Tulsa is a car city, built by oil. Its central vein is Route 66, a monument to car culture in America. Despite the city-wide hard-on for motor vehicles, people walk stretches of Tulsa every day. I decided to join them. I would walk across Tulsa’s stretch of that old highway, I decided, east to west.
When preparing to walk across Tulsa, I thought about all the other long-walkers I knew of: the Peace Pilgrim, Mark Baumer walking for climate change awareness, people with purpose and many more miles ahead of them.
This walk was not like any of those. It was less than 11 miles, about four-and-a-half hours in total. It was curiosity driven. Maybe it was stubbornness that led me to think I could do it here, of all unwalkable places—where walkers find a way despite the car worship.
I did not do this walk barefoot, and I didn't do it for the environment (though climate disaster is the belly of my fear, always). I did this leisurely, watching for good weather. I did it to see my city with a new perspective, after having been gone for a few years. I did it because I could, and maybe to say I did.
The people who loved me were nervous—walking for miles in Tulsa is a wild concept to most. When the keys are in your hand, it just ain’t an option. Most people had concerns for my safety, my stamina, and the heat.
It was hot on the day I went out, a Sunday morning, but I had water and shorts. I had the luxury of people knowing where I was, where to meet me, and of being used to walking: luxuries not everyone has. I love the meditative space of the long walk.
This long walk started in East Tulsa.