It's a hot summer day on the plans of Nebraska, August 21, 2017.

Thousands of people are gathered in a small city called Alliance, graying couples and floppy

sun hats sitting on beach chairs, a group of friends setting out an arrangement of crystals,

in shiny silver bodysuits dressed as extraterrestrials, and even Nebraska's governor is there.

All of them are waiting for the moment when the sun will disappear.

Today is the day of a total solar eclipse, and Alliance is smack dab in the middle of

the path of totality, places where the sun will be completely blotted out by the moon.

And why they've come here to Alliance specifically is because of the giant hulking monument

looming before them.

The sun silently, eerily begins to slide behind the moon.

And before everything goes dark, this monument is silhouetted against the vast plains.

You can pick out windshields, rearview mirrors, tires.

I'm Amanda McGowan, and this is Atlas Obscura, a celebration of the world's strange, incredible

and wondrous places.

And today, we're taking you to Carhenge.

It's a reproduction of Stonehenge, but made of cars.

When it was built, it sparked a lively debate in this Nebraska town.

What is junk, and what is art after this?

If I say the word Stonehenge, a picture probably comes to mind, a picture of giant hulking

stones arranged in a circle on a plain in England.

Some stand alone, others are grouped to form arches.

It's mysterious, intense, mythical.

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