Day Forty-Two: Shamrock - Clinton/Elk City, OK

The moment we unzipped our tent to a fresh morning sun, we saw an old man on a tractor who had clearly been up and running for a couple of hours. He chuckled at the sight of our grogginess, asking, “Did you sleep well?” and mentioned that he owned the place, and the restaurant hostess hadn’t told him we would be staying there. We were quick to start searching for excuses, but luckily he brushed it off with a laugh and an “I don’t mind at all.” We packed up quickly to get out of his hair, since I believe he needed to mow the grass beneath our tent, and we rode down the street to a gas station. It was connected to a Taco Bell, which just so happens to have guilty pleasure-type breakfasts, and I’ll be the first to admit that A.M. Crunchwraps are the bee’s knees. We spent some time sitting, and eating, and sipping coffee, and sitting, and eating, and then finally left for our ride.

We crossed into Oklahoma, and then things got weird. First of all, I’ve never seen so much road kill in my life. Seriously, like SERIOUSLY seriously, it was ridiculous. I have yet to see a live turtle in the state of Oklahoma, and yet there are hundreds of obliterated turtles on the side of the freeway. I’m assuming it’s because other animals at least have a shot at crossing the road without a fatality; you know, deer can at least sprint and leap and whatnot, and armadillos can kind of scuttle their way across, but turtles? No way in hell. Not one turtle that attempted that four-lane stretch had any shot at success, cause they’re runnin’ at 0.1 mph. I could have made every friend on my Facebook newsfeed a 8-piece set of dinnerware from those shells.

There was also a pit bull, which was just downright depressing, deer that stretched the width of an entire lane, cardinals, armadillos, mice, you name it. In addition to road kill, there were actually some goodies, like a football signed “J. Bonner” that Slater toted around with some bungee cords strapped to his bike, and a pair of sunglasses that he later threw out. So I guess that made up for the massive amount of death surrounding us…

We rested at a truck stop about halfway into our ride, and ate at the Denny’s next door, where we met absurd cravings for pancakes. Later, outside the restaurant, we met an outgoing woman who mentioned having done some touring in the San Juan Islands. After a bit of back-and-forth questioning, we found out that she worked in Hazel Dell (where I am from), of all places, for a couple of years, and now lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas. She offered us a place to stay if we pass through, and also wrote down her name and number so that we could call her if we needed any help along the way. We are hoping to see her again in Arkansas if we continue in the direction as planned!

Just before getting on the road again, a hefty fella with a long white ponytail and scraggly beard looked at Slater and asked, “So how do you change a tire?” Half-confused by his question and half-confused by his die-hard biker style (motorcyle, not bicycle), Slater responded awkwardly with something along the lines of, “Just change the tube!” and trailed off as the man walked away mid-sentence. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that Slater spotted a flat on my rear tire, and it all came together. We fixed the tube out of spite and cursed the freeway shoulder for its abundance of debris, then finally left for our last leg of the day. We had 25 miles left, and despite having just eaten and refueled at lunchtime, we both felt loopy after the first hour back on the bike. It was scorching hot and the air was still, and we both knew we needed a pick-me-up before carrying on, so we stopped once more to eat salty snacks and chug as much liquid as possible without peeing our pants. That seemed to do the trick, and we were able to make it in to a campground without any further issues aside from desperately having to use the restroom once we arrived.

The campground was lovely: it was just in between two larger-sized cities, Elk City and Clinton, and the site was off on its own in a quite patch of land. We checked in at the office and searched mindlessly through the miniscule camp store for something to cook for dinner, but we were clearly at a loss for ideas. The woman at the front desk poked her head around the corner and offered politely, “Would you like us to make you a pizza?” Done and done. We ate fresh-baked Hawaiian pizza for dinner outside at our picnic table, and when we were finished, a woman across the way invited us over to their site for a bit of company and conversation. Kelley was wonderfully sociable and accommodating, to say the least; she and her husband offered the food off of their table (which we undoubtedly would have eaten, had we not just consumed an entire pizza), strawberry cake (which we DID eat, despite the pizza), a couple of beers, and even a cooler for the night to keep our drinks cold. We hung out for nearly two hours with the two of them, then were joined by their daughter and son-in-law and their three children. We watched as the laid-back family enjoyed their escape from daily life, catching bugs in little plastic containers and leaving tiny bicycles in the middle of the campground street, confident that no one would plow through to run over them. It was awesome to see how they soaked in the time away from work and school and all the rest, and we thanked our lucky stars that night to have this experience without the responsibilities that will soon be coming our way.