Map: Watonga, Oklahoma to Russellville, Arkansas---349 miles
We woke up a bit later that we wanted---about five a.m.---but still arrived at Noble House for breakfast by 5:40. We sat down in an empty dining room and waiting for something to happen, and then a woman who looked an awful lot like the woman who ran the motel bustled out.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't hear y'all come in. We use the back dining room in the mornin'---it's warmer back there."
Here sat several groups of old men. In one group of four there was one in a big cowboy hat, two bare-headed and the last wearing a newsboy cap very similar to my husband's. The burly man kept eying my husband and finally he tipped his cap to him.
"I just was admirin' your cap," he spoke up. "These cowboys here are always giving me a hard time about mine."
Of course the cowboy had turned around at the tipping of his hat and cast a polite but knowing smile in our direction. Strangers don't count.
Breakfast was absolutely delicious---simple and fresh. Upon hearing the option of rye toast, my husband ordered it to accompany his complementary eggs. I suddenly felt the bread would be homemade, so I ordered simple white---and it was homemade. The rye was swirled, which I haven't seen in a zillion years, and was very, very good---and I don't like rye. I had a Western omelet, and even the bell peppers were noteworthy sweet.
After we dashed back out to Patsy, we rolled through the dark empty streets of Watonga.
"I could live here," my husband said.
I turned and looked at him. Usually it's me that says that about some dessicated old town, but he was hooked by the people we had interacted with. After all, it was a community effort that brought back the Noble House. So I told him about the male nurse---because it was pretty easy these people looked to how one contributed to the community instead of wasting most of their energy picking over the personal.
I was given the option of driving us into Oklahoma City, and it was found I had a knack for dealing with Patsy's ass-grabbing brakes---particularly if I had enough time to pump them gently, coast and pump again. The most disconcerting thing was that the regenerative system seemed to be off, so when one took their foot off the gas, it felt like Patsy would coast all the way to New York City instead her normal slightly sluggardly roll. Add the perfectly awful conditions of pitch black and pouring rain and it was one fun ride.
Eventually the rain slacked off and we came to drop in the prairie that revealed Oklahoma City on the far off horizon like the Land Of Oz. Traffic was light as we rolled into exurbia and then into the dealership.
Courtesy was the keynote at Jim Norton Toyota. We were subjected to it regularly as we sat in the customer lounge, where a pretty blonde receptionist would click in and ask if anyone need anything.
"A bottle of water?" she cooed.
I half-expected her to add 'cigarettes?'
Finally a woman piped: "How about a million dollars?"
"I'm sorry," the blonde smiled, "but I don't have that. But if I did, you all could share it."
Which made us all laugh.
After a couple of hours, the mechanic supervisor came in.
"It's one of two things: either the auxiliary battery needs to be replaced or [a certain computer] needs to be replaced---and we hope it's not that because it costs a couple of thousand dollars and no one has it in stock. The former is the likely culprit, as its voltage is only at 8.4, and that would make everything else malfunction. So we'll start with that and rerun the diagnostics. The estimated cost is $380 for parts and labor."
"It's probably just the auxiliary battery. I had a friend who had a similar experience with her Prius."
His expression was opaque---I couldn't decide if he found this interesting or stupid.
"You also have a cracked drive belt and your tires are nearly bald," he finished. "I'm just warning you about the tires because of this heavy rain. Be careful."
The tire man said something similar before the trip, but retracted it---perhaps because he didn't want to pay the difference in the tire warranty. Priuses are notorious tire eaters. The tires still have some tread before they reach the dire wear indicators.
I was fortunate to have writing to do---the hours passed pretty painlessly. If we could get out of there by noon, we could continue our trip without altering our schedule. And they did finish by 11:40---and we were out the door with a new battery, less some $350 and a dashboard that displayed normally. For all incidentals Patsy had amnesia, and it would take awhile for us to get her communications back to the way we like them.
It was raining now, and as we drove southeast and east through Oklahoma City it began to pour. There's nothing worse than driving on the Interstate in heavy rain---all the cars kick up a mist and the visibility is nil, so I was glad when we were finally far enough from sprawl to be able to go south to Seminole and head east again on Oklahoma 9. At least I could see better, even if my ears started hurting from the rain pounding on the windshield. Patsy's mileage was abysmal, which I could blame on the rain, the high crosswind and mostly by the fact that she had been rebooted. I've never understood that getting a tuneup was rewarded by bad gas mileage afterwards for a period of time. It seems the engineer that could reward us by giving us excellent mileage after a tune up would benefit both the manufacturer and the mechanic with more positive reasons to bring 'er in.
There were some beautiful sights in the soggy gloom. The lawns of older houses and often forlorn and abandoned ones were swept with swaths of grape hyacinths. The intense blue violet color irradiated in the low light. I was reminded of the late winter sweet violets in the old lawns of California's Central Valley, or the pale blue Ipheion uniflorum bulbs that emerge after the violets in old Chico lawns. Neither is anywhere as spectacular as a large naturalized area of grape hyacinths joined with an equally endemic golden narcissus here in east central Oklahoma. I wish I could have taken some pictures.
Rolling to a stop at some country crossroads, we studied an elaborate sign for The National Infant of Prague Shrine, complete with the infant enshrined in glass: "The More You Honor Me, The More I Bless You." I presumed Prague, Oklahoma was somewhere to our left or right, but later consultation of the map put Prague quite behind and to the north of us. Obviously someone thought some advertising was the biggest honor of all. The town's come hither: "Prague, Oklahoma---Come Czech Us Out."
We made a pit stop in Eufaula---a town I would of liked to have walked around if it wasn't pouring rain and some forty degrees. The adjacent Eufaula Reservoir is a bit of a tourist attraction, which has kept Eufaula from falling into the typical Middle America downtown doldrums. The Victorian business blocks are in good repair and appear prosperous.
Arkansas towns looked shabbier but no less interesting in the rain---well, except for Fort Smith, with was typical for the region suburban plexiglass and asphalt.
Paris was originally our stop for the night, but the one motel, the Paris Inn, had such bad Google reviews that we decided long ago to travel on to Russellville. The motel looked good from the outside, and cars were unwittingly parked out front.
Coal was the leading industry here until the 1960s, and downtown Paris in the rain has the dingy, half-empty look common to old coal mining towns. The most impressive building in town is the huge Gothic St. Joseph Catholic Church, followed by the tidy Federalist Logan County Courthouse in the city square. East of town the Subiaco Benedictine Abbey and Academy sits like a holy factory on a hill---home to cowboy monks that raise black angus, vintner monks and monks that make hot sauce.
The real tourist interest lies twenty miles to the south at Mount Magazine, a historic state park high up on limestone cliffs. The lodge there had been another accommodation consideration which we fortunately avoided, as it would have an expensive washout. The area is noted for its extensive and varied butterfly population---including the rediscovery of the Diana Fritillary, once thought extinct.
So we ended up at the Motel 6 in Russellville, which one Google report said smelled like a locker room. I found it smelled like celery cooking, with occasional suggestions of cabbage. Sometimes and in some places it's just best to splurge a bit on your accomdations.
The consolation prize was Feltner's Whataburger across the street from the University of Arkansas. Since it Easter vacation, it was unusually quiet---but as Roadfood reported, a collegiate was standing at the door, ready to write down your order on a paper bag, then your name and then hand it over to the cook. We ordered two of their smaller cheeseburgers with everything on them, an order of onion rings and a lime phosphate---which the cashier/soda jerk(ess) suggested we make into a cherry-lime phosphate. Of doubtful authenticity, it still was good. She started off with Sprite, then squeezed a lime into it and floated another half in it, a squirt of cherry syrup and topped it with more Sprite. The real lime cut the sweetness and made a very refreshing drink. The hamburgers were old fashioned excellent, with all the condiments coming through individually instead of some secret sauce. The onion rings were good but not exceptional. We split a pineapple shake for dessert.
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