Continuing what is now a yearly tradition, we looked for a way to get outdoors and away from DFW around the Fourth of July holiday.  While this has generally involved herding various cats (read: children, adult and otherwise) towards Arkansas and the Buffalo River, we increasingly find that scheduling is complicated.  Given schedules, we gave up on trying to include family members.  We had both blocked the week off from work but with teenager work schedule, we decided to break up travel into two quick trips instead of spending the whole week out of town. This would allow for a few days in between to check on a teenager at home, keeping one of our party from fearing the worst depredations of unsupervised high-schoolers.

The first block of time this week was allocated to Oklahoma. Why? A short drive, access to water (for paddle-boarding and kayaking), bicycling / gravel riding roads, and hiking, and an area which we had already designated for further exploration. The last trip here was in December 2020, right before Christmas. The Wichita Mountain area is full of outdoor activities – and free! – hiking, hiking and mostly hiking. A few lakes and creeks would provide some relief from the heat since this trip was taking place in the middle of the summer.

Saturday 2021 07 03

We weren’t on a tight schedule Saturday, so we drove north in a meandering way. We avoided I-35 out of Denton, instead heading northwest toward Wichita Falls. This is an area we’ve cycled multiple times, so we’re familiar with these backroads and the small towns along the way.

One of these towns is Montague, where adjacent business feel the need to share conflicting messages. “Heritage, not hate” (justifying continued celebration of the Lost Cause) versus “Bombing for peace is like humping for virginity” (apparently the last peacenik in rural north Texas). Buildings posting these messages share a sidewalk and at least one wall – walking around the square, we could only guess what coffee shop conversation between business owners was like …

Nocona has a tiny but refurbished downtown area – given our schedule, we stopped for a photo but didn’t really explore.  One of our party has relatives living 20 miles down the road in the tiny burg of Saint Jo, and has been familiar with Nocona Boots for decades.  Sadly the local manufacturing concern appears to have gone out of business, but someone seems to have installed a brewery in its place – not necessarily a bad thing.

Just before Wichita Falls, a little town called Ringgold seems to have given up on any sort of improvements – after a hugely destructive wildfire about 8 years ago, lack of funding and interest makes this a sad place for school-aged children.

Moving on towards Wichita Falls, we took another swing through town after decades of driving through at 85 mph.  Visible from US 287 for miles, the Attebury Grain Building in Wichita Falls begs to be photographed. Online research revealed that parts of the building are still operating while the other half falls into overgrown disrepair.

Crossing into Oklahoma, a postcard sky stretched overhead – eye-watering blue and full of puffy clouds as we drove through Burkburnett.

The local convenience store in Grandfield had coffee and 99-cent corndogs that called out to one of our party.  Another disappearing small town that seemed about ready to blow away, we wandered around what was left of their downtown area.

Decorations in front of collapsing buildings tend towards the lower end of the budget spectrum:

A frequent sight on rural farm-to-market roads across the south, this farmhouse outside Grandfield may not be standing next time we come through.

Rural Oklahoma in mid-July is a lonely place – steel-blue skies baking thousands of acres of farm and ranch land, flat as a skillet.

Our stops now were limited to tiny Oklahoma towns, places that barely exist. In Hollister, we discovered these creepy columns, remnants from an old school building that was never properly demolished.

In Frederick, we stopped for groceries at an aging United Grocery with signage from the mid-70’s, in preparation for a very remote Airbnb location. Taking a walk around the square, we tried to ignore the intense heat.

The last town before the mountains was Snyder, where the combination of midsummer heat and waves of bloodthirsty mosquitos kept the tour of the eerily silent main street short.

We arrived at the house in the early afternoon, finding a clean, pleasant place on about an acre of land, set close to the farm road but in a secluded, quiet spot.  Having been built on the frame of an early 1900’s farmhouse, the remodeling and repair was nice to see.  After unpacking, we headed out to catch the sunset over the flat Oklahoma fields. We found a spot close by with clear lines of sight towards the next set of mountains, and captured some beautiful colors as the sun sank past the horizon.

Sunday 2021 07 04

Today’s mission: bike and boat (and eat).

A loose agenda of finding outdoor activities meant room for improvisation.  The boats and bikes were still securely attached to the Kia, so there wasn’t a lot of prep necessary for the morning activities, aside from stepping over scorpions and watching for other wildlife while loading the car. We packed clothes, food and everything we needed for the day (with the exception of the critical Fitbit, which sadly was left on the charger all day, not acquiring steps or earning healthcare reimbursement funds) and headed west toward water. Not far from the house, after passing a live snake, a dead snake, and some wide open fields, we encountered a lost turtle and did our best to save it from certain death (or at least a dust bath from a passing vehicle).

Not shown is placement of the turtle in the field past the gravel.  Animal rescue complete, we got back on track. We ended up at Great Plains State Park and decided we’d start with some cycling.  Bikes unloaded, we realized that early doesn’t mean comfortable in mid-July in Oklahoma.  Extremely warm, we had originally planned a 30-mile ride around the lake, but this seemed a bit ambitious given heat and working with one torn meniscus. We opted for a shorter route down to Mountain Park and back, that looked like a reasonably flat route off the main roads. After a quiet and scenic roll downhill, we found Mountain Park was a typically deserted Oklahoma town. We heard a few dogs, and noticed some residents watching us suspiciously, as if they had never seen humans on bikes before. The resulting 12 mile loop was a nice little workout without any drama – a good start to the day.

Next, a hike sounded like fun. At least we thought that was a good idea. Unfortunately one of our party is completely irresistible to mosquitos, and also reacts aggressively to every single bite with swelling, itching, and general misery.  The terrain above the lake was beautifully rocky, with gorgeous vegetation and nice views, but also supporting a population of approximately 1 billion hyper-aggressive central Oklahoman mosquitos.  Having forgotten to bathe in DEET before the walk and with welts popping up on every exposed spot of skin, the allergic party had to call off the hike and flee for the car.  Marking the trail for visiting when temperatures were below -20F, we got back to the car and started prepping to get the boats in the water.

Given the heat and bug population we couldn’t get in the water fast enough. Fortunately, we’ve got boat prep down to a short process, so the kayak and inflatable paddle board were unloaded quickly and dragged into the cool water. 

Immediately off the ramp we were fighting heavy currents, wind and motorboats, but hoped for a break if we could get away from the launch and main channels.  Looking at the map, we saw a spot down the lake that appeared peaceful – backs to the wind and crowds, we headed that way.  Clearing the point and navigating past the marker buoys, we found some calm water leading out towards the dam, banked by scenic sandstone cliffs and capped off with a clear blue sky.  A nice break from being bled dry by mosquitos, and being on the water meant cooler temperatures.  Not quite a private lake, but a nice place to float and relax.

After the morning’s exertions, food and hydration were in order.  We stopped and dragged the boats up on a flat rock conveniently placed in a calm spot in the channel when it was time for lunch.  Planting ourselves between the water and the spider-infested shrubs and trees at the cliff’s edges, we fed some almonds to the bluegill swimming by, spotted and filmed a one-armed crayfish scooting around the water’s edge, and lost count of  the spiders in the trees behind us.

Turkey sandwiches, almonds and non-alcoholic beers consumed, we paddled back toward the boat ramp, fighting some stiff breezes.  A calm and sandy beach along the way looked appealing, but stopping for a swim proved it was less inspiring up close.

We loaded up boats and headed south out of Great Plains State Park. Excessive morning activity and only a small lunch (more of a snack) had resulted in extreme hunger, and we went in search of food. We had taken note of a burger place in Snyder driving through the day before, so we wandered over to see if it was open. Bait Shop Burgers showed open on Google, but when we drove up we were greeted with a “Closed” sign. This wasn’t surprising. We know from past experience that Oklahoma basically closes all establishments on Sundays. The day of the Lord in Oklahoma is not a day to eat.

A quick search pulled up a coffee shop in Altus that might be open and might have food. We figured it was worth a try, so we started that way, with the expected detour along the route. Headrick is another one of Oklahoma’s lost towns. On the way into Headrick, we attempted to take a follow a side road, wandering south of 62 on an old country back road. We were greeted with a “bridge closed” sign at the end of the road, forcing us to turn around and follow the route that non-exploring humans would typically use. While driving, we became curious about the lonely bridge. Turns out, it’s haunted: https://www.onlyinyourstate.com/oklahoma/haunted-bridge-in-oklahoma-ok/

Like much of the rest of this part of the state, Headrick appears to be slowly dissolving into the prairie.  Many of the buildings are abandoned, but even those with signs of life appear to be on their way out.

In Altus, we found food at White Buffalo Coffee, a great local coffee joint that in this particular location occupies a re-purposed historic car dealership.  Not only were they open on Sunday, it was cool inside and quiet, and the food was amazing – chicken salad and a chicken and bagel bun sandwich, and great coffee. Occasionally, in Oklahoma you’ll find a decent delicatessen – it’s infrequent and worth flagging any that you find for future reference.

As we wandered north, we learned that Blair, OK, is considered the “Backdoor to the Wichitas”. Who knew?

The view from the “back door” is pretty incredible – for anyone who’s driven across the tabletop flat stretches of the Texas Panhandle and western Oklahoma or eastern Colorado and Kansas, seeing these mountains standing up on the horizon is a welcome break.

We took a quick tour through Quartz Mountain State Park, scouting out the area for future boat trips.  An interesting park but appears to be pretty slammed with big ski and fishing boats, and crowded parking and swimming areas.  We did find an authentically Oklahoma pay phone:

After the detour, we headed toward Granite, where we found a sleepy little town on the edge of some rolling hills, which in Oklahoma can be called mountains.

At the north end of town, there’s a weird little cemetery tucked into a residential area: https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/comecos-cemetery. Fighting the ever-present mosquitos and suffocating heat, we hopped out of the car for some photos. It was a quick stop. We determined this wasn’t a place worth subjecting our bodies to multiple bug bites and left Granite.

On the way back to the house, we passed through Lone Wolf, Hobart and Babs before we arrived in Roosevelt. This would be the second visit. We had driven through the night before while searching for gas, but it was late and dark at that point, which made pictures difficult.

Today, the light was perfect. We found the town just as it was the day before, eerily quiet. Some quick online research had provided a back story of this strange place. It was named for Theodore Roosevelt, but not because he had ever been there or had any ties to the area. A local resident had been a rough rider with Teddy Roosevelt during the Spanish-American War, and simply admired the guy – Roosevelt it was. Teddy did visit a few years later, stopping by in 1903, providing some much needed entertainment to the residents of rural Oklahoma.

As we wandered around the streets of this town, we wondered what Teddy would think now. Not sure that Roosevelt ever thrived, but it’s in a significant state of decline now. We didn’t see any evidence of humans during our time there, but the population was recorded at 248 in 2010. There are people somewhere.

What we did see were car parts. Everywhere. Used, balding, rotting tires spill out of the empty buildings along Main Street. The old school is filled with engine parts behind broken windows, and recess would involve climbing in dead trucks. The town mascot, an enormous human-shaped thing made of tires, stands with a sign reading “Howdy” next to the old school. Unattached truck beds fill an empty lot next to an old gymnasium. As one blog states, “Roosevelt is where cars go to die.” (https://www.redriverhistorian.com/roosevelt)

It seems that several auto salvage companies have set up shop here, and have slowly taken over the entire town as a dumping ground. Random car parts are everywhere. It’s not very pretty, and brings directly to mind the concern about where the hundreds of millions of gasoline powered cars on the road will end up when or if they ever become unneeded. You have to wonder about the residents, especially young kids, living in a town where there’s no functioning school, and the town “grocery” is a gas station. Just sad, lonely, crumbling buildings filled with vehicle parts. Grim.

After touring the auto graveyard it was time to get back toward the house – we were ready for a break from cars …

The day on a map:

Back at the farm house, enormous bugs flying around the outside, trying desperately to get in the side door, we took some time to relax and fix a quick dinner of fresh farmers’ market pasta and sauce. Eating at the kitchen table while the bugs repeatedly attempted window screen suicide, we debated what else we could cram into the day.

Given central Oklahoma, on a Sunday, on a holiday weekend, the evening’s activities were probably going to be limited to … more driving. First, east to a small cemetery near the house. Racing the sunset, we made it to the lonely flagpole and (after liberal applications of mosquito repellent) wandered through the lonely gravestones. This turned out to be an inter-tribal cemetery, where names like Horse and Ma-and-Pa are carved into gravestones. Some interesting history related to the area: https://pocketsights.com/tours/place/Saddle-Mountain-Mission-and-Cemetery-23199:2855

We got back in the car after visiting the deceased and realized we might not make it anywhere else this evening. Unsurprisingly, we had neglected to watch the gas gauge during earlier rambling. We get points for consistency, dammit.

Google said, “Gas? Ha!” Without concrete results, and hoping for the best, we headed up to Mountain View. This wasn’t part of the evening’s plan, but we weren’t going to get to the house with an empty gas tank. Even if we did, it would make the morning difficult. Heading north along ruler-straight Oklahoma country roads, constantly watching the fuel level, the Kia made it to Mountain View without issue. We rolled into the first station we found, and breathed a sigh of relief (again).

While we were filling up, we heard a few loud booms. First thoughts … artillery (kidding). Looking in the direction of the main part of the town, we saw a few fireworks popping up over the houses and it occurred to us that it was the Fourth of July. Fireworks hadn’t really been part of the plan, well aware of how far we were from any decent sized towns and assuming a corresponding absence of municipal or other fireworks shows. We were soon to be proved completely wrong.

The fireworks seemed to start slowly, and appeared to be originating from several different locations throughout Mountain View. Gas tank filled, we headed west, looking for a place to stop and watch. We found the city park, and pulled the Kia over. While what appeared to be homemade shows continued to blast within a 5-mile radius, a large show was just beginning at the park. We watched as colors filled the sky, over and over again, all varieties of explosions going off all over the place. Based on the cars and trucks and RVs parked haphazardly all over the park, and hundreds of people driving, walking, sitting in lawn chairs, drinking beer, yelling, kids circulating through the park, this was some kind of informal blow-the-hell-outta-Mountain-View celebration.

As far as we could tell there wasn’t one location of origin for the fireworks. They were exploding from several different places across the park, as well as the neighborhoods surrounding the park. It was impossible to look away. We sat in awe for at least an hour. We would see what we thought was a finale, and it would get quiet for a few minutes. But then, BOOM. Another one, and another.

Capping the evening, we watched what looked like an inadvertent fire sparking up in a dumpster at the edge of the park, expanding into a genuine conflagration. No one seemed overly concerned, and I’m not sure we even heard or saw a fire truck – seemed like maybe the residents expected it to just burn out. The lack of concern and increasing randomness of launches, explosions, and brushfires convinced us it was time to leave, driving away as the show continued. We were pretty sure it would never end.

Difficult to capture in photos, but it was easily the best fireworks display we’ve ever witnessed. In the middle of rural Oklahoma no less, in a town with a population of less than 1,000. Excellent job, Mountain View. It was a nice way to end the evening. We headed back to the house, visions of fireworks dancing in our heads.

The evening drive – you may be noticing an Oklahoma theme of big squares – thanks to whatever president decided to lay graph paper on the map and draw lines:

Monday 2021 07 05

Time to head home. Not without stops, of course. The first one would involve taking the boats out. The goal this time was to locate an isolated spot for a quiet morning float. We found this in the middle of the Wichita Mountains, near some hiking trails we’d explored last winter. French Lake is nested in the woods and while not easily accessible, it wasn’t too much of a challenge to drop the boats in. Secluded, just big enough and so quiet. It was perfect.

Enough boating for the moment, but there are plenty of nice spots to get out of the car on the way out of the Wichita Mountains.

Driving east and watching the buffalo roam, then north past the Parallel Forest, through Meers, our desired lunch location was closed. We finally found food at the Lawton edition of the White Buffalo. Properly caffeinated, it was sadly time to get home. That does not mean we rushed out of state – there’s always somewhere to stop, and the next town that begged to be photographed was Loco, somewhere between Comanche and Ringling.

We found an old church and gymnasium, both of which had seen better days, and the latter of which is designated inviolate by the state. The pigeons and elements didn’t get the memo.

Heading south out of Loco, we wandered through Ringling and headed toward Rubottom. Not surprisingly, southern Oklahoma is Trump country. We’ve seen flags, posters and billboards all throughout rural Texas, but never a hand-painted water tower. It’s a sad comment on the state of political and governmental affairs that these rural citizens feel like the sociopathic fascist from Queens is the better choice of leader. Unfortunately the people in these towns and their underfunded and rapidly deteriorating infrastructure have watched decades of both sides of the aisle ignore them, and all evidence is pointing towards more of the same. At some point as long as the liar is shouting things that align with your anger and frustrations, you might as well vote for him versus the other one.

Just before the Texas border, we spotted this old building off the side of a road. There’s not a lot of information available online about this old school and the information that is available is confusing. Evidently the school was established in the 1870s, but the marker indicates an opening date of 1929. From what we could gather, the building was burned several times, and once destroyed by a tornado, but the community continued to rebuild. There is a group attempting to preserve this history: http://www.courtneyflats.com/courtney-school-1877—1928.html

The afternoon drive – slightly less square by virtue of crossing some creeks and rivers, but treading a lot of familiar ground once we crossed the Red River:

First half down – head here for the other half of the split-brained vacation.