Dry As A Bone

Where will you find tobacco shops...
alongside mega-fundamentalist churches...

And bizarre (beat the crap out of your kid) roadside scripture...

...and triple-x nudie bars...

with baby doll lap dancers?

Welcome to....

ARKANSAS!

And like our neighbor in Sedona said, "Too much road. Too few attractions." And that certainly applies to I-40 zipping across Arkansas. But we had to stop somewhere so we chose a midway point, a town called "Russellville".

...which touts a scenic byway. We never took it but hope down the road it becomes a bit more scenic than this.

Directly across the street from the scenic byway sign is this.

Ahhhh, Russellville.

And like many of these towns along I-40, even though the governor and legislators might say otherwise, you find a large population of hispanics. We assume mostly illegal. They speak little or no English. They work the restaurants, the motels, the farms and lumber mills. And the signage indicates there are plenty of these folks here.

We are not making a statement for or against, but merely to show how so many of these states speak out of both sides of their mouths. Publicly touting border security but inviting people from Latin America in and exploiting them as cheap labor.

Libraries in Arkansas??

Natural foods? In Arkansas?

But you can count on finding more Baptist churches than probably anywhere else on the planet. But don't count on them Baptists allowing you to buy a drink here. Russellville in Pope County, Arkinsaw are a dry state. That means no booze sold ANYWHERE...

except for this restaurant and two others in town. With beer and wine only. So while it's hard to find a drink...

you will have found paradise in Russellville if you like to smoke and eat donuts.

But wait. Where's Daisy in all this...or the all-new for 2010 2285 Lance travel trailer with side slider? I'm sure you'll see both next time. Bye. Gotta go. Paul's Activia is kicking in and I'm clearing out.

The Old Sod: Prague, Oklahoma

...And if you think the religious right doesn't hold sway here, just before you leave Texas on I-40 and cross over into Oklahoma, is the world's LARGEST cross. Travelers actually stop and fall to their knees in front of it. Go figure.

Then there's Oklahoma.
Yep, Oklahoma.

Yep, Oklahoma, RV-style.

In fact, we found a nice little RV park right off the interstate in Elk City, Oklahoma.

And a river/creek/ditch with water runs through it. Break out the mosquito repellent.

It's the Tundra and the new 2010 Lance 2285 with slider. Notice you haven't seen a picture of Daisy yet. Don't worry. She'll show up.

The new Lance comes equipped with two washing machines, two dryers...

and a king-size shower....





and a storm cellar for the sudden onset of tornados.

Yep, Oklahoma. Try to imagine everyone in the RV park jamming into this spider hole. But the owners say it's possible. And if there's a tornado coming, you will find a way to get down into the cellar.

And who says it's not windy out here in this God-forsaken flat country?

Windmills, oil pumps, tornado shelters. Yep, Oklahoma.

We wanted to spend two days in Oklahoma City (why?) but the traffic and highway construction were so terrible we shot through like poop through a goose.

This is one of the things we wanted to see in OK City--the Tinker Air Force Base Museum--but on we went. Mustn't dally.

...because just down the road is the best-of-the-best. Where Czech immigrants settled a century ago and where my dad was born.

Welcome to Prague, Oklahoma.

A long time ago the locals corrupted the pronunciation, calling it "Praig" instead of "Prawg".

My dad lasted seventeen years in Prague before leaving it to join the Marine Corps in World War II.

Here's Daisy looking out the window at Prague. Yep, it's Oklahoma.

And here's a bird at the window looking in at Daisy. This is high excitement here in Oklahoma.

Another one of those Daisy pictures we put in but couldn't get rid of. This would be her tail with adjoining rear end.

Prague is a quiet, nice little out-of-the way place. My dad left at such a young age. When we were growing up, my folks brought us back here a couple of times. I remember going to a local carnival staffed by convicts. They were chained to the rides. Yep, Oklahoma.

Not only was my dad born here but so was Jim Thorpe, the All American Native American.

But Jim Thorpe isn't buried here. (He's dead.) His body was purchased by a small coal-mining community in Pennsylvania to help boost the town's economy. The town changed its name from something unmemorable to Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania.

Lots of hispanic workers-- legal and illegal-- live here because of the farms and ranches. The town sports a good authentic Mexican restaurant. Great comida for poco dinero.

Of course, Prague has strong Christian values, we assume, including the "Love Invasion Church".

But the town's big draw aside from being my dad's birthplace is the National Shrine of the Infant of Prague. The Infant is the patron saint of the former Czech Republic.

The church housing a replica of the Infant of Prague (a statue) draws people from all over the world.

Local hispanics come here to pray for miracles and post notes and pictures for the Infant.

Of course, we went for souvenirs and a refrigerator magnet.

And to add to our extensive collection of porcelain nuns.

But a miracle did happen. I discovered that this young girl working in the gift shop had recently moved to Prague from Midland, Texas where I once lived (my dad worked for an oil company). Turns out this girl and I went to the same Catholic grade school, only about forty years apart.

I think it's courageous of me to put in this terrible picture. I have on four--count 'em, four--layers of clothes since it's so damn cold.

And from the Infant of Prague we move on to the Lake of Prague.

Yep, Oklahoma.

Could anything be more scenic?

What I really wanted to do was scour the local cemetery to see if I could find some long-ago relatives. Found some Gravitts but don't have a clue who they were. Need to do some research.

By the way, Prague, Oklahoma and Atlanta, Georgia are two of the few places where you actually find Gravitts. But in Atlanta we have a claim to fame. Hugh Gravitt, a distant cousin, was a cab driver who intersected Margaret Mitchell in the early 1940s and killed her deader than a doornail. Margaret Mitchell wrote "Gone With the Wind". Didn't have a chance to write another novel.

Gotta go walk Daisy. Next stop, Arkansas.