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| Alma turns out to be a few scattered houses, with a main street consisting of a dozen shops and a small park, smaller than my back garden. There in the middle of the park is a large statue of the man responsible for the worldwide fame of Alma and spinach – Popeye! Also, before reaching my destination, I drive past Muskogee, enshrined in song by Merle Haggard as a protest against protest We don't smoke marijuana in Muskogee; We don't take our trips on LSD; We don't burn our draft cards down on Main Street; Muskogee! Finally, to Tulsa, and the Desert Hills motel; this is a classic, independent motel of the kind seen in many movies. So much so that the lobby is full of cuttings from movies featuring the motel. It is a typical rooms around a car park setting, but the rooms are all set at a diagonal, best utilising the space (so the website informs us, but geometrically I can't see it). In the good old days, it seems, highways ran through cities; and 11th Street, on which the motel stands, used to be Route 66. After my whinging about the lack of walking facilities surrounding motels previously, I am delighted that this street has pavements displaying, every so often, an historic Route 66 marker, and I set out on foot in search of dinner. Now I know that Route 66 has a reputation to maintain, and that this is supposedly the ultimate road trip, but every building is a car showroom. I walk for a good mile towards town, and find nowhere to eat, and at least nine out of ten buildings connected to the automobile. So I walk back and get the car. I have now driven over 6,000 miles and probably have another 15,000 to go. At the Thai restaurant tonight I was given a fortune cookie, which said "Stop searching. Happiness will come to you!" That messes up my itinerary! |
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