I thought of that awesome Roger Miller song every time I walked through the front door of my hotel, since there was a newspaper box out front, and Kansas City Star is the name of the big paper. Roger Miller is one of those guys who makes me think I should be struck by a bolt of lightning for ever mentioning the word “songwriter” and my own name in the same sentence. The guy was a genius. If you watch one video today, watch this one.
On my way out of Parsons yesterday I went looking for the cemetery I mentioned. I drove around out where the literature I’d seen seemed to indicate it would be, but no dice. I did see this awful monstrosity, though:
This was the most obscene thing I saw in Kansas. This house was HUGE. And it sat out in the middle of this field like a pile of dog shit on the kitchen floor. To continue the metaphor, I didn’t even want to look at it and tried to pretend it wasn’t there. But I took a picture anyway.
I stopped at a gas station and asked about the cemetery but got blank looks. Then I swung by the customer site as I had promised, just to make sure everything was still working, and asked them about it. They didn’t know anything about it either. I did get the name of a guy from a nearby town who “makes old saddles and things and goes to all the reenactments” the receptionist told me, then rolled her eyes. She suggested I call him. I thanked her, but that was a little more than I wanted to get in the middle of. This morning, a simple Google search turned this up; it’s hard for me to imagine that none of these people knew this was right in the middle of their own town. I bet they know where all the friggin’ McDonalds restaurants are, though.
On the way out of town I was going to stop for breakfast at a place that came highly recommended, but it was closed. I don’t know that I get the imagery so many places use that features cartoonesque animals all thrilled over a place that sells cooked versions of them. I think this sign would look better, given the name, with a bunch of scrawny 80s-lookin’ longhairs anyway:
The drive to Tulsa was pretty anti-climatic. In a warmer time of year it might have been pretty, because there were lots of rolling hills and barren trees. Yesterday it was just all gray and dead-looking. Getting stuck for a while behind a cattle truck that turned off at the sign to the stockyards didn’t help. The beeves seemed desperate; maybe they sensed they were destined to become Ultimate Lerch Burgers. It bummed me out. I had fish for lunch.