Without question, the craziest aspect of the Holly-Valens-Bopper death memorial is that nobody could ever find it by accident; it's just a tiny metal cross in the middle of deep nothingness, decorated with Bud Light beer cans and empty cigarette lighters and somebody's Blockbuster card. It's sort of like getting to the summit of K2 and realising it's littered with dozens of empty oxygen tanks. I stand in front of the metal cross for maybe 10 minutes (probably nine minutes more than necessary), and then I walk the half-mile back to the Ford.

guardian > chuck klosterman: the day the music died ("Chuck Klosterman drove for 6,557 miles touring America's most famous rock'n'roll death sites")