Tucumcari Tonight!
On Friday, I couldn't keep to my self-injunction to stay on Interstate (or the equivalent). I did follow the Purchase Parkway/I-155 through the rest of Kentucky and the northwest corner of Tennessee, but then took secondary roads through Missouri and much of Arkansas down to Conway (just north of Little Rock). However, I did restrain the impulse to check out the nature of towns with such promising names as Wingo (Kentucky), Obion (Tennessee) and Possom Grape (Arkansas).
I-155 brought me across that great dividing line of superlatives (everything is the biggest/oldest/best-tasting this or that side of the Mississippi). I then took Route D (a number of Missouri roads are designated by letters instead of numbers) to 164, which is about as far south as one can get in Missouri (in the SE bootheel). As soon as I was across the Mississippi, the land became very flat, with huge fields. Many had an unharvested brown grass of some kind (winter wheat??); unlike KY, many of the fields were not yet planted, although some had the beginnings of green something growing in standing water (rice?). The trees no longer were a dense border around the fields, but had space between them and were only one tree deep. In Steel MO, I had to stop to take a picture of a Piggly Wiggly. That grocery chain was in New Mexico when I was a small child, and even then I knew it was a very silly name for a store, which of course made me fond of it. Piggly Wiggly was gone from NM by the time I was a teenager, but has hung on in parts of the south.
164 connected to 412, which I took west to Walnut Ridge, Arkansas, turning southwest there on 87. This took me alongside a busy train route. The roadside wildflowers at some point became Queen Anne's lace and some low purple thing. At Beebe, I turned west on Rt 64 to Conway. The land became hillier. I had chosen Conway as the stop because it occurred to me that for Friday evening of Memorial weekend, I'd better have a reservation, and, according to the woman at 800-DAYSINN, the only rooms available in Arkansas were in Conway and Little Rock. I was on a strip of Anywhere, USA, but this enabled me to walk to a nearby Target and do my Duty to the Economy by purchasing a folding chair (for the raft trip I'm going to go on in Colorado -- stay tuned to this channel), a boom box so I can listen to music in motel rooms, and, finally, a digital camera. I promise, I will figure out how to get pictures onto this blog, maybe before my trip is over. :) [OK, trip over. Still haven't figured it out. How long does blogspot keep this blog up?]
Saturday I awoke early and champing at the bit. I did finally keep to Interstate (I-40) with just a couple small excursions. That felt almost like coming home, because I-40 goes through my hometown of Albuquerque. I did jump off onto Rt. 64 at Clarksville, in order to cross Lake Dardenelle on a causeway (versus bridge with high rails) and to have a few glimpses of the Arkansas River as I traveled west. Back on I-40, just short of Ozark, I pulled into a rest stop that advertised free coffee. The VFW was there, providing coffee, tea, lemonade and cookies, as a Memorial weekend service. The fellow I spoke to said it also gave him something to do.
At Alma, a sign announced the Rt 71 scenic loop through the Boston Mountains. I turned north just far enough to get a taste of the curves and the mountainous scenery, then took I-504 back to I-40 and entered Oklahoma. I pulled into the rest stop at Sallisaw, which had a nice visitor center with maps, motel coupon booklets, tourist attraction brochures, free coffee, friendly staff, and a Will Rogers memorial lounge. Sign on the wall with a Will Rogers quote: "There is no argument in the world carries the hatred that a religious belief does."
Speaking of religion, there were indications I had entered the Bible Belt. Most of the churches were for Fundamentalist faiths (Church of God, Bible Church, Free Will Baptist). Somewhere in Arkansas, instead of the "last chance for water" I was familiar with from the desert, there was a sign that said "Last chance for liquor for 100 miles," I assume because the road entered dry counties. In Oklahoma, I passed a bright yellow Mustang with red flames radiating from the front fender across the door. Above the flames was the word Jesus. I was amused to see that the driver was a small, white-haired, tough-looking woman.
At Shawnee OK, I turned south on 102 and west on 9 so I could see Lake Thunderbird. Years ago I worked on an Environmental Impact Statement for an upgrade of Norman's wastewater treatment plant. One of the issues was what development around Lake Thunderbird (stimulated by extension of sewerage) would do to the quality of the lake, which was Norman's water supply and a prime recreational area. So I knew Lake Thunderbird intimately on paper, but had never seen it. I stopped at the Nature Center, which had lots of live snakes in aquariums (many curled up in their water bowls against the record-high heat) and the only exhibit of scat I recall ever seeing, before driving to the lake with the intention of eating my sandwich by the water. But there wasn't a square inch of space due to all the people camping there, and it was very windy, so I didn't stop. The water that I saw was below band of red soil exposed by the drought that has afflicted Arizona, New Mexico and Oklahoma, and the water itself was a reddish muddy.
Back onto I-40 and then a stop at the Texas rest stop. The rest stop in Arkansas had had picnic tables under tasteful wood canopies reminiscent of mountain cabins, and a modest brick building with rest rooms. The Oklahoma rest stop had picnic tables under tasteful metal canopies reminiscent of teepees, and a modest brick building with rest rooms. The Texas rest stop had picnic tables under soaring, futuristic metal canopies, topped with metal renditions of the lone-star Texas flag. The building with rest rooms was fronted by a high arc of stone masonry wall, and the back side had soaring white concrete pieces punctured by star shapes. The interior of the building had soaring ceilings, a glossy exhibit of Panhandle history, and WiFi. In front of the building was a large patio with a silhouette of Texas and a huge star in the concrete. Stars were incorporated everywhere. It was big, bold, new, expensive, friendly, self-absorbed -- very Texas.
From Arkansas through Oklahoma into Texas, the trees had become progressively smaller and shrubbier and rarer, and the grass drier, with more and more soil showing, until finally there were no trees at all in Texas -- just endless brown fields in all directions. Somewhere west of Elk City, OK, I looked at the columns of cumulous cloud building on the horizon, and suddenly realized I was in Big Sky country -- truly in the West.
Finally the expanse of flat was broken by a drop off into land with escarpments and junipers, and soon I was in New Mexico. I was filled with joy. New Mexico was my home from birth to age 35. I had not driven into the state (as opposed to flying) since I left 17 years ago. Suddenly everything looked right -- the (very few) trees were the right kind, the grass was the right kind, the soil was the right color. It's not that they were more beautiful than any place else, but there is something about things being the way you first encountered them in life, when you were wired to accept your environment as the Way Things Are. New Mexico's rest stop was back to modest canopies over the picnic tables and a modest brick building. A series of signs demanded no pets in the restrooms, keep pets on leash, and watch for snakes.
At Tucumcari I stopped for the night and had a delicious enchilada dinner at Del's Restaurant (since 1956). New Mexican cuisine is as different from Tex-Mex and other Mexican cuisines as is Greek from Italian or French from German, and for some reason has never moved out of New Mexico, and it is one of the things I miss most.
After my screed against Interstates, I was amused to open up USA Today and find a tribute to the system (50 years old this year), with articles on 5 scenic Interstate stretches. However, they also gave the quote from Charles Kuralt: The Interstate system makes it possible to go from coast to coast without seeing anything or meeting anybody.
Two other notes on the past two or three days: 1) The maximum speed limit through Maryland, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky was 65. At Tennesse and through Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas it was 70. At New Mexico it became 75. My mileage went from 52 mpg to 30 (strong winds the past 2 days may have contributed to that). Westerners chaffed greatly under the 55 speed limit -- when the road is straight and empty, the weather clear, and the distance to be covered great, 55 feels next to a standstill. The 55 limit was instituted in response to the energy crisis of the '70's. It is interesting that, with the current gas prices, we are discussing higher CAFE standards, alternative fuels, and opening the Arctic wilderness, but I've heard nothing about lowering the speed limit again.
2) I've passed many small cemeteries heavily decorated with flowers. I guess many people decorated the graves of loved ones ahead of time, perhaps so they could then have their weekend at the beach or the lake or the mountains. A Happy Memorial Weekend to all of you, and Happy Summer!!!
I-155 brought me across that great dividing line of superlatives (everything is the biggest/oldest/best-tasting this or that side of the Mississippi). I then took Route D (a number of Missouri roads are designated by letters instead of numbers) to 164, which is about as far south as one can get in Missouri (in the SE bootheel). As soon as I was across the Mississippi, the land became very flat, with huge fields. Many had an unharvested brown grass of some kind (winter wheat??); unlike KY, many of the fields were not yet planted, although some had the beginnings of green something growing in standing water (rice?). The trees no longer were a dense border around the fields, but had space between them and were only one tree deep. In Steel MO, I had to stop to take a picture of a Piggly Wiggly. That grocery chain was in New Mexico when I was a small child, and even then I knew it was a very silly name for a store, which of course made me fond of it. Piggly Wiggly was gone from NM by the time I was a teenager, but has hung on in parts of the south.
164 connected to 412, which I took west to Walnut Ridge, Arkansas, turning southwest there on 87. This took me alongside a busy train route. The roadside wildflowers at some point became Queen Anne's lace and some low purple thing. At Beebe, I turned west on Rt 64 to Conway. The land became hillier. I had chosen Conway as the stop because it occurred to me that for Friday evening of Memorial weekend, I'd better have a reservation, and, according to the woman at 800-DAYSINN, the only rooms available in Arkansas were in Conway and Little Rock. I was on a strip of Anywhere, USA, but this enabled me to walk to a nearby Target and do my Duty to the Economy by purchasing a folding chair (for the raft trip I'm going to go on in Colorado -- stay tuned to this channel), a boom box so I can listen to music in motel rooms, and, finally, a digital camera. I promise, I will figure out how to get pictures onto this blog, maybe before my trip is over. :) [OK, trip over. Still haven't figured it out. How long does blogspot keep this blog up?]
Saturday I awoke early and champing at the bit. I did finally keep to Interstate (I-40) with just a couple small excursions. That felt almost like coming home, because I-40 goes through my hometown of Albuquerque. I did jump off onto Rt. 64 at Clarksville, in order to cross Lake Dardenelle on a causeway (versus bridge with high rails) and to have a few glimpses of the Arkansas River as I traveled west. Back on I-40, just short of Ozark, I pulled into a rest stop that advertised free coffee. The VFW was there, providing coffee, tea, lemonade and cookies, as a Memorial weekend service. The fellow I spoke to said it also gave him something to do.
At Alma, a sign announced the Rt 71 scenic loop through the Boston Mountains. I turned north just far enough to get a taste of the curves and the mountainous scenery, then took I-504 back to I-40 and entered Oklahoma. I pulled into the rest stop at Sallisaw, which had a nice visitor center with maps, motel coupon booklets, tourist attraction brochures, free coffee, friendly staff, and a Will Rogers memorial lounge. Sign on the wall with a Will Rogers quote: "There is no argument in the world carries the hatred that a religious belief does."
Speaking of religion, there were indications I had entered the Bible Belt. Most of the churches were for Fundamentalist faiths (Church of God, Bible Church, Free Will Baptist). Somewhere in Arkansas, instead of the "last chance for water" I was familiar with from the desert, there was a sign that said "Last chance for liquor for 100 miles," I assume because the road entered dry counties. In Oklahoma, I passed a bright yellow Mustang with red flames radiating from the front fender across the door. Above the flames was the word Jesus. I was amused to see that the driver was a small, white-haired, tough-looking woman.
At Shawnee OK, I turned south on 102 and west on 9 so I could see Lake Thunderbird. Years ago I worked on an Environmental Impact Statement for an upgrade of Norman's wastewater treatment plant. One of the issues was what development around Lake Thunderbird (stimulated by extension of sewerage) would do to the quality of the lake, which was Norman's water supply and a prime recreational area. So I knew Lake Thunderbird intimately on paper, but had never seen it. I stopped at the Nature Center, which had lots of live snakes in aquariums (many curled up in their water bowls against the record-high heat) and the only exhibit of scat I recall ever seeing, before driving to the lake with the intention of eating my sandwich by the water. But there wasn't a square inch of space due to all the people camping there, and it was very windy, so I didn't stop. The water that I saw was below band of red soil exposed by the drought that has afflicted Arizona, New Mexico and Oklahoma, and the water itself was a reddish muddy.
Back onto I-40 and then a stop at the Texas rest stop. The rest stop in Arkansas had had picnic tables under tasteful wood canopies reminiscent of mountain cabins, and a modest brick building with rest rooms. The Oklahoma rest stop had picnic tables under tasteful metal canopies reminiscent of teepees, and a modest brick building with rest rooms. The Texas rest stop had picnic tables under soaring, futuristic metal canopies, topped with metal renditions of the lone-star Texas flag. The building with rest rooms was fronted by a high arc of stone masonry wall, and the back side had soaring white concrete pieces punctured by star shapes. The interior of the building had soaring ceilings, a glossy exhibit of Panhandle history, and WiFi. In front of the building was a large patio with a silhouette of Texas and a huge star in the concrete. Stars were incorporated everywhere. It was big, bold, new, expensive, friendly, self-absorbed -- very Texas.
From Arkansas through Oklahoma into Texas, the trees had become progressively smaller and shrubbier and rarer, and the grass drier, with more and more soil showing, until finally there were no trees at all in Texas -- just endless brown fields in all directions. Somewhere west of Elk City, OK, I looked at the columns of cumulous cloud building on the horizon, and suddenly realized I was in Big Sky country -- truly in the West.
Finally the expanse of flat was broken by a drop off into land with escarpments and junipers, and soon I was in New Mexico. I was filled with joy. New Mexico was my home from birth to age 35. I had not driven into the state (as opposed to flying) since I left 17 years ago. Suddenly everything looked right -- the (very few) trees were the right kind, the grass was the right kind, the soil was the right color. It's not that they were more beautiful than any place else, but there is something about things being the way you first encountered them in life, when you were wired to accept your environment as the Way Things Are. New Mexico's rest stop was back to modest canopies over the picnic tables and a modest brick building. A series of signs demanded no pets in the restrooms, keep pets on leash, and watch for snakes.
At Tucumcari I stopped for the night and had a delicious enchilada dinner at Del's Restaurant (since 1956). New Mexican cuisine is as different from Tex-Mex and other Mexican cuisines as is Greek from Italian or French from German, and for some reason has never moved out of New Mexico, and it is one of the things I miss most.
After my screed against Interstates, I was amused to open up USA Today and find a tribute to the system (50 years old this year), with articles on 5 scenic Interstate stretches. However, they also gave the quote from Charles Kuralt: The Interstate system makes it possible to go from coast to coast without seeing anything or meeting anybody.
Two other notes on the past two or three days: 1) The maximum speed limit through Maryland, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky was 65. At Tennesse and through Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas it was 70. At New Mexico it became 75. My mileage went from 52 mpg to 30 (strong winds the past 2 days may have contributed to that). Westerners chaffed greatly under the 55 speed limit -- when the road is straight and empty, the weather clear, and the distance to be covered great, 55 feels next to a standstill. The 55 limit was instituted in response to the energy crisis of the '70's. It is interesting that, with the current gas prices, we are discussing higher CAFE standards, alternative fuels, and opening the Arctic wilderness, but I've heard nothing about lowering the speed limit again.
2) I've passed many small cemeteries heavily decorated with flowers. I guess many people decorated the graves of loved ones ahead of time, perhaps so they could then have their weekend at the beach or the lake or the mountains. A Happy Memorial Weekend to all of you, and Happy Summer!!!
posted by Annventurer | 9:15 PM
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