The truck is 100 feet long.
The rock on it – part of a sculpture to be installed at the L.A. County Museum of Art – is 21 feet high.
Unless you have great spatial relations, you still don’t understand how massive the damned thing is. When I opted for a hotel room in Carson for this trip, I know I certainly had no idea.
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I know now, though.
I’m still trying to figure out if my happening to end up in its path on the way back from the grocery store was a right place / right time moment or a wrong place / wrong time one. I mean I’m glad I saw it – it is a once-in-a-lifetime situation to be in – but being stuck in the traffic jam behind it was more nuts than any backup I’ve ever encountered in L.A. That’s saying something, considering the time I found myself on the 405 during a movie shoot in the Sepulveda pass and it took 4 hours to go 20 miles thanks to production trucks, bright lights on the hills, various helicopters making passes in low airspace, and thousands of lookie-loo drivers.
Yet this type of thing is just so quintessentially L.A., it’s hard to hold a grudge for long. I guarantee you, no museum on the East Coast would ask the utility and cable companies to stay ahead of a traveling boulder on a steel-reinforced truck (with 176 wheels!) to ensure their poles and wires were dutifully kept out of the way. Curators there would probably laugh the artist out of the city, but here? Here they threw at least one impromptu carnival in the streets.
I have such a love / hate relationship with this place … but at least it’s never boring.
The other distinctly L.A. moment encountered on this particular trip: Sitting in an outdoor hot tub with a full moon on one side and the Goodyear blimp floating past on the other. It was a little weird. But cool weird, not creepy weird.
Kinda like that rock thing.