In the summer of 2007, I rented a red Mustang convertible in Albuquerque, New Mexico and headed north to desert country, lured by the call of the open road.  Along the way, I stopped to photograph sacred sites and random roadside curiosities that veered into view.  A road trip like this is an honorable American tradition, celebrated in Beat novels, rock anthems and coming-of-age movies.  For American photographers as well, from William Eggleston to Stephen Shore, this is hallowed ground. Perhaps that's why, what started out as a personal odyssey came to feel like a rite of passage. 

I set off in search of a mythical place—the archetypal landscape of the vanishing American West.  What I found were stark remains of desolation and grace that for all their delapidation, still resonate in the archives of our memories and hopes.