Last night, I sketched out a route for the rest of the trip. If I combine those places with the places I’ve already visited throughout my life, I’ll have visited all forty-eight contiguous US states. Except Iowa. Shoot. Will I add 500 miles to sneak into Iowa? Probably not. Will I be miffed about it? Absolutely.
I loaded the car back up, then set off to breakfast. The diner was spacious and packed with characters. I noted at least a half-dozen ten-gallon hats; a boy, no older than eight, sporting a tank top and a sweet Def Leppard flatbrim; a party of eight uniformed in camo; and a guy my age rocking the Ziggy Stardust mullet. The food was good, if simple, and incredibly cheap. I munched on a biscuit while staring at the shrine to John Wayne in front of me.
I stopped at the hardware store for a can of spray paint, then drove a few miles out of town to the oddball roadside stop Cadillac Ranch. The namesake cars are anchored in the ground, and have long since been stripped down to their frames. Everything at Cadillac Ranch is spray-painted: the cars, the trash cans, the access road, the walkway to the access road, the dumpsters, the barrier that holds off traffic from I-40. The Cadillacs are bumpy and warped from thousands of layers of paint. The wind was intense, so I couldn’t show off my well-developed tagging skills. I made some minimal contributions and admired the absurdity of it all.
It was time to leave Texas. I set off down Route 66, the Texan stretch of which has been subsumed by I-40, and was in Oklahoma an hour later. Route 66 is its own road here, its magic slightly spoiled by the interstate in the background. I passed the Joads and admired the scenery. I was fully out of the desert and into the plains. Trees stood in small groups, the kind under which you could imagine a farmer sleeping, hat over head. So far, I like Oklahoma better than the Texan Panhandle.
“Way down yonder on the Indian nation,
Riding my pony through the reservation,
In the Oklahoma hills where I was born —
Way down yonder on the Indian nation,
A cowboy’s life is my occupation
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born…” — Woody Guthrie
Someday, my friend, you MUST read Don DeLillo’s masterpiece “Underworld.” It’s long, but once you get into it, you hope it will never end.
The variation he wrings out of Cadillac Ranch is truly extraordinary. Then there are the little other different things he gives you to think about, like the anti-Communism of the 50s and 60s, Lenny Bruce, pop culture, the New York City art scene, the assassination of JFK, how “disposable” things have become to us, etc. etc. etc. I read that book 30 years ago and I’m STILL thinking about all the ideas in it! Marvelous novel!
Will you miss anything by not stopping by Iowa? No, I don’t think so. I flew into Ames, Iowa, many years ago and stepping off the plane was overwhelmed by the sweet fragrance of cow manure. That was my introduction to Iowa. And that’s all I remember about it. I was wondering why you stopped at the hardware store for a can of spray paint, but then I saw the picture of Cadillac Ranch. Too bad it was so windy, but I’m glad you did your part to improve the scenery. I learned a new word: Joads. Had to Google it. Thanks! I would have never guessed there was a collective noun for them. Glad you are out of TX and in Oklahoma. Much better state. In every way. Some day you will have to go to Alaska and Hawaii to complete your sampling of the states (we will excuse you from sampling Iowa). They are both uniquely beautiful and have many features worth seeing. Happy Trails to you in OK and the next few states on your list. Love, Grandma