Days Fifty Three — Fifty Four: Train Ride and Northward Climb
9:25PM: The hues of elongated train track sunset thin into oblivion beyond Norman station, fifteen minutes before the Desert Eagle train whistles its eagerness to dock in Oklahoma City’s bay platform for the evening. Off the train, skip one slug left to meet conductor and fetch bikes — supervisor accidentally kicks Marrakesh, I gasp as it unwinds to a teetering stop against a latch in the flatcar five feet above me. Bikes eased down, bags tossed down two at a time, zip-clip the bikes are back together and it’s time to zoom away from this brick city and find grounds suitable for sleeping.
Tarry with construction confusion momentarily then find a well-lit route west; leave it minutes later onto bridge climb over the Oklahoma River, then plunge into moonlit gloom. Coast through air porous and thick on a concrete riverside path, so smooth its almost polished. Our lights softly illuminate the concrete and a few other bikers are out, we whoosh along the river for about eight miles, at 10:30PM Lizzie loses her feel for the night ride and we find a place to camp vaulted on tree-covered hillside on the far corner of Crystal Lake.
Our first wholly uncharted stealth camping site makes Lizzie nervous; though it’s not a dark night, she doesn’t know the land, and doesn’t like the idea of waking in a start to deal with trouble, whether the human or more wild kind. She points down at ant activity amid my initial suggested spot; moves us a few feet further up the hill to clearer ground. Tent goes up in under five minutes, a little tension mounts as Lizzie reacts to my directing her to help me when she’s still settling and scoping out the area.
Rriver scene in the fuzzy, brushed view through tent liner is almost more breathtaking; a hard but refreshing breeze whips surrounding fir trees into ephemeral peaks contrasted against tall grass and straw. Lizzie tosses in her sleep sack, full of motion — she’s clearly nervous — I give her my earplugs and assume a two-hour shift listening to wildernesss to make sure nothing lurks about; finally drift off, lulled to sleep by Proust’s bobbing sea of words cut against the dark back light of my cell phone.
7AM: Roused from sleep by Lizzie, wake drowsy and heavy, sleep was lightly troubled by mid-night starts (spider on the tent!) and a few over-assertive wind gusts. Socks and shoes go on in the tent to dispel thoughts of spiders or other small critters; stomp heartily out into crunchy grey-frost grass as we sort our things and make our way down to the path that drawls on northwest.
9AM: Stop into a shopping plaza for two chocolate yoghurt peanut butter smoothies, then hit Panera for four bagels and a coffee — $13 + $7, not too shabby for the nutrition delivered. We link onto Route 3 and cut diagonally up the state; the shoulder is agreeable enough. We don’t have an end target chosen at this point beyond Lizzie’s recollection that a bike tourist she read about stopped in Watonga because there’s nothing else for miles around.
So we head towards Watonga.
End up missing it entirely, staying true to the north avoiding East-West dirt roads. Find a farm and cattle town Okeene (O-kee-nee) with two restaurants in town and a public library, fight the hard eastward wind and arrive at 3:30.
Main street beats with scathing heat, it’s 102 degrees. I duck into a market and half pretend to inspect perishables, sticking my head into the fruit refrigerator. Finally select a single green pear, $0.85, sink my teeth into the cold juicy fruit immediately. Ask the grocer what’s the best place to eat in town, answer is “T-Macs.”
Inside T-Macs I eat a ‘backwoods’ alfredo pasta and two helpings of salad from the salad bar. A man enters and sits in a booth in the corner, a small grouping of teenagers and prospective employees forms around him in the corner. It’s the owner, Stacy, he’s lived in town his whole life and opened the restaurant twelve years ago. Stacy asks about the rent we pay on our Brooklyn apartment, laughs at the figure and reminds us we could rent an entire house for $500 / month in Okeene. Stacy won’t let us pay for lunch, but I do manage to leave a $20 tip for the sweet cook who prepped our food; she’s headed home for the afternoon but Stacy tucks it aside wrapped in a note. We tell Stacy we’re heading to the library to chart our route’s elevation on the public computers and say goodbye.
Thirty minutes later, Stacy finds us inside the library. After hearing Lizzie and I discuss stealth camping and observing Lizzie’s not-so-subtle discomfort, Stacy now offers us a motel room just outside town maintained by a “minister’s alliance” philanthropy group. He says “tell them Susan Lily has arranged it when you arrive.”
6PM: Run over choppy concrete blocks into the motel’s wind blown parking lot. Meet a few locals before entering the room, one of whom was straddling a BMX bike at a burger joint across from T-Macs earlier. Set to work packing, cleaning, washing, and preparing for the long, hot, dusty days ahead. Pulling off several consecutive 100 mile days will require discipline and a degree of precision to our planning that hasn’t been utilized since our days near New Orleans. Liz and I have a productive discussion about our expectations for the days ahead. Nobody wants to hang around Oklahoma any longer than necessary, but we have different ideas about the kind of adventure we’re looking for. Lizzie’s aversion to steal camping is especially connected to navigating unfamiliar areas after dark; we make an agreement to stay in free campgrounds, or areas we can explore before the sun sets.
It could be an illusion from the heat, but Colorado feels right around the corner.
