Disappointments and Redemption in Oklahoma
"I been having some hard travelin'"—Woody Guthrie
I had it all planned so perfectly. On Thursday, I was in bed by 8:30, asleep after an hour of reading, and up before my alarm sounded at 6 a.m. I jumped up, had my leisurely morning coffee like I always do, and prepared for my 500+ mile drive to Oklahoma City. I would have plenty of time to get there, maybe even take a nap, and get to the evening’s Woody Guthrie Poets reading refreshed and ready.
Except as I was taking my morning meds, I remembered that I was out of one I couldn’t miss. I’d ordered the medication on Thursday afternoon. But, since I prefer to give my medication business to the old school pharmacy across the street from my house, I wouldn’t be able to pick it up until they opened at 9 a.m.
So I waited. Ate breakfast. Got some last-minute cat snuggles, loaded the car, and … noticed I was feeling a bit off minutes before that cottage cheese and peach came back for a sudden, violent visit.
In the last two years, since vestibular migraines became a thing I have to deal with, sudden surprise vomiting has become a thing I deal with way more than I’d like. It’s definitely changing the way I travel. I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing my usual triggers—exerting myself while over-tired is a bad combination for me. I was neither, but the change in my sleep pattern might have triggered it.
Feeling mostly fine yet a little bewildered, I picked up some anti-nausea syrup when I went to the pharmacy. Departure was 90 minutes later than I’d hoped, but I was on the road and plowed through the miles, stopping only for gas in Lebanon, Missouri, and coffee and a cookie in Springfield. I need to eat every two hours, but I had a cooler bag full of good snacks and a giant water bottle on hand. I’m no novice.
Even with my Smokey and the Bandit-inspired driving, I would only have a little over an hour to check into my hotel and get to the reading on time, which was less than 10 minutes away from my reserved hotel. I needed every single thing to go right to make it happen, though. My plan: check in, freshen up, grab something to eat from a drive-thru, and go.
And then I got to my hotel.
Money’s tight with my unemployment, and since I was barely going to be in the room beyond sleeping and showering, I booked a room at an economical but recently remodeled hotel that I got for free with brand loyalty points.
I overpaid.
The Hustler store next door had seen better days, but it looked better than the hotel.
I drove around the parking lot and saw a few too many people just hanging out for my liking, including a couple sleeping in a car. They stirred while I parked a few spots away, cancelled my reservation, lost a room’s worth of loyalty points, and booked another hotel.
Thank you, Oklahoma City Tru, for not surge pricing. I’m grateful to be in a position to upgrade, but the unplanned expense stung.
As I pulled into my new hotel, the low fuel light came on. This is my second Toyota hybrid in 15 years, and I’m a fan, except their fuel gauges are terrible. I was going to have to add a stop to fill my empty tank on the way to the reading. So I hustled to my room, but not before I felt the same weird feeling I experienced in the morning before losing my breakfast.
I slammed a shot of nausea syrup, took a moment to let it work before I unloaded my car, and accepted that there was no way I could get checked in, freshen up, gas up, eat, and make it on time without throwing up.
It’s not the first time I’ve traveled specifically to an event only to be unable to attend. It won’t be the last. But again, with the expense for nothing, I was bummed and frustrated. I settled into my room and placed an order through Uber Eats—a chicken kebab salad with a side of fries from a neighborhood Middle Eastern spot, a couple of bottles of Gatorade for the nausea, and some treats from Walgreens since it had been A Day.
When my order arrived, the delivery person didn’t match the photo on Uber Eats. He also claimed not to have the Walgreens portion of the order. Then he said he delivered it somewhere else and went to get it, only to return empty-handed. It was all very weird, and my fries were getting cold from the four times I answered my door for him. Even though he looked younger than my 21-year-old, my gut was freaking out again. Not like it did with my breakfast, but like it did with the sketchy hotel. I finally told him to forget it.
Long story short, I spent too much of my evening reporting both the mismatched delivery person/photo and the missing order to Uber, only to be denied a refund. I’d been given the same PIN for both order locations, which he used to indicate the missing order had been delivered. So I’m officially bleeding money.
Saturday morning, the lingering migraine vertigo had me moving slowly. I skipped the lobby coffee, planning to at least visit a local coffeehouse for a to-go latte so I could have at least one OKC experience after I filled the gas tank. Since I was in a hurry, I placed a to-go order for my coffee and a breakfast sandwich, only to have my debit card declined. It wound up being nothing, but for several hours, I wasn’t sure if I could access my cash. Or if I still had any cash.
But I made it to Okemah, walked into the county historical society, and was greeted by a table with complimentary coffee and familiar faces of people I adore. That fixed pretty much every problem I was having.
As I hugged my poetry friends and my Woody friends, sipped my coffee, and absorbed the beautiful words of the poets, every misstep and mistake of the last 24 hours faded. I was exactly where I wanted to be, with the people I needed to be with. It was worth the work of rebounding from each folly to have the privilege of sacred company in a hallowed space.
David Amram, the composer and multi-instrumentalist who, in 1957, put improvised music to a live poetry reading by his friend Jack Kerouac and created the sound of the Beat Generation. At almost 95 years old, he still travels to Okemah every year, providing music as each poet reads. I’ve always wanted to attend the Okemah reading so I could bear witness to this aspect of Amram’s work, the part that means more to me than his Oscar for Best Score or his many compositions. Sitting in the front row, feet from this master of his art, I had the privilege of watching as he listened to each poet, sussed out the rhythm and melody of their words, chose his instrument and notes, and slid into the poems in just the right places.
I got to see living history. I got to clap, and be in the call-and-responses of the poets, in a room with this music and these people in this place that birthed my hero, and there is no price anyone can put on such an experience. It was worth everything.