When we cross the border from Missouri into Oklahoma it is a different world. The landscape changes and so do the people. Most of them are friendly, many are naturally funny and many are true salt of the earth folks. Most we see are very optimistic.
We were traveling through the four states region on Friday, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma and at the end of the night, Inebriation. The day started with a whim, why not shed Missouri and head to Kansas where they just opened a new casino? I dialed up Google maps and found a path to Pittsburg, Kansas. Much of the trail was on the old route 66, the once described “mother road” from Chicago to Los Angeles. It sounded like an adventure in the making. We were sailing along through beautiful, mostly flat fields and croplands enjoying the scenic drive, when suddenly I see a detour sign. Blockades were up and there was the middle part of a bridge missing. Detour signs are never good. I had my little Google map on a piece of paper and it only had one way marked, but now we are gliding through the woodlands, over hills and by the shore, traveling through the jungle on the “Wabash Cannonball.” We were snaking one way then another so there was no way I could keep track of where we were heading. We would be on one road, but the signs would say we were headed south on 37 and west on 96; it’s one road, one lane on each side so we could not be going in two vastly different directions. We finally ended up in Carthage, Mo. which appears to be a historic, pretty town, but not what I wanted to poke through at 30 mph and not knowing where I would end up on the other side (assuming there was an other side.) We finally got to the edge of town and there was only one egress and that was (I believe) interstate 471 heading south when we wanted to be heading west. We finally found interstate 44 west and we were back on track, unfortunately 25 miles south of Pittsburg, but at least I knew where I was and could dead reckon my way toward that Kansas casino.
The point of the trip was so I could play the game of craps, which is not allowed in Oklahoma. We found the Kansas Crossing casino and I was all atwitter wanting to belly up to the craps table and roll those bones for the first time in over 10 years. There seemed to be a small crowd there from Oklahoma. How did I know that, you might ask? There was one shooter who knew nothing about the game and the rest were just watching because they evidently never saw the game before. They wandered off and I was at the table by myself with 3 dealers and the banker.
Long about 2:45 pm we left Kansas Crossing headed for Oklahoma and the slightly famous Buffalo Run casino and hotel. We got there about 3:30, but had no hotel reservation, so I pulled into the loading area so Joyce could go to the front desk and inquire about a room. We were not sure there would be one available. Joyce finally came rushing out of the hotel saying, “I had to get a suite. It was the last room available; it’s 300” and she then rushed away. There I sat in the car thinking there is no way she paid $300 for a one night stay, why would she do that? It turned out that the suite was just $10 more than the regular room and that Joyce was saying room 300. I was quite relieved. We got settled into our room and by then it was 4 pm and just in time for happy hour at the casino.
We walked over to the casino, grabbed a beer and started to play. We had another beer and continued to play. We had another beer and continued to play until late into the evening. Finally our luck ran out so we headed to Joe’s Outback for some late supper. The meal filled our stomachs, but did little to reduce the effects of the alcohol. I do not know how Joyce can drink so much and still maintain seemingly normal composure, but as we rounded a corner to travel past the bar, I was three sheets to the wind when suddenly I hear this angelic chorus ringing out “Joyce, Joyce, Joyce.” Now my name is not Joyce, but she was close in tow. My head turned and there at the bar were two angelic creatures, with bright smiles, perfect hair, expertly done makeup. At first I did not recognize them (how does one recognize an angel from a distance in a dimly lit bar area?) But these angels were waving with bottles of beer in their hands and calling Joyce so I just set my course to intercept them and to get a closer look. It turned out we did know them, have known them for years, but only ever saw them in their work uniforms, not their after work going out on the town gear. The only thing the Victoria’s secret models had over these two angels was the wings. We were sure happy to see them.
I am not sure if I should reveal their identities, but they know who they are and they will read this little story.
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