Yuri pulled his sons from school to watch the big robot wreck the motel. His wife had packed a tasty picnic lunch, but 11-year-old Tommy was a hard kid to please. "You said a giant robot would blow that place up," Tommy said. "No, son, I told you a robot would 'take it down,'" said Yuri. "Go shoot some pictures for your mom." Tommy swung his little camera, hopped his bamboo bike, and took off. Yuri patiently pushed his younger son's smaller bike across the sunlit tarmac. Nick, age seven, was learning to ride. His mother had dressed him for the ordeal, so Nick's head, knees, feet, fists, and elbows were all lavishly padded with brightly colored foam. Nick had the lumpy plastic look of a Japanese action figure.

Under the crystalline spring sky, the robot ­towered over the Costa Vista Motel like the piston-legged skeleton of a monster printer. The urban recycler had already briskly stripped off the motel's roof. Using a dainty attachment, it remorselessly nibbled up bricks.