’d always recommend east to west, that’s the way it was back then” Still looking down, “You know there’s a misunderstanding that Route 66 is only drivable in small segments these days, but 85% of the original 2500 miles is still there for your driving pleasure, saying pleasure it depends what your driving, some parts can be almost impassable, you’d need something sturdy with good ground clearance, so what you driving Ian ?”
“A Mustang”
Mike looked Ian in the eyes, unimpressed.
“Haha, so you’ll be staying away from the unpaved roads then”
This wasn’t a question, and from that point on a challenge had been set.
I was going to be nice and kindly explain to Gina and the honey monster that they were in our accommodation, have a joke about the misunderstanding and leave it at that but he was becoming more and more obnoxious, and condescending. They were overstaying their visit he was working out his route from our caravan to the shores of the Pacific Ocean in Santa Monica. 805 miles via the I 40. So how many Route 66 miles? Exit where? Rejoin the I 40 after how many miles? We were hearing all about it. Head down.
So would you guys like to stay for dinner? I could cook a pot roast or maybe something typically Mexican, we’ll pop out I’ll buy some wine. You could have a bath, Gina you’ve seen the bath. I’ll run it for you. Stay the night, have our bed, what the hell stay for the rest of your holiday, was what I wanted to say. Instead I headed over to the fridge and took out some beer which hadn’t had the time to chill.
“Would you guys like to stay for a drink?”
I have never seen anyone go from nought to distraught so quickly in all my life. I immediately felt awful and wanted to back track. Gina was devastated and so overly apologetic. The honey monster was in Kingman heading for Oatman. Gina informed us that he likes to read and she spends a lot of time looking at the top of his head.
“This beer’s warm” Monster Mike exclaimed to the map on the table.
Ok Gina you can stay, this man is an idiot how do you live with him? Mike OUT! Of course I didn’t verbalize that either. They didn’t leave for another half an hour, Ian decided to get stuck in with Mike and his map, turns out a lot of the information he was sharing was really interesting and possibly very useful. The book was the EZ Guide to Route 66. Mike told us we needed one, hinting strongly that we would be near on useless without it. We bought the book the next day from the site shop and flicked through it. We could see in some ways it could be a god send but for us it had the capabilities of turning us into Neurotic Route 66 pathological maniacs, panicking at every wrong turn, or was it a wrong turn? “Is this Route 66? I haven’t seen a sign, or anything that would indicate we are on Route 66” Once we were in possession of the book, all of a sudden every inch of rubber had to touch down on every possible inch of drivable Route 66. Once in a lifetime, once in a lifetime, once in a lifetime…
Once we had calmed down and read on we concluded that Route 66, as it is now, partly because of all the realignments over the years, is your own personal journey of memories, possible wrong turns, detours and challenging alternative routes, word is if you tried to do the same route twice you probably wouldn’t be able to. I can’t think about that too much because it becomes too much of a challenge.
With so much Route 66 talk we were buzzing and ready to hit the road, but we still had a couple of days in Albuquerque and on checking out what was going on in the area we headed off to “The Biggest Hot Air Balloon Fiesta In The World” The whole feel around the enchanted trails park was warm, friendly and laid back. People chatted and we picked up a wealth of information about the local area, but I had a recurring question about the Balloon Fiesta which to me seemed fair and understandable.
“So what happens once the hundreds of balloons have ascended and disappeared off into the distance, is there entertainment on the ground, what do people get up to?”
Answers came in the way of changing the subject “Have you checked out old town?”
So we ventured off and paid $20 each, the venue was huge, the car parks were almost empty, and the balloons had flown off to return around 6pm. There were stalls on the ground selling Native American crafts, a lot of exceptional chain saw carving, Burritos, Tacos, Enchiladas. The Fiesta is on for 8 days and apparently we had picked a quiet day. We spoke to a young guy called Ethan he was with a group of friends and was something to do with the organising. Ian discussed art with him. Ethan told us to return later around 6 o’clock, he said he would meet us at the gate. There was going to be fireworks, music and a light show from the balloons on the ground. Sounded great.
“I gotta leave now” says Ethan “ You may as well leave now too and return later, see you around six, I’m off to court, see you later, haha or not depends how that goes!”
Needless to say we didn’t go back, instead we asked Vicki about the closest place to eat out of the city. She sent us up Route 66 to The Route 66 Casino. I considered how many Route 66 diners etc there must have been along its 2500 miles in its heyday. Was this the only Route 66 Casino? Neither of us had ever ventured into a Casino and what we imagined turned into something completely different…
So Welderup, what did I expect? An elaborate film set with a dirty workshop out back where real men in ripped jeans work long hours to tight deadlines whilst the cast and crew members drink beer and throw them the occasional cheese sandwich? Or maybe a museum display of every build that has graced our screens and some cheeky ones that they ‘Snuck in’ to induce panic into those who thought they had seen every episode? Dirty sweaty men out back, tour guide up front?
Did we have to pay, did we need an appointment?
We were still sitting in the car and the place seemed really quiet, nobody around that we could see. What broke the silence was a guy reversing a fork lift truck at speed towards us, tanned and toned in cut off jeans. He spun around and picked up a 57 Chevy with the same ease as a Granny putting cake on a cake slice. After acknowledging us with a wave he headed back inside.
“That was Steve” Ian said (Mastermind creator and artistic genius with the beautiful eyes)
“Ok so what do we do now?”
“He waved at us”
We followed the forklift inside and the place was everything I had anticipated with the exception of the dirty workshop outback. The real men were the cast members, hard working guys with years of experience, expertise and a great passion for what they do. It became obvious quite quickly why the business had become such a success. They have the perfect work/play balance and still remain incredibly humble. Each one of them that day took time out from what they were doing to speak to us
Travis Deeter sculpture
We learnt from Travis Deeter, (Welder/Fabricator and artist) that the deadlines you see on screen run true to how we see them. Ian seemed to bond with him on an artistic level. He explained that one problem he has with the filming is continuity, stopping and starting breaking the flow of progression and being in the zone artistically. I wandered around some of the cars from the show but I’m going to leave the photos to speak for themselves with the exception of ‘Quit Your Bitchin” A 1930 Ford Model A Rat Rod Gasser, it’s a crazy kind of steampunky, vintagey, I’ve been down the scrapyardy and turned old metal into pure gold type of thing. Initially commissioned by Steve’s brother, who was on limited funds, it seems his brief and budget messed with Steve’s flow and progression and the frustration of having restrictions led to Steve, who just doesn’t seem to do anything by halves, sinking a whole load of his own cash and a Hemi V8 he had been saving for that special something into the build. Differences of opinion led to words being spoken that sometimes are saved only for family in business situations. I believe that’s where the idea for the name came from. At that time ‘Quit Your Bitchin” was rightly taking centre stage.
Whilst Ian spent some time looking around the cars I got some alone time talking to Steve but not only was I distracted by his eyes I had a massive hangover from the night before.
This is how things looked through my eyes
“How did you get into all of this?” I asked, immediately ashamed at my lack of imagination and knowing that he must have been asked the same question a million times before.
And then, bow my head in shame, I stopped listening! We had stepped off the street, wandered into an average working day for them and they had given up their time to speak to us, and I stopped listening!! I am still waiting for my punishment.
This is what I remember …..
“Junkyards ………. farmers fields, ………….Rodeo………….Five finger death Punch”
Ian had arrived completely star-struck but chilled out pretty quickly when it became clear that these incredibly talented men are just your down to earth types. Steve putting his work ethic down to his father and grandfather, his two heroes apparently. Whilst we were sitting in the car park deciding where to head next Travis left in his truck, sounded his horn and waved, Justin did the same. Ian lifted his hand and headed back into fairyland …
Tryin’ to get a Lie-in in Zion
The map told us we were at the bottom left side of Vegas, our heads told us to step away from the lights, not because we were scared of re-entering the city and becoming part of a 1970’s cop drama but because they actually hurt. Extreme heat and an excess of alcohol the night before was calling for one thing, a tower of meat, cheese and what ever else can be crammed in between two loaves of bread, eaten maybe in a field with a donkey rather than in Egypt, Paris, or at The Circus.
We had a vague plan for the next week, starting with “We are here” and ending up with “We need to be there” The place we needed to be was Monument Valley in a few days time but up until then the road was ours. A few things needed to be sorted, firstly “Ok where next?” and our bag of ice was now fit only for a goldfish.
Interstate 15 runs North to South through the West Side of the USA from the Mexican border to Alberta in Canada, cutting through Vegas. We studied the map for 5 seconds and decided to head north to Zion National Park and Canyon around 200 miles away. The 15 would get us there quicker, but there was a more scenic route that took us to the left of Lake Mead through the Valley Of Fire state park later joining up with the 15 just south of the Arizona border. Scenic routes on our American Road Atlas were marked with a dotted line and looking at the map you could see that there were countless options to have your mind blown, we took routes 167 and 169 and they did just that. Meandering and undulating through a deep sided valley, dark red sandstone towers either side of you, kind of more craggy than what we had experienced already on our trip, they were formed apparently from great shifting sand dunes around 150 million years ago! With the sunlight on them they glowed and cast the most amazing light. I am a sucker for terracotta against blue and it was offering it to me on repeat.
Back on the 15 the road leaves Nevada and cuts through the top left corner of Arizona for around 30 miles before entering Utah. I Googled Zion National Park and this is what I got, “229 square miles with Zion Canyon, a prominent feature, 15 miles long and half a mile deep. A scenic drive cuts through the main section leading to forest trails along the Virgin River. The river flows to the Emerald pools which have Waterfalls and a hanging garden”! What an offering! How is it possible to be given such vast extremes of ‘Wow’ over just a few hundred miles?
Closer to Zion and you definitely do start to notice the change in landscape together with the increase in hotels, motels, places to shop and stop and eat. We had already had our burger tower, eaten a small corner and put the rest in the newly stocked fridge to keep us going for the rest of the week! We had decided to get as close as we could to the park entrance before we stopped to try and find a room. The first place was fully booked and I did feel a need to take my shoes off at the door, over the road also booked and was also very clean and shiny. Attempt number three put us back on the road in the car heading back in the direction we had come.
“Lets drive about 5 miles out” says Ian “ and we’ll try again”
Long story short we didn’t end up visiting Zion National Park and were starting to wonder if after falling in love with Beatty and Death Valley nothing could compare and we were now happier on the road, enjoying the journey and the scenery rather than the destination, car park, gift shop and visitor centre.
On our last attempt at finding a bed anywhere near we were told that if we actually wanted to enter the park we would have to take a guided bus tour. Apparently cars aren’t allowed inside between certain dates and we were between those dates. That kind of did it for us.
We arrived a couple of hours later in the city of Hurricane stopping at the first hotel that advertised vacancies. It was dark but the city lights made for an artificial day time with weird shadows. Whilst Ian was checking us in I noticed the place was alive with young people lurking in the dark places. On the balconies, car park and in the high fenced swimming pool, they were exceptionally happy. The motel had three storeys and apart from the ground floor each room opened up onto a long shared balcony. We had to squeeze past the happy people to get our door open. On the other side of the door a sign “Do not, under any circumstances, open the door to anyone EVER!” The huge gap around the door meant that they were partly in with us anyway!
Another sign read that we will find everything we need in room 13! That night we ate Chinese food in bed and listened to Jayden talk about Zen through the gap in the door.
Next morning I picked up a cardboard bowl from room 13 for my inclusive breakfast and because there was no space to sit I tried to eat brightly coloured hoops with a plastic spoon on the side of a busy road but it all blew away when a truck passed!
We decided to continue heading east towards Monument Valley, I had booked a cabin at Gouldings Lodge but we still had a few days until our arrival date.
“Let’s just carry on East and see what happens”
“Ok”
We had to admit we were feeling a bit lost in more ways than one, being kept awake by Zen hadn’t helped, and the over indulgence over the last few days was taking its toll. Choice of CD for today’s journey Guns N’ Roses, track playing ‘Garden Of Eden’
“Lost in the Garden of Eden
And there’s no one who’s gonna believe this
The fire is burnin’ and it’s out of control
It’s not a problem you can stop it’s rock n roll
Suck on that” !!
“Hey Ian that’s it”
“What?”
“We’re living the Rock and Roll lifestyle”
“I think I need the toilet”
“I think I need a gentle head massage, a cucumber sandwich and a sleep”
We switched CD’s to Santana, they seemed to have more sympathy for what we were going through. The road took us east for 70 miles out of Utah into Arizona and back into Utah again until we settled in the town of Kanab for a whole three days and a completely different experience …
Beatty, Death Valley was still holding on to us, this time in the form of a man with a bucket of Coke, a straw and what seemed to be a comic wrapped car. The man was artist David Ohlerking and the car a Ford Crown Victoria, his mobile studio, the paintwork however is a forever evolving masterpiece, the creations of curious small children who have gathered over the years to watch David paint and have asked if they could have a go too, they get free rein on the car.
David has travelled the world extensively through his life. A professional musician and later an artist, he has happily scoured the streets of the US with his mobile studio parking up whenever the mood takes him. He recreates street scenes with oils on canvas that you just want to step into. Turns out Beatty and it’s people have stolen a piece of his heart too, on meeting him he was the new artist in residence at Goldwells Museum in Rhyolite a ghost town just outside Beatty, He was living in an RV behind the main building and was looking to move there on a more permanent basis.
One of the things that I loved about the USA was that if you take the time out to talk to a stranger they are very accommodating and always seem to have an interesting story to tell.
After buying my very own bucket of Coke we tried to say our goodbyes to David.
“You can’t leave yet, you need to go and check out Rhyolite and the museum” We learnt that Goldwells is an outdoor museum, the wonderfully bizarre collection is the work of a group of Belgian artists.
He suggested Ian could be their next resident artist, and we too could live in an RV behind the museum! He was insistent we head down there to check the place out and to speak to his friend about the residency. He gave us his contact and told us to stay in touch. What an inspirational guy and after checking out his website, life story etc he is somewhat of a celebrity. What an honour!
We headed out of Beatty but not on the 95 to Vegas, back into Death Valley to the Ghost Town that is Rhyolite and Goldwells Museum. 5 miles of mostly long, empty straight road. Today’s choice of CD was Santana and right now it was giving us some “Soul Sacrifice”.
“Hey Ian”
“Yeah”
“Our new address could be Ian Guy, RV, Ghost Town, Death Valley”
“Wow”
“Do you think he was serious?”
“He seemed genuine, nice guy I thought”
The sun was so hot and it’s rays so bright on the car that they were casting strong reflections. The sandy track to Rhyolite was difficult to see, it could almost have been part of a mirage, we took the turning right and drove blind through an almost heavenly spotlight, a suitable entrance to a spectacularly spooky showcase. We pulled up to park and switching off the engine and music was like turning off the soundtrack to the world .The silence that is Death Valley hit us again, that together with the far reaching views of the desert we both strangely shed a silent tear. We were alone, or at least we thought so.
“Is that a reinterpretation of the last supper over there?” I asked
“I think it is” Ian replied
We both swore.
The forms were life size and set on a wooden plinth, beautifully eerie against the back drop of the desert. Ghostly, in that each seemed to be a shroud cast around a human form.
Some way over to the right was a separate piece, he was alone, same shroud cast, he had a bike, but I think the bike had a problem, whatever his story he wasn’t happy. I’m no art critic so I will let the photos do the talking and you can make up your own minds
David’s friend had put a ‘Back soon‘ sign on the door of his cabin, so we put our business card in a belt loop of a pair of Daisy Duke shorts that had been nailed to a post, and we turned to leave.
“Blows your mind dun’t it!” a younger couple, obviously English and most certainly northern were stood some way behind us checking out a giant mosaic sofa. Turns out he was from the same town I grew up in. Once we had established our joint love of pie and gravy, paused for a while in a Northern Chip Shop stupor we moved onto stories of our separate road trips. The pie and gravy seed however had been planted and it affected all rational thinking over the next few days!
These guys had been in the U.S for a couple of months already and I can only explain their way of getting around and enjoying themselves as binge travelling in that they will hire/buy bikes (the pedal type) camp in the desert for a week or so or until they run out of resources then hire a top of the range vehicle and stay somewhere exceptionally exclusive for a few days. There was no vehicle that I could see right then in that car park but they too were heading for Vegas, they had booked a suite in the Palazzo and were offering us a room for our stay. They tried to convince us that they would be in Vegas by the end of the day , it was all said in jest but they did indeed arrive in Vegas a day ahead of us, but right then at that moment we were on a mission to see who could get there first and I was on a much more important mission to find real English Northern gravy! We swapped contacts and finally left Beatty and Death Valley on US Route 95 to Vegas, 117 miles of desert road.
Santana was still in the player, and it just worked with the road like it was meant to be. We were silent for almost 40 miles of long straight dusty bliss, eventually pulling over at the Area 51 Alien centre, Rocket Diner and Brothel. One building incorporating all three! a door leading from the back of the everything that you could possibly imagine alien themed store into a traditional American Diner and if you have the time, energy or the inclination you can head on through to Sci Fi themed fun out the back !
Although brothels are legal in some parts of Nevada, they are strictly regulated and apparently only operate in isolated rural areas.
We hadn’t seen any signs to say that it was there but I had been chatting to the very nice man on the front desk who was filling me in on the story behind the idea for the place and its founder.
The conversation between Ian and myself in the store afterwards.
Ian said “I gotta buy this 2ft rubber Alien”
“Ok”
“And what about this T shirt? I like the bunnies.”
“It’s advertising a Brothel, The Moonlite Bunny Ranch in Carson City.”
“Nooo?”
“Yes, there’s one back there too, through the diner”
“Nooooooo ?!”
“It’s got a Sci Fi theme”
“No way, sexy aliens??!!”
“More of your Star Wars characters I think with a bit of Avatar thrown in”
“That’s bizarre!”
“I know”
At this point we see a very cute older couple walking hand in hand out of the diner with the biggest of smiles. They had picked up on our English accent and asked where we were heading and suggested that we could go out back and build our own English breakfast muffin!
We bought an ice cream and sat on the front veranda wondering if we might get a glimpse of Darth Vader maybe heading in for the night shift!
Planting a Gravy Tree and getting a Mountain.
Back on the road, and around 80 miles from Vegas, choice of CD was our own compilation. First song “Holiday Road” 1983 single written and recorded by Fleetwood Mac’s Lindsey Buckingham, such a feel good song. After 30 miles I noticed the landscape was changing, nothing dramatic at first but more prominent mountains were starting to appear on the horizon to the right of us. After a while I wasn’t sure if I was looking at a huge mountain some distance away or something smaller and closer.
“Hey Ian, that mountain over there has got snow on its peak”
“Really? I think it’s just reflection, it’s 95 degrees out there”
“It’s really high, and what would it be reflecting?”
“The sky?”
“How far away do you think it is?”
“20, maybe 25 miles? Shall I take the next right turn?”
“Yeah take it, they might have gravy?”
“Who?”
“Whoever is at the top where it’s snowing, gravy or casserole”
We turned right a few miles down and I got out the map.
I turned to Ian.
“Ok Mount Charleston standing at 11,916ft, I don’t think there is any chance of us getting lost, this road takes us up to the peak and we can either come back this way or it joins up to another road in a kind of loop and works it way back down to join the 95 not far out of Vegas. Hey Ian”.
“Yeah”
“I can see people skiing! Oh and reindeer, elves, Santa, I can see Christmas!”
There are some tight bends on the road to the peak and yes it was about 25miles, the temperature dropped from 95 degrees to 57 and the scenery was spectacular. A view point some way up let us see the expanse of the desert below us. I had wondered if it would have been possible to see Vegas from the peak seeing as we were so close but it didn’t happen, from the opposite end though it is apparently possible to see the mountain from some points on the strip. It was reminding me of parts of Austria I had been to but on a much larger scale. Impressive log houses, beautifully designed and perched high on mountain ledges.
It was getting later in the day and Ian pulled into the car park of The Mount Charleston Lodge and Cabins. We could see just a few rental cabins from the road and were expecting them to be fully booked.
Ian said “Shall we stay the night?”
“It looks a bit exclusive, bet it’s expensive”
$120 dollars for the night, taking into consideration the exchange rate at the time and the price of a room in a standard B+B in the UK it was more than worth it.
Mount Charleston Log Cabin car park
We were given a map and our key and as we stood on the edge of the car park we looked down onto the roofs of the other cabins and we made our descent.
I’ve seen that this place has been left some bad reviews by American tourists but I have stayed in so called log cabins in Disneyland Paris, and some in the UK. They are mostly wooden clad static caravans at twice the price! This place was perfect, one large main room with a huge central log burner, gas, on a timer so it was lit for our arrival, a large window and door opposite the entrance, a balcony with fantastic views and a double swinging seat. The bed was huge and of course the large bubbling jacuzzi by its side. Unfortunately there hadn’t been any snowfall, but it was forecast over the coming week.
That night we ate too much, drank too much, and stayed in that jacuzzi until we actually squeaked! I thought it was just a saying but I was still squeaky I’m sure when we arrived in Monument Valley a few days later!!
We made our descent from the mountain the next morning after breakfast in the restaurant next door, and were back on the 95 around thirty minutes later, further down the road and very close to Vegas and it was hot!!
“By the look of the map, you just carry on along the 95 and it takes you straight into Vegas” I said
“Ok” Ian said.
We waited for that sign, you know the one, but nothing was “Welcoming us to Vegas” and Vegas wasn’t particularly welcoming.
“We’ve gone wrong somewhere Ian”
“Was thinking the same”
“This is kind of rough”
I was starting to feel a bit uneasy. We had bought an American Sat Nav in the UK and we decided to use it for the first time.
It was a woman’s voice and she was terribly excitable. Like she hadn’t been out of that box for years and when she realised she was going to Vegas was hardly able to control herself.
We set off,
“Go Straight” She said
“At the next junction go straight”
“Go straight”
We were in the middle of a three lane carriageway.
“Ian this car at the side of me (Black Range Rover with completely blacked out windows) is driving really close to my window, we’ve almost touched a few times, he’s swerving in and out”
“Yeah I’ve seen, I have got the same going on my side with an identical Range Rover, every time I speed up or slow down so does he, in fact it’s going on both sides. Looks like they’re together”
“What the f**K”
“I don’t know”
At this point I almost leave my seat and end up on the bonnet of the car!
“What are you doing?”
“Braking!” another one, identical, had just pulled straight in front of us! “Have you seen the number plate?”
“THE FIRM! haha, some kind of joke, we are in Vegas”
This went on for a few more minutes, both cars on either side swerving inwards missing us by inches each time with the one in front determining our speed.
“Ian they either think we are the Queen and this is some kind of royal escort Vegas style, or we’re in trouble” He subtly flicked the central locking switch.
In the meantime Sally had gone into Sat Nav Breakdown.
Make a U turn where possible was on repeat!!
Just when I was wondering if it would have been a better idea to stay in bed, at the next junction the car in front wheel spun off the lights and disappeared into the distance, the car on my side turned right, Ian’s took the left turning and yes all had matching number plates, we were out of the city. To this day I still have no idea where we went or what happened and why.
“Ian lets pull over”
“Why?”
“Just to try and work out what happened, where we are, and let’s put bloody Sally back in her box she’s lost the plot”!
I carried on “That was weird, let’s get out of here, shall we use the Sat Nav on our phone”?
“OK, but where are we going?”
“Welderup baby, Sin City Motors, they’re just outside of Vegas I’ve put the address in the phone already”
And thus we woke up Patricia via Samsung a really expensive way to get around we discovered when we got our next phone bill, it was Sunday and she was pretty Chilled.
“Ok guy’s, I can sense tension in the air” she rose from her lounge chair and floated over to the patio window staring out at the view of the wonderfully changing colours of the English countryside in the autumn. She leaned over and stubbed out her cigarette on the edge of a large vintage oak table.
“Welderup, don’t worry you’re going to be fine with me, you are in safe hands”. Sure enough twenty-five minutes later we were parked outside the large metal gates of Ian’s latest man crush and all of his fabulous toys.
A little explanation, at the end of April 2014 TV trailers on UK Dave Channel were advertising the start of a new series of shows “Sin City Motors” filmed at their Car Customization shop “Welderup” in Las Vegas where Steve Darnell is the mastermind behind every creation, and together with his truly talented team of welder fabricators, engine builders and an artist they will take on any challenge and bring any vision to life!
So by May 2014 the tension was quietly building in our house and Ian was more than ready for the first episode of the show, and after speaking to like minded friends they were too. I missed the first part of the first episode, don’t get me wrong I love the cars and what these guys do but I was just going to let him fill me in with the details.
Ian watched the first part of the first episode up in his studio, I was in the lounge. After around fifteen minutes he came down the stairs so quickly I thought he may have just thrown himself down or rolled.
He burst in “You have got to switch channels, it’s the break, you’re not watching anything in particular are you?”
“No not really”
“Watch it with me and tell me what you think, it’s unbelievable”
“Which part?”
“Just watch, you can’t miss it, it’s almost unreal”
“Ok”
So the show comes back on and Ian’s eye’s are on me then back on the TV then back to me.
“Oh” he says
“What?” I say
“They’re not as impressive on this TV, still really beautiful but not the same”
“What are”?
“Steve Darnell’s eye’s, absolutely stunning on my TV!”
I had to agree he did have very pretty eyes. And there we were five months later parked outside his front gates and I was about to look directly into those beautiful blue eyes and strike up a conversation with him about his life, work, kids and his relationship with his brother and his dad ……….
I wandered around some of the cars from the show but I’m going to leave the photos to speak for themselves with the exception of ‘Quit Your Bitchin” A 1930 Ford Model A Rat Rod Gasser, it’s a crazy kind of steampunky, vintagey, I’ve been down the scrapyardy and turned old metal into pure gold type of thing. Initially commissioned by Steve’s brother, who was on limited funds, it seems his brief and budget messed with Steve’s flow and progression and the frustration of having restrictions led to Steve, who just doesn’t seem to do anything by halves, sinking a whole load of his own cash and a Hemi V8 he had been saving for that special something into the build. Differences of opinion led to words being spoken that sometimes are saved only for family in business situations. I believe that’s where the idea for the name came from. At that time ‘Quit Your Bitchin” was rightly taking centre stage.
“Ok Mount Charleston standing at 11,916ft, I don’t think there is any chance of us getting lost, this road takes us up to the peak and we can either come back this way or it joins up to another road in a kind of loop and works it way back down to join the 95 not far out of Vegas. Hey Ian”.
