Get Lost

It has been my experience that an unpleasant journey still can result in a wonderful destination.  (That's just one of the lessons I took from Australia.)  I'm hoping the same holds true with my trip to Tulsa.

When I departed Albuquerque (only half an hour late), it was 46 degrees F, cloudy with a 10% chance of showers, and an anticipated high of 62 degrees.  When I reached the Texas state line, the temperature was 40 degrees and falling.  I hit snow flurries (twice) at 40 degrees.  It rained at 37 degrees.  My car thermometer warned me at 35 degrees that ice was possible.  (It did this twice, so I suspect that might be its programmed threshold.)  I observed that temperatures tended to be one degree warmer in the cities (and I do mean cities, not just towns or other built-up areas) than the open highway.  The temperature bottomed out at 33 degrees, as if Mother Nature was saying, "I could do this to you, but I won't – but I'll keep the threat there ‘cause you know I could."

When I reached the Oklahoma state line, it started raining.  And raining.  And raining.  Sure, the intensity varied over time, but my introduction to Oklahoma was of constant rain.  (Funnily enough, the people I met the next day all said they had been in a drought, and that is eerily similar to my introduction to the Noog.)  I guess the good aspect of the journey was that the temperature went up from 37 to 40 degrees.  That's where the good ends, though.

I pulled off the interstate at a small town, where the one gas station in the town was no cheaper than the two stations right at the exit.  I didn't need gas desperately, so I decided to wait and take my chances for a cheaper station later on.  In the meantime, I pulled into a fast-food franchise's parking lot (which was jam-packed at not typically a mealtime) to check my voice mail.  I had trouble connecting and hearing the voice mail, and I couldn't make a return call at all.  Maybe there were power lines nearby, but I decided that the town didn't want me there, so I skipped eating as well and headed back on the highway.

I then saw a sign for a truck stop franchise, which I recall stopping at for gas and a meal (at a restaurant franchise I like) on my trip from the Noog to ABQ, so I exited there.  The gas prices were far better than my previous attempt, but the restaurant wasn't the one I anticipated.  I got gas and figured, "I can get there hungry, but I can't get there if my car is hungry," so I hit the road again.

Wouldn't you know it?  Then comes a billboard announcing a different truck stop franchise with the restaurant I wanted.  (I guess I misremembered the affiliation from my previous trip.)  You know, it would've been nice if they had posted the billboard several miles back, so I could've condensed three stops into one and saved some time.  It was a nice pause (good food and a good book), though, before heading out into the rain once more.

All right, I lied.  There was another bright spot:  I passed through Oklahoma City after rush hour.  (If there was that much traffic at a quarter past six, I'd hate to have been there an hour earlier!)

Darkness came early, thanks to the clouds.  Still, that couldn't have been the reason that I didn't see a sign indicating the Broken Arrow Expressway exit in Tulsa.  (The hotel's website specifically said, "I-44 and Broken Arrow Expressway".)  I was nearly out of the city and back onto the turnpike* when I exited, found a lighted parking lot, and phoned the hotel to get reoriented.

* I know from past trips through Oklahoma that the highway between Okla. City and Tulsa is a turnpike, but I couldn't recall how much it cost, so I looked it up online to figure out how much money I'd have to have handy.  I found the official Oklahoma Turnpike Authority's Pikepass website and clicked on "Toll Calculator".  It brings up a drop-down menu (and you can try to verify this if you want, but I'm not making this up) from which I'm supposed to "Choose a Turnpike".  Alas, none of the choices reads "I-44".  Am I going to be traveling on Cherokee, Chickasaw, Cimarron, Creek, HE Bailey, Indian Nation, Kilpatrick, Muskogee, Turner, or Will Rogers Turnpike?  After fiddling with the website, I couldn't find a map that displayed the various choices nor linked the names with highway numbers (although this could be due to my tech. inadequacy and not a user-unfriendly website), so I had to click on each choice then review the additional drop-down menus for entries and exits to determine that I would be driving on the Turner Turnpike (known to us more logical mortals as I-44).  Next time, I'll go in reverse-alphabetical order so I'll find it on the second try and not the ninth...

Well, after I phoned the hotel and got no answer, phoned the toll-free reservations number and was informed by the woman who answered that she couldn't give instructions and that I'd have to phone the hotel, which I told her I already had done and gotten no answer, and she said that I'd have to dial a specific extension, which I did and finally talked to an intelligent human being, I finally knew where I was supposed to go.

The young woman at the hotel told me I should get back on the interstate, headed west (the direction from which I had come) and look for an junction exit with 51 south.  I found that exit (kinda), and it certainly lacked the words "Broken Arrow Expressway", which I seem to have found is just a local name for the highway and not an official state highway department designation.  That, though, is a matter of interpretation, as I can not trust the highway department further than I can throw them.  Why not?  (I mean, besides the whole turnpike-naming instead of numbering fiasco already described.)  Here's where the "kinda" enters in.  Well, as I told the young woman at the hotel when I finally arrived (two hours after my anticipated arrival time), "You know that odd-numbered highways run north/south, and I know that odd-numbered highways run north/south, but all the signs out there say 51 east or west."  (I had a 50-50 chance of picking the right direction, and, of course, I got it wrong and turned around when I again seemed to be leaving the city.)

The next bit of fun was unloading my car in the dark and the rain and fumbling with my keychain in my left hand to lock the car while holding stuff and fumbling with the keycard in my right hand while holding stuff to enter the hotel (note:  a corollary to Murphy's Law must be that, the more cumbersome or heavy the item(s) you are holding, the more likely the card reader will blink red and make you reinsert the key card) and haul my stuff up the (thankfully just one flight of) stairs and go back down for more junk.  Tulsa must have one heck of a night life, as someone else drove into the parking lot more than half of the times I went back for more stuff.  What happened to the days when you checked into a hotel and hunkered down ‘cause you were tired of being out all day?

It doesn't bug me that no one offered to help, since I don't know any of the other guests and couldn't trust them to see the stuff I have and not want to steal any of it.  (It's not worth anything monetarily, but maybe they're just mean.)  It doesn't bug me that the parking lot was full, so there were no spaces available close to the entrance doors and I had to walk the farthest distance laden with stuff.  It doesn't even bug me that, since I had to put my water-resistant jacket (note:  not a raincoat, which is packed somewhere in the storage unit, since it "never" rains in the Southwest) over the top of every load I carried, I ended up drenched while my belongings stayed dry.  All that mattered is that I had finally arrived (safely) and that I had a night to rest before figuring out the next set of directions.

Thankfully, online mapping websites are generally accurate, because the administrative assistant had told me that the office is located at 1555 North 77th East Avenue.  I asked her to repeat herself, and then I apologized, saying, "I must have misheard you, because I heard twice as many numbers and directions as there should be."  But, no, she was right, and the map generated showed me how to get there (although it did lack the slightly important step of telling me to stay on the same road as the hotel for the first part of the journey).

Seriously, what is up with Oklahomans that they can't or do not want to give directions, or name and number roads in a logical way – or, indeed, in a way that is consistent with most of the rest of the country?  (And I'm going to have to find how many sites in this school system?)

The next day was better.  I found my way to the office to do my hiring paperwork a few days before my start date.  I got directions to a store where I could buy a city atlas.  (I was looking for a map but happened across a map book, which is much easier to read than those giant, accordion-folded papers with every street name printed almost too small to read, although I had to pay extra for its legibility and more convenient size.)  I found my way to the grocery store and then back to the hotel, with just one bit of road construction that hampered me each direction.  After lunch, I found my way to the auto care franchise for an oil change (I had my car serviced before leaving the Noog, and I figured two cross-country trips probably warranted another service) and to the maul for protein bars and a pair of work shoes that, thankfully, were on sale because my other work shoes are in the storage unit, doncha know?

Since then, I've hunkered down in my hotel room, doing an extensive (i.e. long and boring) online search for apartments I might like and which are in my price range.  Have you ever been to a hotel or conference center that has those chairs (which look like this) that seem comfortable when you first sit on them, but a couple hours later, all cushioning effect has gone (like those airline seats which are supposed to be usable as a flotation device -- do you really believe that, after thousands of customers who are even heavier than you have sat on them for hours?), and you feel as if you're sitting on nothing more comfortable than a sheet of particle board, and your butt hurts so much that you're ready to leap up, yell obscenities at the highly respected speaker at the podium, and rush from the room as quickly and crookedly as your cramped legs will allow?  Well, that's exactly the sort of chair that this hotel gives people to use at the microscopic table that barely contains my computer, flatscreen monitor, keyboard, mouse, and speakers.  I guess they don't expect people to occupy their rooms continuously.  (I don't want to go anywhere yet because that costs money, even just for gas, and until I get a couple of paychecks, I can't afford anything.  Seriously, I might go into debt with my credit card for the first time in my life, and somehow I have to find the down payment and first month's rent of a hotel?  Yeah, it'll be a few weeks before I can start exploring Tulsa.)

So, that was my journey here and the first few days.  Oh yeah, I discovered yesterday (three days after I checked in) that the hotel has a luggage trolley.  Do you think they could've offered that to me when I arrived, so I could've reduced the number of trips (I lost count, but I know it was more than ten) I made, not been burdened by the loads, and have taken the elevator instead of the stairs?  Maybe they only give it to customers who check in during the normal operating hours – or maybe this is another example of Oklahomans' strange way of thinking.

After a trip like that, it has to get better, right?  It has to.