OK, say what you will, but Oklahoma definitely has the feel of the Deep West (more on that below).

We moved in and out of the rest of Arkansas without incident (except that I got hungry about an hour after we “broke camp” as they say — sounds uncouth, but the metaphor is apt).  We stopped at a glorious truck stop somewhere near the border, where they had cheap diesel, plenty of the much-coveted DEF (diesel exhaust fuel, which is just ureaic acid according to Brad), healthy snacks such as reconstituted tomatoes and squash extruded into chips, and a HUGE buffet of fried food designed to stop the hearts of truck drivers.  I selected the latter.  After purchasing “smooth leather gloves” for Brad, for a reason I have yet to discern, I ordered lunch for us (he was still out draining our 401(k) funds into the diesel pump).  The entrees came with chips or fries.   I selected the latter.  We got two each, but each one was the size of my forearm!  This is sure some kind of farm country to produce potatoes like that!

Oscar requests a report on weather and road conditions.  I kid you not, OK could spend some public funds on road repairs!  The poor Airstream bounced continually for 4 hours today and I resolved to wear a sports bra tomorrow.  When we stopped at a rest stop before hitting (literally) Oklahoma City, I went to the look in on the Airstream – a Southern girl’s dream to carry along one’s own powder room — and NOTHING was as I had left it!  I had to move the sofa cushions to get in and the bed covers had bounced off, but the wine was still chilling in the refrigerator, so all was well.  No permanent damage.

Oklahoma is probably a lot like the Texas panhandle, but I am just guessing.  The trees are short and gnarly.  They are way behind us in Spring; their redbuds are in full bloom and the trees are just beginning to show green.  The dirt is red and completely flat (except for the canyons).  There are millions of cattle.  We passed through about seven Native American Nations (I lost count) and passed by several casinos; one of the main attractions, apparently.

We pulled into Red Rock Canyon Campground at about 5 pm.  Hummm.  Yes, our campsite is “by the river” as requested, but the river here is NOTHING like the Mississippi.  In fact, Doris jumped right over it, first thing.  (See picture below).  But, as advertised, there are lots of red rock canyons for repelling — some 80 feet high.  We may do that in the morning, but tonight we are busy washing red dirt off Doris and wondering what’s for dinner.  No restaurants beckoned us on the way into town.  In fact, we were afraid to look left or right.  Friends of ours who live near here (i.e., out West) warned us that the Native American police are VERY strict and that speeding tickets are a primary revenue source.  We drove 20 miles an hour for the last few miles.  The park ranger has just driven by our campsite for the sixth time in an hour.  I swear we are not speeding or doing anything more heinous than committing typos.  (Speaking of which, I do know that Jackson Hole is in WYO and not MT — I was over-relaxed when I wrote than on Day One.)

Oscar, the weather tonight is coolish (53) and it is spitting rain.  But we are cozy inside fixing dinner and watching the Braves – Phillies game.  To cheer things up I changed the table cloth to the one I got in Tupelo — bright orange and white flowers with a dark green medallion — and threw a yellow French picnic blanket over the sofa to protect it from Doris, who is dog non-grata in her current state.  Brad showed me to my surprise and delight, that we have an outdoor shower with hot and cold water, which is great for dog baths.

I bought five dice at the truck stop and plan to make up some rules for a game tonight.  I’ll tell Brad it is Keno or Majong –he’ll never know.

Doris’s river

repelling opportunity

red rock canyons

wow

redbuds at Red Rock Canyond