Country Roads.(traveling rural America)(Brief Article)

Think tourism in America, and you usually think of the hurly-burly of New York, Chicago and Los Angeles. But America is not, in fact, an urban country. It is, rather, a vast land of thousands upon thousands of small towns, where values are simple and conservative, ambitions few and Starbucks nonexistent.

I was reminded of this recently, driving a lonesome highway from Oklahoma to Texas. "This is tornado season," a friend had cautioned me as I set out, adding that she'd seen six. Thinking of the dark skies and stiff winds that had whipped across the plains the day before, I asked what I should do if one came spinning my way. "Jump out of your car and lie in a ditch," she replied. "And pray."

Skirting the edge of the Great Plains, there isn't much to see except dilapidated barns, forlorn cattle and the wide-open spaces of the American West. Heading south from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma (outside of Tulsa), you pass great swaths of green pasture. Then come the cattle ranches and Native American territories of southern Oklahoma, and after that the horse farms of north Texas. Freight trains hauling coal lumber across the horizon. Spin the dial on the radio, and you can hear Bible- thumping Christian preachers and the latest cattle prices.

Sensibilities are different. Near Checotah, Oklahoma, I pass a large sign that reads concealed gun training classes, and lists a phone number. The Memorial Garden Cemetery touts its service that keeps flowers on your loved one's grave site--no need to visit. PREARRANGEMENT IS THE ULTIMATE ACT OF CARING, the cemetery billboard reads. In New York, people pay large sums to drink in bars and listen to bands. In Muskogee, Oklahoma, a bar named the Electric Cowboy offers to pay women $5 to show up on ladies' night. Long-neck beers are 75 cents. Tempting, but I keep on moving.

In rural America, jobs are few and not very lucrative. On the back of a truck near Sherman, Texas, I spot a bumper sticker that reads: CRIME DOESN'T PAY, AND NEITHER DOES FARMING. If you're not a farmer or a rancher, meager service jobs can be the only alternative: there are lots of gas stations and smoky restaurants with names like Ned's Sirloin Shack. In one austere convenience store, I made the mistake of asking the cashier for some half-and-half for my coffee. Cigarette smoke wafting around her weathered face, she fixed me with a skeptical "You ain't funny, are you?" glance, and pointed to the powdered cream. "What you see is what you git."

In the country, small-time entrepreneurs work out of their homes: in northern ...