No Man's Land
Historical markers are always good spots to take a break, stretch the legs, check the map, refuel the horse. And riding the length of the panhandle of Oklahoma really gave me an up close look & feel of how rough the pioneers had it way back when.
Towns and villages are located basically 30 miles apart because that was about how far an oxen or mule drawn wagon could travel in a day, but with the advent of automobiles, many of the marginal towns dried up and blew away. In the panhandle I saw a historical marker designating a ghost town 3 miles off the road, which was actually the only "hot spot" for cowboys in a 60 mile radius. In other words, on payday they would race to the
"only town with whiskey and women this side of Amarillo".
Coincidentally, the very first book I read after my return to Alabama was a forgettable novel by Larry McMurtry
"Telegraph Days", full of cliches and nothing like his excellent
"Lonesome Dove". But the town he put his characters in was smack dab in that panhandle I passed through. It is hard to find a positive review of this book, throw away the dumb plot, what I liked was McMurtry's description of the scenery, it fit into what I had just experienced.
Faced with an uncertain future on their father’s failed plantation, which is somewhere south of the Cimarron River in the Midwest plains, Nellie and Jackson travel by mule to a Nowheresville town called Rita Blanca, “A dusty place…where people stopped when they just absolutely didn’t have the strength to travel another stop toward Santa Fe or wherever they thought they wanted to get to.”
Rita Blanca is a godforsaken place, of course, where Beau Wheless, the town carpenter, can’t hammer the coffins fast enough to keep pace with the carnage. But Nellie and Jackson find their way here. Sheriff Ted Bunsen, who has designs on Nellie, makes Jackson deputy sheriff, while Nellie—an aspiring journalist—mans the telegraph machine and becomes the town’s portal for civilization.
Ever since meeting that wind called "Dammit, (varying from half hour to two hour gusts), I had finally figured it out correctly two days running. Back in Kansas I had noticed it came from one direction in the morning, then flipped around by mid-afternoon. I basically was going east/south/east/south in straight lines. It was just a matter of picking the right road in the correct direction to start out with. Crossing the Republic River after the Red Cloud Nebraska fling was the main place where I guessed it all wrong.
Once you were in the middle of nowhere headed east, you couldn't go back and try tacking south first. But I was having a blast, especially when "Dammit" turned into "Tailwind Blessings". There were times I knew I was going over 38-40 mph on lonesome highways.
It turned out to be excellent Karma when I snipped off the corner of Texas, that put me not only heading south the whole day, but mostly downhill and with no headwind. Two dead armadillos, then two more, a guy at a gas station explained the math to me, "damdillers" don't live over 3,000 feet altitude, which also explained my fuel intake questions.
There was a lake northeast of
Elk City, OK I had targeted for camping/swimming. That evening I arrived a full hour earlier than I calculated, by the time it gusted, I had skinny dipped all the panhandle dust away, and was napping under a picnic shed. And since there were now "real trees" to serve as windbreaks, for the rest of my journey I was never again tormented by guessing wrong in the mornings. "
It don't take a weatherman to know which way the wind blows" as little Robby Zimmermann sings.
So, back to the story of No Man's Land....
I snap the picture at the Texas state line, fuel up Rocinante, empty the bladder of coffee (as a YellowDog Democrat tribute to Dubya), and race through the only stop sign on the road. Heck, you can see an oncoming car miles away.
As I approach the border, I look over my shoulder to see the "
Texas State Line" sign, but where is "
Welcome back to Oklahoma"???? Most times the two signs are within yards of each other.
Theres a historical marker !
Northeast corner of Texas
Established by law in 1850 as the intersection of 100 degree longitude and 36 30 latitude, this point remained in dispute for 79 years. Of some 9 surveys made to locate corner on ground, none coincided. Even so, three blocks were annexed to Texas from Oklahoma (1903, 1929)- to the confusion of landowners. One man claimed he went to bed in Oklahoma and awoke in Texas. In 1929 the US Supreme Court had a final survey run. Some people with land formerly in Oklahoma could not afford to repurchase it in Texas, but the exact site of corner was at least determined.
(
Bragging about Karma so early in the morning bit me, somehow the sequence of my pictures switched....pic 3 is the Oklahoma welcome, pic 1 is the Texas sign, both taken from the historical marker angle, I hope they show that they must be close to a mile apart).
Over that hill, behind those scrub pines, would be the perfect place to throw up a homesteader shack or for a modern outlaw to hide from the Rangers.
Remember how I couldn't appreciate the size of the wind turbines?
About 15 minutes later I came to the intersection of the southbound highway to Shattuck, and eventually the Elk City region. There was a flat bed semi trailer carrying a General Electric Turbine on the side of the road, and another flatbed broke down in the middle of that intersection. The weight of the turbine had collapsed the trailer.
After an hour of me not seeing a single soul, here was a beehive of 4 escort cars, 2 state troopers, ten pickups full of farmers and ranchers, and now an idjut on a red bike with a camera and a hundred wind turbine questions. They were looking at my bike while I was up on the trailer, climbing INTO the turbine for closeups.
I rode up to the trooper and offered that if they had a chain, Rocinante could at least pull the wreck out of the road until a crane arrived, one big enough to lift it. He didn't see the humor of my suggestion, because said crane must be in Oklahoma City, and he was going to be standing in that sun for hours.
My lunch timing was nearly perfect, I like to arrive after the noon rush, and I found an All U Can Eat buffet in Shattuck, a little after 1pm. The lady who owned it was super friendly, asking questions about my travels, and as my son and daughter-in-law had just got off service on the USS Roosevelt during the war, and the newly commissioned USS Reagan during shakedowns, and her son was about to go to Great Lakes Illinois Navy recruit training, I filled her in on all the Chicago attractions we had during graduation.
The cafe closed at 2pm, but we were still talking at 2:30 as I ate big helpings of cobbler for dessert, and when I left she handed me four chicken thighs wrapped in tinfoil. Tasted excellent down at the lake after my siesta. I had read all the poetry in my autographed Bill Bunting book, so I gave it to her as thanks for the hospitality.
Life is a series of trade-offs, collecting things is just more "stuff to carry" as George Carlin said.
After I gave her the book, she had mentioned how the Shattuck owned a Bill Bunting Statue near the town hall, but she didn't mention the Windmill Museum !! I had never seen a windmill farm until two days ago, and within moments of leaving the cafe ,
HERE WERE OVER A HUNDRED, the biggest windmill collection in the world.
Bill Bunting had given me a little information about the wind farm north of his studio, the editor of the
Baca Weekly said Springfield had one windmill servicing the needs of the town running at only 40% capacity, but they were forty miles from the main line, so they couldn't sell the excess.
Towns have these unsightly radio/telephone towers anyway, I just can't see why towns don't just stick a windmill or two right next to them......
There was a motorcyclist and his son walking at the Windmill Museum when I pulled up. They were headed north on a day trip, and we exchanged scenic notes. The son was doing a science project on "wind power", they were building one at their house. That kid and those historic models were such an insight.
They had lived in the region all their lives, had never heard of that NoMan's land area, so I'm thinking they repeated my little 13 mile stunt, in reverse.
Especially after I told them about the brokedown truck with the turbine and the boiling over state trooper, who was still up there waiting on that crane. The kid was eager to see the chaotic action, climb into a turbine like I did.
I told the kid if his timing was right, there would be a chance to ride piggyback on that turbine as they lifted it to the substitute trailer, a modern day Pecos Bill riding a tornado, and the father went along with the joke,
"
It never hurts to ask, son, never hurts to ask".
ful sleep....what a clever fellow I am.......
