Okie day trips

You may think I write these blog posts for you, but I do not. I write them for me, so I won’t forget later on. I find that when I write about something it’s cemented in my memory. Until that changes, of course.

One of the days I was out in Oklahoma with my friend, Diane, we decided to go to Lawton. It’s in southeast, OK and there’s a wildlife refuge there. I’d been telling her that I didn’t see any elk on my drive and we knew I’d see them in Lawton. Definitely.

We took a toll highway to get there, the H.E. Bailey, and not long after the first toll we came to a complete stop. Traffic wasn’t slowed, it was parked. I’d been talking on the phone to a friend who called when we paid the toll so hadn’t heard the woman tell Diane of an accident up ahead. It was morning, but the sun was already strong and we had to turn off the car, and therefore the A/C, to keep from overheating.

I maintained a positive attitude. I said it was just a delay, and for some reason the universe didn’t want us to get to Lawton until later. No biggie. But more time went by, and more, and yet more, and finally I said that someone had to have died for it to be taking so long to get us moving. Sure enough, a cop came by, driving in the shoulder of the road and stopping at each car to give an update. He said we’d be moving soon, and to be polite and merge courteously, and I asked how bad the accident was. He said there were two deaths.

We inched past the scene when we got to it, and I described it to Diane. I guessed that the red pickup truck, which had clearly flipped over, must’ve been the vehicle where the people died. There was another white truck, with a trailer behind it, pulled off the road, but I couldn’t tell how the accident had happened from the position.

We’d been sitting for a long time, so we stopped at a rest area to use the bathroom and get something to drink, then hit the road again. Elk, here we come. Then Diane asked, “What’s that noise?” I couldn’t tell what it was, but suggested she pull over so we could investigate. The rear tire on the passenger side was flat. We were in the shoulder, and Diane wanted to pull onto the grass, but both of us worried that any more movement would ruin the wheel.

I insisted that we get out of the car and away from it while we waited for help. They’ve done studies about how people will drive right into you when you’re pulled over with your hazard lights on. AAA was useless when I called them. We didn’t know what mile marker we were near and the man seemed intent on getting a “nearest crossroad” even though I told him we were on a highway without a crossroad in sight. So Diane called 911. She was told that the police would be there soon. We figured they’d tell us our exact location and we’d call AAA back. And we waited.

I had on a white blouse with the sleeves partway rolled up. I rolled them down. I put the collar up. I turned away from the sun. Diane got a jacket out of the Jeep and put it on, even though it was over 100 degrees. We could feel our skin burning. More than once she talked about at least getting into the shade of the Jeep. I said no. I said that it wasn’t safe to be near the disabled vehicle and I wouldn’t let her do it. Yes, I’m setting up a big I told you so here.

After about half an hour the state trooper arrived. He was in his fifties and very serious. No hint of a smile on his face. Well, he’d just come from the bad accident, so that made sense. He said he’d change the tire for us. That surprised me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a trooper changing a tire. The next thing I thought about was that Diane had just had her tires changed. Something about the lug nut locks. In any case, they’d been put back on with a power tool. And this man was going to loosen the lug with only his own strength? I worried for his male ego.

He did it, though. He tried to hide how much effort it took, but he got that thing unlocked and the lugs off. As he did so the subject of driving and speed came up. I forget how. But I assured him that Diane wasn’t capable of speeding. I said, “Just the other day we were passed on the right by a school bus.” He tried, but he couldn’t suppress a smile and then a short laugh. Diane said, “Don’t make me look like one of those people who drive so slowly they’re a hazard on the road.” I said, “She lives by Lake Hefner. She told me it’d take me four hours from Amarillo.” He smirked again, and I believe Diane was about to hurt me when the second trooper showed up. He was younger and pretty much had nothing to do (the first one wasn’t going to look as if he needed any help), so Diane asked him about the accident.

He said that the white pickup truck had pulled onto the shoulder to make sure their load on their trailer was secured properly. The guy in the red pickup hit them and killed them pretty much on impact. I guess hitting them made him lose control and he ended up flipping. He had only minor arm and leg injuries, but of course has to live with what he did.

I said to Diane, “See? This is why I didn’t want us to be anywhere near the Jeep.” Both troopers nodded and agreed. One told her the same thing I had, that they’ve done studies and some people will just drive right into you if you’re stopped in the shoulder. We felt very lucky.

A couple of days later, after I assured her that I had given up on seeing wildlife, we drove to Weatherford to see how the wind turbines work. Diane treated me to a “private tour” of them. The fact that it was just the two of us might’ve had something to do with both the heat wave and the impending storm. Sane people don’t pay to stand next to 300 foot high metal poles when the skies turn dark.

When we got to the museum in Weatherford where we were to meet Ray, our guide, I was psyched for the tour. We could see the windmills in the distance and I was excited at the idea of getting an up close look.

 Then we met Ray. A walking heart attack about to happen. Seriously, he was about six feet tall and 350 – 400 pounds. Most of the weight was in front, like a 9 year pregnancy, and breathing was clearly a chore. He smoked (confirmed later, but I could smell it on him when we shook hands), he had a tumor-like protrusion over his lymph node beneath his left ear, and what I thought was another growth in his right ear. Diane said later that sometimes ticks look like that when they’re overly full of blood. Growth or tick, not good either way.

He showed us a short movie and talked about the history of turbines in that area, and I kept asking questions, hoping to stall, hoping a storm would come through and we wouldn’t have to complete the tour with him. But while the sky darkened, it didn’t dampen either Ray’s or Diane’s enthusiasm.

I admit that I’m a control freak about some things. One of them is who drives me in what car. If I don’t like how you drive, I won’t put my life in your hands. It’s that simple. A year or so ago I was driven by someone who is always impaired, every day of her life. A real pothead. I was unaware of that fact, so she just seemed normal to me. Finding out later that she was impaired, that she'd driven me around and who knows what could've happened, shook me up. So, yeah, I'm picky. Except I’m just as susceptible to the pressure to be polite as the next person. I didn’t know Ray to be a bad driver. He clearly did these tours regularly, and I couldn’t come out with, “What if you have a heart attack and slump over the wheel? What then?” It would be rude.  So we got into his big ass Ford pick up truck which smelled of cigarettes and we set off.

He didn’t drive too fast. He came to complete stops at stop signs. I forced myself to chill out. But then, at the first opportunity, while Diane and I were taking a good look at a turbine that Ray had driven right up under (because the farmer let him), he lit up and smoked. I think I said something to Diane like, “How many miles back to the museum do you think it is?” and she said, with a stern tone, “We’re going to see the blade, remember? I want to see the blade.” 

Okay, fine, sure, we’ll die for the blade. I’m with ya to the end because you’re my friend. I freely admit that I’m not reasonable when I have no control over a situation.

The all important blade:

These things really are wonderful. Birds have figured out how to go around them, they’re not even built in long-standing migration paths, they provide clean energy and jobs for the people who maintain them, and the farmers make, at a minimum, five grand a year per turbine. The museum has 98 turbines on their property. Crops or cattle can get quite close, so the land owners aren’t losing much to have them on their property. And they aren’t loud. When you stand under one it sounds like a plane off in the distance.

The wind has to be at least 8 mph for them to turn (there’s a weather station on top of each one that monitors conditions), and if it gets above 55 mph the turbine stops and turns into the wind so there’s the least likelihood of damage. Weatherford has the most reliable wind in the nation, according to Ray, so is perfect for them.

Ray and Diane, chatting by his truck, while I contemplate the drive back:

The raindrops started falling and we got wet at the blade, but I for one enjoyed it. I live in a drought state, after all. We got to see a rainbow on the way back to OKC, but I didn't get a picture of it. I think that was about the time Diane was informing me of what happens to ticks that have sucked too long and I was a bit grossed out. All in all it was a good day because we learned something new and because we survived. That's just always a plus.