The DataVan Diaries

DAY FOUR

APRIL 13
Stanton PA to  Casey IL

APRIL 14  Casey IL to  Cuba MO

APRIL 15        Cuba MO to Amarillo TX

APRIL 16
Amarillo TX to  Winslow AZ

HOME

Recovered from my allergy/cold/whatever, I wasn't, but I was feeling a bit refreshed as we re-configured the DataVan Control Center and moved out to seek breakfast.  After a few miles of unappealing options, we finally settled on a roadside cafe in Doolittle, MO named Cookin' from Scratch, mostly because they had this really great car.  (Well, that and  the name, which certainly reassured us that they weren't cookin' from leftovers, or pre-processed foodstuffs, or something.) The food was pretty decent, but everything came with sausage gravy.  Everything.  It was either drenched in the stuff or came in a separate cup.  Must be an Ozark thing. Not a bad thing - just unusual.  Trust that my cup o' gravy did not go uneaten.

Cookin' from Scratch was attached to a gas station, so after breakfast we checked all the DataVan vital signs -- tire pressure, wiper fluid (which I'm going through like crazy - the van is a bug-killin' machine), oil, etc. Satisfied with the vehicle's health, we hit the road.

Our route sent us towards Joplin, then into Oklahoma.  We breezed through Tulsa and zipped past the outskirts of Oklahoma City.  You're noticing I'm not writing much.  There's good reason - there's nothing to write about -- it was dead boring, to be quite frank. There was only one thing that caught our eye on the Missouri leg -- a billboard advertising a place called "Cannabis Country".  Even though I was quite certain they were just selling hemp products, the entire thought of such a place was way too amusing for both of us.  To our chagrin (and really to no surprise -- this is some pretty ultra-Conservative country, here), the part of the sign that indicated the exit had been torn off, and we saw no other signs further down the road. Ah, well -- there was always the Oklahoma Route 66 Museum and the National Route 66 Museum for kicks, I thought.  That is, until we discovered that the Oklahoma museum was closed on Mondays, and unless the DataVan had a Warp Speed button, there was no way in hell we were reaching the National Museum by the time it closed.  Under the heading of "That Sucks" --  there would be Day Four.  

However, it wasn't a total waste -- we had some highly delicious Char-burgers at Jobe's in El Reno, Oklahoma.  El Reno is another of those cities that time forgot -- you drive through the place and if it weren't for the current cars and the occasional ATM machine, you'd swear you were in the 50s.  Anyway, Jobe's is off old Route 66 and has old-fashioned curb service, the kind where they hang the tray on the driver's window.  It was way too windy for such nonsense (besides, I would fear scratching the van), so we received the "to go" version instead..  Let me also explain: the Char-burger is not your average chunk o' ground beef -- onions are smashed into the patty at the time of frying, allowing them to caramelize and mesh flavors with the beef..  The patty is then coated with hickory barbeque sauce, and smashed together between two buns (literally; the pressed sandwich is held together with a toothpick).  It may sound kinda weird, but it's truly delicious (unless, of course, you're not fond of onions).  I ordered tater tots, which were cooked to perfection, and washed it down with a most lovely cherry limeade (something you don't find just anywhere, but such a treat when you do).  A true Route 66 meal, if there ever was one.

The trip wasn't without it's oddities, either.  In an earlier entry, I chose not to mention the gigantic cross sighted at the crossroads of I-70 and I-57.  After the whole Catholic Supply of St. Louis thing, I figured that was enough religion for this trip. So I really didn't think twice about it until...driving into Texas...flat, barren Texas...I thought I could see in the distance...a GREAT BIG CROSS. I mean big.  More than just a few stories high.  Now, this wouldn't be such an odd thing, I mean, crosses are crosses, if the people want exceedingly gigantic crosses, well, hey -- that's their business.  The intriguing thing was, Texans being what they are, they had billboards announcing their cross as the "World's Largest". (They also claimed it was a spiritual experience.) That's all right and good, except that once we got up to it, not only did it seem to be the exact same size as the one in Illinois, but it was also identical in every other way.  (Where do these towns get someone to construct these, anyway? Do you look on the internet for www.bigasscrosses.com?)  Seems to me SOMEONE has ripped off someone else's idea.  (Either that, or someone's making a killing convincing these rural areas that they can get tourist dollars with a "World's Largest" cross.) So who's the me-too? Is it west-of-Casey, Illinois?  Or west-of-Groom, Texas? Now I'm wanting to start up some trash talkin' and rivalry between the two areas.  Anyone got any ideas how to get this started?

Before reaching the so-called (but clearly not) "World's Largest Cross", I was hit with the sudden realization that  we were getting dangerously close to the "E" mark on the gas tank. This was only noticed AFTER we'd basically driven into BFE and there were no gas stations to be found.  We were riding the red line and sweat was starting to form on my brow as we passed exit after exit of rural roads and a whole lotta nothin'.  I had recently had difficulty getting cell coverage in some areas, so I had that additional complication to add to my fear of stalling out in the middle of nowhere.  Thankfully, after what seemed like sixty miles (but were probably about 20),  the town of Groom appeared and actually had some semblance of civilization and the ever-precious gas station. 

While my sister went inside to use the restroom, I stood outside and filled the van's tank.  While doing so, I casually observed that the van that had just pulled up for gas had musical equipment stuffed in the back.  I then noticed the driver and some of the other passengers that disembarked.  The driver had shoulder-length stringy black hair sticking out from under a New York Yankees baseball cap, and was dressed in a loose t-shirt, baggy shorts and skateboarder's shoes.  The remainder of the group were dressed fairly similarly; the only thing that distinguished one guy was that he had bleached blonde hair with reddish streaks in it.  This guy in particular walked away from the gas station to capture this lovely stretch of nowhere for posterity on his digital movie camera.   I felt pretty sure that this was not a local band (call me crazy here). They struck me as a bunch of guys signed to some independent label that were out one on of those "pile up in a van and travel the USA" tours.  I tried to subtly get a look at the back of the van or a better view of the equipment to see if I could find out what the band's name was (yes, me, who has started up conversations with star musicians and Hall of Fame baseball players, couldn't bring myself to ask one of these guys).  All I could determine was that they were from New York (or at least their van was).  To think,  I may have just crossed paths with the next Nirvana or 311 or something...guess I'll never know!

We finally ended the night in Amarillo.  I'm not sure if it was reassuring (or cause for concern) that the motel had a sign that said, "Absolutely no renting to locals."  

This is the next vehicle I'm taking to travel cross-country