Springfield, Missouri — Green. I’ve spent most of my life in the deserts of the southwestern United States and I always marvel at how green the landscape is nearly everywhere else I go. And here in Springfield, where it rained heavily last night, it has just begun to rain again. I hear the drops hitting the window of the room Owen and I have taken in the Holiday Inn.
Tired. Having driven about 850 miles in two days, I am tired. It’s been, and will continue to be, freeway all the way, following what was once Route 66. The road has been good and fast, the great Penske land-caravel a reliable machine. Bright yellow, too, for easy visibility.
Many stretches of the freeway have had lane closures and speed reductions due to work being done on them. If I am figuring right, this is the application of federal infrastructure money. It is nice to see it at work.
As with the Texas panhandle, Oklahoma’s plains are also sprouting wind farms. A car dealership in Tulsa had two huge flags, one American and one Oklahoman. The Will Rogers Turnpike was straight and smooth and not terribly expensive, and well-patrolled by the Oklahoma State Police.
People all along the way have been good. Owen has been a great help, watching the truck’s blind spots, managing the truck’s music, helping find lodgings, conversing with me, and keeping me on an even keel. I would not want to be on this trek alone.
Tomorrow’s goal: Bloomington, Illinois.