Should you find yourself in the hills above San Francisco confronted by an arrow and a sign that says "TANKS", follow it. You'll wind through pine trees, down a dirt road, sometimes catching glimpses of rusting hulks through the woods. Then, in a clearing, you'll find those tanks.

A good half-dozen are spread out on a huge concrete pad. Arranged around that pad are three long warehouses. Through open doors, rows upon rows of tanks are visible. On a little rise above the road is another long warehouse out of which looms a Scud missile launcher and a terrific truck-mounted cannon. It's the largest mobile gun in private hands, large enough to fire nuclear shells.

In the middle of it all is a tan and muscular-looking tank with a short barrel and abrupt overhangs. It's decidedly modern compared with the other tanks around it, and it's handsome, just as deadly things should be.

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That's the M551 Sheridan. I drove it.

Inside the warehouses, the rows of tanks are remarkably approachable. So much larger than life, so special and rare and valuable, it's incongruous that they aren't even a little fragile. In minutes, I'm giddily climbing across their backs.

There's no right or wrong way to get on a tank. At least, that's what Rob Collings says as he watches me try to hurtle myself up the side of an immaculately-restored German Panther. I try many techniques, none elegant, before settling on a hybrid approach of a swimmer exiting a pool and a salmon swimming up a waterfall. Jump, stretch, flop, flop, flop, and then repeat.

The Panther is gigantic, dwarfing the neighboring Russian T34 and equally overwhelming the nearby American Sherman. At around 50 tons to the Sherman's 33, it's about 50 percent heavier, too. "The Germans still called it a medium tank," says Rob. Some things never change.

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Inside, the Panther is dark and unpleasant. It smells like hydraulic fluid. Somehow, five men would coax this thing into combat. Poking my head into the Sherman and T34, I learned that the allies had it far worse.

From the summit of the Panther, you can see the world that collector Jacques Littlefield built around him. Tanks, half-tracks, command vehicles, mine flails—Russian, British, French, and American, more than 150 of the things, and most seem to be in running order. It's spectacular, an entire Micro Machines collection come to life.

There's no sense to the thing, and for exactly that reason, it's the best kind of collection. Littlefield bought and restored what he liked and what he was interested in. There's no stodginess, no strict adherence to what should be where in the collection in order to make it complete. Soviet Scud missile launchers share space with tiny Citroen half-tracks, content in the knowledge that they're all equally interesting. Jacques Littlefield knew that, and I admire him for it.

He kept it all private, offering occasional tours of the giant warehouses. Spanning a ridge above San Francisco Bay, the view alone would have been worth the trip. Littlefield died in 2009, and now the spectacular collection will be auctioned off this weekend and spread around.

The Collings Foundation picked through the most important historic stuff; the Panther and the Sheridan and the T34 will relocate to a fine new home on the East Coast. You might recognize the name of Rob's eponymous foundation from the historic bomber flights they've flown for years. Jacques Littlefield's important historic work is in fine hands.

The rest of the really fascinating stuff he acquired? That's what's up for grabs. Pick yourself up a beautiful little British armored personnel carrier for the price of a Lexus. Or get some buddies together and buy a proper tank—they're going cheap.

Hell, there's a mine flail to be had that's powered by not one, but TWO Rolls-Royce Meteor engines. That's a detuned Merlin engine, friends. Imagine the sound of a couple of P-51 Mustangs swinging chains instead of propellers. Or, even better, imagine your neighbors imagining two P-51s swinging chains instead of propellers.

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Go. Follow the funny little sign. Bask in the view. See a whole lot of history all at once. Smell the smells of old Soviet funk and British wood and American iron. Go and enjoy. Or do the right thing: Go and buy yourself a tank.

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