A Day of Fire, Ice, Painted Dirt, and Rainbow Wood

I awoke in comfort, showered, contintentally breakfasted, and then internetted. Upon realizing that the internet I was using didn’t seem to be functioning in a wholly appropriate way, I packed up and left that Grants motel. I was heading for the ice cave. I knew that the ice cave was south of the city of Grants, and I knew which direction was south, so I headed that way. Unfortunately, the road came to a T just south of the interstate. I didn’t know quite what to do. I knew that there was a clearly marked road on my map that said where to go, yet there I was, with clearly no where to go. I had seen a sign for a visitor center not long before that, so I decided to head back in that general direction. When I got to the visitor center, I was a little surprised to be the only person there, and wondered if the establishment wasn’t closed. The parking lot was completely empty. I wandered on in, asked the man at the desk my question, and he told me that I needed to go one exit further west and then turn south. He gave me a handy map (which I didn’t actually use), looked a little dejected as I thanked him, and went back to reading his book. Getting back under way, I headed for the interstate, went west, left the interstate, went south, found what I was looking for, stopped, went inside, acquired the necessary information, asked about discounts, got one, paid the money, and headed out to see a volcano. I think I might know what you’re thinking at this point: ‘he was looking for an ice cave, yet he went to see a volcano?’ The short answer is yes. The long answer is considerably longer, and begins now: Apparently the site is called the land of fire and ice, and the ice cave most likely wouldn’t be there if not for the massive volcano eruption that happened in a land before time. I don’t remember the details of the pairing, but the lava flow is what carved out the cave, and somehow it stays cool enough down there (31 degrees Fahrenheit) to freeze the water into ice (in the cave). So I walked up to the volcano. I couldn’t get a super good angle, but here’s probably the best picture I could get of it: An interesting tid bit about the environment in that area is that the lava from the volcano left the ground rather mineral-rich. As such, the trees there grew with a higher-than-normal iron content, and because of this were much more likely to be struck by lightning. And it was fairly obvious that many of them had been. There were also a lot of twisted trees there. It was neat. On my way back down, I had to pass by the office again, and I noticed a hummingbird feeder. It must have been lunch time for the little birds, too, because there must have been a baker’s dozen of them in the general vicinity. I took some pictures of the little hummers and continued on my way. It wasn’t too far before I found the steep set of stairs and began the descent. With each passing step it became noticeably cooler. Suddenly, I was at the bottom of the stairs on a platform, there were rocks there with different colored moss (there were kind of on a sort of crest at the entrance to the cave where sunlight could hit occasionally). It wasn’t the sort of ice cave I was thinking of, but that’s only because the kind of ice cave I was thinking of is the kind I’ve been to previously. Which is to say, basically a hill of snow-ice with holes forming in the base. This was not that. This was a cave with frozen water in the bottom. Green frozen water. There were some ice formations hanging from the ceiling of the cave as well, but they didn’t turn out so great. Well, see for yourself: I took my pictures and headed back, I checked in at the office to tell them that I was safe, unharmed, and leaving. Then, I left. I went back the way I’d come, north toward the western exit at Grants, and found the highway I’d been looking for the night before. Somewhere in there was a sign that didn’t know what it was informing people of, because it wasn’t right. I’d found my highway though, and I drove it. The continental divide needed to be crossed one more time, and I did so. But, before I did, I found this sign, and took a picture of it because I thought it rather ironic. Ironic because it speaks of how rain which falls at that point will either drain into the Pacific or the Gulf of Mexico, but clearly there is a puddle there which is about to go nowhere. At some point shortly after that I drove further on old Route 66 and found another road closed sign, and was made to feel sad. Shortly before I entered Gallup, NM, I noticed the landscape begin to change a little, and decided to take a picture. I just thought it was neat, but it turned out that this was nothing compared to what I would see later in the day. But before the later in the day of which I just made mention was to happen, I had to pass through Gallup, wherein I would see El Rancho Motel, ‘Home of the Movie Stars.’ It’s apparently a pretty big historical landmark on Route 66. I thought it was neat, but didn’t stay for very long. I basically stopped in the parking lot, took my shots, and then headed out. Arizona or bust. Arizona crept up on me. I was on a road that, and this is the only time I’ve ever seen this, emptied into a rest area. From the rest area, you could either go back out on the road you came in on, or you could go out on the freeway, those were your two options. As I had passed into the rest area, I’d seen an Arizona state line sign. But to get back on the freeway, I needed to pass back into New Mexico and then back into Arizona. My guidebook said that for a long stretch in Arizona, Route 66 was a series of dead-ends, so it was just best to stay on the free way for a while. I did so, and made an exit into the Petrified Forest National Park. There I got gas, thriftily put my Yellowstone admission price toward a year long national park pass, and saw some awesome sights. I got into the park at about 5 o’clock, and the park had a posted sign that it would close at 7. I didn’t really know what that meant. Do they stop allowing people in at 7? Do they herd us out cattle-drive style? So many questions... I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from having a good time and seeing some great sights. Nor from calling my dad, from the Painted Desert. Now I’m going to show you a lot of stuff, without saying very much, because I saw a lot of great stuff without much happening in between sights. Here we go: This is a picture of the fantastic painted desert: As I was leaving that lookout, I stopped because I thought this looked like a neat scene, what with the road going off into the gray not-so-distant distance. Driving along, I thought to myself, ‘I wonder why there’s a car in the middle of the national park?’ It turns out that old Route 66 runs through the park, or used to, and they set up a little memorial to that section of road. Here’s a different view of the car: Then it was on to the petroglyphs. These ones are right near a former village that is being unearthed: Speaking of villages that are being unearthed: I thought this next photo was great, if for no other reason that its obviousness (the fact that the sign stands in front of a near-sheer cliff): Then it was time for me to take a bit of a hike. I wanted to see what these painted hills were really made of. So, right before I began my latest descent in earnest, I took this (and other) photo(s): And, to those out there who are curious, here is what these hills look like up close and personal: This photograph isn’t of anything in particular, I just rather like it, and feel like sharing it with the world. If the world chooses to view it, so much the better. Here is what’s called the ‘Agate Bridge.’ It is a fallen tree that was petrified, and the soft dirt beneath has been washed away. A sign I saw said that over time this trend would continue to the point that the bridge would have nothing left to rest upon unless braced. So, it was determined that they should pour concrete supports for it, and did. And here, for no other reason than I thought it looked neat, is another fallen petrified log, or chunks of one. I think of it as petrified fire wood. I wasn’t as impressed by the petrified forest as I thought I’d be. Maybe that’s because it was getting dark, maybe it’s because I’d just seen the painted desert (which my guide book told me to skip in favor of the petrified forest) or maybe it’s because I’d just seen all of these amazing things and there was a lightning storm in the distance. In any event, I think I liked the painted desert more. When I hear ‘petrified forest’ I think ‘still-standing trees.’ There were stumps and chunks, but no trees were standing. Oh well, here you go, but don’t let my assessment color yours, I still thought it was neat (and well worth seeing): Lastly, they call that area the ‘Rainbow Forest,’ I believe, and this is the one photograph of the many I took that best represents the reason for that name being chosen: The tree-rocks are quite colorful in the right light (which I unfortunately only got a vague idea of). There were other things to see in the park, but by then it was well after 7, and nearly completely dark. I was a little bit sad that I wouldn’t get to see the other couple of stops, but more than happy that I’d seen all that I had. I got back out on the park road, and followed it until I was out of the park, then I took a highway north and westerly to Holbrook, where I stopped in during the lightning storm at one Super 8. I was issued a ground floor room, unpacked my stuff, tried the television and found no such comedy central, the best thing I could find to watch was the SciFi channel, which was showing a Dark Angel marathon, and a couple episodes of their new show Eureka (which I found rather curious). Then, after my stupidly long and enjoyable day, I fell asleep.

A Day In NM (Sunday July 23)

Upon waking in a campground in Santa Rosa, NM, I decided to try and figure something out. So, I put on some dirty clothes, climbed out of my truck, climbed under my truck, and proceeded to grasp and jiggle various under parts of my truck. For a while now, I’ve been hearing a weird rattling noise whenever I go over the slightest of bumps. I was sincerely hoping that the rattle could be attributed to something as slight as, say, the spare tire mounting bracket being a little loose. Well, as I said, I climbed under and started diagnosing. My assessment, and I hope this is right, is that the exhaust system is securely held up, but has some wiggle room. While I couldn’t replicate the exact sounds that I hear while driving by simply kicking the muffler, I did hear various approximations to the sound. In any event, I kicked and tried my hand at just about every other part under the truck that could possibly move, and that was the only one that seemed significant enough to make a noise. After I took a shower and got dressed, I left the campground in search of an automobile museum. I found it. It was the building with the flying car out front. I went in, paid the man, and saw some sights. Their prized piece was clearly a ’57 Chevy two-door convertible with the continental kit, I could tell by the raised ring they had on the floor to keep people away from it. It was really shiny. They had plenty of interesting things in there, some of which I thought the degree to which it belonged in an auto museum was questionable, at best. There was an ’86 Nissan in there, for example. Most of it was great, they had five Mustangs, I believe, two late ‘50s Impalas, only one Chevelle (SS396), and surprisingly zero Camaros. I still enjoyed it though. When I exited, I decided to take a picture of said flying car: After I left the museum for good, I headed west, got gas and ice, and found the road. It wasn’t too difficult. Then I took the older alignment north, through Santa Fe and then back south through Albuquerque. Before I ever got to Albuquerque, however, I saw the rain, and the lightning, and, well, the rain. The rain came and got me, and it was unlike any rain I’ve really experienced before. The cloud was a long way off, and I was driving merrily along, when a rain drop slightly smaller than a super-ball hit my windshield. It must have left a splatter about three inches in diameter. Has anyone out there seen the movie Magnolia? Well, that movie has a rain storm, of sorts, and the rain I was in was very akin to the progression of that one. A drop here, two drops there a minute later, and then POW! The sky opens up and a torrent falls out. I continued on through Santa Fe, the (self-proclaimed... I saw a billboard) City of Holy Faith. It was a neat town, but the streets were kind of narrow. The streets of Route 66 were easy enough to find and follow through Santa Fe, it should be noted. Then I was on my way back south. Along the way I saw another sign, which proclaimed the closedness of a stretch of the Old Road, and just as I said it makes me a little sad to be forced back on the interstate system, it makes me a little sad to see those signs as well. Upon my brother-in-law’s recommendation, I was headed into the heart of Albuquerque to sample some fine cuisine. He had told me that the restaurant I was to go to was on Albuquerque’s stretch of Old Route 66, so I thought it would be easy enough to find. I rolled into town attempting to follow the directions of my guide book. I knew I was on the correct road, and was diligently searching for the correct road to turn on, but found the road I was on ‘T’ before I ever found the turn off. I drove up and down that road again, just to be sure. Then I just headed into Albuquerque’s downtown in search of the restaurant. I still didn’t find it. Then I called my brother-in-law, and asked if he could offer up any further advice, which he did, and I finally found it. The thing that doesn’t make sense to me, is that the Frontier Restaurant is on a prominent stretch of Old Route 66 called, ‘Central,’ through town. It was marked on my U.S. atlas as ‘Historic Route 66,’ yet neither my book, nor my actual Route 66 map series made mention of this ‘Central.’ There were even historic signs along the road. Part of my initial problem was that I had come down from the older, northern alignment, but this was along a newer, straighter, east-west alignment. But still, a guidebook for Route 66 should have mentioned the road that goes through a city as large as Albuquerque. The meal I was instructed to order was ‘Huevos Rancheros, Eggs over Medium, with Green Chili Stew.’ I did exactly that, and it was quite tasty. Also, when I got into the restaurant, I was third in line, but by the time I sat down with my food, I’d say the line was about 50 people long. Talk about beating the rush... Oh, here’s what the food looked like: Then it was all about trying to find out what happened to the road, and why my guide book didn’t say anything about it here. I drove around, searching futilely for the turn off road once again, but came up exceptionally empty-handed. I did come across this gem of a pair of road signs, however. Not only is the stop sign clearly visible by the time you see the ‘stop ahead’ sign, you can clearly see that the road comes to a ‘T.’ Oh well. I decided to follow Central out of town. I did, and I came to something I thought the book mentioned, a hill called ‘9 mile hill.’ So named because the crest of it is 9 miles from the center of the city. Well, I was headed toward a large hill, and was about 9 miles from the center of the city, and I thought that the odds had to be pretty good that I was on the right road. Somehow, I think that I was wrong. Once I got to the top of the not-9-mile-hill, I was forced onto the freeway because the road didn’t allow me to go anywhere else, and by the time I realized what was happening, the road had divided and was one way. There was no turning back. And the book hadn’t mentioned anything about this. Grrr... Further down the interstate, I saw a sign advertising the Historic Route 66, so I exited appropriately, and made my way to investigate. I found it, and I found an Historic Landmark in the Rio Puerco (I believe) bridge, which neither of my literatures mentioned at all. It was a neat old bridge, which has unfortunately been retired. After that event, I got back on the freeway until the book told me to get off of it, and then I did. At this point, I’d resolved that I’d not done enough night driving, and wanted to see some of the landscape at night. So I drove through a really neat rocky area, where I saw this hill/cliffside: And then ended up in a place called Laguna, where I got gas. I headed back to the freeway, because I thought that was where I needed to be, but again, when the road divided, I realized I needed to be headed the other way down that very road. It was too late, I had to drive about seven miles down the freeway before I could turn around—which I did. I went back, and drove that section of old Route 66, and it was good. Then I saw a neat sunset, then it got dark. Here’s what it looked like before it got dark: After it was dark, I tried, I really tried to follow the directions and get where I needed to go and see some sights in the dark. I saw the sign for the highway I needed to take off the freeway for Grants, and when I took the off ramp, there was no sign telling me which way to go in order to get to that highway. It was so frustrating that I gave up. I got a motel room, hauled my stuff upstairs into my smoking-is-the-only-thing-available room, and went to sleep. It was a day of ups and downs, but it was a good day.

My Third Three State Day (being July the 22nd)

The day began with waking, and seeing a rather stunning sunrise. The stunningness of the sunrise was rather brief, however, and I had not the wherewithal to grab the camera and record it digitally. It was good though. Then I showered, breakfasted, tooth-brushed, and headed out of the Kampground. From there, I went to Elk City, where I stopped at a Route 66 Museum. It turned out to be more than just a Route 66 Museum, and included an Old Town Museum, a Ranch Museum, and a Transportation Museum. It may have been a little mislabeled, being advertised mostly as a Route 66 Museum, but I enjoyed it. The first building I went in was the transportation museum. In it, they had the front end of a car set up in front of a large screen television that, when you pressed the gas pedal, would simulate you driving Route 66—complete with a child asking something to the effect of ‘are we there yet?’ I was unimpressed. Next up was the back end of a car set in front of another large screen television, with which you could simulate being at a drive-in movie. Available viewing options were various trailers for ‘Creature From the Black Lagoon,’ and ‘The Blob.’ There was one other one, I think, but I do not remember what it was. I thought it was neat, but in no real way representative of actually being at a drive-in movie. Just outside the drive-in exhibit was an old firetruck from 1917. Above that was an old biplane. And next to those things were some old motorcycles. And then, through a doorway between some of the motorcycles... was a room devoted to... Pop-Eye. Yeah, that one confused me, too. But here’s a picture of a Pop-Eye pinball machine: Right after the transportation museum, I headed over to the somewhat-lacking-in-content Route 66 Museum. While I enjoyed what they had there, I would have thought that, given the size of the sign advertising the establishment (which you’ll see momentarily), there would have been more. What they did have was a very brief ‘mini-Route,’ where the tourist walks along a windy pathway through a building seeing some of the mocked-up sites of Route 66. Also featured in the Route 66 Museum, and along the path were various items donated by families or people or persons, and items on loan from similarly sized groups—there was an old truck that was loaded down with fake things like chickens that said it was donated by the Joad family, and even I recognized that as an allusion, unless it’s for real, in which case... that’s an amazing coincidence! Even more featured (if only for it’s prominence and super-annoyingness) was the tour stop narration. To explain: they had these sensory bubbles over various stops on the mini-route. What was so awful and annoying about these though, is that there was no noticeable way to turn them off, and if you stand under one until it got done spouting off its semi-interesting information and then you move again, it would start all over again. I think there were probably about 8 of these stations. Then I left that building, and wandered around the old town. I don’t suspect that this little area really was the original town, but that various buildings from around various old towns were somehow transported to this location. I saw the school, the church, the caboose, the livery stable, the drugstore (where I visited with the particularly chatty woman who was looking after the building’s interior—she was introducing me to all of the literature the drugstore had to offer, including one regarding the, I believe it was the Ranch Museum, and when I looked at it I asked her if they were all in German, and she just kind of said, “my goodness, they all are!” because she had apparently never inspected the literature she was so chattily pushing). Then, I don’t know how or why, she mentioned eggs. Fancy ones. Like those famous Russian ones, but with less expensive jewelry glued to them. She said that they were in the actual Old Town Museum, which I then headed toward. I arrived! And it was interesting. A lot of it was just pretty ordinary seeming stuff, but some of that very ordinary stuff was in fact rather out of the ordinary (at least as far as I’m concerned...). Then I found the eggs. They were indeed quite fancy. See for yourself: I don’t know how, but those seemed to be kind of in the more ‘domestic’ section of museum. Maybe it was the fact that the only things they’d be good for were in-home tasks, like as decorations, or as paper-weights, or some other form of just sitting around. The reason I mention the ‘domestic’ section, is because of the other things in that area. Like the hair curling machine. It looked more like a person had to put themselves into the machine, not like today’s modern hand-held hair-curling tools. Then, I went up some stairs and found an area devoted to World War II. There were newspaper clippings from the era advertising D-Day, VE-Day, and VJ-Day. Also, there was a clipping with the text of the speech that Roosevelt made after the attack Pearl Harbor. If you are able, I highly recommend in some way enlarging the picture and reading the headline. Now, I can’t be sure if anyone in the employ of the newspaper caught this, or if the museum operators/curators caught it, but I’m fairly certain that I did. What catches my eye, is that I recall the text (and even in the actual article) as saying that December 7, 1941 was ‘a date that will live in infamy.’ The headline of the clipping, however, reads something entirely different, “A Date Which Will Live in Infancy.” Either they know something that I don’t, or that’s a pretty glaring error. Or the museum is preserving it because it was in error, but it seems to me that if that were the case they would make some mention of it. Oh well, maybe if I ever go there again, I’ll ask about it. And now, here it is, the large Route 66 Museum sign that I took a picture of as I was leaving: Then it was off to and through Texas. I really didn’t see much in Texas, and the guide book I had said made it clear that most of Route 66 through Texas would lead to difficult roads and dead ends. I took the parts that were advisable, and stuck to the interstate for the rest. That made the panhandle go by remarkably fast. Of note, however, was the town of Groom, where I bought gas and a Dairy Queen Blizzard. I imagine that there was more to the town somewhere, but all I saw was the gas station and the Dairy Queen. At some point, as I was transitioning from the Old Road to the interstate, I saw this sign: I always enjoy signs like this. Note that the post office is East/South. At every Route 66 state that I’ve been through, I’ve tried to get a picture of one of the historic route signs with the state name on it. All the states I’d been to that had any of old US 66 running through them had a sign like that, even along the 12 mile stretch through Kansas I saw some. Not in Texas, though. The best that Texas had to offer were a few signs that said ‘Old Route 66,” which just isn’t the same. The other two major sights that Texas had to offer, in my opinion, were the startlingly large cross: And the Cadillac Ranch, which I didn’t notice until I saw the throng of people huddled by a fence alongside the freeway service road as I was passing by. I saw the cars, but was unable to picture them. Then it was on into New Mexico. Here I deviated from the book a little. At least I think I did. It was a few days ago now, and the book is in the truck. I went across this pretty awesome stretch of dirt road that went pretty far away from the interstate system. The dirt road started out shortly after a near ghost town, and bent and angled its way across some very interesting countryside. Plus, I just like driving on dirt roads. I don’t really know why, but I think part of it is simply because I don’t often get the chance. Nor do I often see signs that simply say, ‘RT 66,’ as this one does, perched aloft the intersection of ‘RT 66,’ and ‘QR G,’ and where you can clearly see that the road is definitively dirt: And, in keeping with the aforementioned 66 signs with state names, here is New Mexico’s:

One thing that I found quite odd as I drove New Mexico’s Historic Route 66, was the fact that my guide book kept telling me to get back on the freeway. At one point, however, I saw a sign that said there would be road construction on that very freeway for the next 58 miles. There were several instances where I was able to drive leisurely by the construction traffic on the freeway on the Old Road, and smile broadly at the various things that those stuck in traffic were missing.

After that was all over, I drove around a bit more, and ended up in Santa Rosa. I ambled a bit, and inquired with some Motor Inns as to how much a night would be, because there were storm cloud’s a-brewin’ on the horizon, and I didn’t want to get caught up in none of that. Oddly enough, I stayed at a campground right in town, with showers, wireless internet, a restaurant, but no power-hookups at the tent sites.

I went to my assigned spot, settled in, and tried to go to sleep. It was a bit of a no-go, at first, because I could hear this repetitive sound outside. It sounded just like the rhythmic dripping of water, or some other fluid. At some point my paranoia got the best of me, because I was somehow convinced that it was a dripping from one of the fluid containing areas of my truck, and I extricated myself and checked things out. It turned out to be some kind of bird or otherwise-nighttime-tree-dwelling-animal that was making the noise a couple of trees over. After that I felt foolish, because the noise was much too loud to be a dripping from underneath my truck.

Oh well, it all worked out alright and everything was ok. Then I went to sleep.

Errors and Amendments: The Journey Continues

Alright, to anyone who reads this comment, I apologize for the 'typos' in the entry in question. I didn't do any proof-reading, whatsoever. Also, as I was reading it through, I noticed it seemed excessively choppy. I apologize for that, as well. And lastly, it continues to amaze me how this program of bloggery will twist and maim my carefully chosen formatting. I thought I'd found a way to fix this problem, but alas, no good has yet come of it. I do not apologize for any failing on my part in this respect. I will, however, apologize for the ineptitude of the medium in question. You know what? I think I'm going to post this as a comment, then copy and paste into a whole different entry. I think that sounds like a dandy idea. You'll read it. Oh, you'll read it. see also: comments under 'Amblin' in OK Country'

Amblin' in OK Country

Today, the 21st of the July, after waking, eating pancakes, packing up, and leaving, I left. I was once again on the road. Not just any road, though. The Road. America’s Main Street. The Old Road. And that other name that people call it, which for whatever reason, I don’t particularly care for: The Mother Road. It’s a road that goes both ways. Until it goes nowhere, that is. I’m not saying that’s the case, necessarily, but I am saying that it is extremely difficult to keep track of for... oh, say, the better part of Oklahoma. I had a tough day. It was not, however, without reward. But first, the badness. I was driving through a town, I don’t recall which one, but it was a suburb of Oklahoma City, I believe. I was following a road that was marked as Route 66 (historically speaking), and there came a sign that said to make a left at the next intersection. I did so, and wound up at a dead end. It must have mean the intersection after next (it could have been much clearer). I found my way to that road, but was only able to go north on account of the overly-large median in the middle of the road. I needed to go south. I finally got all that straightened out, when I realized that I needed ice. Actually, I’d realized that a while earlier, but felt the situation was considerably more pressing now. I began searching for a grocery store in earnest. I found one, but it proved no easy task to actually gain its location. Again with the medians. I had to go about an extra mile before I could turn around, and turn around I did, after about an extra mile. I got back to the Albertson’s I’d seen earlier, and didn’t notice the signs on my way in. Upon entering the store, I noticed the fairly Spartan conditions (as far as grocery stores are concerned). About half the store was empty. By empty, I mean various states on the continuum of empty shelving to no shelving whatsoever. There were empty aisles that were caution taped off, even. I thought to myself that this was a pretty massive remodel to be happening all at once like this, usually they do this sort of thing in phases. Then I saw the signs. And yes, they opened up my eyes, I saw the signs. The store wasn’t remodeling at all, but closing. There were signs hanging down that proclaimed everything in the store (except Rand McNally products and books-?) was between 25 and 90 percent off. I wandered my way around, trying to see if they had anything I wanted for 25 to 90 percent off, and concluded that, nope, I just needed ice. I did get the ice for forty percent off, however. That’s right, two ten pound bags for under 3 dollars. And I didn’t even need the card. After that, I walked outside and saw the signs I’d missed on my way in. The strangest thing to me, was that it was an Albertson’s, and it was closing. Albertson’s doesn’t seem like the sort of store that closes a location. I mean, I know that stores close, but it seemed like a pretty good area for an Albertson’s. I wonder what happened... I got out of the store parking lot, and went the way I shouldn’t have. I did this because I couldn’t go left on the road I needed to, and my other option was to turn left onto the road I could turn left onto the road that I needed to be on from (have fun sorting that one out), but the driveway I was in was about a block from the intersection in question, and cars were backed up past my location. So, I made a right turn. And eventually made my way back to the divided road in question. I made my through Oklahoma City, and found myself in El Reno. That was an event. Driving around was neat, I saw a little street fair thing in town, but passed it by, thinking I was on the right road and that there was no need to stop. I followed the road around, and ended up heading north (according to my literature, it still appeared as though I was on the right road). Then I saw a road sign that said something about going north, and that didn’t sit right with me. I consulted my atlas, and found that the road I was on didn’t have any intersections for some time, and was in fact headed due north. I needed to be heading West by Southwest. North is not West by Southwest. I turned around. I went back to El Reno, and this time I saw something that I knew I needed to stop for. As part of the street fair (apparently it was being put on by local channel 5) there was a car show. I drove around the town and found myself a parking spot. I then doubled pack for the cars. When I found the first entrance to the street fair, I saw a bunch of local police, and I was tempted to take their picture, but didn’t. I continued on, looking for a place to get in and see the cars. I did, eventually, and they had some pretty interesting things there. They had a Hudson Hornet (which I thought quite interesting, to find one of those on Route 66, and all), a couple of ‘55 Chevys, a ’67 Mustang, a ‘The Judge,’ and an apparent ’67 Camaro RS SS. There really weren’t too many cars there, only about 15, I’d say. It didn’t take me long to walk through and inspect them all. Then I walked back through the fair, saw the ‘grizzled frontiersmen’ exposition (a couple of guys with beards and dirty clothes and a couple of tables with guns on them). I don’t actually know what that section was called to be fair, that’s just the name I’ve given it. It seems somehow appropriate. I headed back to my own vehicle. While I was at the car show, I’d seen a road sign that I must have missed earlier. I recognized it, and there was no cause to recognize it other than having read of it in my book. So, when I got back to my truck, I had a direction to go. It’s weird how things on Route 66 have a habit of working out for me. It’s also weird how, when I got back to my truck, I happened to look up and see a bank clock. It read, “2:42.” For verification purposes, here it is: Only a few seconds later, the number changed to a little less than half that: And the weird thing is that the two little dots between the first two and the four were changed into a little circle-dealy after the nine... I’m not sure what all of it means, but it may be worth checking into. I found the road and drove it, until I realized I was in a town I was only supposed to be in if I’d wanted to take an older, more leisurely alignment. I hadn’t, I had wanted to see some fantastic bridge, or other. Then I had to get gas. I stopped at the town’s gas station, made my usual inquiry, and was told that (after several minutes of deliberation), “No, we do not accept traveler’s checks.” I used basically the last of my cash supply, and asked where I might cash one of my checks. I was told that one of the town’s two banks had drive throughs open ‘til five. I drove back and found one of the banks, but everything seemed pretty desolate, so I kept on driving. I drove back to where I’d started up that road from. The book had said that I was to bear north at the Y in the highway, and I had done so. After that, it said to bear southwest at the next Y. There was no next Y. I had driven all the way to the next town, and there had been no next Y. So, when I went back, and turned around, I looked for anything resembling a next Y. I found a very definite T. Feeling rather frustrated, I turned on it. A little ways down that road, I came to another T. As it turned out, I had found the Y (it was the T), yet the book made no mention of this T. Hmmm. I turned north, until I realized that would put me back in Geary, where I didn’t want to be, so I turned back south, and within minutes found the thirty-eight span steel bridge. Here’s the picture I took after I’d crossed it: I read that the bridge is over three quarters of a mile long. I realize that this picture doesn’t exactly do it justice, but it helps. I drove down that road for quite some time until it reparalleled the freeway, and I happened to find a campground, or rather, a Kampground. It was somewhere between the cities of Clinton and Elk City. It was nice. I settled in and fell asleep. And that was the end of day 16 since leaving home.

A Layover in Tulsa

Because I’m dumb, and didn’t take any pictures while I was staying in Tulsa, I’m going to condense the two full days I was there into one, text-only entry. I apologize to those of you who are more in tune with my style of visual entertainment, it will pick back up again soon. On the morning in question, being the nineteenth of July, I woke up. This is not unusual. Waking up on a couch these days is more than a little out of the ordinary. I got up and walked into the dining room where... breakfast was waiting! It was fantastic! I don’t remember all the details of it now, but I do remember eggs (scrambled), bacon, toast, and homegrown/made jam. Fantastic. Shortly thereafter, I went and retrieved some things from my truck. My computer was among those things. After I got that back in the house, I opened it up, and found that one of the neighbors must have had some kind of unsecured wireless internet. Which I exploited. After that, my host and I talked for quite some time about all sorts of various topics, including, but not limited to how inhospitable the earth can be, yet how adaptable humans can be, history repeating, birds, art, and television. It was thoroughly entertaining. Later on, it was dinner time, and he took me out to Goldie’s. It was earlier this time, and we got in. I was instructed that the thing to order was the Goldie’s Burger, which I did order, did eat, and then ordered another one. They were both great. I can see why it came so highly recommended. Upon leaving, we drove around Tulsa a bit, including the riverfront area, and the area around Oral Roberts University (there’s some... interesting architecture there...). Then we went back to his house, further discussed discussables, ate ice cream(!), and I watched television and went to sleep. The next day was much like the day before. What with waking, rising, and finding breakfast waiting for me! Pancakes! Man, it was good to have hot food. After that I took a shower, and he had to go to the store. When he got back, he told me that someone had left a sign on my truck that said something to the effect of ‘If you’d like to sell this vechile please call (phone number) –Diane.’ I was intrigued, but had absolutely no interest in selling my vehicle. Oh, and that ‘vechile,’ is the quoted spelling. Then it was time for lunch. Sandwiches. That was awesome, too! I know I’m using an awful lot of exclamation points, but I feel it’s worth it. After that, we talked for a bit, I tried to take a nap (no luck), I internetted, then it was time for dinner, this time it was Pot Roast, which was great. Immediately following dinnertime was ice cream time. Unsurprisingly, we talked more, and that ‘oneredpaperclip’ guy was mentioned. I had to research him, and found out that he was successful in his quest to trade up from a red paperclip to a house (he did it in 14 trades, and sealed the deal on July the 12th.). I had to watch the Daily Show and Colbert Report one last time before leaving the next morning, and upon doing that, I went to sleep. They weren’t particularly action-packed days, and I’ll understand if whatever readers I may have out there aren’t super excited about this particular entry, but I certainly enjoyed myself.

My 2nd 3 State Day, Day 3 on 66, 13 overall.

Today, much like any other day, I woke up. Not with a start, and not with any sort of grogginess, I just... woke up. And then I heard the chatter. What does one do when faced with unknown chatter in close proximity to the vehicle that they’re sleeping in, that also happens to be extremely difficult to get out of? Why, climb halfway out, peer into the passenger side mirror, and see a raccoon’s masked face peering right back at me. What’s more, however, is the fact that I believe this would-be woodland bandit to have climbed onto my truck. He was sitting on my back bumper, peering around the corner at me in the mirror. I struggled a bit to get out of the back and get a picture or something, but he potentially robbing rodent rapscallion... ran (away). After that, I took my shower, disposed of disposables, and hit the road once again. I found my way back to Lebanon, MO, easily enough, but finding the Route wasn’t quite so uncomplicated. I stopped for gas and ice, and then the search was on. I drove up and down the streets looking for some clue, studied my book and map, also for some clue, but the book at that point was assuming that the reader stayed on the Old Road for some time and just needed to take ‘a left’ or something. I need road names! Or Historic signs! Something more than ‘left,’ or ‘west!’ I decided to try and backtrack, but was rather unsuccessful. I hadn’t been paying attention upon entering Lebanon, and found that I couldn’t backtrack. So I decided to backtrack anyway. I found an old road, and started driving it back the general direction from which I’d come. After about fifteen minutes, I was about ready to give up. Then I saw a railroad bridge that the road I was on would cross under. Moments before I had seen that bridge, I had decided to turn around, and was merely looking for a good place to do so. Then I decided I would just go ahead and see what was on the other side of that bridge. On the other side of that bridge, was a T intersection with a Route 66 sign pointing both ways. I had found it once again. After that, I was able to stay successfully on America’s Main Street for quite some time (even without the signage to prove it). I was on my way into Springfield, MO, when I decided I was hungry, and that I would check out some of the local fare. I stopped at a (The?) Waffle House. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. I sat at the bar, and listened as the big-rig regulars and the cook/wait staff bantered, and caught up. One of the things I’d been looking for, whether I knew it or not, was local flavor, and I’d found here, in Springfield’s Waffle House. The people talked about television in their calming accents. It started with one of them talking about how the cable company had recently switched to the telephonic labyrinth style of customer service, and that because of this, he was probably going to switch providers. From there, people advised him rather severely to avoid going to satellite dish, and from there the folks just started talking about what shows they liked. Among the favorites were shows about city folk having to live as the pioneers did (apparently there was a show about a rich family that hadn’t ever really had to work, who was chosen to go and live in rather primitive conditions—the highlight of the story was that the teenage boy’s first action upon getting home, was to lock himself in his bedroom and play videogames for some time uninterrupted, the restaurant people concurred: ‘that boy didn’t learn his lesson a’tall.’). One of the staff members spoke of how any one of them could make a go of it, but a woman stepped in and said, ‘my kids could do it, but I couldn’t!’ To which there was an honest chuckle. It was awesome. After that money well spent, I headed into Springfield proper, and stopped at the Shrine Mosque. The book said it was worth a stop and a picture, so I did just that: Just after I got outside of Springfield, I started to see the occasional dilapidated building. One in particular, however, caught my eye and seemed something more of a ruin. See for yourself: It really wasn’t too long after that, that I found myself on the 12 mile stretch of Route 66 that runs through Kansas. The Kansas section of the Route was rather well marked, by comparison. I’ve been trying to get a picture of the Historic 66 signs from each state, so far so good. They also had a Route 66 park in Kansas. I think that because the road has so few miles in Kansas, that the state wants to celebrate it with more enthusiasm. After Kansas, I entered Oklahoma from the north. The transition was not major. The transition from Missouri to Kansas, however, was. From mountains older than the hills, to plains that are flat like... something... well, really flat. Eastern Oklahoma’s Interstate system is mostly a toll-based turnpike setup, so the Route 66 has been kept pretty well intact, with name changes (some very minor). As I was passing through a small town on one of these well-preserved stretches of road, I happened to see this pre-historic (slight exaggeration) limousine. I thought it was neat, but in it I sort of saw the bloodlines of today’s stretched hummers and excursions... after that I sort of had mixed feelings about it. Shortly thereafter, I found a section of the old Old Road, the original pavement for the most part ground to gravel, with little patches showing through, here and there. It looked as though it had been only one lane, but with wide shoulders for passing when necessary. It was a whole lot of fun to drive, though. I got back on the new Old Road and found my way. There were plenty of political signs posted, and this one was probably my favorite: It doesn’t really say anything special, but I hope that you are able to read it. If not, it says quite simply, “Elect Payne.” I thought it would have been much better if it had said, “Choose Payne,” but I’ll take what I can get. Shortly after this event, I decided it was time to stop and get myself something to drink. I pulled over to the side of the road, turned off the truck, took the key out, and went round back to open the canopy. Alas, and alack, the canopy, she wouldn’t open! What to do, what to do? Well, I couldn’t exactly drive around not being able to get anything out the back of my truck, so I stopped at a Wal-Mart parking lot in Miami (Miam-uh), OK. I climbed in through my back window, and took my canopy latching assembly all apart. It would seem a sort of ‘pinch-ring’ had come off, and let the rod assembly come in contact with the part that goes down in front of the tailgate. Simply put, the whole thing was jammed. I opened up the hatch, climbed out, got something to drink (which I desperately needed—as it turned out, it was about a hundred and five degrees just then). I climbed back in, got the tools as necessary, and spent about forty-five minutes fixing the thing. It was hot and slimy work. But, after getting it open, I knew that I had to be able to close it, and keep it closed. After I left the parking lot, I was headed toward Tulsa, OK, and found some of the book’s directions hard to follow. I’ve been trying to drive as much of the Old Route 66 as possible, but sometimes the directions in the book (while virtually always hard to follow) don’t say whether it’s recommending a tourist attraction that’s on the old route, or the author is simply stating that, ‘since you’re in the neighborhood, you might as well see this.’ Anyway, when I am able to follow the directions, it can sometimes (and ironically) get me off track. It’s frustrating. The whole point of this paragraph it that the book had said to take a road (which I’m not sure I took), and that a little ways down that road, I would see two ‘non-identical’ bridges. Well, I went down what I thought was ‘the’ road, and indeed saw two bridges, but they didn’t strike me as particularly ‘non-identical.’ At least not enough to call them ‘non-identical.’ But here they are, so you can go to see: Shortly thereafter, I arrived in the outskirts of Tulsa, and bought gas from another travelers-check-not-accepting-man-behind-presumably-bullet-proof-glass. Oh well. I drove on into town on the Old Route 66, and the road I needed to turn on, and went to my brother-in-law’s father’s house. I went in, and we talked at length, about any number of topics, he showed me a lot of his artwork, and then we went out to dinner. Apparently there was a place in town called ‘Goldie’s’ that, whenever he has visitors, is a necessary stop. We got there at 5 after 8 p.m., and were greeted by seated employees who politely told us they had closed at 8. We drove around and found the Village Inn. That was pretty good. I don’t remember if it was before or after dinner that I saw the “Golden Driller,” but it was an interesting sight. I had left my camera at his house, so I unfortunately don’t have a picture of it, but it’s this giant statue of a man drilling for oil. What’s interesting about it, however, is how un-manlike it looks. It’s apparent that it was not designed and built by artists, but by engineers. For instance, the statue’s legs are far too long. Like I said, it was interesting. After that, we went back to his house, talked for a while longer, then he went to bed. I stayed up and watched television for a while, and then I too, went to bed. I slept on a couch that’s a hide-a-bed that couldn’t be un-hided because he’s working on a gigantic model house in the spare room. The couch was fine with me. I fell asleep.