The title of this post was supposed to be "Kingman to Cortez"... but "travellers procrastination" has delayed it's composition, and I'm a compulsive truth-teller. (It sucks being that. Get's you into more trouble than not. Definitely better to lie if you can, in most situations... (or just not say anything at all. But I'll never advocate silence.) Seemingly unnecessary elongation of informative, inquisitive or respondatory prose (including the occasional invention of previously non-existent words, and excessive use of parentheses within other parentheses) serves only to eliminate the potentially harmful assumptions which otherwise may occur. And that's vital. To assume anything, ever, is every single kind of precarious. With that valuable message relayed, and under the assurance that I will at least allude to the coming content with intriguing snippets in an attempt to lure you onward, despite your devolved craving for short sentences and mono-syllables (fed by the patronising travesty that is today's mainstream media), let's continue -- just need to close these brackets first.)
Disturbed by a hungry Gruffalo
The aftermath of Vegas involved a lot of toilet time, postponing our enjoyment of Kingman, Arizona. ...An official Historic Route 66 destination, Kingman name-drops to get you listening - from James Dean and Marilyn Monroe to Timothy McVeigh - all of whom spent significant periods of time there, living in motels on the side of the road. I'm glad to say it was the former of the aforementioned infamous who had stayed at El Trovatore back in the 50's - a funkalicious and delightfully stereotypical motor-inn, retaining many original features (like the scary, black and white tiled, hobbit-shower), and emphasizing with glamour those which have been restored. It was a spontaneous decision for us to stay at El Trovatore. After one night camping at the Kingman KOA - (where night time temperatures were still dropping painfully low, and where our slumber was repeatedly disturbed by unusual noises resembling what I am at least 96% certain a hungry Gruffalo might sound like) we concluded 'walls would be nice.' Not before witnessing the 'Blood Moon' however, which magnificently eclipsed at around 1.00am on April 15th. In a rural location, free from light pollution, we had no distractions from this rare visual feast (apart from our mutual 'secret' fear of the monster-like hybrid of half grizzly bear, half buffalo...)
Sammy is from Israel. Monica is from Los Angeles. They've been together for more than thirty years, and own the El Trovatore motel. Sammy, now in his later-than-late 60's, spent an un-exaggerated 45 minutes chatting to us upon check-in. Old photographs were brought out, maps were scribbled upon, history books thumbed through and toy cars fondled. We discovered that 'twas the same man who built this motel who had built the Golden Gate - where we stayed in Vegas (at that time called Sal Sagev.) Must mean something...? All of it was truly interesting and energetically educational, and the colourful lecture would no-doubt have continued on beyond an hour if it weren't for my Nevada-recovering-bowels... (to read more about Vegas, see the Calgary to Vegas blog)
We had the James Dean room
We had the James Dean room. Naturally. A blissful, ambient sleep was inevitable, when surrounded by enormous gold-framed pictures of a handsome, dare devil, Hollywood icon - and retro-style placards stating his most evocative quotes, such as "Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today." Having died at age 24, the irony of his own immortalised proverb, simultaneously brilliantly and tragically - increases in influence. The immediate impact for my husband and I only led us to ignore the 'diet' and ponder the sentiment further over a few Sailor Jerry's, outside the motel, in the 30 degree sun.
Taking Sammy's advice, we visited Oatman; an old mining town in the Black Mountains of Mohave County, where wild donkeys wander the dusty streets, cheekily venturing into the gift shops and cafe's hunting for anything edible ...which is ANYTHING to a donkey. It looked a bit like HBO's Deadwood to me, only with more cars and less Al Swearengen (sadly). The drive there and back along part of Route 66 reminded us of the Amalfi Coast in Italy for it's constant zig-zagging through awe-inspiring vast scenic beauty (just without the ocean on one side), and of the road to Ouarzazate, through the Atlas Mountains in Morocco, for it's desert-like rocky dryness. ...But the most picturesque was yet to come...
"Woah! There's the Canyon!"
We spent four days in Flagstaff, just a few hours east of Kingman. It served as our base to visit the Grand Canyon. I'd heard many stories of trips to the Grand Canyon. My older step-brother apparently lit up a spliff there at sunrise some years back. (At the time I had thought that was far too cool.) Other friends and family members have taken helicopter tours. From their combined accounts, I had created my own vision of this one-mile-deep, 18-mile-wide, 277-mile-long, crack in the planet. I imagined it to be surrounded by flat red earth (a bit like Mars) for hundreds of miles, with nothing between it and... more nothingness. Absent of any building, road or man-made structure, I imagined it to be in the middle of nowhere, accessible only by foot, and always a moody dusky colour... Nope.
In actuality, we drove through miles of woodland. Green, flat, dense at times, woodland. Along a road... dotted with shops that sell Grand Canyon related souvenirs. In fact, the landscape is so un-canyon-like, that it's appearance (although preceded by multiple Grand Canyon National Park road signs, Grand Canyon National Park car parks, a large Grand Canyon National Park information centre, and a zillion tourists) is so unexpected, it baffles me how more people don't accidentally plummet to their death. One minute you're strolling casually through trees and shrubs, and all of a sudden; "Woah! There's the Canyon!" Quite possibly the most magical, massive, impressive, stunning wonder-of-the-world I have ever seen. It's mostly a dull pinky shade, but you can find a bit of every single colour in there. It makes you feel very small, and very light - fragile. It also makes you feel closer to the sky.
Along the rim, at particular points, there are fences - which delude you into feeling safe enough to venture to the parts of the rim which don't have fences - and there's a lot more of that. Like Zion National Park, there are free shuttle buses driving multiple connecting routes which run the length of the South-East rim. They stop at different trail heads and view points. Hiking along the rim of the Canyon will forever be etched in my memory with love and awe. Further cementing the experience into my soul, was the thunderous storm that took us by surprise shortly after our tuna and avocado sandwiches. Torrential rain, hail, lightning - blackened skies and strong winds. With no rain coat, and no shelter - half way along a rim trail, Guillaume and I were drenched in nature. The expression 'soaked to the bone' seemed to genuinely apply, and at only 14 degrees centigrade it became compulsive to shiver. But all this only served to amplify our absorption of the entire day. I have a lot of love for the Grand Canyon.
The Peublo's would have done the same if they could...
Neither of us are religious, but Easter seemed the perfect excuse to celebrate. We're always finding excuses to celebrate. And by exerting ourselves at the Anasazi site of Walnut Canyon, east of Flagstaff, with climbs down into and back up out of it's mystical and energy-filled depths (I can't help but consider the life that the Peublo people's lead, some 1400 years ago, to be "right" in many presently forgotten ways) we concluded we absolutely deserved cider, crab and jalapeno bread. (Am certain the Peublo's would have done the same if they could...) Our budget has been suffering significantly in the food and beverage column. It was also a good occasion to watch the Montreal Canadiens beat Tampa Bay for a third time in the NHL Stanley Cup playoffs...
Driving north through Arizona, we were heading for Cortez, Colorado. A destination I had originally picked for two reasons; one - to see Monument Valley, and specifically the road where Forrest Gump (my most favourite fictional character) declared he was pretty tired, and thought he'd go home now... and two - to visit Mesa Verde, a much larger Anasazi site than the one at Walnut Canyon, and a major US National Park. Owed to time constraints, and the constant fear our car's timing belt will snap (because we had been warned by the garage in Calgary that it's end was dangerously nigh - but our budget only allows for things that taste and look good - not things that can potentially save our lives) we decided en-route to avoid the extra two hour drive Monument Valley would add ...to the 70 or more of our total car journey.
Skyler White didn't have to pay $5... did she?
Four Corners National Monument is right off Highway 160, and that was one site we were not going to miss. The Four Corners is the quadripoint at which four states meet; Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico and Utah, and is the only location in the United States where this occurs. As with the Grand Canyon, I had made my own assumptions on the place before we got there (which were inaccurate because others (such as AMC - don't worry AMC, high praise is coming...) do not suffer from the same over-explanatory truth-telling compulsions as I)... In Breaking Bad (BEST TV SERIES, EVER - There it is. I mean it, too.) Skyler White travels to Four Corners from her home in Albuquerque when contemplating a new life away from Walter. She stands, alone, in the middle of the monument circle in a state of despair and uncertainty. The location is depicted as isolated, empty, and deeply profound. Well... that's creative license is what it is... In reality we had to pay $5 each to get close to the quadripoint, whereat a number of tourists from a number of states, and many countries, were walking all over it taking photos. Among them, a solo Chinese man in a fluorescent yellow t-shirt, thick socks in sandals and a woolly hat (it was at least 29 degrees centigrade at this time) who spent a good 20 minutes videoing the monument at close proximity whilst talking to himself in occasional broken English. Another visitor was a hispanic woman, with several children, who declared - when standing in Colorado; "Hey, I can smoke weed over here!" I do not recall any such occurrences interrupting Skyler White's emotional moment...
In Cortez we grabbed an evening beer. The friendly barmaid requested our ID (as they do everywhere in the Western US it seems) and took note of my birth date. "28th December?" she asked with a smile. "That's my son's birthday. He was born last December. It's also my Dad's birthday, and he's not doing so well right now, he has cancer, so it meant so much that my son was born on his birthday." I told her that was a lovely story. And it is.
It ain't new, and it ain't Mexico
Albuquerque was our next stop. Along the way are a number of native reserves, amid the sparse, vast and varying terrain. Many make-shift ranches of doubtful produce, many mobile homes - with caved in roofs, boarded windows, unkempt grounds, out-houses barely standing, and rusty car collections of enormous proportions. What is going on there? Tiny dwellings that can surely house no more than four people at a push, also host a dozen or more vehicles. Is there something they know that we don't? What was astonishingly apparent was that these areas - great in number and covering hundreds of square miles - look to be just as, if not moreso, poverty-stricken than the towns we have visited in rural North Africa.
Albuquerque's old town is a break away from typical America. I don't think there's even a McDonalds there. Lot's of burritos, chili and beans. Plenty of poncho's, serapes and rugs. It is New Mexico after all. But like much of the gift-shop merchandise wittily quips "It ain't New, and it ain't Mexico." And actually, it's more like Spain. There is a really Spanish feel to the old town, it's pretty, it's quaint, there's flowers, old churches and terracotta-clad buildings, and for a split second you could be forgiven for thinking you were in the Mediterranean. (But you might not be forgiven for thinking you were in Mexico.)
"Show me the way to Amarillo..."
I had Neil Sedaka's "Show me the way to Amarillo" in my head for the entire 4 hour journey into Texas. (Although, in my head, it was the Peter Kay version.) Knowing that the city is extremely easy to find, at the end of only a small number of lengthy straight roads, I began to feel his quest for directions was not sincere. An annoyingly catchy song, even Guillaume (who had never previously heard the tune) was compelled to sing along after a while...
Cadillac Ranch is about 2 miles outside of the Amarillo city boundary. Created in 1974, it's a public art installation depicting the evolution of the Cadillac. 10 cars are half buried nose first, equidistant to one another, at an angle corresponding to the Great Pyramid of Giza - but more exciting than all that, is the opportunity to graffiti the cars however you like. Over the years, thousands of people have illicitly sprayed their mark in bright colours, and now the paint is so thick that great dollops have solidified. On occasion the cars are professionally decorated, but it never lasts long before being pasted over with millions of name inscriptions, peace signs, and phallic-shape drawings of varying degrees of profanity. It wasn't a busy location. There were maybe six of us there at one time. There was a man striding around in high-wasted jeans and a tight white t-shirt, playing a ukulele and whistling for the duration of our visit. Definitely the coolest sculpture I've ever strolled around.
The supermarket closest to our Motel was so health-conscious there was a woman giving a lecture to a group of parents in one of the organic vegetable aisles, talking about how to get children to ask for radish instead of ice cream, and that sort of thing. It was the most stunning supermarket I have ever been in. Everything was so fresh and bright, with endless tempting good-for-you options. We raided that salad bar like there was no tomorrow.
Life's too short for rice cakes
By stark contrast, on our way out of Amarillo we stopped by The Big Texan Steak Ranch: "Home to the free 72oz steak". (The stipulation being you have to eat the lot in under an hour.) It was breakfast time, and no one was attempting the murderous and impossible, but the venue itself was a sight to behold. Cow-print table cloths, an amusement maze of cowsheds with viewing platform, and t-shirts for sale proudly advertising the enormity of the brutally carnivorous feast that would surely cause serious damage to the digestive system of anyone who greedily guzzled the dish? Big posters stating things like "Life's too short for rice cakes" with cartoons of fat, happy women in tiny underpants, were also available to purchase. Texas is undoubtedly proud of it's masculine meat devouring capabilities, but I would suggest from my consecutive observations within the state that it's now beginning to battle with itself; the morals and consequences of a well-embedded culture. From the short time we were there, I'd summarise that I like Texas a lot for many reasons - and none of them have anything to do with eating animals. Alberta's a little bit like that too, but I think it's successfully climbed further onto the health wagon than Texas. It's happening though. You'll see. There'll be changes...
I don't have much to say about Oklahoma other than it's very windy. Clearly they know this, and that's why they have erected more than 300 giant wind turbines along the north side of Interstate 40 as you approach Oklahoma City. Postcards of Oklahoma depict tornadoes - as if this is an inviting tourist attraction. "Come to Oklahoma... You might die!"
It's hot, and humid, and I'm sweaty.
Speaking of which, "severe thunder storms" are forecast all the way from Little Rock, Arkansas up past Nashville for tomorrow (Sunday 27th) and throughout the next few days. It's probable the Weather Network are amplifying the likelihood for dramatic impact - but they say we'll get heavy rain, damaging winds, large hail, and tornadoes. It's not the most ideal outlook for a five hour drive into Tennessee. We're in Little Rock now. It's hot, and humid, and I'm sweaty. Earlier this evening we ventured, on foot, in search of fruity ale (the latest trend) and came across a small intriguing window, lit amidst an otherwise large and dark wall. Intriguing, because 'Bud Lite' was advertised in neon lights on one side. Oblivious to my husband having cracked the mystery, I strolled up to the window where an Asian man greeted me, endless shelves and aisles of alco-beverages displayed behind him. Guillaume said to me "It's a drive-thru", ready to place my order I replied "Yeah, but you can walk up too, right?"... The chuckling Asian man gestured towards the large automatic door behind him and told me I could also walk around and enter the store...
It's 12.38am, and we have a long (likely stormy) day ahead. Goodnight for now. Next stop, Nashville...
Disturbed by a hungry Gruffalo
The aftermath of Vegas involved a lot of toilet time, postponing our enjoyment of Kingman, Arizona. ...An official Historic Route 66 destination, Kingman name-drops to get you listening - from James Dean and Marilyn Monroe to Timothy McVeigh - all of whom spent significant periods of time there, living in motels on the side of the road. I'm glad to say it was the former of the aforementioned infamous who had stayed at El Trovatore back in the 50's - a funkalicious and delightfully stereotypical motor-inn, retaining many original features (like the scary, black and white tiled, hobbit-shower), and emphasizing with glamour those which have been restored. It was a spontaneous decision for us to stay at El Trovatore. After one night camping at the Kingman KOA - (where night time temperatures were still dropping painfully low, and where our slumber was repeatedly disturbed by unusual noises resembling what I am at least 96% certain a hungry Gruffalo might sound like) we concluded 'walls would be nice.' Not before witnessing the 'Blood Moon' however, which magnificently eclipsed at around 1.00am on April 15th. In a rural location, free from light pollution, we had no distractions from this rare visual feast (apart from our mutual 'secret' fear of the monster-like hybrid of half grizzly bear, half buffalo...)
Sammy is from Israel. Monica is from Los Angeles. They've been together for more than thirty years, and own the El Trovatore motel. Sammy, now in his later-than-late 60's, spent an un-exaggerated 45 minutes chatting to us upon check-in. Old photographs were brought out, maps were scribbled upon, history books thumbed through and toy cars fondled. We discovered that 'twas the same man who built this motel who had built the Golden Gate - where we stayed in Vegas (at that time called Sal Sagev.) Must mean something...? All of it was truly interesting and energetically educational, and the colourful lecture would no-doubt have continued on beyond an hour if it weren't for my Nevada-recovering-bowels... (to read more about Vegas, see the Calgary to Vegas blog)
We had the James Dean room
We had the James Dean room. Naturally. A blissful, ambient sleep was inevitable, when surrounded by enormous gold-framed pictures of a handsome, dare devil, Hollywood icon - and retro-style placards stating his most evocative quotes, such as "Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today." Having died at age 24, the irony of his own immortalised proverb, simultaneously brilliantly and tragically - increases in influence. The immediate impact for my husband and I only led us to ignore the 'diet' and ponder the sentiment further over a few Sailor Jerry's, outside the motel, in the 30 degree sun.
Taking Sammy's advice, we visited Oatman; an old mining town in the Black Mountains of Mohave County, where wild donkeys wander the dusty streets, cheekily venturing into the gift shops and cafe's hunting for anything edible ...which is ANYTHING to a donkey. It looked a bit like HBO's Deadwood to me, only with more cars and less Al Swearengen (sadly). The drive there and back along part of Route 66 reminded us of the Amalfi Coast in Italy for it's constant zig-zagging through awe-inspiring vast scenic beauty (just without the ocean on one side), and of the road to Ouarzazate, through the Atlas Mountains in Morocco, for it's desert-like rocky dryness. ...But the most picturesque was yet to come...
"Woah! There's the Canyon!"
We spent four days in Flagstaff, just a few hours east of Kingman. It served as our base to visit the Grand Canyon. I'd heard many stories of trips to the Grand Canyon. My older step-brother apparently lit up a spliff there at sunrise some years back. (At the time I had thought that was far too cool.) Other friends and family members have taken helicopter tours. From their combined accounts, I had created my own vision of this one-mile-deep, 18-mile-wide, 277-mile-long, crack in the planet. I imagined it to be surrounded by flat red earth (a bit like Mars) for hundreds of miles, with nothing between it and... more nothingness. Absent of any building, road or man-made structure, I imagined it to be in the middle of nowhere, accessible only by foot, and always a moody dusky colour... Nope.
In actuality, we drove through miles of woodland. Green, flat, dense at times, woodland. Along a road... dotted with shops that sell Grand Canyon related souvenirs. In fact, the landscape is so un-canyon-like, that it's appearance (although preceded by multiple Grand Canyon National Park road signs, Grand Canyon National Park car parks, a large Grand Canyon National Park information centre, and a zillion tourists) is so unexpected, it baffles me how more people don't accidentally plummet to their death. One minute you're strolling casually through trees and shrubs, and all of a sudden; "Woah! There's the Canyon!" Quite possibly the most magical, massive, impressive, stunning wonder-of-the-world I have ever seen. It's mostly a dull pinky shade, but you can find a bit of every single colour in there. It makes you feel very small, and very light - fragile. It also makes you feel closer to the sky.
Along the rim, at particular points, there are fences - which delude you into feeling safe enough to venture to the parts of the rim which don't have fences - and there's a lot more of that. Like Zion National Park, there are free shuttle buses driving multiple connecting routes which run the length of the South-East rim. They stop at different trail heads and view points. Hiking along the rim of the Canyon will forever be etched in my memory with love and awe. Further cementing the experience into my soul, was the thunderous storm that took us by surprise shortly after our tuna and avocado sandwiches. Torrential rain, hail, lightning - blackened skies and strong winds. With no rain coat, and no shelter - half way along a rim trail, Guillaume and I were drenched in nature. The expression 'soaked to the bone' seemed to genuinely apply, and at only 14 degrees centigrade it became compulsive to shiver. But all this only served to amplify our absorption of the entire day. I have a lot of love for the Grand Canyon.
The Peublo's would have done the same if they could...
Neither of us are religious, but Easter seemed the perfect excuse to celebrate. We're always finding excuses to celebrate. And by exerting ourselves at the Anasazi site of Walnut Canyon, east of Flagstaff, with climbs down into and back up out of it's mystical and energy-filled depths (I can't help but consider the life that the Peublo people's lead, some 1400 years ago, to be "right" in many presently forgotten ways) we concluded we absolutely deserved cider, crab and jalapeno bread. (Am certain the Peublo's would have done the same if they could...) Our budget has been suffering significantly in the food and beverage column. It was also a good occasion to watch the Montreal Canadiens beat Tampa Bay for a third time in the NHL Stanley Cup playoffs...
Driving north through Arizona, we were heading for Cortez, Colorado. A destination I had originally picked for two reasons; one - to see Monument Valley, and specifically the road where Forrest Gump (my most favourite fictional character) declared he was pretty tired, and thought he'd go home now... and two - to visit Mesa Verde, a much larger Anasazi site than the one at Walnut Canyon, and a major US National Park. Owed to time constraints, and the constant fear our car's timing belt will snap (because we had been warned by the garage in Calgary that it's end was dangerously nigh - but our budget only allows for things that taste and look good - not things that can potentially save our lives) we decided en-route to avoid the extra two hour drive Monument Valley would add ...to the 70 or more of our total car journey.
Skyler White didn't have to pay $5... did she?
Four Corners National Monument is right off Highway 160, and that was one site we were not going to miss. The Four Corners is the quadripoint at which four states meet; Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico and Utah, and is the only location in the United States where this occurs. As with the Grand Canyon, I had made my own assumptions on the place before we got there (which were inaccurate because others (such as AMC - don't worry AMC, high praise is coming...) do not suffer from the same over-explanatory truth-telling compulsions as I)... In Breaking Bad (BEST TV SERIES, EVER - There it is. I mean it, too.) Skyler White travels to Four Corners from her home in Albuquerque when contemplating a new life away from Walter. She stands, alone, in the middle of the monument circle in a state of despair and uncertainty. The location is depicted as isolated, empty, and deeply profound. Well... that's creative license is what it is... In reality we had to pay $5 each to get close to the quadripoint, whereat a number of tourists from a number of states, and many countries, were walking all over it taking photos. Among them, a solo Chinese man in a fluorescent yellow t-shirt, thick socks in sandals and a woolly hat (it was at least 29 degrees centigrade at this time) who spent a good 20 minutes videoing the monument at close proximity whilst talking to himself in occasional broken English. Another visitor was a hispanic woman, with several children, who declared - when standing in Colorado; "Hey, I can smoke weed over here!" I do not recall any such occurrences interrupting Skyler White's emotional moment...
In Cortez we grabbed an evening beer. The friendly barmaid requested our ID (as they do everywhere in the Western US it seems) and took note of my birth date. "28th December?" she asked with a smile. "That's my son's birthday. He was born last December. It's also my Dad's birthday, and he's not doing so well right now, he has cancer, so it meant so much that my son was born on his birthday." I told her that was a lovely story. And it is.
It ain't new, and it ain't Mexico
Albuquerque was our next stop. Along the way are a number of native reserves, amid the sparse, vast and varying terrain. Many make-shift ranches of doubtful produce, many mobile homes - with caved in roofs, boarded windows, unkempt grounds, out-houses barely standing, and rusty car collections of enormous proportions. What is going on there? Tiny dwellings that can surely house no more than four people at a push, also host a dozen or more vehicles. Is there something they know that we don't? What was astonishingly apparent was that these areas - great in number and covering hundreds of square miles - look to be just as, if not moreso, poverty-stricken than the towns we have visited in rural North Africa.
Albuquerque's old town is a break away from typical America. I don't think there's even a McDonalds there. Lot's of burritos, chili and beans. Plenty of poncho's, serapes and rugs. It is New Mexico after all. But like much of the gift-shop merchandise wittily quips "It ain't New, and it ain't Mexico." And actually, it's more like Spain. There is a really Spanish feel to the old town, it's pretty, it's quaint, there's flowers, old churches and terracotta-clad buildings, and for a split second you could be forgiven for thinking you were in the Mediterranean. (But you might not be forgiven for thinking you were in Mexico.)
"Show me the way to Amarillo..."
I had Neil Sedaka's "Show me the way to Amarillo" in my head for the entire 4 hour journey into Texas. (Although, in my head, it was the Peter Kay version.) Knowing that the city is extremely easy to find, at the end of only a small number of lengthy straight roads, I began to feel his quest for directions was not sincere. An annoyingly catchy song, even Guillaume (who had never previously heard the tune) was compelled to sing along after a while...
Cadillac Ranch is about 2 miles outside of the Amarillo city boundary. Created in 1974, it's a public art installation depicting the evolution of the Cadillac. 10 cars are half buried nose first, equidistant to one another, at an angle corresponding to the Great Pyramid of Giza - but more exciting than all that, is the opportunity to graffiti the cars however you like. Over the years, thousands of people have illicitly sprayed their mark in bright colours, and now the paint is so thick that great dollops have solidified. On occasion the cars are professionally decorated, but it never lasts long before being pasted over with millions of name inscriptions, peace signs, and phallic-shape drawings of varying degrees of profanity. It wasn't a busy location. There were maybe six of us there at one time. There was a man striding around in high-wasted jeans and a tight white t-shirt, playing a ukulele and whistling for the duration of our visit. Definitely the coolest sculpture I've ever strolled around.
The supermarket closest to our Motel was so health-conscious there was a woman giving a lecture to a group of parents in one of the organic vegetable aisles, talking about how to get children to ask for radish instead of ice cream, and that sort of thing. It was the most stunning supermarket I have ever been in. Everything was so fresh and bright, with endless tempting good-for-you options. We raided that salad bar like there was no tomorrow.
Life's too short for rice cakes
By stark contrast, on our way out of Amarillo we stopped by The Big Texan Steak Ranch: "Home to the free 72oz steak". (The stipulation being you have to eat the lot in under an hour.) It was breakfast time, and no one was attempting the murderous and impossible, but the venue itself was a sight to behold. Cow-print table cloths, an amusement maze of cowsheds with viewing platform, and t-shirts for sale proudly advertising the enormity of the brutally carnivorous feast that would surely cause serious damage to the digestive system of anyone who greedily guzzled the dish? Big posters stating things like "Life's too short for rice cakes" with cartoons of fat, happy women in tiny underpants, were also available to purchase. Texas is undoubtedly proud of it's masculine meat devouring capabilities, but I would suggest from my consecutive observations within the state that it's now beginning to battle with itself; the morals and consequences of a well-embedded culture. From the short time we were there, I'd summarise that I like Texas a lot for many reasons - and none of them have anything to do with eating animals. Alberta's a little bit like that too, but I think it's successfully climbed further onto the health wagon than Texas. It's happening though. You'll see. There'll be changes...
I don't have much to say about Oklahoma other than it's very windy. Clearly they know this, and that's why they have erected more than 300 giant wind turbines along the north side of Interstate 40 as you approach Oklahoma City. Postcards of Oklahoma depict tornadoes - as if this is an inviting tourist attraction. "Come to Oklahoma... You might die!"
It's hot, and humid, and I'm sweaty.
Speaking of which, "severe thunder storms" are forecast all the way from Little Rock, Arkansas up past Nashville for tomorrow (Sunday 27th) and throughout the next few days. It's probable the Weather Network are amplifying the likelihood for dramatic impact - but they say we'll get heavy rain, damaging winds, large hail, and tornadoes. It's not the most ideal outlook for a five hour drive into Tennessee. We're in Little Rock now. It's hot, and humid, and I'm sweaty. Earlier this evening we ventured, on foot, in search of fruity ale (the latest trend) and came across a small intriguing window, lit amidst an otherwise large and dark wall. Intriguing, because 'Bud Lite' was advertised in neon lights on one side. Oblivious to my husband having cracked the mystery, I strolled up to the window where an Asian man greeted me, endless shelves and aisles of alco-beverages displayed behind him. Guillaume said to me "It's a drive-thru", ready to place my order I replied "Yeah, but you can walk up too, right?"... The chuckling Asian man gestured towards the large automatic door behind him and told me I could also walk around and enter the store...
It's 12.38am, and we have a long (likely stormy) day ahead. Goodnight for now. Next stop, Nashville...