Winfield Day One: Arrival

I left Oklahoma City at 7:00 Wednesday morning. Storms were forecast for both north-eastern Oklahoma and south-eastern Kansas, and I had some hope of getting to Winfield before it got especially bad.

Most of the drive to Winfield is on I-35. The drawback to this is the fact that I-35 becomes a toll road shortly after one crosses the Kansas border. The toll is a little over $1 to drive just a few miles. The past couple of years, I’ve taken an alternate route in order to avoid the toll. This year, I took Highway 60, near Perry, to Highway 77, and drove all the way north on 77.

The road zig-zags much more than I-35 does, and one has to slow down in the small towns. But the drive is scenic, and has much more character than the I-35 route. The trip normally takes a little over two hours. This time, it took almost three — primarily because of the zig-zagging, and the slower speed limits in the small towns.

Additionally, I had to make frequent stops to use the restroom.

This may count as "TMI", but my bladder seemed to be working overtime. I assume this was caused by the antibiotics I was taking.

You may wonder why I was taking antibiotics. If you’ll recall, my left index finger was infected. I saw the doc on Tuesday before leaving, and she gave me enough samples for a full course of antibiotics.

If you’ve ever taken antibiotics, you know that they can cause dehydration. So, I was intentionally drinking a little more than usual. Ergo, the frequent bladder breaks.

I got to Winfield at 10:00. Before I left, I had made arrangements to meet Paulapalooza, who happens to be on the staff of one of the town’s churches. Coincidentally, this same church was a location for workshops, similar to the one I attended last year.

Unfortunately, Paulapalooza wasn’t in yet. I was told she expected to be in by 11. I left my name, and drove on into the festival grounds.

I had driven through some rain after I got on Hwy 77. Some of it quite heavy. But nothing severe. The sky dome, as I often call it, was grey in every direction. Had been since I left the house. But it was not raining when I got to the grounds.

When you get to the gate, you’re supposed to either give them your ticket, or pay $85. My ticket had been (apparently) lost in the mail, so I had to tell the volunteer my hard-luck story. You may recall I called ahead regarding this; I told the story early last week. It required a wait, but I got in after about 15-20 minutes.

I got to the Granola Camp, where I’ve stayed for the past three years, and had stayed the first year I went to Winfield. It took me about 30 minutes to set up my tent. After which, I went to the camp’s kitchen, which was protected by a large awning, and I took a break. Then the rain hit.

It lasted about 45 minutes or so. Once it seemed clear, I grabbed my umbrella and walked back to Paulapalooza’s church. I had clocked it earlier, and it was only a little over a mile. I knew I could walk that, easy.

Ms. P still wasn’t there. Turned out her son was sick. However, her husband was there and we exchanged pleasantries (he was in the middle of a job – not much chat time to chat). The workshops were breaking for lunch, and a van was waiting to take people back to the campgrounds. I visited with the driver, and when it was clear there were no other passengers, he offered to drive me back. That was a no-brainer. I was prepared to walk back, of course. But why not ride?

I got back to camp and hung out. Before long, it was dinner time. As we were eating, I told my story about the lost tickets, and the arrangements we had made.

Mary said the same thing had happened to her several years ago. Like me, she brought an extra check. They cashed it not long after the festival was over. They never provided proof the check was delivered. They just verbally told her that it had been delivered.

"Well, I’ll just put a stop-payment on my check."

"Oh Jonah, they’ve already cashed it."

"So, they lie to me thinking that I lied to them?"

"Yep."

Well, I felt pretty foolish. After all, I should have known (as a former shipping and receiving person) that there isn’t a way to trace first class mail. And once they have my check, they can cash it and claim they have proof without necessarily being required to show that proof to me.

My trusting nature, or naiveté, had betrayed me.

My feelings of foolishness and betrayal filled me with anger. That anger made the whole weekend as grey as the sky had been en route.

That anger almost spoiled the weekend.