“I am your father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s former roommate!”–Black Helmet, Spaceballs
The Alfa was mine. That is my cousin Joseph; the woman in the Alfa is his cynical girlfriend of the era, photographer Erica Lennard.
This week’s blog was going to be about an off-road motorcycle ride I took from the perfectly-formed waves of Miraflores and the giant sand sculpture candelabra that lured ships to the pirates, through Peru across the endless bone-strewn Ica desert, into a plane above the extraterrestrial Nazca lines, back on the bikes up over the Andes, past pink flamingos on an isolated deep water lake with no horizon, down a crater into Cuzco, a zig zagging dash up to Machu Picchu and down through the cloud forest to the coatimundi and parrots of the Amazon with four lads from the UK who could ride like the Four Horseman of The Apocalypse and drink like Errol Flynn and spit on Cavia porcellus barbecoa. The most interesting men in the world.
But no. That story is going hopefully to the world of ink and paper.
The replacement article I had in mind concerned discovering the cousin above and our familial through-line from the Mayflower, the Irish Potato Famine, to the first Chief of Police of New York City, the New York Yankees, and the stealing of the holy grail of sports — the Yankees’ justifiably titled iconic logo. But oh no.
Possibly sold that article too.
Thanks. Team One Hell of an Eye.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Just perfect! Thank you so much 🙂 Richard L.
Like. Scott R.
Boy I loved that car. The GTV is the only car I still long for. I owned a puke green 69 Giulia Spyder that was held together with layers of bondo and paint, but had a fierce engine. Astonishing that I wasn’t killed in the thing many times over. Used to drive it up the NJT from DC to NY in winter…. But I really always coveted the GTV. It just looked like it could jump straight up in the air if it wanted to. That great slender stick shift…. There was one for sale along the side of the road in our town in Conn about 10 years ago. Red/black– the ONLY color for the car in my opinion– and a little rugged here and there. The owner’s son had left it and moved out west; he just wanted it out of his garage. Make an offer. He would have taken anything. And I didn’t, to my everlasting regret. It’s another thing I blame my wife for– along with everything else. P. Cooke
This one could take the roller coaster curves from the Virgin Mary figure at Loyola near the Bel Air gates to the beginnings of the flats of Beverly Hills better than any car I had. My budget had a choice between it and a ’59 Porsche Roadster and of course probably would still have the Porsche if rust didn’t kill it but the Alfa was just so much more sexy. And red is the way to go but there weren’t many of any color in LA (and it is her fault:) MS