Soon we rolled into the driveway at Clark’s parents’ house for a quick visit. After his mother gave me a bunch of Clark’s old books without his permission we were on our way over to where Clark’s house closer to down town Tulsa. The neighborhood was quiet and comfortably run-down. It was reminiscent of what I remember of growing up close to downtown Salem. We spent a whole day just resting and relaxing. Bob and I washed our socks in the sink in Clark’s bathroom which rendered every visit to the head that day a gag inducing foot-odor festival. Clark treated us to some of his patented cooking which was a welcome break from our mostly gas station and fast food diet of the past few weeks since leaving the Appalachian Trail. Some ingredients were purchased at the friendly local mystery food mart called the Jackalope. The Jackalope market is an experience in itself – having the amazing ability to stock only one half of a meal at a time. Peanut butter, but no jelly. Pasta, but no sauce. Hot dog buns, but no hot dogs. Another visit provided the experience of watching a crackhead lady question everyone who would listen about where the owner was. Unfortunately we missed the ribs the day of our fist visit.