Rusty Old Cars . . .

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What is it about rusty old cars that appeals so strongly to many of us ? Is it a nostalgia thing ? Romantic echos of a bygone age ? Is it the unforgettable memories for those who lost their virginity in the back seats of behemoths like these ? Old cars, like old people, reach a point where they just aren't ever going to go any further. Not a mile more. Too many parts have failed. Rust too far gone to ever be cured by a quick treatment of rust remover and a fresh coat of paint to gloss things over. The end of the road. The end, period. And yet, their abandoned bodies call to us still, from the side yards of dilapidated old garages on backwater roads. Still something profoundly beautiful in their fading carcasses.
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Saw these aging beauties on a trip to Pennsylvania a couple of years ago. On automobile license plates in that state they used to print a slogan on the edges of the plates that said, in poor grammar, "You've got a friend in Pennsylvania". When I found these old darlings not far from the Susquehanna River, I couldn't have agreed with them more.
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Bug-Eyed in Bugland

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A while back I posted some photos from a VW bug and bus cemetery discovered by chance in the deep, dark jungles of central Pennsylvania (Penn's woods) way back long ago in September. I wasn't done with that site after that earlier posting, and am still not done with it after this one. It was a beautiful and bountiful booty of bugs fallen from grace. A place to lay one's bugbears to rest, to say peek-a-boo to one's bugaboos and leave them behind buried in the bucolic underbrush of the backwoods, until rust do them ravish. It is a place to dream about, to ponder over, to ruminate and reflect on, full of messages about the passing of an age, the ephemeral nature of man's creations, the nature which will reclaim all in the end. Ah, am I getting positively buggy in my advanced age ?
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The view looking out from the inside.
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Must have been a passing radioactive cloud from the not so distance Three Mile Island.
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Is there really a bug here, or did I just dream it ?
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Traces of the past.
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Has life ever left you feeling shattered ? All the king's horses and all the king's men . . .
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I've looked at broken windshields from both sides now
From outside in and inside out
It's windshield cracks that I recall
I really don't know the wind, at all . . .
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(Oh, and since this one, and the photo just above, both have some bits of reflections in them, perhaps they could count to be included in James' Weekend Reflections ?)
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Just A Little Further On . . .

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It seems hard to fathom that another year has passed, in the blink of an eye. The holidays have gone by and the new year has been amply celebrated, but a more personal day of reckoning is drawing nigh, that date of birth, where one steps back and considers where one has been, what one has become, and where one is going. I'm beyond the point where I'm secretly hoping for presents; a bit of cake will do the trick nicely, and la Grenouille is good at that sort of thing.
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No, these days it is more a question of wanting to give; to give my daughters a chance for an education worthy of their dreams, to give la Grenouille the company of a smiling toad, to give you the pleasure (if such it may be) of being able to view in these pages the photographs I've been pouring heart and soul into over the years, such as they are.
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There are some recurring themes in my work, which you know by now if you've looked back at any length into the archives here. I wonder if anyone does ever look back beyond the most recent of posts. Maybe someday. These pages contain already a good part of the history of my days here on earth. One life among 7 billion currently living, and among god only knows how many who went before. (One interesting article here gives a rough estimate of how many humans have ever lived.) I hope to keep going a bit further here, further on down the road.
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Dream cars have always had a powerful call for me, speaking volumes about our society. This one in southern France seen a few years back was a classic, disappearing under the brambles, and will be going no further, other than going back down into the ground.
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Texture is another favorite theme, especially texture in old paint . . .
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And texture in ancient wood, old rusting metal bits . . .
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Texture in stone . . .
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Even texture in bone . . .
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This grinning skull was in the window of a medical school supplies store in downtown Paris a few years ago, I don't know if it is still there. I photographed it because it brought back memories of other hanging skeletons from a laboratory oft visited in childhood.
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Came across a funny website recently called "dumpr.net" which lets you play around with your photos. One of the possibilities was to put your work in a museum. So if ever one day any of the work on this blog ever were to get into a museum, here is what it might look like. Keep on dreaming, all the way to eternity.
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So, hope to see you a little further on up the road . . .
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Driving On Into Dreams of the New Year . . .

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Back in September, in the back woods of Pennsylvania, driving down a back country road, far at the back of a vacant lot I caught a glimpse of something that flashed a spark of immediate recognition in my mind; I slammed on the brakes, turned around and drove back there. I had no choice in the matter. It was inevitable to me that this was an unavoidable rendez vous with chance, with hazard, with whatever you'd like to call it, yes, the dippity-do of serendipity had struck again.
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Barely visible from the road were three old Volkswagen buses quietly abandoned there. Finishing their days with the vacant expressions of a vacant lot, forgotten, forgotten save for probably the extremely rare passerby such as myself who might actually turn around to come take a closer look. But how could I not ? In another life long ago I owned two of these beasties. Not at the same time. Both of them came to tragic ends. Perhaps they also now inhabit some place like this. I don't know. But I do know there was something quite magical for me in this place.
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While I was there admiring the three VW buses visible from the road, a large four wheel drive pickup truck pulled into the lot, and I admit to having a moment of serious apprehension that it might be a local redneck ready to have me arrested for trespassing, or worse. In fact, it turned out to be the owner of the land, who lived just up the road, where he has a thriving VW repair business. He was quite friendly, when he realized I had a little bit of a passion for old VWs, he suggested I go poke around in the woods up the hill from the vacant lot, where there were a few dozen more old VWs finishing their lives in the underbrush. I didn't need to be asked twice.
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So what better way to head into the new year coming up soon, than to take a little trip down memory lane to a small corner of dreamland, inhabited by dream cars just waiting for someone to stop by and appreciate them. I was pleased, tickled pink in fact, to have been able to play that role that fine autumn day. (and many thanks to you, Craig, if you should ever see this ! )
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Some of the vehicles in question had obviously belonged to Grateful Dead fans. But just as the Grateful Dead died when Jerry Garcia passed away in 1995, so too did the need for so many VWs like these which carried Deadheads from concert to concert, back in those days long ago. "How ya Phillin" is of course a reference to the Grateful Dead bass player, Phil Lesh.
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As there are a few reflections in some of these windows, am including this in the Weekend Reflections series over at James place.
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More Grateful Dead art in a window sticker... dancing bears, terrapins from Terrapin Station, and the raven...
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Still more Grateful Dead VW art . . . VW buses going forever in a circle on a VW window.
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VWs were not the only vehicles abandoned there . . . a school bus was hiding in the trees, ready for another road trip, further on down the road.
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This blue bus was nearly identical to the first one I purchased, out in California. ("I'll meet you in the back of the . . . blue bus, the blue bus...")
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The jungle seemed to be on the verge of winning the battle. In another year or two these beautiful old cars may be totally obscured. I wish I could have brought a few back home with me. They make great lawn ornaments !
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Many different models and colors were available ! All in varying degrees of dilapidation.
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Who could ever forget the dashboards in these babies, and the wacky shifter diagram they had on the ashtray ?
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A pair of hubcaps was lying forlornly in the autumn leaves. With the owner's permission, I did bring one of them back home, it was all I could fit in my bagage. A dead WV souvenir.
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Seen Better Days . . .

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As you know by now, during the last six months which lasted from mid October to early November of this year, France went through a major crisis, and as a result decided to change the government, consequently the former prime minister has become the new prime minister, and the old president is now the new president again. We can all rest assured that there will simply be more of the same for the next six months until Christmas, at least.

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One aspect of this latest crisis, which was crisis number 2742-2010 (the 2742nd crisis of 2010 here, there having been at least 1375 crises linked to the French national football, errr, soccer team earlier this year) was that a relatively small group of people who feel that the retirement age should be advanced to age 47, and who were upset that the old government (nothing to do with the new government) had pushed through a reform which would change the retirement age from 60 to 62, decided to hold the entire country hostage, which is what usually happens during every third or fourth crisis here, and shut down all the gasoline refineries, and blocade all gasoline depots such that no gasoline was available in gasoline stations.

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The end result was that for ordinary citizens who needed to drive to work, it became very quickly impossible to do so. This is normal. This is called "putting pressure on the government". But the new government has put that behind them. For small business people who needed to use their vehicles to make deliveries or go work at customers locations, many of them simply had to go out of business, and become retired early. This was part of what the protesters who wanted earlier retirements intended to achieve. They succeeded.

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For many others, who ran out of gasoline while trying to make one last futile search for the precious liquid at early hours in the morning, they simply had to abandon their cars by the roadside and walk back home. Many such cars were then torched by protesters. That is normal, burning cars has become the French national sport. They are very good at it. If I told you the number of cars burned in France last year, you wouldn't believe me. So I won't. But just imagine a very large number.

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The next few photographs were what could be seen along any French roadside over the past few weeks. This is normal. The new government says they are going to clean up the mess caused by the old government. I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.
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A Lady In Red . . .

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Although I've been married for years and years now
And strangely enough I still love my spouse
It does happen from time to time
While out rambling around
There's a simply crazy feeling that I feel
I swear it's like falling in love
All over again
Head over heels
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It happened in fact just the other day
When I saw a lady in red by the side of the way
Like a siren she called, she honked her horn
I took one look, and I was reborn
There was no way I could turn away
Out of the question, I couldn't go back
I was like a train bound for hell on a one way track
She asked me for a key to put in her ignition
She was dressed in red and headed for perdition
But I couldn't resist, I could only say, "Yes..."
As she stood there by the side of the road
Flaunting her curves in a tight red dress
She was whispering things I couldn't quite hear
Like, "Hop on in honey, have no fear"
Or, "Pump up my tires baby, let's go for a ride"
"Can you find my hot wire and make a few sparks"
"Hold on tight while we drive off in the dark"
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Indeed, she was really something, this lady in red
In my dreams I was thinking : Off we sped . . .
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Some of you may remember this is the same old red truck you got a couple of glimpses of there a few posts back on one of James Reflections Weekend series, but I had to come back to her, and let you know the depths of my feelings for her, by showing you more angles to see her from, more dimensions and hidden secrets which might not have been obvious at first glance. Yes, like many somewhat older ladies, she still had the potential for internal combustion after being offered a high octane drink and getting shown a little gentlemanly respect and tenderness. How I longed to climb inside her and go for a ride.
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Though the lipstick and rouge on her front grill was a bit splotchy, I was still smitten, like a deer in a pair of headlights at midnight, helpless, wide-eyed, hypnotized.
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I couldn't even decide which way to hold the camera when photographing her, I wanted the photos to do her justice, have her looking sleek and lean, so I tried both vertical and horizontal positions with the viewfinder, clicking away, irrestibly driven.
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The closer I got, the more her lovely persona went to my head, like a powerful magnet and good perfume, she held me there, and I started to look very closely at her most intimate secrets and dark openings.
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The tire tossed up on top could almost be a halo, over that windshield of dazzling blue reflections.
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A windshield wiper dangled like jewelry, a pendant flung there non-chalantly, part of her personality.
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From every angle her beauty was shining . . . like a tavern's lights, like a magic lantern, even if the lens was cracked. A lighthouse beacon in the night.
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I dared not remove her radiator cap, fearing to release something akin to the contents of Pandora's box. But I did gaze long and lovingly at her rusty complexion.
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One mirror hung down forlornly . . . but then who does not bear some traces of the passing years ?
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The broken glass did not diminish the breathtaking loveliness of her fender's curving forms.
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The cargo bed was frankly getting a bit overgrown, as you can see here, she really does need a little tender loving care. But one of these days I hope to have her running, purring smoothly like a contented cat, so I can load her up with truckloads of smiles to deliver to wherever you may be.
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PS ... Un très grand, très, très grand merci à Clo pour ce vidéo !
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