by Dan Gutman
While the others slept, Mrs. McDonald spent the next two hours with a guidebook, a map of Oklahoma, and her laptop computer. In the morning, after the presents, singing “Happy Birthday,” and a quick continental breakfast, they piled into the car and drove a very fast eighty miles north to Tahlequah, Oklahoma.
Usually, Mrs. McDonald was telling her husband to slow down and observe all the speed limit signs. Not today.
“Faster, Ben!” Mrs. McDonald kept urging. “You drive like a glacier!”
“I’m doing seventy miles an hour,” Dr. McDonald complained. “If I go any faster, we’re gonna get pulled over.”
“Why did you buy a Ferrari if you didn’t want to drive fast?” she replied.
“What’s your rush?” asked Dr. McDonald. “We’ve got all day.”
“Floor it, Dad!” Coke hollered from the backseat.
It only took an hour and a half to reach Tahlequah, in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains. Just outside town, Mrs. McDonald directed them to a little ranch house, which appeared to be abandoned. Dr. McDonald parked across the road and they walked around back, where there was a metal shed.
“This place is creepy,” Pep said.
On the ground to the left of the shed was a large tombstone. It looked like it had once been standing up, but somebody knocked it over. This is what it said on the tombstone. . . .
Mister ED
“Who’s Mister Ed?” Coke asked.
“You never heard of Mister Ed?” his mother replied.
When the twins shook their heads no, both parents spontaneously broke into a silly song that began with the words “A horse is a horse, of course, of course. . . .”
Once again, I wish I could give you all the lyrics, but financial considerations as well as personal laziness prevent that from happening. Instead, go to YouTube and search for “Mister Ed theme song.”
Go ahead, we’ll wait for you here.
“Mister Ed was my favorite show when I was a kid,” said Dr. McDonald.
“They made a TV show about a talking horse?” Coke asked.
“Well, he only talked to Wilbur, his owner,” explained Dr. McDonald.
“Sometimes he talked on the phone too,” Mrs. McDonald added. “I heard they made him talk by putting a nylon thread in his mouth and pulling on it.”
The tombstone had an etching of Mister Ed poking his head through a barn door. Mrs. McDonald took some photos and explained that Mister Ed’s original name was Bamboo Harvester.
“So, there’s a horse buried under here?” Coke asked.
“Yes, but nobody is sure it’s Mister Ed,” Mrs. McDonald told them. “Some people say he died in 1970 in California. Others say he died here in Oklahoma, in 1979.”
“With all due respect, Mom,” Pep said, “a TV show about a talking horse sounds really dumb to me.”
“You’re lucky you never saw My Mother the Car,” said Dr. McDonald.
“And they say today’s TV shows are lame,” Coke said, shaking his head.
“Okay, let’s go, gang,” Mrs. McDonald announced.
“That’s it?” asked Coke. “I wanted to look around.”
“Sorry,” his mother said. “It’s my birthday and what I say goes.”
In no time they were pushing the speed limit on Route 62 West, heading for downtown Muskogee. They made it in half an hour. Dr. McDonald found a parking spot a block from Three Rivers Museum. But they didn’t go inside the museum. Mrs. McDonald walked over to a bronze statue of a little girl out front.
“Behold!” she said with a sweep of her arm. “The site of the first Girl Scout cookie sale!”
The statue was of a Girl Scout, with her sash covered in merit badges, and three fingers raised. There were four boxes of Girl Scout cookies at her feet. Mrs. McDonald pulled out her camera to shoot photos for Amazing but True. A few people ducked out of the way to avoid getting into the shot.
“Oh man!” Coke whined. “We drove all the way over here to see this?”
“Today is Mom’s day,” his father whispered, pulling him to the side. “So we’re going to do whatever Mom wants to do. No complaining, understand?”
Mrs. McDonald explained that just five years after Juliette Gordon Low started Girl Scouting in 1912, the first Girl Scout cookies were sold in Muskogee, Oklahoma. The Mistletoe Troop baked the cookies themselves, and the profits were used to send gifts to American soldiers fighting in World War I.
The family had only been looking at the statue for a few minutes when Mrs. McDonald abruptly announced it was time to “blow this pop stand.”
Following her, the family hopped in the car and drove sixty-eight miles, mainly on I-40 West, to the town of Okemah. It took about an hour. A mile off the exit, Mrs. McDonald directed them to Highland Cemetery. After a few minutes of searching, she found what she was looking for.
“Behold!” she said grandly.
“What is this?”
It was an ordinary-looking tombstone of a woman named Barbara Sue Manire. But right next to it, sticking out of the granite, was something you wouldn’t expect to see in a cemetery—a parking meter.
On the meter were the words: 64 YEAR TIME LIMIT. TIME EXPIRED.
“She died on her sixty-fourth birthday,” Mrs. McDonald said solemnly. “Her time ran out.”
“The parking meter was invented right here in Oklahoma, y’know,” Coke said. “A guy named Carl Magee patented it in Oklahoma City, in 1935.”
“Only a true dork would know that,” Pep said.
“Don’t call your brother a dork,” her father warned.
“Okay, let’s get out of here,” Mrs. McDonald said, putting away her camera.
“Can we go someplace for lunch now?” Coke asked when they were back in the car. “I’m starved.”
“Have a sandwich,” she said, flipping two into the backseat. “No time for stops today. Hit the gas, Ben!”
Heading west, it took less than an hour to reach the famous Route 66. When they saw the sign, Dr. and Mrs. McDonald broke into song again, warbling the classic “(Get Your Kicks on) Route 66.”
YouTube it. Dozens of people have recorded this song. I recommend the Nat King Cole version.
Before the interstate highway system was built, Route 66 was the longest road in America, and was called “the Mother Road.” Just two lanes, it stretched 2,500 miles, all the way from Chicago to Los Angeles.
Mrs. McDonald directed them along Route 66 to what looked like an old gas station in the tiny town of Warwick. It was a gas station a long time ago. Today, it’s the Seaba Station Motorcycle Museum.
“Choppers are cool!” Coke said as he rushed inside.
The museum has more than sixty vintage motorcycles dating back to 1908, as well as racing uniforms, magazines, posters, parts, tools, toys, signs, and an Evel Knievel pinball machine. But almost as soon as they walked in the door, Mrs. McDonald was hurrying the family out again.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” she shouted. “You’ve seen one motorcycle, you’ve seen ’em all.”
By this time, Coke and Pep had almost completely forgotten that for much of this trip, a team of psychos had been trying to kill them.
Only nineteen miles west of the motorcycle museum, they came to another old gas station along Route 66, in the picturesque town of Arcadia. This one still pumps gas, but it is also a convenience store and restaurant called Pops. Standing in front of it is “Bubbles”—the world’s largest pop bottle.
“It is . . . huge!” Mrs. McDonald said as she reached for her camera.
The bottle is sixty-six feet tall. (That is, if you include the giant straw sticking out the top.) If they had been there at night, the McDonalds would have seen it glowing.
Pops was jammed with customers, with a forty-five-minute wait to get a table. Mrs. McDonald was in a rush, and so she led the family to the convenience store, where nearly five hundred varieties of pop were for sale. She bought a bottle of something called Moxie. The twins bought a Coke and a Pepsi, of course.
“Are you having a nice birthday, Bridge?” Dr. McDonald asked when they were back in the car.
“This is my dream day,” she replied, thanking him with a smooch. “I love you so much for letting me do this.”
“I love you too.”
“Ugh, gross!” Pep yelled.
“Will you two knock it off before I get sick?” Coke shouted from the backseat. “We don’t need to see that.”
It was afternoon by this time, and Mrs. McDonald still had a lot she wanted to see in Oklahoma. From Arcadia, it was just half an hour to Oklahoma City, the capital and the largest city in the state. It is also—from the standpoint of Amazing but True fans—the greatest city in America. In this one town, the McDonalds were able to visit the American Banjo Museum, the National Softball Hall of Fame, the National Cowboy Museum, and the Museum of Osteology.
If you don’t know what osteology means, it is the study of bones. They have over three hundred skeletons and four hundred skulls! Pep claimed to be totally grossed out by it all, but that didn’t stop her from buying a glow-in-the-dark black scorpion acrylic bottle opener in the gift shop. She also got a refrigerator magnet in the shape of Oklahoma. Pep thought it might be fun to start a collection of refrigerator magnets.
Visiting the museums in Oklahoma City had been strictly a hit-and-run operation. It was in and out of each one in half an hour, tops.
“We barely saw any of those places,” Coke complained.
“At least we can say we were there,” his mother replied. “That’s the important thing.”
It was almost four o’clock. Any normal tourist would have had enough sightseeing for one day, but Mrs. McDonald wasn’t finished yet. As the car headed south along I-35, she directed the family to the town of Pauls Valley, where they stopped off at the Toy and Action Figure Museum.
Who knew that in the middle of Oklahoma there would be a building that was stuffed to the rafters with thirteen thousand action figures? The place might as well be called Nerd Heaven. If you go, be sure to check out the Bat Cave.
Coke could have spent hours looking at all the stuff at the Toy and Action Figure Museum, but it closed at five o’clock and the family was hustled out the door.
“So, where are we going for dinner?” Pep asked, assuming the day’s activities were finally over.
But they weren’t. Mrs. McDonald had planned the day down to the minute, and she knew that the Ardmore Public Library in Ardmore, Oklahoma, was open until eight o’clock. And the library just happened to be the home of the Eliza Cruce Hall Doll Museum. The McDonalds jumped back on I-35 South and raced thirty-four miles so they could see three hundred rare and antique dolls made out of porcelain, bisque, leather, wood, and even wax. The highlight of the collection is some carved wooden French dolls that were once owned by Marie Antoinette.
Pep wanted to examine each one. But by this time, the boys were feeling like their stomachs were starting to devour themselves.
“We’re starving, Mom!” Coke begged. “Can’t we go eat now?”
“Yeah,” agreed his father. “Haven’t we done enough for one day, Bridge?”
“Almost,” she replied. “We need to get on Route 70 East. Let’s go!”
Reluctantly, the rest of the family got back in the car and dragged themselves another hour to the quiet city of Durant.
“What lame museum do they have here?” Coke asked. He thought he might faint if he didn’t get something to eat soon.
“This is the last place we’re going to visit today,” Mrs. McDonald said. “I promise!”
“What could possibly be open at this hour?” Coke asked.
“You’ll see.”
Dr. McDonald did as he was told, turning on to Evergreen Street and sliding into a parking spot at the corner of Third Street. There was some sort of a monument in front of the city hall building there.
“What is it?” Pep asked.
“Behold!” Mrs. McDonald proclaimed. “It’s the world’s largest peanut!”
And so it was.
Well, to be fair, the people of Ashburn, Georgia, also claim to have the world’s largest peanut. But there was no denying that the peanut monument in front of the Durant City Hall was quite large, and deserved some recognition.
It had been some day. The McDonalds had driven over 430 miles across Oklahoma. They had visited twelve sites. Mrs. McDonald had gathered a tremendous amount of material for Amazing but True.
“I’m beat!” Dr. McDonald said as he slid into the booth at a Mexican restaurant called Taco Casa.
“This has been the most wonderful birthday I can remember,” Mrs. McDonald said, “even though there were a few places in Oklahoma we didn’t get to.”
“What could we possibly have missed, Mom?” Coke asked.
“Well,” she said, “Geronimo’s grave is in Fort Sill. We didn’t make it there. The Wrestling Hall of Fame is in Stillwater. Beaver, Oklahoma, is the Cow Chip Throwing Capital of the World. And there’s a man in Nowata who has fourteen hundred bowling balls in his backyard.”
She could have gone on and on.
The Comfort Inn was relatively inexpensive, so instead of jamming the whole family into one small room, the parents had decided to splurge and put the twins in a room of their own. Coke and Pep were worn out after the long day, and didn’t even bother to turn on the TV. They just brushed their teeth, put on their pajamas, turned off the light, and went to bed.
As soon as Coke’s head hit the pillow, the phone next to his bed rang. He picked it up, assuming his parents were calling to say good night.
“Look under your pillow,” said the voice at the other end of the line. It was a male voice, but it sounded slightly robotic, as if it was computer generated.
“Who is this?” Coke asked.
“Look under your pillow,” repeated the voice.
And then the line went dead.
Coke flipped the light on at his bedside.
“What’s the matter?” Pep asked from the other bed. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know,” Coke replied as he reached under his pillow.
There was an envelope. He tore it open and this was written on a bright yellow piece of paper:
IWI LLME ETY OUIN LLANO ESTA CADO
“Oh no,” Coke said.
He showed his sister the paper.
“Do you think it’s . . .”
“Yeah,” Pep replied. “It’s a cipher.”
Chapter 12
THE FIRST CIPHER
Coke and Pep stared at the message written on the slip of paper. . . .
IWI LLME ETY OUIN LLANO ESTA CADO
A secret code, as you may remember, disguises words or phrases. A cipher disguises individual letters. For centuries, people have been using these methods to send information without letting other people—their enemies—see it.
It doesn’t even have to be a secret message. Any symbol or signal can represent something else. For instance, if you wanted to convey the idea of a four-legged furry creature that goes “meow,” you would write the letters C-A-T. Anybody who knows that those letters represent a real cat—that is, anybody who knows how to read—will understand the message. That person cracked the code!
Of course, it’s not usually that easy. Often, one letter is replaced with a different letter or a symbol to hide the meaning of the message. Sometimes the letters are simply rearranged.
Governments, companies, and spies and other people have come up with incredibly ingenious ways to keep their information secret. Like this one: Shave the head of your messenger and tattoo your message on his scalp. Then allow enough time for some of his hair to grow back. Then, the only way to decipher the message is to shave his head!
Coke and Pep never got their heads shaved. But ever since they left California, they had been receiving a new cipher every few days. At first, the ciphers were coming from Dr. Warsaw himself. After his “accident” at The House on the Rock, they were sent by his young madman-in-training Archie Clone.
After the helicopter crash in Washington at the National Museum of American History, Evil Elvis/Aunt Judy was sending the twins ciphers.
But who sent this one? Dr. Warsaw had a nervous breakdown back in Hot Springs. He probably was in no condition to be messing with their heads. Archie Clone and Aunt Judy were no longer alive. The bowler dudes were incompetent idiots. Who could be sending them secret messages now? Mrs. Higgins? Somebody else?
And what could IWI LLME ETY OUIN LLANO ESTA CADO possibly mean?
Unlike her brother, Pep wasn’t very good at absorbing and remembering vast quantities of information. She didn’t have a photographic memory. But she was excellent at analyzing information, and in fact it was a hobby of hers. She had an uncanny ability to take a series of seemingly random letters, numbers, or symbols and juggle them around to reveal their secret meaning.
“I’m stumped,” Coke said after looking at the cipher for a grand total of ten seconds. The boy had lots of good qualities, but a sustained attention span was not one of them. His sister, however, had already figured it out.
“Oh, come on. It’s easy!” Pep told him. “They haven’t even transposed any of the letters. All you have to do is group them differently. Watch.”
She picked up the pen from the night table and began to write directly below the message. Instead of writing IWI, she wrote I WILL. Instead of writing LLME ETY, she wrote MEET.
“I will meet you!” Coke shouted, as if he was deciphering the message himself.
“Right,” Pep agreed as she continued regrouping the letters. “I WILL MEET YOU IN . . . LLANO ESTACADO. Or Llano Esta Cado. What does ‘Llano’ mean? Or ‘Esta Cado’? It looks Spanish.”
“Llano Estacado is the part of the southwestern United States that encompasses eastern New Mexico and northwestern Texas,” Coke said matter-of-factly.
“I think I should call you ‘Google’ from now on,” Pep replied.
“But how does that help us?” Coke asked. “What are we supposed to do—meet somebody somewhere in Texas or New Mexico? Gee, that’s a big help. Texas is more than 268,000 square miles. And when are we supposed to meet this mysterious person?”
