Jumping into the plastic and glass steed that requires hydrocarbons to move, a road trip is on the agenda. Throwing in a couple of cans of sugar water to keep the car captain awake, maps are not required. A quick look at the fuel gauge, a check of the tunes onboard and it’s off to see the wizard, some lizards and roadside gizzards that will materialize in that windshield wonderland. This is a full-blown road trip, no destination in sight, just a general direction. Exiting via a freeway from one’s homeyland, this is just a standard procedure to get as much distance as possible and remove one’s self from the mundane. After a few hours, an alarm goes off and it’s time to hit the county roads. Making lefts and rights at random intersections, with a few no thru roads to boot, one is now in rural America and ever vigilant for that unique site. If luck prevails, the extraordinary will appear. After 3 hours, there it is on the left. A quick glance and it’s time to turn around. Watching for any traffic, one slowly passes and stops. Here resides an individual with a brain that is definitely distinct. The lawn is littered with car parts, washing machines and pink flamingos. The fence consists of shopping carts, kitchen appliances and old lawn mowers set in a row. All the buildings on the property are sided with hubcaps from 4 decades of automobiles and it works perfectly. The chrome heats up in the shineshine, dries up any moisture and radiates heat inside for the occupants. Road signs act as gingerbread trim and throw some color into the chrome scheme. Throw in a dozen or so chickens and 5 dogs to patrol the grounds and this place just oozes happiness. In the trees hang old clothes, muffler system tinsel and forgotten industrial junk. As one notices a car approaching in the mirror, it’s time to pull away. Turning around again to get a picture, the focal point is the home’s front door. There screwed to entry is a sign that beckons visitors. It says, DEAD END.