Cycling Across America #35
Part 35 of the Cycle-Across-America series relayed day by day, exactly ten years after it happened. (Read from the start in Boston)
Ten years ago today I cycled from Arkansas into Oklahoma, and I met a very large snake:
5th September, Thursday. Turned Midnight. Fort Gibson, Oklahoma.Threw my back-up Honey Bun in the bin and rolled on through Fort Smith hoping to find breakfast the customary fifteen or so miles on the road. That would mean one of the couple of small towns in Oklahoma by the I-40.
Downtown was four miles from my motel and rather appealing. There were motels here too. A western looking town with one building covered in swastikas. There was one large one on it with words like “love”, “happiness”, represented on the legs, and it said that the original Indian swastika painting was on sale inside.
This made me wonder if I’d made a mistake not staying in the downtown but I remembered that it would’ve meant cycling another four miles in dangerous traffic. I had had a good night in the Western Sizzlin across the road, and was very comfortable in the Motel 6. The fast finish of the day before gave me even more time to spend there.
So no regrets about Fort Smith. Now over the bridge to cross the Arkansas River once again and I entered my sixteenth state. I was here at last - Indian Territory - Oklahoma.
It was immediately exciting. I don’t know why. Perhaps because I wanted to come here for so long, perhaps because it looked and felt so different. Some states do that. Crossing the Mississippi was exciting. So was entering Alabama. And before that entering Virginia - when I had no doubts that I was in The South. And of course New York City. Some lumps of land just get you excited.
A very wide shoulder on a very big highway took me the five miles to the I-40 where I continued on a smaller parallel road through the small town of Roland. I would look for food in Muldrow. Declined the option of Sonic as it’s solely a drive-in, although I must try one later. Went to a gas station with a food store. Had a burrito - yummy, a pizza pocket - perfect, and finally asked what those bread-like lollies were.
-Corn Dogs.
-What’s that?
-It’s got a Weenie inside and it’s just covered in cornbread.
This meant nothing to me, so I said,
-I’ll try one.
It was delicious and I vowed to have more.These towns were different from Arkansas. They felt much more Western. The town of Sallisaw was next. I wondered how to pronounce it. A hot day. About ninety degrees. Some old log cabins with tourist information I thought about stopping for. Gun and Pawn shops. A couple of motels too.
I wanted to top up my breakfast so a Hardees beckoned. I’d seen the sign from about a mile away. I usually don’t - Hardees has the nicest colours but not the most striking. It’s usually the last logo I spot from a great distance. A double cheeseburger and a couple of cokes.
And there they were. My first Indians to see. American, that is, not Asian. Pony tails and baseball caps. And they were big. Well, they are American.
Ten miles to Vian. It was a cross-roads with a kitschy mural - purple with black silhouettes of a cowboy, a wagon, and a watching Indian. I took a photograph of it and as usual when I pause like that I feel the heat. So more drink.
Still on US 64 towards Gore. Before I got there was the Cherokee Court House. This was where the Cherokee Nation had their headquarters originally in this part of the world. It was called Tahlansteequee, or something, after the chief who had led three hundred tribes people from their Eastern homes to here. These were hence known as Western Cherokee or “old settlers”.
When the Eastern Cherokee arrived from the Carolinas and around via their Trail of Tears, they located the headquarters at Tahlequah which I hope to visit in my spell in Oklahoma.
There was a courthouse, a council house, and a living hut - Europeanised as they had adopted some European customs by this stage. We’re talking early nineteenth century. The gift shop was closed and I didn’t want to spend the time getting the people from their house to open up their shop as I only wanted to browse, so I took some leaflets and left.
Now I knew who John Jolly was. I knew about Sam Houston and I knew that Sequoyah (this was the County of Sequoyah) was the chap who created the Cherokee Syllabary.
At Gore I left US 64 and headed north on State Highway 10. A couple of bridges took me over Greenleaf Lake where I saw a lone egret. I had seen whole flocks of them back in the flatlands of Eastern Arkansas.
Another few miles and I knew it had been in the nineties. Stopped for a Tangerine Twist Ice Tea in Braggs. There wasn’t a whole lot in Braggs but the stores are all very interesting. I kept looking at the T-shirts for sale. Only twelve miles to Fort Gibson and I was going fast and singing a bit but the heat was making singing difficult - hard to get my breath.
Past military camp - Gruber. Several gates - a Central Europe gate, an Anzio gate, among others. Barracks all viewable but not as big or as plentiful as those at Fort Chaffee yesterday. A helicopter and a tank were just sitting there. I couldn’t tell if they were on display or in current use.
From my host’s instructions I reckoned the road with no name was Willey Road but I wanted to see the town and maybe the fort before going to their house. By the time I got to US 62 work traffic was heavy and fast. Worse, there was big dirty clouds coming in. I didn’t think they’d storm but they were making it dark so as it was six I went back. Down Willey. Cross over 62 and on to Cemetery and the home where I am now a guest.
As I walked in the door, an eight foot red-tailed Boa Constrictor was being fed a live rabbit. I’m staying with the sister of a girlfriend of a friend I stayed with back in Connecticut. Actually back then he was a stranger, a friend of a friend in Dublin. My host is very like her sister. I can see where they both come from now, they being Oklahoma folk. The husband is from Texas. The son is fifteen and daughter eighteen. The snake gets fed like this once a month.
I talked, I drank and I ate, all before showering or even changing. Sometimes you just get comfortable and my host, like her sister, is so easy to talk with. They’re all pretty laid back here. For dinner, a huge big pork steak, lovely rice with celery and pepper in it, green beans, a salad, and some bread rolls straight from the oven. I liked it.
We talked a lot. About the weather. About Oklahoma. I said it was actually different to other states. It was the first I’d seen with just regular fields of grass. Trees were smaller and hedgerows were common. It was a lot like home. Small gentle hills. Fields everywhere. Some with cattle. A fair few with horses - this was very much horse country.
I had passed The Blue Ribbons Downs racecourse earlier and plenty of stables. I counted twelve by the racecourse, each one I guessed could hold fifty horses. I had also passed some Llamas or woolpacas or whatever they are, down the road in a pen with some sheep.
From looking at the snake - her name is Slivver; she’s a girl - you could tell where the rabbit was. About halfway down. Originally the son was going to feed it a kitten but it cried a lot and the daughter rescued it and paid for the rabbit. Not an ugly grey wild rabbit - this was a bunny rabbit - black and white. Inside the snake now.
As I was sleeping in the son’s room they took Slivver out. Just lifted her out of her glass cage - she was huge - and put her in the closet in the other room. Reportedly she stays in there.
And my bed was a water bed. First time. Very strange. Very sloshy. It occurred to me that it would’ve been ideal for immediately after the crash.
Today on the bike I imagined getting knocked down again. I chose the tree, the pole, the signpost, that my body would crash into, and then lived out the consequences. My back would be broken. To lose the use of my legs, although awful, somehow seemed a fair price for the joys they’ve allowed me: this cycle to date, the trans-European cycle, the Czech cycle, cycling around Ireland, England and Wales, the big walks in Ireland, England and Wales, the streets of Moscow and Asian cities. They’d done a lot. If I lost them now it seemed almost reasonable.
Read the Next Entry in my Bicycle Trip Across America
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
