Dateline: Amarillo, TX

 

Texas. As a friend pointed out, it looks pretty plain

On the morning of April 19, 1995, Timothy McVeigh, a right-wing nutbar, parked a rented van packed with explosives outside the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. The ensuing blast resulted in the deaths of 168 innocent people, 19 of whom were children who were killed in an onsite day care center. This country's worst incident of domestic terrorism is poignantly told in the Oklahoma City National Memorial Museum, which we visited this morning. The displays are laid out in chronological order, and the exhibits (and those who were part of that terrible day) are allowed to speak for themselves, without any mawkish appeals to visitors' emotions. The federal building can be seen in the bottom of the photo on the wall:

Paranoid white supremacist publications influenced McVeigh and co-conspirator Terry Nichols:

If anything, hate has since moved into the mainstream, thanks to the likes of Breitbart, Fox News, MAGA et al:

The most terrifying part of the exhibit is an audio recording of a meeting that was taking place in a building across the street that was interrupted by the blast. TV screens show the first images broadcast on local stations:

Heart-wrenching:

The license plate recovered from the rented van:

The shirt McVeigh was wearing at the time of his arrest:

The story behind the most iconic image of the event, a Pulitzer Prize-winning photo:

Support and sympathy from all over the world:

One of the most riveting exhibits is the actual car McVeigh was driving when he was arrested. An Oklahoma State Trooper noticed the 1977 Mercury Marquis without a rear license plate, and pulled the car over. When he discovered McVeigh was carrying concealed weapons, the officer placed him under arrest. This took place only 90 minutes after the bombing:

McVeigh was executed by lethal injection in June 2001. Nichols was sentenced to life in prison:

The site of the Murrah building is now a memorial park:

168 empty chair sculptures sit silently facing the museum:

It was a very sobering morning:

Life goes on, and so we left Oklahoma City and resumed our westward journey on I-40. We stopped for lunch at Sid's Diner in El Reno:

El Reno is home to the fried onion burger - I had mine with bacon and cheese, and washed it down with a banana milkshake. Comfort food for the road:

El Reno and Sid's Diner are located on the fabled Route 66, the road that connected Chicago with Los Angeles in the days before the interstate highway system was built. Oklahoma has more miles of the original route than any other state, and several times we left the freeway to drive on short stretches of the iconic highway:

This particular stretch between Hydro and Weatherford dates from the 1930's and feels like it hasn't been maintained much since then:

As we approached the Texas border, Shu-E found an interesting site on her phone - a tiny, one-roomed cinderblock jail built at the end of the 19th century. Inside were some photos of famous Old West outlaws, none of whom were ever guests of this establishment:

Propped up against the front is a slab dedicated to the Texola High School Class of 1938:

Texola, with an estimated population of around 35, is on the verge of becoming a ghost town. Opposite the jail is this creepy-looking property. With all the hallmarks of a Stephen King story (lacking only a Maine setting), we quickly returned to the safety of Interstate 40:

Soon after crossing into Texas, my wife's backseat research efforts led us to the Leaning Tower of Texas:

Pausing at a rest area and taking in the vastness that is the largest state in the Lower 48:

Despite the warning signs, I made my daughter join me in climbing up to the top for a better view. To her relief, we didn't encounter any rattlers going up or coming down:

It's good to be home (see below):

Soon after 1730 hours, we reached Amarillo and decided to call it a day. The hotel where we're currently ensconced has helpfully provided some fun local facts:

That glass of Leinenkugel's was well-earned:

We ended this day by visiting the Cadillac Ranch, ten classic American cars which have been embedded in the ground in Amarillo since 1974:

Most of the visitors there were adding their spray-painted contributions:

So why does this Californian feel he's "back home" in Texas? Well, after living the first three years of my life as an army brat in West Germany, Fort Hood in Killeen, Texas became my first stateside residence. During the year or so we spent there, to my mother's horror I came home from preschool saying "y'all", in the process swapping my English accent for a Texan one. Whatever Lone Star identity I had developed by the age of four wouldn't survive the subsequent family move to civilian life in sunny southern California.