Apparently the penance I had done on Day 1 was rewarded with a glorious, cool, dry Texas morning – the kind you get out west after a rare day of rain.
Day agenda here:
First destination of the day, Haskell, seat of Haskell County. It seems like every one of the little towns on the Texas prairie are trying to gussy themselves up and provide some point of interest that would suffice to attract tourists (tourist dollars, actually). Anything will do: the Pecan Capital of the World (San Saba); Wild Hog Capital of the World (Crowell); Fishing Capital of Texas (Port Aransas). To its credit, as far as I could tell the town of Haskell had made no effort to do any promotion beyond what it says on its web site (!):
Haskell is a slice of small-town living at its best. Here you’ll find homes nestled next to cotton fields, family owned retail shops where the owner knows you by name, as well as a community spirit rooted in family values, good-will and the future.
You have to appreciate that low-key honesty, though there’s not a whole lot in the photographic department. I may have to go back and try again…
And besides, with roads like this, between Haskell and Throckmorton, who needs any other attraction? And probably the irresistible tendency to “see what this thing will do” on roads like this must provide revenue well in excess of what tourism could produce. Luckily I was not recruited into that revenue-generating process, though I did find out that the BMW would do 128 before I spotted an oncoming car on the distant horizon and dialed it down. There was more left…
While blasting along toward the prosaically named Throckmorton, I spied a dark mass in the distance. I initially took it for a rare tree of some kind, but then formed the opinion, like looking at clouds, that the tree had somehow taken the shape of a giant cow. Giant cow indeed! It actually WAS a giant cow (bull, actually, as more careful study of the photos made clear) made of metal, standing alone out on the treeless prairie. I can understand that living out here gives rise to unusual urges…
But the “road goes on forever, the party never ends…” – thanks to Robert Earl Keen, Jr.
It may not end in, but leads to Throckmorton, seat of Throckmorton county. I guess they liked that name so much they decided to use it twice, rather than think up a different name for the town. It’s a pretty little courthouse in an area reminiscent of the Panhandle (see Trip 3) – and no, that’s not a cross on top of it, it’s a kind of compass/weathervane that LOOKS like a cross. That’s probably not accidental, though technically it’s not a challenge to the separation of church and state…
What IS, a challenge, however, is the tablet-looking (another odd coincidence) monument in front of the courthouse. It contains a verbatim transcription of the ten commandments (or Ten Commandments, if you prefer). I had thought that was no longer legal, but I’m not sure. Legal or not, it doesn’t seem to fit all that well with the principles on which the US is supposed to be based…
Another of those metal longhorns. I’m seeing a theme emerging here in Throckmorton.
Moving on along, a new creature theme emerges in the town of Seymour, seat of Baylor county (no doubt named after the Baylor of Baylor University…). Apparently the Seymour area was a hot-bed of dinosaur activity during the Permian Era around 300 million years ago – I’m not sure if the town of Seymour had been established then, though there’s some that opine that people and dinosaurs co-existed. If that’s true, then maybe Seymour WAS here then. In any case, one of the main attractions of the museum (regrettably closed this morning) is an “…adult dimetrodon femur with a chewed-off knee joint”! (Say that out loud in the accent of your choice…). Hot damn!! As if an adult dimetrodon femur ITSELF weren’t sufficient cause for interest! It seems that the dimetrodons were unfortunate in having to share Seymour county with their unruly neighbors, the T. rex. I would hope that things are more civil these days, but it’s Texas, you never know…
You don’t find many signs like this one out in front of the electric company any more…
The county courthouse is a little unassuming, but with T. rex, dimetrodon, and pterodactyls in the ‘hood, it’s probably best to keep a low profile.
It is always with apprehension that I leave the country roads for urbanized areas, but next stop on the agenda is Wichita Falls, seat of Wichita county. The whole way there I was thinking of the ’80s record by Pat Metheny and Lyle Mays, “As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls”. (Hey, don’t ask me, I didn’t make that up…) The dreamy music, however, fit perfectly…
Wichita Falls is a beautiful and well-maintained little Plains town. I was thinking that I’d like to get married and settle down there, until I recalled that that chapter of my life is now in the rear-view mirror. Oh well, it’s still fun to poke around.
This is the town hall and city cultural center – really quite spectacular.
In comparison with city hall, the county courthouse seems to have been short-changed a little. It looks like they just converted an elementary school from the Fifties to county work…
Skedaddling out of the big city as fast as possible, I headed southward for Archer City, seat of Archer county. Jesse and Frank James, with the rest of their gang, used to come stay (e.g., hide out) with a local family when things were hot up in Missouri.
The Archer City Visitor Center. No sign of the James boys…but…a stunningly realistic mural that includes, I am told, a ’54 Chevy. It’s so realistic you can barely tell, in the lower left-hand corner, the difference between painted vegetation and real vegetation.
Looks like it’s all happening at the Spur Hotel in Archer City.
Home sweet home in Archer City.
Between Archer City and the little paradise of Graham, I come to a screeching halt in front of a seemingly endless elephant’s graveyard of automotive Americana. I parked the bike and spent nearly an hour strolling along the high fence that protects this amazing place. There are too many good images to include in this travelogue – I have posted those pix separately on Google Photos – but here’s a sampler:
So I finally could drag myself away from this holy place and head on in to the little town of Graham, seat of Young county – kind of a dull name, but the most beautiful little town you never heard of.
And, I now note but overlooked at the time, a pine tree in front of the courthouse. More on that in tomorrow’s travelogue…
Courthouse detail.
A diorama in metal of cowboys on the Goodnight-Loving trail, which actually originated right here in Young county. The first drive took place in 1866, and the trail eventually went all the way to Wyoming. In the drive of 1867, the herd and herders were attacked by Comanches, and Loving died from his wounds rather than suffer an amputation.
Downtown Graham.
White on white in Graham.
More murals
Moving now eastward from Graham to Jacksboro, seat of Jack county. Along the way we see the odd sight of an Israeli flag flying along with the flags of the US and Texas. If you followed the discussion of this picture on FaceBook, you’ll now know that this way of flying the flag of another country alongside that of Old Glory stirs up quite a bit of discussion. I have to think that the person doing this fully intended it to do so…
Starting to dry out in Jack County (literally, I mean. I didn’t swear off the akkahol.)
A historical marker in Jacksboro says that a “corn club” was established here in Jack county in 1907, and that this was the forerunner of the international 4H agricultural club for rural kids. I never heard of a “corn club” before, but I’m willing to concede that it may well have been more entertaining than the alternatives out here (which were probably zero).
From Jacksboro due north to Henrietta, seat of Clay county and the beginning of the west to east run along the Red River. Horse country from start to end at the Arkansas border.
Right opposite the courthouse was a high-end gun shop, now defunct. (You’d be surprised at how many Texas towns have a gun shop across from the county courthouse – I wonder if that means anything?) I was taking photos of it, when a garrulous fellow who owned the truck started up a conversation with me. It turns out that he is a Comanche who conducts firearms and tactical training, and in addition is a weapons dealer. (I have his contact information if you need it.) We talked guns and politics and history for half an hour. The sordid tale of how the Native American tribes were treated is something that is always glossed over in the “history lessons” associated with the official monuments. In Texas, at least, the focus is always on the white heroes of the “Indian wars”, or the Mexican “banditti” (a word I first encountered in the Texas declaration of secession from the Union in 1861), or the dashing and gallant heroes of the Confederacy who fought in a “just cause”. The grimy details of actual history paint a different story than the stories that are widely purveyed as “history”. I am only conscious of knowing, slightly, one other Comanche, so this was a thought-provoking exchange for both of us. This is the kind of thing that happens on the road…
And here’s another. I’m not sure if it was also in Henrietta, but I was parked by one of the courthouses taking pictures when a fully-outfitted Yamaha Tenere 1200 whipped a quick U-turn and came back to stop near me. Now I’m pretty thoroughly equipped, but this thing had extra fuel cans, industrial-strength bags and top case, and was ready to go anywhere on earth. The guy was from Dallas, headed for Amarillo. Like me, traveling alone. Somewhere in the conversation, I mentioned that I had had another BMW in Thailand. Well, it turns out that he too has a retirement situation in Thailand, with a sweetheart from the same area as mine (Isaan), and his residence is about a hundred clicks from my ground zero. It was as if I had met my own clone! What a day! Yeah, we exchanged Thai phone numbers and I’ll probably see him next trip back.
Continuing eastward, through Nocona (of cowboy boot fame) to Montague, a sleepy little town. While I was taking photos, a man came up and I asked him how to pronounce the name of his town. How would YOU pronounce it, he retorted. Well, I said, there’s a street by this name in New York City that they call Mon Ta Gyuw. I, being from Texas, would probably call it Mon Taig. He laughed, and said that, “yeah, round-a-bouts here we call it Mon Taig”. I thanked him for giving me tools to avoid embarrassing myself in public, and he told me to be sure to catch the town of Decatur, which was two days later on my agenda.
The Chisholm Trail also passed through Montague.
Montague LOOKED like a sleepy little town, but I guess there’s no end to the mischief that people get up to. In any case, the Sheriff is ready for it.
Heading out of town, I was conscious of a vivid transition from the dry and wide open plains to greenery and grass…and humidity.
Last stop for this day was in Gainesville, a bustling little town right on Interstate 35, which is probably why it is bustling.
I ended up In Lindsay, TX, at the Lindsay Inn. I went there in honor of my daughter-in-law, Lindsay, who appreciated the fact that it was spelled correctly.
Another wonderful day on the road in Texas… Tomorrow morning, eastward bound (straight into the glaring sun…).
End of Day 2, Red River Trip