Full back tattoo in colour realism showing two muscle cars against a desert sky, with a cracked glass effect and a Route 66 sign.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two muscle cars and Route 66 sign across a back

Realism · Back · Colour · Photo

A large realistic tattoo covers the whole back, showing an orange muscle car in the upper half and a yellow muscle car in the lower half, both shaded with smooth gradients. A cracked glass effect radiates from the centre, and a Route 66 road sign sits at the upper right against a sky of orange, yellow and blue clouds over dusty desert ground. Colour ink dominates, with grey shading used for the car bodies, the crack lines and the darker ground.

Realism Back Car Desert Sky Cloud

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Everybody at the Cimarron Gate knew the orange car and the yellow one, though nobody agreed on who owned which. They ran the old road west every summer, one always a length ahead, and the sign by the gate counted their miles the way the chapel counted its hymns. Old Hattie Vance swore she saw the orange one lift clean off the tarmac past the water tower. Her grandson swore it was heat haze. They argued about it over pie for thirty years.

Keep reading

The year the wind carried the red clay across the county, the yellow car came up the ridge with its windscreen starred by a stone thrown up from the dust. Mose Tallow was at the wheel. He pulled in at the gate where the guard sat with his boots on a crate, and he said he had no quarrel left with the orange car, only a windscreen he could no longer see through. The guard asked where the orange car had got to. Mose pointed at the sky, where the cloud had gone the colour of a peach and the road sign leaned over the dunes like a tired man.

The guard waved him through without a stamp. He said a man who could not see the road had no business racing anyone, and that the crossing had never once asked papers of people who came chasing their own tails. Mose drove on slow, the cracks spreading from the centre of the glass like a map of every mile he had not wanted to go.

Hattie's grandson still tells it that the orange car was waiting on the far side, idling in the clay. When the yellow one came level, neither of them raced. They drove on together until the sign was a speck and the dust closed over the road like a sheet pulled up over a bed.