O.K.L.A.H.O.M.A's OK!

Red cliff and trees in early autumn garb: Red Rock Canyon, Hinton, OK

It's been hard to keep our blog timely, but I thought I'd jump ahead over the past few weeks of neglect to muse about the trip from Canyon (near Amarillo, TX) to Shawnee, Oklahoma, just east of Oklahoma City. (I'll try to catch you up, gentle reader, on the days in between, in what seems to be morphing into a memoir, not a blog.)

Since pulling out of our driveway on September 19, we have had only one day of inglorious weather and that one we devoted to our trip to the Hearst Castle. As I said to someone along the way, "Our fabulous tourist weather. Your agricultural nightmare."

For about an hour east of Amarillo, we continued to cross the flapjack-flat, dun-colored land, we'd come across yesterday  as we came closer to Canyon. Most of the time, we drive beneath an up-turned bowl --- with 360-degree views to the horizon broken only by a single piece of farm machinery or a distant cluster of farm buildings, shaded, if they are lucky, by one or two trees. Blessedly, there were no more interminable feedlots, with cattle shoulder-to-shoulder on packed-down, black, smelly earth. But as we got closer to OK, the land almost imperceptibly gave way to slow rises and dips in the road, then to hills, gnarled arroyos, higher grass, green fields, red earth, taller trees, and even some rivers, providing natural irrigation --- though plenty of irrigation equipment could still be seen. Now we're seeing small herds of cattle grazing on grass. I wave and tell them, "Keep it up, ladies and gents. Don't get on any trucks or train cars, no matter what they tell you."

No glam meals today! Lunch was a shared "Tuscan Chicken with Melted Cheese" from a Subway located in a Love's service area. (Blessedly: the price of gas is about $3.50 for "plus" here. California's $80 fill-ups are, we hope, a memory.) In another mile, we pulled into the "Welcome to Oklahoma" rest area to enjoy our lunch. Inside the beautifully appointed information center, they were showing Oklahoma, with Shirley Jones,and Gordon McRae --- and many other greats. (How many can you name?) A plus for Dora was a super-clean, two-corral dog park in the area, where she got to have a real, off-leash run and Frisbee chase-and-catch session.

Another hour of driving brought us deep into Oklahoma's rolling, red rock,  country, where we took an off-road break to play in Red Rock Canyon. The park's entry sign looked so much like a 1950  motel sign that we drove by it once and then almost missed it on the second pass.
The terrain had gone flat again, so it was a surprise to find ourselves  entering the park via a steep, winding road  The place was populated with campers and picnickers but also with climbers practicing their rappelling skills on the red cliffs -- Tom thinks red limestone. The only waterway in the canyon is a small stream, so my local geologist suggests extrusions, not erosion, caused this beautiful place to evolve.

The campers we met were universally gabby and congenial. The southern accents that started in New Mexico to my surprise, just keep on getting "more so," as we move east. 

With a name like Shawnee, Oklahoma  the town just has to be good. But, Shawnee seems to be -- or has become -- another place that is no place, with a flock of multi-story, chain motels, whose patrons are fed  by a complementary flock of everywhere eateries. Among the many competitors, we chose a Chili's since it seemed to be the only restaurant with a bar -- only to learn that local laws have declared that on Sundays, only 3.2% beer may be served. Tom enjoyed his chicken club, sans bacon, with an iced tea and I my southwestern egg rolls: smoked chicken, cheese, and spinach inside a light, crisp, (don't say it, but I think probably deep-fried) tortilla, folded like a pocket. And that Coors Lite actually tasted pretty OK after a long drive.

Bumper sticker update: My Obama stickers survived unscathed across Texas. Tom had threatened to save us from squadrons of vigilantes, or even the lone shooter, by covering them with an "I <3 my hoss" sticker. But I guess anyone who felt riled by the stickers saw the New Jersey license plates and figured I was a lost cause anyway.