Stonehenge is a prehistoric monument in Wiltshire, England, about 2 miles west and 8 miles east of some other towns you’ve never heard of.
But you’ve heard of Stonehenge. The idea behind it is basically, this old crew of gangsters who claimed to know magic, wore charcoal gray hoodies and rolled together under the name “the Druids” built it to celebrate the sun. Every summer solstice guys who seem to be living a real life Dungeons & Dragons go there to party and I assume discuss plot holes in Charmed.
On the other hand, I’m not a big believer in the Good Book, and tend to prescribe to the idea that if there is a god, it’s science, and if science is a god then anyone who recognized the rotation of the sun around the earth before Windows came out with a calculator app is pretty spot on.
Carhenge, on the other hand, about 60 miles south of US Route 20 on the western edge of Nebraska, is the same idea, but instead of being made by ancient peoples out of giant slabs of stone, is more of a scrapbook of vintage American cars all painted primer gray.
Every year on the summer solstice, something amazing happens at Stonehenge. The sun lines up with those stones, and humanity’s history as masters of our universe even before we knew there was one shines through. It takes another three weeks or so for Carhenge to get in line, and that feels perfect. What is more American than saying, “Forget the sun, it’s wrong. Science is wrong. Big old cars, now that, that feels right.”