29Aug08 Just stayed in place @ Hinton, OK
29AUG08
My spot, although level, was not an approved campsite, so first thing I needed to do this morning was move.
Red Rock is a neat little State Park, originally used by the Plains Indians to escape the winter winds in Oklahoma. If you are not looking for it as you drive south on Rt 8 out of Hinton you will surely miss it as it cuts down into the earth and twists out of sight. It is like one of those rows in a corn field as you drive by at 70mph. If there are many rows the optical illusion is that you can look down the space between plants, but if there is only one row it is gone before your mind can register it was there.
As the name describes the rock on either side of the canyon is varied hues of red, and there is a nice little flowing stream at the bottom which allows for lush green grass and a little fishing pond. OK has also installed a regular swimming pool for the summer months along with a gee-dunk (Navy term for hot-dog/candy stand) run by local charities.
Hinton is an agricultural town, so traffic consists of pick-ups, tractors and tank trucks carrying either fuel or ominous looking liquids out to the farms. The local breakfast/lunch/dinner spot was inside the Philipps 66 station north of town. Out front were the gas/diesel pumps, inside to the left was the store with a little bit of everything and anything the feed/lumber next door didn't carry, and to the right was the coffee and grill area. In the middle of it all was ONE clerk, a young woman in her 20's who ran it all seamlessly and efficiently - even when the high school girls basketball team came in for their post practice brunch. She appeared unfazed by the volume of traffic, and, like a traffic cop, was clear in her instructions to keep things moving. There was no sense about her that she felt overworked or put upon to be at work, rather (and this is totally subjective on my part) that she was glad to have a job.
As in Great Falls, a couple of the tables were occupied by senior members of the community, whose skin gave witness to the power of the sun and elements in the area. These were the real deal farmers/ranchers whose cowboy hats were stained with salt and sweat, and with four to a table the brims about touched in the middle as they leaned in for conversation. Pure efficiency and no wasted movement. Only their eyes tracked the basketball players in their shorts and tank tops as they circled the cash-register.
I was to find out that due to circumstances beyond their control only one of my buds could make it up for the camp-out. Late in the afternoon Hal P. pulled into town on his R65LS, and after unloading his bags and baggage we went into town for pizza and a couple beers. On the way back we nearly cleared a well defined rain shower at the Park entrance, and on the advice of the Boy Scout Troop which had moved in next to us in our absence moved the tent yet again to higher ground.
Previously in my blog I've noted the different neighbors one can get in campgrounds. The bonfire building tree destroying country western loving beer drinking hell raisers, the domestic disturbing voice raising women and children crying families, and so on. But I think of them all the worst are the Troops of Boy or Girl Scouts and their 'adult' leadership; for while they are relatively quiet and relatively respectful, there is a continuous stream of questions and activities and periodic shouts attendant to the troopers, and always one, sometimes two of the adults who insist on engaging in unnecessarily lout conversations about their own personal saga, introduced and then disguised as the history of the area or of troop activities. They will pontificate and expound to any who will appear to listen, and to all who don't. It never stops. Because they are Scouts of America you feel a little guilty at hating them for it.
But you do.
My spot, although level, was not an approved campsite, so first thing I needed to do this morning was move.
Red Rock is a neat little State Park, originally used by the Plains Indians to escape the winter winds in Oklahoma. If you are not looking for it as you drive south on Rt 8 out of Hinton you will surely miss it as it cuts down into the earth and twists out of sight. It is like one of those rows in a corn field as you drive by at 70mph. If there are many rows the optical illusion is that you can look down the space between plants, but if there is only one row it is gone before your mind can register it was there.
As the name describes the rock on either side of the canyon is varied hues of red, and there is a nice little flowing stream at the bottom which allows for lush green grass and a little fishing pond. OK has also installed a regular swimming pool for the summer months along with a gee-dunk (Navy term for hot-dog/candy stand) run by local charities.
Hinton is an agricultural town, so traffic consists of pick-ups, tractors and tank trucks carrying either fuel or ominous looking liquids out to the farms. The local breakfast/lunch/dinner spot was inside the Philipps 66 station north of town. Out front were the gas/diesel pumps, inside to the left was the store with a little bit of everything and anything the feed/lumber next door didn't carry, and to the right was the coffee and grill area. In the middle of it all was ONE clerk, a young woman in her 20's who ran it all seamlessly and efficiently - even when the high school girls basketball team came in for their post practice brunch. She appeared unfazed by the volume of traffic, and, like a traffic cop, was clear in her instructions to keep things moving. There was no sense about her that she felt overworked or put upon to be at work, rather (and this is totally subjective on my part) that she was glad to have a job.
As in Great Falls, a couple of the tables were occupied by senior members of the community, whose skin gave witness to the power of the sun and elements in the area. These were the real deal farmers/ranchers whose cowboy hats were stained with salt and sweat, and with four to a table the brims about touched in the middle as they leaned in for conversation. Pure efficiency and no wasted movement. Only their eyes tracked the basketball players in their shorts and tank tops as they circled the cash-register.
I was to find out that due to circumstances beyond their control only one of my buds could make it up for the camp-out. Late in the afternoon Hal P. pulled into town on his R65LS, and after unloading his bags and baggage we went into town for pizza and a couple beers. On the way back we nearly cleared a well defined rain shower at the Park entrance, and on the advice of the Boy Scout Troop which had moved in next to us in our absence moved the tent yet again to higher ground.
Previously in my blog I've noted the different neighbors one can get in campgrounds. The bonfire building tree destroying country western loving beer drinking hell raisers, the domestic disturbing voice raising women and children crying families, and so on. But I think of them all the worst are the Troops of Boy or Girl Scouts and their 'adult' leadership; for while they are relatively quiet and relatively respectful, there is a continuous stream of questions and activities and periodic shouts attendant to the troopers, and always one, sometimes two of the adults who insist on engaging in unnecessarily lout conversations about their own personal saga, introduced and then disguised as the history of the area or of troop activities. They will pontificate and expound to any who will appear to listen, and to all who don't. It never stops. Because they are Scouts of America you feel a little guilty at hating them for it.
But you do.
posted by Randy Masters at 4:48 PM
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