I travelled through Guthrie about 4 or 5 times a year back then, commuting from Lubbock/Texas Tech where I was going to school, or as they would say, "gettin' some learnin'", to Dallas. One spring day back in 1972 I was headed home, I'm guessing for spring break, in my pride and joy, my new Camaro SS. (It was a graduation gift from my parents. They made the payments for me my senior year, and then I took over the payments after I graduated and secured a job.)
About a mile west of Guthrie, a bird had the audacity to commit suicide by slamming into my car, right where the hood turns down to meet the grill. OMG...I had feathers and blood and guts all over my hood, the windshield, and over the top of my car. I pulled in to the only gas station in Guthrie, a Texaco station as I remember, and borrowed a water hose and cleaned up my car as best I could. I went inside and bought something, which was my way of saying 'thanks' for the use of their hose.
Back on the road, about a mile east of Guthrie I met a cattle transport truck headed west. At the split second we passed just feet apart, a cow inside decided to have a projectile BM, right through one of the holes in the side of the trailer, and....wait for it....it splatted in all its wet glory right on the windshield of my car.
I made a U-turn and went back to the same Texaco station as before and again borrowed their water hose and cleaned up my car. According to my personal code of conduct I was again obligated to buy something, so I went back in to make another small purchase.
There were 2 grizzled old west Texas boys manning the station, and they were rolling on the floor with laughter, obviously amused by my string of misfortunes. One of them finally gained control of himself long enough to take my money and to say, "This just ain't yore day, now is it, boy?"
After that I always made it a point to slow down when I was passing through Guthrie, honk, and wave at the guys in the Texaco station. They're probably still talking about me.