Sorry to dredge this one up, but thought I better post up an epilogue to my request:
First off - massive thanks to those that offered help, advice and places to stay. Much obliged.
Anyhow, step inside:
We picked up the car in Ohio. It lasted about twenty minutes before the brakes failed on the Interstate, which was alarming. We got it fixed pretty swiftly and beasted through Illinois (and another state, but I've forgotten what it was called) to Kansas:
Then mo' bad stuff started happening, but we met a trucker who described my accent as 'real fancy', which cheered me up no end. I played him a bit of Akira Kiteshi while I borrowed his cell to call a tow truck. He wasn't impressed:
It turned out that a tow would be a bit spendy, so I bodged the car together and we sessioned it to Colorado, where it broke again, earning it the name 'Old Breaky':
Colorado's tow companies were a lot cheaper, so we got involved. The driver told us about a rave up in the mountains. Happyface:
Some random mountain girl was impressed with my mate, so, in a bid to get in his pants, she drove the three of us to Red Rocks, Denver (the rave). No dubstep, sadly. We got spangled and listened to weird techno then, for some reason, we had to stay in the hills for a bit. No questions were asked:
And here she is. Christ knows who that dude was, but he let us stay at his gaff:
Old Breaky got fixed...
...so we put the hammer down and headed to Moab, Utah. Mrk1's album, JD and Sweet Alabama Tea make for a superb driving cocktail, but we did end up getting a bit lost:
But it worked out nicely. Utah sunsets and Big Up An' Bun Her 'pon the stereo was choice:
We eventually made it to Moab where we found a nice seedy motel. A girl with big lips gave us lots of free weed, which was interesting. We hit the I70 bound for Vegas. The car shat a fan belt 79 miles from the city limits, so we got drunk on the hard shoulder:
Ahhhh yeah - arriving in style. Tow truck pimpin', ya heard:
That night I got played by Vegas and lost $6. Also, a Mexican woman asked me to rub suncream on her back then, bizarely, invited me to her room for some mineral water. Americans: is this some kind of street slang? Anyhow, I declined in case she was a prostitute. Later, we all decided that she wasn't a proistitute and that I unwittingly mesmorised her with my rude boy charms:
Quick photo stop before our dash to the coast:
Old Breaky on the Californian coast, just north of LA. I was little worried that we'd get shot at by Crips.
The car was pretty ruined at this point, so we had to get rid. I met a man who gave me a number for a man who knew some men who were into lowriders (bouncy cars from the Snoop Dogg dimension). Apparently, one of them had been after a Cadillac like mine for some time, so we drove to a town that began with Santa and headed to the scary bit where we meet 'Happy' and his crew. They didn't like dubstep but they did like being a bit frightening:
We sold the car for a few hundred bucks to Happy's mate, Ruben. He turned out to be thoroughly nice and thought our British accents were hilarious. We hired a car and headed north up Route 1 to SF, where I got in the way of a nice picture of a sunset:
And then got in the way of a nice picture of the sea:
Eventually, we made it SF. There was literally no dubstep around (stupid Burning Man) so we did touristy stuff and my chums got tattoos.
Sorry for the length of this post but I'm incredibly bored, have a scorching case of man flu and would much rather be doing this:
Sorry we couldn't hook up with the people that offered help. There will be a next time, though.
M
