2:28 PM CST

As i type this, we are whizzing along US60, between Billings and
Marionville. We are on our way to Tulsa, Oklahoma. The trip down from
St. Louis went pretty quick — our average speed, 72 mph. The speed limit
is 70 on parts of I-44 from St. Louis to Springfield, which is nice.
Traffic is light. There seem to be a lot of farms dealing in exotic
animals out here. Zebras, camels, dromedary, llamas. Perhaps it is just
to supply Branson, MO which is to the south. A couple of disturbing
roadsigns for the “Shoji Show with Christina and Donna”. Shoji is Shoji
the Entertainer, but looks more like Emo Phillips, except of Asian
heritage. Also, we attempted to find the “Hempatorium”, apparently some
sort of gigantic store of hemp goods (located right next to a Wal-Mart).
Our attempts failed, and hopefully we can find it on the way back.

We just passed the Marionville city limit — population 2,417. I should
mention that we had already been through Marionville, but headed back to
Billings to get something to eat. Not surprisingly, the eatery of choice
is Dairy Queen.

I would like to point out that normally, i don’t get seasick in cars, but
the combination of typing, and the REALLY, REALLY hilly roads of MO T
(missouri route T, they seem to use some sort of non-sequential alpha
numeric system here), are getting me a little ill. It is seriously like
some sort of amusement ride. Whee! BLLLLLAAARG! Jesus, it just doesn’t
stop. And, in western tradition, the endless ribbon of road stretches out
before you, except all you see is crest after crest of vomit inducing
road. Please, Poseidon, end this interminable sickness.

Okay, so earlier we went to Marionville. Marionville is a perfect small
little town. A tiny little center, and a little tiny post office. (I’d
like to note that we just turned left off of MO T, and somehow, despite
our 90 degree turn to the left, the road continues on it’s Six-Flagsian
crest and valley adventure. The chicken in my stomach has had about
enough. I just burped up Chicken Jimmy Hoffa, and he says they are about
to walk out). So, on with Marionville. Plenty of little cross-streets,
and a spattering of White Squirrel-themed adverts and businesses. Even
the Marionville Wellness Clinic has the stoic visage of a white squirrel.
I really wanted the “Heart of Fire” Baptist Church with a little squirrel
with a crown of thorns or something. I didn’t get it. Onto our squirrel
hunt. We drove around for about 1/2 hour looking for these little
buggers. We drove on South Street, Fiske, Washington, and North Streets.
The Middle School. The High School. Few squirrels to be found. Then –
squirrel strike! Damn, only a normal squirrel. We pose in front of
“White Squirrel Hollow”, which appears to be a bed and breakfast, or your
crazy old grandmothers house. Kelly poses in front of the sign. No
squirrels attack. Kelly notes that this looks like a town out of the X
Files. I remember that episode where people worship this little worm that
is their “god”, but lives in the neck of a sacrifical human. I really
wanted the mayor of the town to be chosen by the squirrels, and whomever
was “chosen” by these “squirrels” would be inhabited by no less than three
squirrels. Sort of giant-robot/Voltron/Gundam style. One listens (“the
information officer”), one speaks and drives (“the captain”) and the other
one keeps the heart beating (“the engineer”). A squirrelish mayor,
controlling the meek and scared townsfolk. Yeah.

So, back to the squirrel hunt. As we pulled up to the Middle School, we
struck white squirrel gold. Huzzah! Our search has not been in vain.
Kelly leaps from the car, a little too excitedly — the squirrel bolts,
and as much as you could imagine kelly “bolting”, she does. The squirrel,
treed, realizes it must escape to warn it’s white brethren. We snap a few
sasquatch-esque photos, and move on.

Driving along these little streets, it makes me pine for the days when i
lived in the sticks. Plenty of open spaces, well manicured lawns. Old
retirees on the porch, talking of the weather. Cursing the day when the
white squirrel overlords came to town. Too old to fight back. An old man
asks us for safe passage to anywhere but there. Eyeing our car he wonders
if it’s fast enough to evade the squirrels. “Fast enough for you — OLD
MAN! She made the escape from Voleville in 1/2 an hour!”

As we turned onto another street, off in the distance, I noticed a
smattering of white moving on a manicured lawn. Kelly — ready your
mount! Slowly, as if the squirrel doesn’t notice the huge black car
inching alongside, we roll up to the squirrel. With cat-like precision
and grace, Kelly stalks the squirrel. I snap photos from the waiting
getaway car. The squirrel, posing as if on the front cover of GQ, flashes
a little of the bling-bling servitude we’ve been clamoring for. An old
man, reminiscing his days of freedom, eyes Kelly with the scorn of years
of torment. The squirrel eludes our documentation by slipping through a
fence. We move on, digital and analog pictures in hand.

We decide to check out the rest of town, which really isn’t much. A
little tiny “downtown” is about all we get. Kelly points out that she is
a little disappointed with the squirrel population in Marionville. I
point out that it isn’t about the squirrels, never was, never will be.
The trek — the adventure of it all. Somehow, i’d much rather say that
i’ve been to Marionville than to St. Louis. Fewer people have experienced
Marionville. Not to be elitist, but living in a “city” for most of my
life has only made me appreciate the small towns all the more.

We stopped into the post office to mail some postcards. I love small-town
post offices. You’ve got to wonder if the guy behind the counter realizes
that we’re from out of town. “Hey there Miss Linda”. “Later Betty”.
“CITY SLICKERS!” Hee-hee. Sitting in front of the post office, i try to
think of it when it was built in 1962. How things must have changed. I’m
sure it was more bustling than it is now. There is a good little cluster
of buildings down-town, but they have dilapidated to the point of
crumbling. Old farms along the roads look as if they would fall down if
it weren’t for the ivy and moss growing on them. There are a lot of farms
out here, but none look to e all that active, this being spring and all.

We just hit 700 miles on our trip total — we may make it to OKC this
evening, which would put us ahead of our hastily writtten schedule.

Random sign: Have a Taco, Gringo!

3:42PM CST

Miami, OK – just inside the border, about 3 hours outside of Oklahoma
City.

A flat land, little cover. In fact, the cows here jostle for space under
or behind shade-bearing objects such as signs and trees. We whizz past a
sign noting that we are on the “auto-tour” of the Trail of Tears.
Somehow, i feel a little odd about that. Kelly notes: “We screwed them
over pretty good, didn’t we?” Yep.

11:41 CST

Whew. Lots of uploading of stuff tonight. We pulled into Oklahoma City
about 7PM or so, set up camp in a Travelodge and set out to forage for
food. After going the wrong way, and having to drive about 12 miles for a
mexican restaurant, we found Las Palomas — a tasty Mexican restaurant.
Good stuff, that. Looking forward to Amarillo and possibly Albuquerque
tomorrow. Gonna go see the OKC Murrow Building memorial tomorow, too.