The drive to Salvation Mountain is long, hot and lonely. Rarely does any car come into view and more than once I stop to take a picture of the desert and stillness around me. When I arrive I talk to an older couple from San Diego who recommend steak houses to eat at all the way up the I-5 from California to Washington. I wander under a forest of paint and sit in rooms paying tribute to God.
This was my home for an hour while I took in the magic of one man's unique voice.