 Erik
says: "Today was Jeez-a-licious!"
The sun arose over the panhandle of Texas but we did not see it.
The heavy wooden shutters of our Old
Western Room with Matching Murals kept all but the tiniest bit of sunshine
away. We arose in time to check out of the hotel and take a few last
photographs of the Big Texan. A stop at the local Harley dealership,
a pancake restaurant, and we were on the road again.
An hour outside Amarillo is Groom, Texas. The average motorist
would never notice this tiny gathering of humanity if it wasn't announced
with a giant cross rising from the  farmland.
Reaching 190 feet into the sky, the cross is manufactured of the same material
as mobile homes and appears to be supported by a similar demographic.
We pull into the parking lot at the base of the cross and a golf cart
zooms up behind us. A smiling, generic white woman brings the cart
to a halt with a spray of gravel. She hands me a small, pink paper
describing the statistics of the site (190 feet tall, 65 truckloads of
concrete for the base and so forth) and reminds me to stop by the gift
shop before I leave.
If a giant, steel siding clad cross rising above a freeway is not sufficient,
the "ministry" includes a "genuine replica" of the Shroud of Turin and
bronze sculptures for each of the  twelve
stations of the cross. (People excited by a "genuine replica" are
the same folk who keep Franklin Mint awash in orders for Limited Firing
And Individually Numbered Patriotic Thimbles.) A man-made hill holds
three small crosses. Under the hill is a replica of the "actual tomb"
complete with a bronze angel admiring the recessed lighting. I gazed
upon the genuine shroud replica for several moments and felt something
move inside me. It may have been the pancakes.
Two vans of Baptists arrive and send forth hordes of children wearing
tie-dyed shirts emblazoned with "I'm a Believer!" The children crawl
up in the bronze lap of Pontius Pilot and caress his bald, metal head.
A girl of about eight approaches me with awe in her eyes and says:
"Did you see the TOMB?" I ponder her T-shirt message. How can
a child of eight possibly know what he or she believes in? I didn't
know what to believe in until I was thirty five. By then I learned
to believe Sketchers would always have my favorite shoe in a size 13 and
Ben Affleck's career is on a permanent downswing. The rest remains
questionable.
 The
Baptists scatter to a large gravestone located near a herd of grazing cattle.
They kneel around the grave site dedicated to the victims of abortion:
the unborn innocents of the world. The children are arranged by an
adult who carefully takes a photograph of the youths and scowls when she
sees me doing the same. The Baptist mother wants the picture for
the church bulletin; I want the picture to compare to future America's
Most Wanted episodes.
If Jesus were executed today, would his followers construct 190 foot
tall electric chairs or gurneys next to the freeway? Would Christian
folk dangle golden syringes or silver cyanide tablets around their necks
as a sign of faith? Would the Shroud of Turin look more like a black
plastic bag and the most sought after relic be a toe tag? Would we
recognize Jesus or just consider him another candidate for Zoloft?
 Leaving
Groom's giant cross, we spy a sign for Blessed Mary's Amer-Tex-Mex Restaurant.
The bottom of the sign says "Freely Receive Freely Give." This must
have something to do with tipping.
The rest of the Texas Panhandle is pretty unremarkable.
We reach Oklahoma and stop at the Welcome Center. Oklahomans (or
Oklahowomans for the fiercely correct) are very polite folk. Even
the urinals in the men's room are located in stalls. No peaking over
a panel in Oklahoma.
A full twenty five percent of Oklahomans (Oklahowomans) are professed
Southern Baptists. A truck stop church invited "Truckers and Tourists"
to visit. The church includes a "Rockatorium" for young travelers.
With the church as a backdrop, a dirty mechanic cruises me while arguing
with his girlfriend about repairing the tires on his truck.
 Our
hotel room in Oklahoma City overlooks the local Hooter's Restaurant.
Neither Erik nor I had ever been in Hooter's, so we went across the parking
lot to ogle breasts with Baptist office workers taking a late lunch.
Hooter's smells like Ikea: pressboard and cheap metal fasteners.
The girls are young and skinny and were slightly annoyed that we gave their
bouncing bazoombas nary a glance. Checking out guys is easy in Hooters.
All the men are busy staring at girls so they don't notice the gay boys
checking out the men.
We finished our night at the local mall watching the new Vin Diesel
film. My summary: skip it.
Tomorrow
we are going to visit the Oklahoma City Memorial (the brochure promises
we will find Strength and Peace there). Ten minutes later, we're
off to explore the rest of this Flyover Jewel.
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Big Texan, Amarillo, Texas
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Big Texan, Amarillo, Texas
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Big Texan, Amarillo, Texas
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Cross at Groom, Texas
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Genuine Replica of the Shroud of Turin
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Angel looking at recessed lighting
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Baptists and unborn children
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Blessed Mary's Amer-Tex-Mex
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Welcome to Oklahoma
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Truckers and Tourists Welcome
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