Paris, TX

If you don’t know where you’re going, you can’t get lost. I’m sure somebody else has already said that, but, if they haven’t, they should have. (As I think about it, this could easily be a philosophy of life – not “should be”, but “could be”). Several times today I’ve had no idea where I was, but I wasn’t lost. It helps if you’re not in a hurry, too. These are certainly basic principles for a road trip.

Oh, and by the way, I know all about Fate – I’ve been there today. Well, through it, really. And it’s definitely not all it’s cracked up to be.

I felt like going to Paris for lunch (as you do), so headed out on Interstate 30 towards Texarkana. I mention the highway names only for Henry, since he loves looking at maps, and I owe him a map of Texas. I pulled off to visit the “Ammo Depot”, since I’d never been inside a gun shop before. I admitted to the owner that I had no intention of buying anything, since I could hardly take it home. This didn’t bother him in the least, and he was happy just to talk about the guns he had for sale. I relinquished his attention when he needed to serve a young-ish female customer who wanted to buy a 9mm Beretta. Scary.

Not the Eiffel Tower

Jesus

Back on the highway, I cut off north on Route 24 towards Paris. I know you don’t want to hear me going on about “Historic Downtown Paris”; suffice it to say I was not disappointed. Does Paris have a replica of the Eiffel Tower? You need hardly ask. It also has, in a very large local cemetery, a statue of Jesus, complete with cross, with his raiments hiked up just far enough that you can see his cowboy boots. There are some who would disapprove of messing with religious icons, but the truth is that we don’t know what kind of shoes Jesus wore, and, in my experience, cowboy boots are very comfortable. To paraphrase the poet Rod McKuen: “It doesn’t matter who you believe, or how you believe, but that you believe”.

At the entrance to the cemetery was a roadside shack: Mike’s BBQ. I have to tell you that, if you’re ever in Texas and want to try real Texas food, forget all the Tex-Mex and fast food chains, and go for BBQ. I had a sliced beef sandwich, which is thickly sliced, very tender, slowly grilled beef, slathered in home-made BBQ sauce, and served in a hamburger bun. Plain iced water, or ice-tea is the preferred accompaniment. A hamburger will never be a match for a real Texas BBQ beef sandwich.

BBQ Hut

Downtown Hugo

Since I was now only 20 miles south of Oklahoma, I headed north to Hugo. I couldn’t decide if the town center was half-renovated, or half-dilapidated. I crossed the Red River into Oklahoma and the Choctaw Nation. (Historical aside: in America’s bloodstained history (no less bloodstained than our own, I should add), Andrew Jackson forced the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek and Seminole tribes to abandon their homes east of the Mississippi and move to the “Indian Territory”, of which Oklahoma is part; this enforced removal is commonly known as the “Trail of Tears”). Then west on Route 70, through Soper, the home of the world champion bull-rider, who hopefully doesn’t live there any more, since it has nothing to commend it. At Durant, I turned south towards Dallas on Route 75, and cut across back to the hotel on Route 121.

A round trip of 250 miles or so, but then it’s not every day you get to say you had lunch in Paris.