Day 11. Mile 2200. Guthrie, OK

During my daily morning routine of trying to recall who I am, where I am, how I got here and what the hell am I supposed to do now, I realized that I  am in Booneville, Arkansas, staying in a motel that I destroyed the night before with a rented truck. I went to to the reception and found the owner’s wife, aka “the tiny witch of the south”. I apologized again, and she seemed more placated. I checked out and got a terrible, southern-cooking-style brunch. The food down here is terrible - not only that it’s tasteless, it doesn’t even pretend to be nutritious. Every time I see a southern-American that looks past the age of 35 I feel like I’m witnessing a miracle.

I started driving, and after I crossed the border to Oklahoma, I stopped at a visitor’s center. They told me that the best activity for the time that I have is to visit Sequoyah’s Cabin.

Sequoyah was a fascinating character - a Cherokee Indian that invented  a transcription for the Cherokee language. They have his cabin intact, and they surrounded it, what do you know, by another cabin. So you go into this stone cabin, walk through the door, and inside, you’re looking at   wooden cabin. That’s where Sequoyah lived. There are some artifacts and explanations about his life and his work. I was particularly intrigued by this Cherokee typewriter:

I left and started driving towards Oklahoma City to pick Julia, who was about to join me for the weekend, from the airport. 

I saw a lot of dead animals on the road. In fact, I’ve been seeing a lot of run-over animals.  I saw dogs, cats, squirrels,  raccoon, and I think I even saw one deer. There are plenty others that I didn’t recognize. I was told that some might be prairie dogs, but I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen one. I also saw several armadillos. armadillos are never run-over, though. they’re broken.

I got to Oklahoma city, but I had plenty of time, so I drove some more and got to El-Reno. I got dinner at Johnnie’s Grill.

OK, let’s not call it dinner, but I did have an onion-burger or something .

OK, let’s call it “something”.

I left, going back to Oklahoma City. I stopped at some Mexican restaurant to get a beer and try to forget what I just ate. I sat alone at a table. drinking a bottle of beer, surrounded by fat families eating tacos. I left and found a real bar right at the entrance to Oklahoma City. I got another beer, and when it was time, I drove to the airport and picked up Julia. We drove north, and stopped at Guthrie, OK, where we were very lucky to find a motel that had an open office around midnight. 

Day 10. Mile 1900. Booneville, AR

Finally, I was in Arkansas. Arkansas became a big deal in this trip, only because before I started, I said to Julia that I want to go through places that I will never have a good reason to go to, like Arkansas. So Julia told this to her friends, who then sent me long lists of stuff that I should do in Arkansas.

The best truck song in the radio these days is a sad one, it is about unfaithfulness:

That ain’t my truck in her drive

Man, this ain’t my day tonight

Looks like she’s in love and I’m out of luck

That ain’t my shadow on her wall

Lord, this don’t look good at all

That’s my girl, my whole world

But that ain’t my truck

I feel you, my fellow trucker. Anyway, my first stop was for lunch at Nick’s Bar-B-Q & Catfish, in Carlisle. This marked my entrance in to the world of terrible southern food. I had a fried catfish - tasteless, greasy things. 

I drove through some small roads and hit a bunch of tiny towns.

Then I got to Little Rock. I followed the signs to the River Market, to discover a depressing, almost deserted food court. I drove on and found a visitor center. They sent me to the state Capitol, which comes down to being this building:

In my list I also had the Central High School. Now that was interesting: back in 1957, when segregation in schools was outlawed, nine black kids were denied entrance to the school and face an angry mob that went as far as threatening their lives. The police had to interfere, then the national guard, and then the Army’s 101st Airborne Division. Fun times.

I drove on to Caulksville, to find Shane’s Restaurant, that Becky, Julia’s friend, put on my list. Outside there were some sculptures of ducks.

After a minute, the group on the right started walking. The group on the left continued to be sculptures. Must be a weird feeling for the group of real ducks.

I ordered exactly what Becky told me to: Chicken fried steak and a side of onion rings. It’s just as horrible as it looks:  

That white thing is gravy - a creamy, salty, meaty sauce. Buried underneath the left pond of gravy is a fried chicken steak which is not much of a steak, does not taste like chicken, but it sure is fried. The gravy on the right side of the plate hides, both in vision and in taste, some mashed potatoes.

I finished eating and drove away. I felt really bad, and wanted to find a motel room to die in as fast as possible. I got to Bonneville and found a motel, but - and maybe because I was so concentrated in feeling bad from the food - I forgot I was driving a truck. I drove it into the driveway ignoring the low roof. The roof was exactly the height of the truck, and I gave it a nice scratch.

The owner, chubby Indian guy, came running out. After releasing the truck we went to the office and stared at each other. His wife, ugly little witch, was staring at him. He asked if I wanted a room, and asked for $45 and $20 for the damage. The wife was furious. I said - “hey, that must be more than $20 of damage. How about you take a hundred for the whole thing?” He shook my hand thankfully, as if I wasn’t  the one who just broke his motel. The wife was turning red. We went outside and looked at the damage, and we saw that it’s not that bad. “You’re biggest problem”, I told him, “is her”.

How could I forget I was driving a truck? who am I kidding? I’m not a real truck driver. I don’t even own this thing, it’s rented! for just two weeks! It’s time I faced it - that ain’t my truck.