Join my journey to the corners of this world
I once thought Las Vegas’ moto was the Dollar sign. I was wrong. When it comes to obscene opulence, nothing compares to Miami. In this Floridian town, spending cash IS a spectator sport. 25 years ago, a one-hit-wonder named Meja sang “It’s all ’bout the money.” In Miami, the description still holds true. Sustainability? Go to hell!
Now, let’s party!
It’s a bike! No. It’s a car! No. It’s…errr, what the hell is this thing?
Had a Martian landed in the middle of Orange County, he probably would have garnered less attention. Seriously, the US capital of Botox, Silicon, and nail jobs just south of LA had seen everything, but nothing like this.
Some would call it an obscene phallic symbol on wheels. Polaris calls it Slingshot.
Yep. That’s right. To get to Big Sur – the mother of all Hippie hideaways – you do need to pass through a US army base – Fort Hunter Liggett, to be exact. The big sign at the entrance says that by passing through the gate you agree to a vehicle search (and a body search) at any time and without a warrant. Scary stuff. Still, if you do brave it through, you’d find one of America’s most un-American roads, and a view so striking you’d forget the military warnings.
