Oklahoma/Texas: Of totem poles and 72 oz. steaks

Day 2: Oklahoma and Texas

**NOTE:  I am so, so very sorry for the delay. My computer stopped working out of nowhere a few days ago, and I haven't had a way to update this blog. As it is, I'm sitting in the lobby of a Best Western in Utah on an ancient desktop that I think might still be running Windows 95.**


**NOTE 2:  So that ancient computer last night didn't let me upload any photos, so this post has been sitting here for a full day before I could post it with the appropriate pics. Okay, enough notes.**

It was raining in Joplin when we woke up on Saturday.

It was the most rain we'd seen in months, but considering where we were, Meagan, Matt and I were a little anxious to go out running.

Joplin's cleaned up a lot in a year. By the look of the neighborhoods I ran through, there wasn't any damning evidence that a lethal, multi-vortex tornado tore the town apart last May. The only telling sign were a underground cement bunkers in the back of a few yards. "Fool me once, shame on you..." sort of thinking, I suppose.

Most of it is underground, as you can probably tell.

We got on the road at the crack of dawn (8:30!) for the long drive ahead through Oklahoma and Texas. Joplin stands right on the border of Missouri and Oklahoma, so we were in our fourth of 13 states in a matter of minutes.
Our first stop was at a buffalo ranch, which turned out to be more of a gas station/travel plaza with a handful of buffalo hanging out behind a fence. Since we were in full tourist mode, we couldn't help but take a few pictures. Meagan even tried calling out to the buffalo, but they stared at her, unamused.

Not pictured:  Buffalo that come when they're called.

Not pictured:  Buffalo that cared that I scaled a freaking fence to take this picture. They still hid from me.

To continue the theme of stopping at places that turn out to be hilariously different from what we imagined, we pulled up to a Totem Pole Park, which we had all been looking forward to seeing.

In reality, it was, well...

That's....a totem pole?

There's a house in the background. How authentic.

This is literally the entire park.

That's a person's backyard, if you couldn't tell. We were the only ones there. The park took all of five minutes to walk through. In fact, I think Mom and Meagan spent more time trying to brave the port-o-potties than they did actually looking at totem poles. The park was still cute and quirky - which seems to be the theme of our trip so far - so I'm glad we stopped.

Speaking of themes, finding a place to eat lunch was another episode. After coming up empty in a search for rest stops, Dad pulled off into a random town in Oklahoma. We ended up parking at an elementary school and eating on the playground, waiting for the police to hog tie us and drag us away for the felony charge of being five adults eating lunch at an elementary school.

"Stranger danger at the playground!" - Every child in town

After finishing lunch arrest-free, we hopped back on the road toward Oklahoma City. It was on this stretch of the trip that Matt discovered farming equipment.

Matt: I like that tall building over tere.
Mom: Honey, those are silos.
Matt:  ASYLUMS!?!
Mom:  SI-LOS.

After that brief lesson in agriculture, we arrived in Oklahoma City for what would be the most somber stop on our trip:  The memorial site for the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing.

This gate signifies 9:01 a.m., the minute before the bomb went off.

The far gate reads "9:03," the minute after the bomb went off. The memorial chairs are to the  left.

Some of the 168 chairs, one for each person who died in the blast. The smaller chairs are for the children who died.

The 92-year old American Elm that survived the blast, now a symbol of hope and recovery.

It was sadness and beauty and peacefulness and silence and solemnity all wrapped together by twin marble gates, a reflection pool, 168 empty stone chairs and a resilient elm that survived both the blast and the ensuing reconstruction.

It was a nice change of pace amidst the goofy, fun tourist stops, and I think everyone in the family really appreciated the visit.

After we recovered from the spell the memorial park had put on us, we continued down our path toward Texas. Matt and Meagan taught Mom a proper Texas greeting (The University of Texas's "HOOK 'EM HORNS!" phrase and accompanying hand gesture). By the time we crossed the border, Mom was ready.

Texas

Ohhh, Texas. The wide open countryside, endless skies and adorable accents.

Disappointingly cowboy-less at the moment.

We suburban Midwesterners marveled at the fact that we could see storm clouds and rain miles away while still driving under the bright blue sky. Meagan noted that - at such a distance - the storms looked like pieces of the sky were falling

Mom, on the other hand, had her nose buried in that trusty Route 66 book. She told us to be on the lookout for all sorts of animals. According to the book, she said, several types of wild animals could be seen from the side of the road. But then...

Mom: "Oh. Those are the names of creeks, not animals. I was wondering how we were going to see catfish on the side of the road..."

We checked into our hotel - a Hampton Inn - in Amarillo. Since our drive through Texas would be the shortest of the trip, we decided our precious few hours in the Lone Star State had to be spent wisely.

So where else would we go for dinner but The Big Texan - home of the 72 oz. steak - itself?

Adam Richman, the host of Man v. Food, visited The Big Texan in the very first episode of the entire series. He won the challenge.

A giant cowboy boot guards the left flank of the entrance.

The hotel next door.

The sign drivers can see from the highway, as well of about two dozen of those billboards.

In case I wasn't clear earlier, a restaurant with a giant cowboy boot out front and a shooting gallery, faux stockades, a giant rocking chair, a fully themed hotel next door with a Texas-shaped pool, dozens of slot machines and three forests' worth of mounted deer heads on the inside isn't typically our cup of tea.

But y'all can bet yer bootstraps it was not plum but pert near the darn tootinist place we'd ever been!

Our 45-minute wait flew by with the help of the aforementioned shooting gallery, the holographic pictures adorning the walls that morphed from classic 19th century portraits into zombies, a gigantic gift shop and a cowboy crooning country songs on the outside patio.

Matt practicing his hardcore "kill shot" at the shooting gallery.

Dad and Matt dwarfed by the giant rocking chair on the patio.

Adorable cowboy singing to the crowd.

And the people. Oooh, the people. Two middle-aged women with very tall blond up-dos approached me to take a picture of them in front of the giant bull outside, "if ya don't mind, doll." Then two men wearing gallon hats sauntered up to them - fingers in belt loops - and said with a thick draw:  "Well, we wanted a picture with the bull, but looks like we got ourselves a two fer one!" Another lady - again with big blond hair - yelled at me from across the bar to get one of the frozen margaritas with a jalapeno pepper inside. "You look like you can handle it, girl!"

Breaking news:  Jalapenos are hot.

We finally got seated in a massive dining room, where there must have been a mounted buck or buffalo or moose head every five feet. Duos and trios of guitar-playing singers traveled from table to table. At the center of the chaos sat one brave (?) man on a spotlit stage. He had one hour to eat a 72 oz. steak and a bunch of other side dishes. If he beat the challenge, his meal was free. If not, he pays $72 and takes a very public walk of shame down the steps and through the other tables. It was clear that - for all its bells and whistles - The Big Texan considered this cardiac arrest-inducing challenge its main draw.

"I hate my arteries!" - Man doing this challenge

I ordered one of the monstrous frozen margaritas (it was delicious) and some buffalo quesadillas (they were delicious). We all had such a great time, especially considering this was a type of place that we would roll our eyes at on vacations past.

Our beers and margaritas hit a bit harder thanks to the eight-hour gap between lunch and dinner, and the drinks gave to some unforgettable conversations. Without going into detail, I need to figure out how to write out "hooncha" so I can remember it forever.

We headed back to the hotel, crashed for the night, then woke up to prepare for one more slice of Texas, New Mexico and the 2-mile tran up the Sandia Mountains.

Missouri: Of rock bridges and giant hillbillies

July 6:  Missouri


Family Status Updates (in two words or less)
Dad: "Lotsa fun!"
Mom: "Ditto."
Meagan: "Missouri great!"
Matt: "Kit-ten!"
Me: "Matt's weird!"


4 a.m. came a lot faster than it should have Friday morning.

The road through Indiana and Illinois was a blur for me since I spent the entire time drifting in and out of consciousness, but I finally woke up for good just outside of St. Louis. Maybe it was my subconscious telling me that we were getting close to our first stop. Maybe - more likely - it was my body preparing me for the imminent threats of gang violence.


Regardless, we hopped off the interstate and parked on the shoulder of the road next to our first official stop on Route 66:  The Old Chain of Rocks Bridge.

There are stinky port-o-potties behind this cool, rustic sign. No, seriously.

It's an old bridge (now pedestrian-only) over the Mississippi River that runs back to the Illinois border. Apparently, there was a big campaign back in the day to save the bridge from destruction, and now names of donors inscribed on plaques adorn the railings of the structure.


We were happy to get out and stretch our legs after four hours of driving (or sleeping, in my case). As soon as we got to the bridge, we ran into two British men also making the trip down Route 66. Naturally, I loved them immediately, and we probably ruined any chances of being ambassadors of America by creepily telling that we would probably see them at other stops down the road. 

Matt and Dad at an old gas pump. Dad's...eating the gas?

Matt and Meagan. Meagan's...eating Matt? My family is strange.

The bridge itself offered a beautiful view of the Mississippi River and the St. Louis skyline. Pieces of Route 66 history were sprinkled throughout.

After stalking the British men at a safe distance for a little while longer, we turned around and headed back to the van (which was still parked on the shoulder of a fairly busy highway). 

Back on the road and heading through the outskirts of St. Louis, when this exchange occurred:

Meagan (referencing the East St. Louis neighborhoods): "It's shady here."

Dad:  "My cousin Slim lives here."

Then my 59-year-old father proceeded to throw up a cross between a gang sign and the American Sign Language "I Love You" symbol. He's hood.


The rest of our trek through Missouri consisted mostly of stopping at the gaudy "World's Largest (fill in the blank)..." that could be found on the side of the road. I guess Missouri ran out of things to do after the bridge but wanted to keep travelers entertained somehow. They're things we typically wouldn't stop at since we like to avoid tourist traps, but this trip is unlike any other we've taken, so we decided to indulge ourselves.


Plus, we had a handy book about Route 66 that my family has been following like the Bible. The book points out quirky points of interest along the way, including several "GIANT ALERTS!" I think the author was a little liberal with what qualified as a "giant." While something like the World's Largest Rocking Chair (pictured below) was, indeed, large, other suggestions like "THE GIANT DRIPPING NEON FAUCET OF SPLENDOR AND GLORY" turned out just to be a dinky, mid-sized neon business sign with a meh-sized faucet on top.


Our first stop was the World's Largest Rocking Chair, which is exactly what it sounds like. For those of you still struggling with a visual:

"Oooh! Now I get it!"

Then we ventured inside our first "outpost" next door to the chair, and was greeted with wall-to-wall *ahem* decor:

Bambi?

We then proceeded to see a giant neon dripping faucet, The World's Largest Hillbilly and a giant frog made of painted rocks. By a stroke of unlucky fate, we somehow missed The Giant Fiberglass Cheeseburger Family. 

This stubborn hillbilly will NOT rotate, sorry. But his arms spin in circles, if that's any consolation.

It was while Meagan's face was buried inside that Route 66 book that she revealed a previously unknown fear:

Meagan (reading): "Feral...hogs. Oh my God, if I see a feral hog I am going to lose my life. Feral cats are one thing, but feral HOGS?!?!"

Good to know, sister.

Our next stop was a welcome breath of normalcy amidst the giant hillbillies and hamburger families:  a winery. Now we're talking.

Mmmm.

Dad, Mom, Meagan and I sampled some of southwestern Missouri's finest grapes (and they were fine. The winery won some sort of national award a few years back), while woefully-underage Matt hung out at the sparkling grape juice counter. Meagan and I walked away with bottles of blueberry wine, which I might have to chug later on in this trip if things begin to go sour.

Back on the road and our stomachs rumbling (somehow, the wine samples and oyster crackers didn't quite satiate anyone's hunger), we tried to find some sort of rest stop for a picnic. Turns out Missouri hates rest stops, so we ended up pulling over on the side of the road and standing there awkwardly with plastic plates full of chicken, fruit and vegetables while locals passed by and laughed because a real rest stop was probably two miles up the road.

What? This is how we ALWAYS picnic!

We were stopped at the "Devil's Elbow," which none of us could really figure out because the place didn't look too much like any part of Satan's anatomy. If anything, it was a pretty view. 

More like Devil's....femur? I don't know.

Then it was back in the car again, with no stops nor any more quote-ables from my family. We got to our hotel in Joplin, Mo., two hours ahead of schedule, which allowed for two hours of laying face-down on our beds and not moving.

We went to dinner at a local sports bar, which was a mix between Kansas City Chief and Oklahoma Sooners apparel. The owner talked football with us and said, as a Chiefs fan, he hated seeing Peyton go to the Broncos. We shared a moment of silence before tearing into our burgers.

Then it was back to the hotel, putting in ear plugs to drown out Meagan's snoring and falling asleep to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets on ABC.

Everyone's alive after Day 1! Oklahoma and Texas await us for Day 2!

Prologue

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose
 .....Strong and content I travel the open road.
 - "Song of the Open Road"

It might be pretentious and cliche to open a road diary with an excerpt from one of Walt Whitman's classics, but I couldn't help myself. I'll take my monocle off now.


I planned on posting this earlier on Thursday but probably got distracted by packing (or, more likely, Roller Coaster Tycoon). So by the time you read this, we'll already be on the road.


If you plan on following along during our trek through the western United States, here's some of what you need to know:


The Plot


A family of five yearns for its summer road trips of yesteryear. While these trips included the Great Lakes, the East Coast, the West Coast, Hawaii, the Appalachians, theme parks and various historic sites, we had never really ventured to the area between Missouri and the western coastal states.
We're getting older, and it's getting harder to do family vacations now that Meagan, Matt and I all live away from home. So, for what may be our final family vacation (although we've been saying that for every family vacation since 2006), we decided to take the ultimate road trip:  A 12-day venture down Old Route 66. Awww, yeah.


The route has changed slightly, but here's the basic outline of where we're going:

THE TWIST:  Everyone in the family is over the age of 19, so cramming into a van like we're 5, 10 and 13 years old again should be interesting and stuffy. Did I mention this is a 12-day trip?


The Characters

Dad, 59:  Our fearless leader and road trip extraordinaire. Legend has it that he used to drive from Indianapolis to Panama City Beach (and back again!) using only a cardboard box, a paper clip, a ball of twine and some hard tack as supplies, so these long stretches of driving during the trip will be a breeze for him. Some of that story might not be true, but that's the whole point of a legend, right? 

Odds of Survival if This Turns into The Donner Party/The Hunger Games: 10:1. Dad's a smart cookie and is in good shape. Plus, all he eats are carrots, grapes and mustard (TOGETHER, like some sort of savage), so he'll be set for a while if we get stranded in a vineyard or something.

Mom, 57: In her own words: "Just put down there that I'm a big nag and that I yell at people for nothing." While this is true, Mom is also really good at freaking out every time anyone in the family gets near a ledge with a drop off of 10 feet or more. So driving through the Rockies should be a delight. Also, she's got a great eye for quirky gift shops.

Odds of Survival if This Turns into The Donner Party/The Hunger Games: Again, in her own words, "10-to-zero because I'm gonna win." While we'll forgive her for the mathematical impossibility, Mom does have an uncanny ability to win people over. She's also the smallest one in the family, so, in the event of an avalanche, Mom will be the one to slip through the rocks and then announce how right she was about the dangers of mountains and cliffs.

Meagan, 28:  The oldest sibling and the only person in the family born without a sense of humor. Meagan is the therapist of the family, so she's often a voice of reason, but she's also one most likely to have a panic attack over a broken down elevator (long story) or the fact that there isn't a bathroom nearby. Her main battle this trip will be to emerge mentally and emotionally unscathed after sharing the back of the van with Matt and I.
Odds of Survival if This Turns into The Donner Party/The Hunger Games: 200:1. In Meagan's own words: "I would die for sure. I'm too much of a wimp. I would pass out and die at even the thought of eating something gross. But I would gladly kill you..." Thanks, sister!


Matthew, 19:  The youngest sibling and the only person in the family admittedly scared of butterflies, Matt will spend 50% of the trip staring at Meagan and me with his signature creepy smile. 

Enjoy not sleeping ever again.

He'll spend the other 50% pretending to push Mom in the Grand Canyon, off a mountain, into a trash can, etc.
Odds of Survival if This Turns into The Donner Party/The Hunger Games: 50:1. Matt is a cross-country runner, so he'll have speed and endurance on his side, but he's also scared of butterflies and pieces of dust, so he'll succumb to the elements in a matter of seconds. He also recently cut his finger at work (as he's reminded us 810 times), so he's vulnerable if you blow on it too hard.


Which leaves...


Me, 25: Probably the only normal person in the family, which is why Mom and Dad love me the least (also:  I'm the middle child, so that kind of speaks for itself). I will probably be pestering my family the entire trip to do/say interesting things worthy of blog updates, so they'll be sick of me within the first 30 minutes of Day One.
Odds of Survival if This Turns into The Donner Party/The Hunger Games: 500:1. Matt will annoy me to death before I even get a real shot. Or Meagan will actually kill me, as part of her dying wish. Or Mom and Dad will kill me so they can feed their two favorite children. Whichever way it happens, I'm not making it.