In 1974, three men drove out into a field west of Amarillo, Texas, and buried ten Cadillacs nose-first in the dirt at an angle matching the Great Pyramid of Giza. They did this at the instigation and expense of a man named Stanley Marsh 3, a Texas oil heir with a taste for public absurdity, and a group of San Francisco artists who called themselves the Ant Farm.
The piece was partly a commentary on American car culture. Partly a commentary on American art culture. Partly just an opportunity to put something large and ridiculous in the middle of the Texas Panhandle and see what people did with it.
What people did was graffiti every surface. Within weeks of the installation, the Cadillacs were covered in spray paint. Marsh and the Ant Farm decided this was fine — better than fine, actually. The vandalism was part of the piece. Anyone who wanted to add something to Cadillac Ranch was welcome to add something.
The tradition has continued for fifty years. The cars get repainted by visitors constantly, which means they look completely different every time you visit. People have proposed marriage there. Scattered ashes. Left behind notes folded into the windshields. It has become one of the most visited roadside attractions in America on the strength of pure, committed weirdness.
What the Ant Farm understood, and what Route 66 itself has always known, is that the best American spaces are participatory. You don’t just observe them. You change them a little. You leave your mark and drive away and someone else adds theirs the next day.
Art. Graffiti. The line was always blurry on Route 66.
We are offering licences for ROUTE 66® Beer in specific territories. An invitation to others to become part of this story. To carry a piece of the road with them and to contribute to the story. We will share a percentage of royalties with Route 66 associations to keep the story alive.
The journey continues. This story is brought to you by ROUTE 66® BEER. Find us at ROUTE66BEER.COM