Day Four on the Bikes – Springfield, MO to Tulsa, OK

Saturday, 27 June

329 kms (204 miles), 1,211 kms (751 miles) so far

The routine this morning changed only slightly. Breakfast was at 6:30 as usual, but our group was the last to leave, with departure scheduled for 8:45. That took a bit of pressure off the morning bag pack, which was probably just as well because my bag was already beginning to creak at the seams.

It is amazing how quickly a few small acquisitions on the road begin to accumulate. A T-shirt here, a shot glass there, the odd Route 66 souvenir and suddenly the bag you packed so carefully in Chicago requires someone to sit on it before the zip will close. Chantelle commented on the weight as we loaded it into the trailer. She was right. It was only Day Four and I was already running out of room.

It had rained overnight again and the roads were wet. We asked Steve if he was wearing his wet-weather gear. He wasn’t, so we stowed ours in the panniers and prepared to take what came.

We rolled out of Springfield just before 9:00. Unlike St Louis, there was no long freeway run required to escape the city. Springfield isn’t particularly big and before long we were back on quieter roads and heading west.

The clouds looked ominous, but apart from a few spots, the rain never really came to anything.

The scenery began to change again. The leafy forests of Missouri gradually gave way to flatter farmland, a mixture of crops and pasture stretching further towards the horizon. It felt like we were moving into cattle country, although the cattle themselves appeared to have taken the morning off.

Our first stop was the wonderfully quirky Gay Parita Sinclair Station. It is one of those places that captures exactly what Route 66 is all about. Old petrol pumps, vintage cars, rusty signs, memorabilia and Americana everywhere you look. There is no real order to it, and that is probably the charm. Every corner has something different and every item looks as though it has a story attached to it.

It is difficult to describe properly, so I’ll let the photos do most of the work.

The owner had also started a tradition of randomly giving Harley riders little plastic pigs, or “Hogs”, with handwritten messages on them. She places them on bikes without telling anyone. You return from wandering around and, if you are lucky, there is one sitting there waiting for you.

I got one.

Childishly pleased? Absolutely.

Back on the bikes, we carried on to Joplin for a coffee stop at the Joplin Avenue Coffee Company. It was a great little place. The coffee was excellent, as were the muffins and cinnamon buns, and the air conditioning was becoming increasingly welcome as the temperature began to rise.

The next stop was only a few kilometres and about thirteen minutes down the road, but during that short ride we left Missouri and crossed into Kansas.

Another state ticked off.

We stopped at Cars on the Route, where the truck that inspired Tow Mater from Pixar’s Cars is on display. Apparently the creators of the film spent months travelling Route 66 looking for ideas and characters. Having now spent a few days riding it ourselves, that makes perfect sense. Every little town, building and roadside attraction seems to have its own character.

The original vehicle was a boom truck, but it was adapted into a tow truck to make the character more accessible for the film.

We were also told the story of the fire truck character. The local man who was going to provide the voice sadly passed away before they could record him, so the character was left silent in his honour.

A lovely story and a lovely touch.

Kansas did not last long. Before we knew it, we had crossed another state line and entered Oklahoma.

Our next stop was the Historic Rainbow Bridge. We parked the bikes on the bridge and lined up for the obligatory photos. Steve commented that he had never seen the river running so high, further evidence of just how much rain had fallen over the previous few days.

Three quarters of an hour later, we stopped for fuel at Buffalo Ranch, which also doubled as the lunch stop. The options were simple and the decision was equally simple. Fuel for the bikes, food for the riders, then back on the road.

The temperature was climbing steadily by now and we were beginning to feel the effects. We had been warned repeatedly about dehydration, particularly with the combination of heat and wind, so everyone was drinking plenty of water.

We had also been advised to use lip balm.

My lips have never looked so luscious.

As we travelled further into Oklahoma, the sheer scale of America began to become even more apparent. Some of the roads seemed impossibly long and straight. You would ride for miles towards what looked like the end of the road, finally arrive at a bend and then be presented with another impossibly long straight disappearing into the distance.

It is difficult to explain just how vast the country feels until you are travelling through it on a motorcycle.

Most of Route 66 and the freeways we had ridden were concrete rather than tarmac. For the most part the roads were good, although the right-hand wheel track closest to the verge occasionally had some fairly serious potholes. Add the constant presence of huge 18-wheelers thundering past and it certainly kept the concentration levels high.

Wendy managed to capture one of those moments perfectly, with a US Express truck filling the frame as it powered past us.

Our next stop was another famous Route 66 landmark, the Blue Whale of Catoosa.

It is exactly what it sounds like. A huge blue concrete whale sitting beside a small pond in what feels like the middle of nowhere. Apparently the pond had once been used as a swimming hole, complete with slides built into the whale.

Looking at the water, nobody appeared tempted to revive the tradition.

As we were getting ready to leave, someone discovered that there was a Hard Rock nearby.

Well, it would have been rude not to.

A short detour was approved to enhance the growing Hard Rock T-shirt and shot-glass collection. Another T-shirt and another shot glass duly found their way into the luggage.

No wonder my bag was getting heavier.

By the time we left, it was seriously hot. For the first time on the trip, many of the group packed away their riding jackets for the short ride into Tulsa. We would never normally ride without them, but temperatures were now well into the 30s and everyone was beginning to wilt.

The Road Ahead had also been relaying just how effective our cooling vests had been. Those of us wearing them were singing their praises and, after the afternoon heat, it did not take much convincing. Before long everyone wanted one.

Cooling vests had suddenly become the must-have accessory of Route 66.

Our final stop before the hotel was Tulsa Harley-Davidson. For anyone who rides, it was like letting children loose in a sweet shop. Bikes, clothing, chrome and accessories everywhere.

The cooling vests, however, were the main attraction. Word had spread through the group and everyone was now looking for one. Unfortunately, stock and sizes were limited. Wendy managed to get one, but there was nothing in my size.

The search would have to continue.

The final run to the hotel was only about ten minutes. We unloaded the bikes, collected the bags from the trailer and headed straight for the blessed relief of air conditioning.

That should probably have been the end of the day.

It wasn’t.

We discovered it was Stevie’s birthday and there was no chance The Road Ahead was allowing him to spend it quietly in the hotel. Stevie and Karl were duly hijacked by the Scots and Welsh contingent and informed that they were coming out with us.

They did not put up much resistance.

We started in an Irish bar for food, drinks and a proper birthday celebration. The Welsh were in fine form, the banter was flowing and after four days together on the road, the group was beginning to feel less like a collection of strangers and more like a travelling family.

From the Irish bar, we headed to a rooftop bar.

It looked good from outside.

Once inside, however, it quickly became apparent that we had raised the average age by at least twenty years. We looked around, looked at each other and realised we might not be the target demographic.

We stayed for a drink anyway.

Then we made a dignified tactical withdrawal.

The next stop was much more our style.

A karaoke bar.

It did not take long before microphones were in hand and the Scots and Welsh were providing Tulsa with a musical education. I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) was belted out with enormous enthusiasm, if not necessarily perfect pitch.

Sweet Caroline followed.

By that point the whole place was joining in. It may not have been musically flawless, but it was certainly memorable.

The night continued much later than anyone had planned. Sandi, in particular, was well and truly Tulsa’d.

I’ll leave the details there.

Eventually, we made our way back to the hotel, where we bumped into Sebastian in the bar. What should have been a quick goodnight turned into another drink and a proper conversation.

We talked about EagleRider, Route 66, riding motorcycles in the USA and what made these trips so special. We also spoke about our own plans for The Road Ahead and where the bikes might take us next.

It was one of those unplanned conversations that often becomes one of the best parts of a trip.

By the time we finally headed to bed, it had been a very long day.

We had ridden through three states, visited some of the most iconic and eccentric sights on Route 66, added to the souvenir collection, celebrated a birthday, sung karaoke with the Welsh, discovered we were too old for a Tulsa rooftop bar and finished the night talking bikes and future adventures with Sebastian.

Tomorrow was our first lay day.

It was just as well.