They said he was mad, they said he was insane, they said his Scottish accent made him incomprehensible, but erotic pottery bedazzler, and famed geologist Owen Miller just laughed in their faces (or maybe he coughed, like I said, the accent makes him hard to understand).

“I’m going to paint a Cadillac like the Peruvian flag, Alba gu bràth!”

“I’m going to drive this Cadillac to Oxapampa, Alba gu bràth!”

“An army of journalists will accompany me to record this historic journey, Alba gu bràth!”

Scottsmen finish every sentence with Alba gu bràth, it’s sort of like the Scottish equivalent of the Canadian ‘eh?’

But the doubters and the deriders are now sitting in front of a big platter of baked crow, for Owen has returned victorious from Oxapampa, but instead of riding a dead elephant, he’s riding a US made luxury automobile painted in the glorious red and white (with the shield with the emu or something) of Peru.

But the journey was not all cruising in a convertible resplendent in winter fatigue camo shorts. No, there was hardship, there was hunger, there was high gas prices. Take this entry from Owen’s rigorous journaling:

Day 1:

“Getting kind of hungry, I had a packet of peanut M&Ms, but when I went to throw the last one into my mouth, a combi swerved in front of me and the delicious morsel flung out on an errant trajectory into the potholes and the gutters. I fear the lack of calories from that last M&M will prove critical as I emerge further out of view of my luxurious garage.”

Or this evidence of additional hardship:

Also day 1, like 15 minutes later:

“Man, gas is expensive.”

But like the true warrior poet that he is, Owen persevered, fishing precious Lucas from the dusty corners of his cargo shorts to fill his American gas guzzler with the precious juice of all journeys.

And judging from the shocked and awed expressions of random onlookers, the glorious ‘Patrialauncha’ was appreciated and admired by all:

No word yet as to whether or not the music of the Oxapampa Country Music Fest was any good. I’m sure there will be pictures and videos to emerge, as well as more entries from ‘Owen’s Journal of all things, Alba gu bràth.’ For now, the great man has returned to his modest work place, where his deft and gentle fingers dance from the steaming trigger of a hot glue gun, to a platter of cheap plastic jewels, which he lovingly applies to ancient examples of priceless erotic pottery, some so tall that he can barely encircle them with his crushing embrace.