Messin' with Texas, A Non-Event in Concho

Driving north, I came to a startling conclusion. Texas is boring. Really boring. As far as I can tell, it's North Dakota with worse weather and the Bush family. Also, the girl in the diner spoke some English-Klingon hybrid.

I'm not sure what I expected; maybe buildings shaped like cowboy hats or something.

I did see a tumbleweed and a dust devil, so that spruced up the otherwise uneventful hours and hours of driving straight north.


One full day of driving later, we arrived in Oklahoma, the only state named after a play (After Othello became part of Michigan). We left the wastelands of Texas behind us, and met up with Don once again. Instead of driving across the Forbidden Zone with us, he had taken a plane to Wisconsin, where he gave 4 lectures in 24 hours, then flew back in time to meet us in Oklahoma. He seems a little off his game, and looks more tired than I've seen him look so far. Still, you've got to admire his drive.

Since all I really do is drive, eat, sleep, drive, sprint for nine solid hours of filming, sleep, eat, drive, eat, and drive, followed by another nine-hour marathon, my basic plan is to end this trip in the best physical shape of my life -- while at the same time weighing 400 pounds. Marlin doesn't have the benefit of the nine-hour sprint, so he's decided to eat two meals a day of nothing but oatmeal and fruit. Today was the first day of the diet, and we wished him well. Breakfast: we went to a "Waffle House," thinking that would be a safe bet. They don't serve oatmeal. Pork chops were substituted. Lunch: a Breakfast-Served-All-Day Diner. "Grits" were the closest thing they had to oatmeal, and those were pretty sugared up. Some kind of chicken substituted. Dinner: Red Lobster. Diet abandoned.

The important thing was that he tried, or at least retained his good humor through the rigors of the diet.

I made the mistake(?) of deciding not to order anything at Red Lobster, and instead just eat basket after basket of the delicious biscuits they serve. It was almost certainly the best meal I've ever had, although I've been sick to my stomach for two days, now. Probably just coincidence. I hope we stop at another Red Lobster soon.

The event of the day (June 2) was officially a "non-event;" or, less diplomatically, a "drive-by." Essentially, we planned to rip through El Reno (Spanish for "The Reno"), jump out of the car, say a prayer, and be gone before anyone even knew we were there. This is not how it worked. We must have needed to be there, because the universe started bending in at the corners to make sure that we went there and stayed there. Before we were even there, we had all just accepted that this would be a much more developed event that we'd planned, even though we didn't know what it would actually be. Somehow, we needed to be there.

Here's what we found: a group had walked for 98 miles to reach this site. They asked if we would join them for the last two miles; we accepted, and unpacked our sacred objects to be carried along with. Somehow, the walk took a full hour, all the time we had originally allotted to El Reno. Once we reached the site, a little bunker about the size of a grade-school gym, we waited for another hour. Nothing was happening that I could see, but leaving just wasn't an option. We still needed to be there.


She very, very clearly thought she was in a parade every step of the way.

Eventually, Don got up and addressed the walkers, praising their commitment and then talking a little about what we were doing. The walkers then got up and addressed the rest of the audience, talking about what it was like to walk that far and what it meant to them to be here. The comical aspect is that the "rest of the audience" consisted of Don. I was filming in a corner, and the other three were occupied with something else, so the entire group was essentially talking to one person. Even so, they stood at the front of the room, passed the microphone back and forth, and the whole bit.

I filmed everything, as usual, although I doubt it will be worth anything. The room had no padding of any kind whatsoever, and as a result it echoed worse than an indoor pool. Someday I'll do this kind of work on a controlled studio, and life will be so much easier.

El Reno, for those who are interested, is composed of a mix of Arapaho and Cheyenne Indians. On a completely shallow note, this is one of the best-looking groups of people we've worked with. That's the kind of detail you aren't going to get in the press release. Arapahos are attractive. You heard it here, first.

Two interesting notes: when we drove up to El Reno, the skies opened up and buckets of rain came down. When the walk actually started (for us), the rain stopped. When we first opened up the vans to get the hoop out, handfulls of tobacco spilled out and spread out across the parking lot. Tobacco is, of course, considered to be a sacred plant; it has been the primary offering we have carried with us. Maria speculated that, for whatever reason, the prayers it represented needed to be here in this community.

So, when all was said and done, why did we need to be here? Why did we do this? Why did the tobacco need to stay behind? I don't know. I don't have any good idea what we accomplished here. However, something must have happened, because we changed our schedule without really knowing why and spent the whole afternoon there. Something got accomplished; something changed, or someone listened. I'm just not sure what happened, myself. I guess I don't really need to know.


Oklahoma City was noteworthy mostly for its ridiculous combination businesses. Maybe real estate is at a premium there, but I was particularly impressed by "Awesome Care: Veterinary and Lasers." That sounds like a great place to go to get your Weokie groomed. We also drove briefly on Garth Brooks Boulevard.

That night, we met up with the coordinators for the next day's event at a buffet. They seemed organized and genuinely excited to have us there, although we managed to tap a barely-hidden pool of rage just below the skin of the main lady. She was glad we were here, supported what we were doing, but flat-out refused to even consider the possibility of forgiving the U.S. government. Her anger was palpable, and cast an odd tone on the meeting.

It's pretty clear what Marlin means when he says that being angry is like pouring acid into your body. The U.S. government has never heard of this woman before; and if they had, they wouldn't give a second thought to her fury. She, on the other hand, wakes up every day angry. She goes through her day hating the government. She goes to bed fuming at their injustices. She's poisoned herself and done no damage whatsoever to the target of her frustration.

She apparently had just lost a battle with the other coordinators; they wanted an American flag to be posted with the state flag, the tribal flag, and the MIA/POW flag, she refused. This seems likely to cause P.R. problems for us... we'll see how it plays out.

We slept that night at a Super 8. Everyone had to enter by the front door; the side door was off its hinges and had been put back in place with packing tape. I was slightly scared to be alone in my room. It smelled like... a Super 8.

The alarm went off at 5 AM -- we've got to be present for a sunrise ceremony in Anadarko.