Ali and I left Independence, Missouri not long after closing time at the Harry Truman museum – and headed for state number 5 on this trip, Oklahoma. The next stop was actually the city of Tulsa; although it’s a sensible next stopping point on the route south, we chose it primarily so that we could bellow this song at each other all the way through Sunday.
The journey there was probably the most memorable thing about it.
We were way behind schedule and facing yet another 4-hour drive, the tail end of which would be in the dark. So I put the foot down a little, probably nudging 80 mph, on what we’re pretty clear interstate roads…
Within what could only have been about 15 mins into Oklahoma state itself, I saw the flashing blue lights of a police car right behind us and a clear instruction that we pull over.
The most annoying part was the lame theatre of it all:
…the pulling up behind our car.
…the internal car light going on.
…the purposeful removal of a handheld device from behind the visor.
…the two or three minute wait for any other movement.
…the silent thrust of “I’m in charge…”
I was shitting it though. Chris Dean had warned us that the police were overzealous in these parts and that they’ll dole out fines and penalties all day long.
As he approached, I was expecting a grilling, a heavy dose of sarcasm and a lighter wallet. I did exactly as I was told: answering his questions clearly and honestly, admitting I was in the wrong and apologising for what was only a few minutes of being over the speed limit. He asked for and got my driver’s licence and he strode off back to his car.
But it seems Eric (that was his name) and I had at least one thing in common: baulking at paperwork. I reckon my UK Driving Licence threw up a pile of chaos that his device or he simply couldn’t process without days of administrative bullshit. Within minutes he was back, telling us to slow down, don’t do it again and to take care….
The following morning we spent a pleasant few hours wandering round the city of Tulsa. A decent breakfast at least, at the frankly fascistic sounding “First Watch”.
An ok lunch at ‘MainStreet’ (who the hell would call their business that?).
And in between those, spotting amusingly-spruced cars…
…and a trip to the Oklahoma Jazz Museum.
Some lovely bits and pieces and photos there, all honouring Oklahoman born musicians (not just jazz but blues and soul) and others who passed through.
Like many of these towns and cities, Oklahoma and Tulsa were prisoners of geography – popular places because they were stopping off points between New Orleans and Kansas and then further north.
I really loved this fantastic Jazz tree, showing how this obscure black music at the turn of the last century defined what listened to for the next 120 years.
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