Relentless Driving Across Middle America

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

U.S. Highway 67 from Paragould, Arkansas

Another lifeless day on America’s interstates. This is torture, but now that I’m resigned to my fate, I got up early and was out before the break of dawn, where it’s just me and a bunch of truckers hauling stuff across the country. Why anyone would take this route instead of flying is beyond my imagination unless it’s a drive of less than 500 miles, which then makes economic sense. As for the truckers, oh my god, do they have it bad? It’s no wonder they are making pretty good money these days. Incentivized to keep on driving, paid by miles with nothing but junk food along their route, they save time by pissing in bottles and tossing them out their windows, sleeping on off-ramps and rest stops, and having nowhere to walk around. They just drive, grow unhealthy, and then drive some more. I suppose there are also those who are afraid of flying. Maybe this wouldn’t seem so dreadful if I didn’t have 1,454 miles (2,340 km) ahead of me.

Interstate 40 entering Oklahoma

Blam! Just like that, I’m 282 miles (453 km) farther across Arkansas, driving into Oklahoma. Only three states to go before I get home, so if this is Thursday, I should easily make it by Saturday.

Kellogg's Korner in Henryetta, Oklahoma

From the interstate traveling at speed, it wasn’t immediately obvious from my perspective that the facilities at Kellogg’s Korner in Henryetta, Oklahoma, were no longer extant. My bladder wasn’t interested in this minor detail, and though the abandoned gas station and convenience store claimed to be under video surveillance, I had to throw caution to the wind and pee into it. While apparently still in business, the motel next door likely shouldn’t be, as the guests no longer appear to be traveling through and have become permanent residents. Only 50 miles past this place of sweet relief, I left the interstate again, this time for the Catfish Roundup in Seminole, Oklahoma, for what else other than catfish?

Texas State Line on Interstate 40

Isn’t the scenery grand? I’ve driven 611 miles (983 km) so far, and I’m hardly done. While I could easily leave the interstate and start a meander, I’m set on returning to the hugging arms of that woman so patiently waiting for me in Arizona, allowing me to endure this torture.

Sunset on Interstate 40 near Adrian, Texas

A funny thing happened while driving into the sunset by way of a little white lie that began before I reached Shamrock, Texas, on the eastern edge of the Texas Panhandle. I slowed the story by slowing the progress I was making and telling Caroline that I was exhausted and needed a break, which I’d take in Shamrock. She couldn’t know that I was already in Amarillo, Texas, having dinner and considering how far I could get this evening. Knowing that I’d be gaining another hour if I drove into New Mexico, I set my sights specifically on Tucumcari. This 204-mile (329 km) discrepancy in distance would set things up for Caroline to understand that I wouldn’t make it home Saturday and I’d be in on Sunday. Muahahaha (yes, Caroline, the onomatopoeia makes an appearance), my evil plan was fully hatched. You see, I knew I could drive the 588 miles (946 km) home on Saturday, and with another hour saved due to our time zone in Phoenix, I could be home mid-day. Today’s drive of 828 miles (1,333 km) was a grinding chore, but the surprise will have been well worth it.

Absolutely Unsatisfying

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Entering Catlettsburg, Kentucky on Interstate 64

With last night’s decision to escape the approaching storm, my 32 days of crawling across a continent are coming to an end. It was time to forget about the meander and hit the gas to get a move on it. I left Sutton, West Virginia, after a spectacular breakfast of my homemade granola with an apple from Nova Scotia; I’m only pointing this out because it was my ray of sunshine on an otherwise rainy morning on Interstate 79 before merging onto Interstate 64 in Charleston, West Virginia. It’s been almost three hours down the ugly highway system as I pass over the Big Sandy River into Kentucky, taking this photo from the driver’s seat.

Interstate 64 Eastern Kentucky

Out here on the interstate, the world is dark and dreary, not only because of the miserable weather. Monotony veering into boredom, aggression and impatience from other drivers, and the almost total lack of anything to captivate the senses all lend the impression of squandering time for the sake of covering distance. I’ve grown to hate this form of transportation; it sucks the color and joy out of anything that might be considered experiential, aside from the experience of banality.

KY-9002 a.k.a., the Bluegrass Pkwy in Kentucky

Four hours into hauling ass across Kentucky, I needed a lunch break, but not for Cracker Barrel, Bob Evans, Gino’s Pizza, Biscuit World, or McDonald’s, which were all well advertised on the freeway along with countless law firms, hotel chains, gas brands, health care options, or the many dedications to politicians, wars, or fallen police and soldiers. Figuring I might find some home cooking, as it’s often known (I grew up calling it Soul Food), I left the interstate in Lexington and found a little joint called Mimi’s Southern Style Cooking, but since when is a buffet about quality? Coming into the city and leaving it, it doesn’t matter if I’m in Modesto, California; Tucson, Arizona; Austin, Texas; Portland, Maine; or Lexington, Kentucky; we are a people needing vapes, Bud Light, scratchers, tattoos, drive-thrus, and the convenience demanded from people racing to find something elusive and always out of reach.

KY-9002 a.k.a., the Bluegrass Pkwy in Kentucky

Speeding across Kentucky was abysmal. I felt I betrayed myself by seeing absolutely nothing of the state. I’ve capitulated to the hegemonistic cultural hammer of suffering in the consumer space where I am in Everywhere, America, as defined by commerce and consumption. There is no escape from the machine out here on the interstate. Detouring out of the south to escape the rain, I’ve traded my sense of exploration and discovery for a different kind of reign that is forever relentless. Even phone service along the freeway is impeccable, unlike the majority of our days on vacation when the signal faded in and out. Having proper phone service means I’m always connected, be it for streaming music or podcasts. The ads can arrive without fail with the leash holding fast.

KY-9002 a.k.a., the Bluegrass Pkwy in Kentucky

There’s no spontaneity found at 75 mph, just the routine of watching vehicles in front, behind, and in the opposite direction; so I always know where everyone is. For a time, I thought I was out of the rain, and fortunately for me, the road was about to start a big curve to the left, letting me skirt that monster downpour in front of me.

Interstate 69 over the Tennessee River in Gilbertsville, Kentucky

While disliking my choice of leaving the two-lane byways, I also feel it was the right decision as driving in the rain was tiresome, making progress was becoming slower, and now that I know I’m speeding back toward Caroline, the excitement grows that I’ll be seeing her soon.

Tennessee State Line on U.S. Highway 51 in South Fulton, Tennessee

After a full day of driving over 500 miles (847km) to the Tennessee border, I was exhausted. I decided to go farther after finding a steak house called Abe’s Rib-eye Barn an hour ahead in Dyersburg, Tennessee. I was also seeing inexpensive hotels in the area while entertaining the idea that I was far enough away from the front of the hurricane at this point. I can’t tell how intuition worked in my favor on this day, but I skipped grabbing a hotel before dinner, which I’d typically do to put our valuables in the room. Instead, I continued to Abe’s. Chatting with my server there about our vacation and today’s change of plans, she told me that the first taste of the hurricane was coming up the Mississippi, arriving around midnight. I checked the forecast, and the area was supposed to see between two and three inches of rain tomorrow.

Bridge over the Mississippi River from Finley, Tennessee

As quickly as I could, I wolfed down my steak, realizing how fortunate it was that I didn’t have a hotel yet which allowed me to start searching for one farther west of me. I found availability two states over, hoping to get out on a more distant edge of the bad weather. Tensions in my gut were running high, or did I eat too much steak?

Over the Mississippi River entering Missouri

When racing along interstates with no time for real sightseeing, this is what the Mississippi River looks like to the driver.

Welcome sign to Missouri on U.S. Highway 155

After my early start today in West Virginia, I headed to Kentucky, Tennessee, and now Missouri, then continued until Paragould, Arkansas, a good distance from the Mississippi River.

Sunset in Arbyrd, Missouri approaching the Arkansas State Line on U.S. Highway 412

Color was again allowed to return to the world after I rejoined a two-lane highway traveling through farmland. I could comfortably stop for sunset near Arbyrd, Missouri, just a few miles from Arkansas and a dozen from my motel.

Across the Southern U.S. – Day 11

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Esso Station in Mena, Arkansas

Mena, Arkansas, was where we took our overnight stop, and as you can see, it is shortly after sunrise that we are getting underway. This old Esso gas station opened back in 1928, and after years of decline, it was renovated before the turn of the century and is now a roadside attraction.

Driving west to Queen Wilhelmina State Park in Mena, Arkansas

Mena is located at the foot of Rich Mountain, which is the second-highest peak in Arkansas, standing at 2,681 feet or 817 meters. We were heading up towards Rich Mountain when I took this photo on our way to Queen Wilhelmina State Park.

Driving west to Queen Wilhelmina State Park in Mena, Arkansas

There’s very little time to stop and smell the flowers as we have 1,200 miles to cover between now and tomorrow night, so we end up taking some of our photos right through the windshield of the car while driving up these winding mountain roads. Oh, you can tell this is from the driver’s side? Yeah, I’m guilty of this small bit of unsafe driving.

Jutta Engelhardt and Caroline Wise on Steam Engine #360 at Queen Wilhelmina State Park in Mena, Arkansas

We couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get a closer look at an old steam train and then to find out that we could crawl up on it, well that deserved a photo. We are about to leave the Queen Wilhelmina State Park on our race westward.

Jutta Engelhardt, Caroline Wise, and John Wise entering Oklahoma

Leaving Highway 88 behind and joining Highway 1, also known as the Talimena Scenic Drive as we pass into Oklahoma.

Llamas and alpacas on a grassy hillside with flowers? Well, that adds to the scenic quality of this road in my book.

We won’t be in Oklahoma long as we beeline it to Texas.

This tortoise from Antlers, Oklahoma, as opposed to a tortoise with antlers, is certainly moving a lot slower than we are today, a matter of fact, too slow, and so we pulled over to nudge it to safety. This one, fortunately, didn’t need to be lobbed like a football.

Valley Feed Mill Paris, Texas

Welcome to Texas and the land of long roads.

Paris, Texas

You should know that Wim Wenders has inspired this visit to Paris, Texas. I first learned of Wim Wenders from Dennis Hopper, who told me about working with him on the movie The American Friend. Another bit of nostalgia: it was during these meetings with Dennis Hopper that I also met Harry Dean Stanton, who plays the lead role in the movie Paris, Texas by Wim Wenders. How I came to hang out with Mr. Easy Rider is another story that I’ll publish at some point.

Paris, Texas

Of course, visiting Paris in Texas is a bit of a treat for my mother-in-law as she never heard of another Paris outside of France. The town is pretty quiet today, and looks like its prosperity is on the wane.

Muenster, Texas

From Paris to Muenster, Germany…I mean Texas.

St. Jo, Texas

This required some sleuthing on Google Maps to figure out our driving route and what town this might have been as we were driving from Paris to Muenster and then the time stamp on the photo so I could get an approximation of how many miles we might have driven. Turns out that we are in St. Jo, Texas and Google Street View confirms it, although the town has been renovating the main square since we drove through.

Bull statue at Lonestar Hereford Ranch in Ringgold, Texas

Good thing others take photos and write about missing roadside attractions otherwise, I may have never found out that this bull statue used to stand at Lone Star Hereford Ranch in Ringgold, Texas. It’s sad to see such large lawn ornaments go away; kind of makes you wonder how you retire a 20-foot-tall bull.

Jutta Engelhard outside Henrietta, Texas

If the mother-in-law is falling asleep in the back seat, a surefire way to wake her up is to make a stop at a Dairy Queen. Jutta didn’t know how much she liked “fake” ice cream until she tried a Blizzard, and then every time we passed one, she’d be sure to point out, “There’s another Dairy Queen.” This particular one was in Henrietta, Texas.

West of Wichita Falls, Texas

We are west of Wichita Falls, Texas, as we trek across the Lone Star state.

West of Wichita Falls, Texas

If we didn’t pass cattle and oil pumping operations we might not have known that we really were in Texas.

Old Gas Station in Mabelle, Texas

A far cry from the Esso we visited earlier in the day back in Arkansas. With no one around to ask we had no way of finding out anything about this old gas station that has obviously been closed a good long time.

Edit: Turns out this was in Mabelle, Texas, but has since been torn down. 

This could be somewhere between Lubbock and Plains, Texas, but then again, it could also be between Guthrie and Lubbock.

More friendly horses and two German women in western Texas.

After more than half a day driving across that gargantuan state, we are finally in New Mexico and seeing hints of the Arizona sunsets we are about to re-encounter. From Plains, Texas, we drove to Lovington, New Mexico, on our way to Artesia, New Mexico, where we’ll spend the night in some cheap roadside motel.

Though we were in the car the majority of the day we still were able to carve out a great encounter with the countryside of Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and a bit of New Mexico late in the day. Obviously, we stayed off the major highways, and that certainly extended our time on the road, but we managed to drive nearly 800 miles today and, along the way, collect some memorable moments that will now stick with us for the rest of our lives.

Across the Southern U.S. – Day 10

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

This is not getting any easier. The deal is that for the past couple of days, these blog entries are not coming from notes such as the extensive highly detailed notes that accompanied the first week of our road trip. Instead, I’m trying to pull details from a journey we made 15 years ago. At times Caroline lends a hand as her superior memory, while not infallible, is often carrying details I had long forgotten. What I can tell you about this photo is that the horse and pasture yummies are all from Tennessee, and the reason I know that is from the time stamp on the photos and that the next photo shows us crossing into another state.

Welcome to Mississippi, where we are just dipping our toe into the state to gain bragging rights to having visited the north and south of the state. Our visit was pretty brief because we had to head back up to Tennessee and into Memphis specifically.

Not knowing if we’d ever visit Memphis again, we had to take this opportunity to visit Graceland, home of Elvis Presley and his final resting place.

For my mother-in-law, this isn’t exactly her idea of a great place to visit as she never developed a fondness for kitsch, nor was she a big fan of Elvis. As for me, this is an interesting look into a kind of prison that had likely become a madhouse. While others will feel a kind of closeness to the King by being among his possessions, all I can see is a place designed with the hope of being able to escape fame. During better times, this may have been a partying refuge where Elvis could entertain and share with friends and family, but then there’s the madness, isolation, and depression that came with his drug abuse and not being able to lead a normal life due to his bizarre fame.

I’d like to imagine that Sister Rosetta Tharpe once dined here with Elvis as he said thank you for teaching him what rock ‘n’ roll was going to be. While Elvis won accolades, fame, and fortune, she will live on in rock history as the pioneer who defined the sound of the electric guitar as an essential part of a music genre that has endured for the better part of 50 years.

Funny that I’ve enjoyed walking in the Acropolis in Athens, Greece, along with my share of castles, palaces, historic homes, and not-so-famous dwellings, but the feeling here is of a kind of anguish I felt at Dachau concentration camp in Germany. I don’t mean to imply that some kind of atrocities occurred here or that Graceland and Dachau should necessarily be compared; it’s just the sense of foreboding heaviness that has me ill at ease walking through this man’s home. Was it ever his intention to allow his refuge to be a museum where even his privacy is sold to those who want just a little more of him?

Once I took the thread of finding despair here at Graceland, the self-guided tour became too oppressive. This wasn’t helped by the fact that everyone was moving around in silence as visitors were given headsets to listen to a narrative about Elvis’s life here. The feeling of isolation was probably appropriate, considering that the majority of Elvis’s time here would have to have been alone. Taking off the headset, I was still feeling awkward, except now creepiness walked with me as the zombies in the house shuffled silently about, robbing the place of chatter and laughter.

The King’s wealth let him buy a lot of things, including a kind of immortality, as he entered the history books, but he couldn’t buy happiness. I was 14 when he died a hero to many who had worshipped a man they had had fond recollections of from the late ’50s to the mid-’60s. To me, he was cool in a “black and white era” kind of way but was a tired, bloated buffoon as I was busy worshipping the throne of Johnny Rotten and the Sex Pistols. All these years later, I can’t help but feel sorry for Elvis and the majority of others who have found fame in America, the double-edged sword where money carves away privacy, leading to megalomania or deep depression.

Hot Springs National Park in Arkansas is our next stop. Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to bath in. While Bathhouse Row is historically awesome and architecturally beautiful, the baths are long closed as the age of therapeutic mineral baths gave way to shock therapy. Just kidding about one replacing the other, but the fact remains that public baths have fallen out of favor, so we won’t be doing any restorative swimming this fine day.

It’s pretty here in Arkansas. I don’t know what I expected, but this is beating those expectations. Okay, I know what was on my mind, more of Deliverance and squealing pigs. It’s sad this impression of the Southern United States as being one of backward, intellectually handicapped people that have been stereotyped ad infinitum during my lifetime. The idea that a bunch of “Gomer’s” lives down here is not my creation or sole interpretation; it is an image played across America millions of times a year. Why is this? Because the majority is hostile to anything less than total conformity, and those who control cultural hegemony are quick to label those that they find to be different. To be different is to be hated, and that’s just the way it is.

Good thing trees are harmonious and carefree without time to hate on others or choose to avoid certain neighborhoods due to prejudice. Instead, they grace our landscape, shade us, help produce oxygen, house us, warm us, and only on rare occasions try to kill us. For the most part, they offer us a beautiful backdrop and a place to carve our names to demonstrate that we will forever love someone.

Flowers, on the other hand, offer no permanence to carve a message upon, though they, too, indulge us by provoking our thoughts of love and romance.

A garden gnome riding a snail? Whoa, this is the most perfect thing we will EVER buy in Arkansas and it is coming home with us. I know what you are probably thinking, “Hey, is that symbolic of you riding the snail, John?” I’ll just offer you a sly grin for my answer.

Horses in lush pastures are nothing but love and are effectively the sunset and bookend for this day in Mississippi, Tennessee, and Arkansas (pronounced Arkansaw).