Thursday, March 17, 2005

Pilgrimage to the Wichitas

It rained Monday morning. The rain washed most of the bug remains from my windshield.

Alexandria and I drove to the Wichita Mountains this past Saturday (12 March). It was a very pleasant trip, with a lady who I feel is sure to become a good friend. Part of my motivation in going to the Wichitas was to show Alexandria that Oklahoma is more than the flatness that seems to dominate the metro area. The other part of my motivation was to visit an area which Oklahoma's indigenous people considered sacred.

Prior to the American holocaust called the Trail of Tears, there were already Plains Indians living in Oklahoma. As has been explained to me, these plains people would consider any high place special, or sacred. A mountain, even one as modest as 2700 feet, would provide protection from winter winds, shade during the summer, and a means to survey the plains for game or potential enemies.

So, we drove south-west on I-44, a major portion of which is H.E. Bailey Turnpike. I had a state map, and had bought a compass especially for the trip. I took it on faith that exit signs would let me know when I was close to the Wichita Mountains. And I was right.

We got to Mount Scott with no problem. This is the tallest point in the Wichita range, at a little over 2700 feet. We drove most of the way up, and walked the last few yards to the look-out. Then we walked around the edge of the parking area at the top of the mountain. We found a little path to the side and wandered off onto the side of the mountain.

At this point, I rediscovered my acrophobia. I could sit on a boulder, but I couldn't stand on it. And I definitely could not look over the landscape without overpowering vertigo. Alexandria was both sympathetic and indulgent.

We went from Mount Scott to the Visitor's Center. There, several hiking paths were recommended. We chose the trail to Elk Mountain, which was reportedly about 2 miles each way, on a gentle incline up a 2400-foot mountain.

Well, I'm out of shape. I was huffing and puffing to keep up with Alexandria, who is in terrific shape. We weren't in a rush, though. We stopped a couple of time to clamber onto boulders (Alexandria clambered higher than me).

Alexandria found a boulder which had an area which formed a natural recliner, and sat down. I found a similar space, slightly above her. The temperature had gotten into the mid 70s by this point. This, combined with the exercise, got us plenty warm, so we appreciated the cooling wind.

When Alexandria first sat down on her natural lounge, it looked like there was only room for one. But she moved over after a few minutes and invited me to join her. We sat quite close, which felt very pleasant. My left arm was a slightly softer pillow for her head than the boulder. We looked out across the eastern horizon, and breathed in the wind.

The whole hike took us a couple of hours. Once back in the car, we shared snacks (Alexandria's were a little better than mine). We were about ready to head back to OKC, but were blocked in for a few minutes by a church bus.

A friend had suggested we stop by Meers on the way home. Meers is a little mining-camp town about six miles north of the Wichita Wildlife Refuge. I looked at my trusty state map, and it seemed simple enough: drive north on Scenic Highway 115, stop in Meers, continue north on 115, then go east on 19. It looked like Highway 19 would eventually connect with 277 north, which would then connect with the turnpike.


Wichita Wildlife Refuge & Meers vacinity

Click above for more pictures from our hike

Meers is an intersection. Well, the visible part is, anyway. Two restaurants, side by side. The one that had been recommended shared the town's name. Their specialty seemed to be burgers. So, we each ordered a variation on the “Meers Burger”. Alexandria learned that the burgers are made from longhorn beef, which is reportedly leaner than average. The “Meers Burger” tasted great, and is highly recommended — should you be in that part of the world.

We went on north from there, on Highway 115, which was indeed very scenic. There were many signs of spring coming — blossoming dogwoods, the occasional butterfly, and redbuds in bloom. Oh yeah: and all those bugs who got splattered on my windshield as we drove the back roads.

We turned east onto 19, and it suddenly occurred to me that this trip along Oklahoma's “Blue Highways” was especially appropriate, because the day was Jack Kerouac's birthday. Yep, he was born on March 12 in 1922.

This wasn't an episode of Route 66. I wasn't driving a convertible, I didn't casually slide my arm behind her shoulders. I didn't have a cigarette dangling from one side of my mouth. The only jazz playing was the wind whipping through the car.

But Jack was with us in spirit. We had the windows open and quiet smiles on our faces. We were relishing the journey more than the destination.

Looking back, I think I took a wrong turn at a junction of Highways 19, 277, and 58. The signs were a bit confusing, and I turned east to continue on Hwy 19 rather than staying on 277. In retrospect, I think I should have stayed on 277 which I believe would have ended up connecting with the turnpike soon enough.

Instead, according to the compass, we kept going south. South! When we wanted to go north!

This went on for another half hour or so. Finally, we pulled over, Alexandria consulted the map, and we agreed on a north-bound highway to follow.

We had one more detour after that, but we got home fine. Alexandria got to see thriving rural towns, as well as the ailing ones. It was fitting that she get the full picture.

I know it's generally a bad idea to compare the one you're with to someone from the past. But sometimes it's unavoidable. In this case, I couldn't help but think back on how Mary Ellen reacted whenever we got lost. She would panic. She would castigate my navigational skills. She rarely would suggest, however, that we consult a map or ask for directions.

Alexandria remained calm. She seemed to just enjoy the ride and the companionship. I really liked it when she said, “You know, it's better getting lost with a friend than it is getting lost by yourself.”

We got home about 8 o'clock. Tired, but refreshed and renewed.

If you make it home ok, were you ever really lost to begin with?

Pictures from our hike.

No comments: