There were trucks. Lots and lots of trucks.

Not here. Down the road, where I spotted the Uniroyal Tire sign and old gas station that had morphed over the years to the man's mechanical repair shop. You could tell it had been a gas station by the castle-tower-like formation of the roof. At one time it was also a bar where a famous country singer, in his salad days, cut his teeth on hammering out the perfect stage presence.

The man's knuckles were torn and slightly bloody; his overalls gave off the sheen of well-absorbed axle grease and his gray hair was laying order in several different directions. But his smile was friendly, and behind the thick-rimmed glasses his eyes were lively and curious. There was power and calm authority in his voice as I watched him explain a repair to the 18-wheeler road warrior who had come to him, seeking help for his rig.

We talked for a bit about the history of the station, and then he let me know that a single owner lives in the Cotton Boll and has made it his home. Across the street are the city municipal buildings - water, police - all the services that keep a town like Canute running.

Up and down the Route here are more repurposed buildings. A different motel, also used as a residence. Another gas station, same story.

I came back the next day, after spending the night in Elk City, hoping for a better photo here. A flash of orange slowed down in the middle of the road; it was my friend from the day before, heading off for truck parts in a different city.

October 4, 2012