I left Vian, OK at 6:15 this morning and headed west knowing that for the first time on this trip Harvey the Harley and I were going into country never seen before. Destination, Medicine Lodge, Kansas. Out on the highways of beautiful Eastern Oklahoma, I passed through Muskogee, a town that’s grown to have five exits! But it wasn’t until I rode passed Stillwater, a town west of Tulsa, that the lay of the land became the real deal American prairie-land complete with endless tracks of grazing and farm land dotted with little houses on the prairie; a fair amount of them being Victorian in style. There were also loads of those nice oil pumping machines in everyone’s damned yard. Cha-Ching!
What you think about, and see, while on the road, and around the people you meet, holds no end of fascination. I’m in my own little world and all of this stuff is swimming around me like glittering tropical fish. The man in north Louisiana who I hailed at an intersection to say that I needed fuel and where could I get some, promptly got out of his truck and grabbed a red can of gas and offered me the last gallon.
When I asked the cashier at a gas station in Arkansas if she had any energy food, she directed me to a rack of Slim Jims.
They were right next door to the only magazines for sale in the store…all of ‘em ‘bout huntin’, ‘n feeshin’. ‘Cept for a few NASCAR’s.
I met a grossly obese man with a huge and generous heart who was sitting in a chair with an oxygen tube up his nose while smoking a cigarette. Later when my pal Bob and I swam in the lake, this man was there as well, smoking while in the water! There was a beautiful young woman swimming with us in a skimpy bathing suit sporting a body that screamed ripe fruit. She marshaled the conquering forces of youthful desire while simultaneously heralding the reality of my hopeless age. Making an effort to be with my old friend Bob Rice for his important birthday brought happiness to us both…men of a certain age. Chatting with Jack Rucker, an uncomplicated and elegant man sitting on the front porch of Jincy’s, a middle of nowhere restaurant in beautiful Qualls, OK, brought back memories of elegant and uncomplicated farmers known in my youth.
Jincy’s features skillet fried chicken made by his daughter, Debbie. Jack’s mother built the restaurant as a country store and gas station, and she supported half the countryside by selling them necessaries and gasoline, on the cuff, during the great depression.
Kiowa, Kansas…a pretty little town in America’s heartland.
The weightlessly sunny realization that everything packed in the bags on my bike, just what I could carry on a motorcycle, was plenty enough, came to me a s pure joy. A couple of good books, an iPhone full of music that blue tooth connects to a miniature but powerful speaker system, a French note book chock full of important phrases and verb declensions, a copy of Strunk and White, a cash and credit card, a photo of my deceased wife, (sigh), and clothes sufficient to get me into 90+% of the restaurants in America, and all of its churches, under just about any weather condition.
The heat began to kick some serious ass around 10:30 AM, and by the time I arrived in Medicine Lodge, around noon, shimmering heat scorching man and beast alike hovered at 110+. I had to stand in front of the A/C unit in the motel room for a half an hour before I cooled off. Mercy!
Tomorrow, it’s off to Lamar, Colorado. Just a stopping point to my next destination, which may be either Cheyenne, WY, or Durango, CO.
XO
Middie
