Nearing the end of summer road trip - Part 3

After an eerily quiet night in the cabin, we woke up 4 deep in our queen size bed as both of the girls couldn't resist the close proximity at which Mommy and Daddy's bed was to their futon sleeper (at home they have to make their way down the stairs and across the entire length of the house to get to our room).

A few rounds of family bed wrestling and "pin-Daddy-if-you-can" worked the kinks out of my back and we were soon off in the family truckster to sample a veritable plethora of fried pies to satisfy our breakfast cravings. Just off Exit 51 near Davis, we followed the roadway signs to "Original Fried Pies," located in a Sinclair gas station.

S knew about this place but I and the girls had never sampled these evil-Bobby Hill-loving Oklahoman delicacies.

I'll not twist fate cruelly here and describe in detail the unique, tender and flaky crust that melts in your mouth like so much butter on a tall stack of hot off the griddle hotcakes.

I'll refrain from describing the monstrously delectable offerings of fruit, cream, nut, or hearty meal ready fillings that slither off the wall board menus and into your short term memory.

Nary will pass from my lips any or all description of the laughably reasonable prices, terrific view of the pie making operation, bevy of friendly folk both in front of (fried pies make people happy) and behind the counter.

Instead, I'll let this fella tell you about them.

A few minutes drive from the Fried Pies eatery is a must unusual animal/amusement park called the Arbuckle Wilderness, which is, in my opinion, the most underrated family attraction in the entire state.

If you're worried about watching your daughters scream out in joy at the sight of a dozen water buffalo blocking the road, then this place sucks.

If you're afraid of wild animals possibly scratching the finish on your car with their tough hides, bony horns, or stained teeth, then this place sucks.

If you're more concerned with retaining that "new car smell" in your ride than you are with having the odoriferous offerings of the bad breath of dozens of animals invade your space, then this place sucks.

If you have a fear of exotic animals sticking their entire head into your car to retrieve a food pellet from you, then this place sucks.

If you're scared of having close encounters with zebras, ostriches, yaks, emu, gazelle, a rhino, giraffes, tigers, water buffalos, and camels, then this place sucks.

If you have nightmares of your wife laughing hysterically in the passenger seat next to you as a pair of emus pecks their way to the bottom of her feed cup, then this place sucks.

If you'd rather have bamboo slivers shoved in the soft fleshy tissue between your toes rather than getting close enough to a rhino to look directly into his eyes, then this place is most definitely not for you.

For us however, this place rocked our world and left an indelible impression on all of us.

We left this wonderama of wildlife and wooliness as the dinner hour approached since we were afraid if we didn't feed the girls soon, they'd start snackin' on some of the pressed and dried animal feed pellets that the last PUSHY ostrich pecked out of S' feed cup and tossed around the back seat.

Needing to procure a log or two (or ten) for the campfire, we first trekked into the local Walmart for some essential cookin' over the fire utensils as well as representative packaged items from the 4-food groups.Meat - hot dogs (hard pressed to find Hebrew National Kosher dogs in OK, so we made do with all beef Bar-S - local Okie brand).
Bread - buns
Fruit and Veggie - mustard and relish (that's a stretchhhhhhhhhhh)
Dessert - marshmallows, chocolate bars and cinnamon graham crackers.What, dessert isn't one of the 4 food groups? Alas, the failings of a public education.

While procuring the marshmallows from the baking aisle, we asked a blue-vested employee where we could find some firewood. Not her, but another helpful Walmart employee chimed in with the location and directions to a fella on the highway that sells firewood by the truckload, the rick or by the piece.

But he only takes cash. The heathen.

Turns out the wood salesman was a divey-motor hotel manager on the main highway through town, who gave us 20 pieces of good "camp-fire burnin'" stuff for $5.00 American...even loaded it into our buggy for us.

That night we all took turns poking the fire, eating our dogs, watching puffy white sugar plums turn to flame, laughing, singing, cuddling, and enjoying our doing-something-out-of-the-ordinary family time.

Cro-mag man never had it so good.