Yesterday, I received the map of Illinois that I ordered. Oddly enough, they sent me a map that describes itself as the “large print version”, even though I don’t remember ordering a large print map. Maybe they’re assuming that only old people want to visit Illinois.
I’m ordering a map of Oklahoma next. The last time drove through Oklahoma, I got sidetracked onto one of those two-lane highways that doesn’t have rest stops — it had “covered picnic areas”, which are exactly what they sound like, only smaller: A picnic table under a carport-style roof. Next time, I want a map that will keep me on the big boy roads.
Oklahoma has a frightening number of maps and brochures available, so I’m grabbing a Route 66 map and a guide to Cherokee country while I’m at it. I stopped at a Cherokee reservation when I was driving to Arizona in 1998. You know what I liked about the Cherokee reservation? All of the other reservations I drove through advertised some sort of “cultural center”, but the Cherokee billboards just advertised a “gift shop”. Apparently, the Cherokee have given up educating the White Man; they just want the money. I respect that kind of honesty.