When you ask roadies where the West begins during Pacific-bound trips on Route 66, you’re bound to get a variety of answers.
Many cite the area west of the tiny hamlet of Gruhlkey on the edge of the Texas Panhandle. This is where the flat Caprock suddenly falls away, revealing mesas, cliffs and rock-embedded hillocks. This area serves as a preview of the astonishing New Mexico landscape.
I’ve heard author Michael Wallis mention the west side of the Arkansas River in Tulsa as the start of the West.
For much of the 19th century and a portion of the 20th, the West semi-officially began on the other side of the Mississippi River.
A few mention the canyoned ranch lands west of Alanreed, Texas.
And I’ve heard one or two cite cattle lands in the Vinita, Okla., area.
On my first Route 66 trip, I felt I got my first taste of the West a few miles on the other side of Clinton, Okla. This is where the gently rolling terrain suddenly turns steeper and Oklahoma’s red dirt is exposed in brilliant hues. The hills there look like something out of the Badlands of South Dakota or the Painted Desert of Arizona.
As far I know, these dozen or so hills nestled between Clinton and Foss are unnamed, and they last only a quarter-mile or so. But as anonymous and brief as they are, they never fail to inspire — especially in the orange glow of light about an hour or so before sundown.
On my first adult trip on Route 66, coming from Connecticut, I started to get “that Western feeling” between Vinita and Chesea, OK. And, although I drive that stretch several times a week now, the feeling hasn’t left. It’s the wide open spaces, grazing cattle, and amazing cloud formations there that do it for me.
When I rode my Sportster, I really liked the area west of El Reno.
But, looking at the above picture, I can almost see John Wayne riding in “The Seachers”.
Oklahoma has always been my cutoff — if you’re in Oklahoma, you’re in the Southwest.