Wherever the Road Takes You

Article By Forest Young

Often obscured by the spectacle of large destination parks are a constellation of improbable and well-hidden gems sprinkled throughout the Central Florida corridor. While most cultured Floridians know this fact, it is still jarring and exhilarating to witness a seemingly "backwoods" neighborhood being uncannily hospitable to modernist architectural tomes such as the Winter Haven Leedy residences. It has now been some time since Pat and I made our pilgrimage to the Weaving/Thomasson Residence (aka Nikole's) and to Winter Haven — an unlikely beacon for the Sarasota School of Architecture.

The next significant discovery for me would come unexpectedly on the roadside of I-4 near Exit 14 in Seffner, Florida. A month ago I was sitting sleepily in the shotgun seat of a speeding Hyundai. Kristen and I were driving to a meeting in Tampa when I turned my head and saw a luminous installation erupting from the grassy shoulder of the interstate. Eight Airstream trailers were buried at measured distances from one another and angled in such a manner as to provide an overall windswept gesture. The installation immediately recalled Ant Farm's iconic "Cadillac Ranch" in Amarillo, Texas from 1973. Later that day when I asked people in Tampa about the Airstream installation on I-4, they simply shrugged their shoulders.

Fearing that it was a mirage or worse — a sleep-deprived hallucination, I went to Google Maps and typed in the coordinates for the area of Seffner closest to my sighting in order to view a satellite image of the site. When I saw the aerial picture of the land where I briefly glimpsed the row of Airstreams, there were no indications of any kind of metallic submerged vehicles. I was, however, able to find a semblance of evidence from the Google Maps street view camera. I am constantly making sure to obtain evidence of these discoveries — to substantiate my unlikely claims made about these impromptu Florida trips — and mostly as proof for myself. Armed with the evidence that an Airstream installation on the roadside of I-4 did in fact exist, I vowed to return to the site and see the installation up close and personal.

Last Friday, I drove towards Seffner with great anticipation. Prior to driving, Kristen and I treated ourselves to lunch at El Taconazo — or the "Taco Bus" as it is affectionately known in Seminole Heights. As Kristen and I made our way back to Seffner, we kept our eyes peeled for the reflective glint of the skyward-pointing vehicles. A quirky GPS navigator voiced by an Austin Powers "sound-a-like" actor informed us that we were close. There were rumors that the installation was a mere publicity stunt for a local Airstream distributor. After turning off of I-4, we took a series of consecutive right-turns and pulled into the lot of Bates RV. A man with a stern expression met us at the gate and bluntly asked us if he could be of any help. We asked to see the Airstream installation and he shot back: "Why?" I responded that I was a fan of Ant Farm — the iconoclastic art collective whose videos, performances, installations and built spaces echoed the revolutionary zeitgeist of the late sixties and seventies; I wished to know the intentions of the piece. He smiled suddenly, which caught us both off-guard, introduced himself as Byron and beckoned for us to follow him. We walked hastily to the rear of the complex and all hopped in a well-worn golf cart and headed out to the shoulder of the interstate. While driving, Byron attempted to explain the conceptual rigor behind the installation.

I will now do my best to re-tell the telling. The Airstream has long been considered the "Cadillac of RVs" and to commemorate the 35th anniversary of Ant Farm's "Cadillac Ranch" in 1973 Frank Bates — the co-owner of Bates RV along with his wife Dorothy decided to create a sister installation called "Airstream Ranch" that was in conversation with the aspirational spirit of the first. Bates chose eight vehicles by adding the numbers 3 and 5 (e.g. 35th ≈ 3 + 5 ≈ 8). As we pulled up to the row of eight, Byron reflected on the numerous events that had taken place on the land near the installation. There had been a series of "redneck" weddings, eclectic outdoor concerts, art and architecture lectures and golf cart tours. Like eight falling dominoes frozen in time, we were immediately taken aback by the sheer scale of the vehicles which had eluded us from the interstate. Kristen candidly hopped off the rear seat of the cart and begin snapping pictures of the installation. Meanwhile, Byron asked me how I had first discovered Ant Farm. I responded that while in graduate school at Yale I had been privy to an extensive multi-media Ant Farm exhibition held in Paul Rudolph’s Art & Architecture building. Byron then disclosed that he and his wife were adjunct professors at the Yale School of Management and that his daughter had graduated from Yale College the past year and was currently living in Nicaragua.

After thoroughly documenting "Airstream Ranch" Byron encouraged us to get back to the main complex in order to catch Frank before he flew off in his cherry-red helicopter parked on the rooftop heliport. We managed to intercept Frank as we pulled up in the golf cart moments before he embarked on his afternoon flight. Frank greeted us with boundless enthusiasm and a sincerity that seemed anachronistic — mannerisms more befit for a bygone era. Frank recounted his ongoing struggle and courtroom drama with Hillsborough County whose elected officials questioned the artistic merit of his installation. Frank was clear to articulate that this was not a publicity stunt, but rather an informed art installation that sought to bring back a sense of hope to the I-4 passersby. In both installations — in Amarillo, TX and Seffner, FL the tailfins and silver streamlined bodies embodied the hopes and dreams of America. Set against a contemporary climate of American automotive pessimism, the two sibling installations could not seem more relevant. Untold citizens from the community had come out in defense of "Airstream Ranch" including professors from the USF School of Art and the Arts Council of Hillsborough County. The conclusion that the defendants argued: "This is art."

I told Frank that I would be back to support his efforts in any way I could and thanked Byron for a generous tour of the installation and surrounding facility. When I went to the website for Bates RV I was enamored with the company's slogan: "Wherever the Road Takes You ... You Can Count on Us." Indeed.