The Story

Day 6 on the bikes – Tulsa, OK to Oklahoma City, OK (29 June)

229 kms (142 miles), 1,440 kms (893 miles) so far

After yesterday's lay day, it was back to what was becoming a familiar routine. The good news was there was no ridiculously early start. Bag drop wasn't until 9:30, so we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, another decent coffee and had plenty of time to finish packing before heading downstairs.

It felt good to be back in the saddle.

Before we left Tulsa, Rob mentioned he'd missed out on buying a cooling vest when we'd stopped at Harley-Davidson a couple of days earlier. The rest of the Road Ahead team were already converts. We'd all discovered just how well they worked and, with temperatures climbing every day, nobody wanted Rob heading into Texas without one.

Steve and Chantelle, as always, were more than happy to help. A quick detour to Cycle Gear was added to the route and we rolled into the car park just as the doors opened.

Mission accomplished.

Rob came out with his cooling vest, a few others emerged with bits of motorcycle kit they suddenly couldn't live without, and twenty minutes later we were finally underway.

Or at least most of us were...

Every tour has that day when somebody misses a turn.

Today wasn't us.

The Road Ahead team followed Steve out of Tulsa like ducklings behind their mum. We'd finally got the hang of riding in formation and navigating busy city traffic.

Unfortunately, not everyone could say the same.

Somewhere amongst the Tulsa traffic, Graham took a wrong turn and disappeared completely. Then, just to make him feel a little less lonely, Steven and Carl from Wales also became separated from the group after getting caught at a busy junction.

While we continued towards our first stop, Steve and Chantelle calmly went into recovery mode. A couple of phone calls, a Google Maps pin and the magic of WhatsApp live location soon had everyone heading back in the right direction.

By the time we reached Gasoline Alley in Sapulpa, the familiar rumble of three slightly relieved Harleys announced their arrival.

They were greeted with applause, laughter and a healthy amount of good-natured abuse.

I'm fairly sure we'll still be reminding the Welsh boys about getting lost long after this trip is over.

Gasoline Alley is exactly the sort of place Route 66 does so well.

Part museum, part gift shop and part shrine to American motoring history, it's packed with old petrol pumps, enamel signs, neon lights and enough memorabilia to keep you browsing for hours. Normally it's closed on Mondays, but the owner had opened especially for our EagleRider group, which was a lovely gesture.

The ladies have also apparently bought matching pink T-shirts somewhere along the way, and there are rumours of a coordinated riding day coming up.

We'll let you know how that unfolds...

Back on the bikes we headed for Stroud and lunch at the Five Star Barbecue and Steakhouse.

By now Oklahoma had decided to remind us who was in charge.

The temperature was climbing quickly and the ice-cold lemonade disappeared almost as soon as it arrived.

Before climbing back onto the bike I soaked my cooling vest in cold water.

It's funny how quickly things change.

Only a few days ago we were stopping to put waterproofs on because we were soaked through.

Now we're deliberately soaking ourselves before riding off.

The cooling vests are worth every penny. Once you're moving, the airflow through the jacket creates a cooling effect that lasts for a couple of hours. It's not air conditioning, but in temperatures climbing into the mid-thirties it makes an enormous difference.

As the afternoon unfolded, the scenery changed once again.

The forests and rolling countryside we'd become used to were giving way to much wider open spaces. Cattle grazed in enormous fields, long straight roads stretched to the horizon and tiny Route 66 towns appeared every twenty or thirty miles before disappearing in the mirrors just as quickly.

We're definitely in cattle country now.

We're also firmly in America's Bible Belt.

One thing I've noticed ever since arriving in the United States is the incredible sense of patriotism.

American flags are everywhere.

Huge flags flying above businesses, smaller ones outside homes, flags hanging from bridges and flying in town squares. With Independence Day only a few days away they're probably even more noticeable, but I suspect they're proudly displayed all year round.

What has surprised me is something completely different.

We've now travelled almost 900 miles through what most people would describe as Republican heartland.

Do you know how many Trump or MAGA signs we've seen?

One.

That's it.

It's another reminder that travelling gives you a much better understanding of a place than watching the news ever will.

Our next stop was the Route 66 Interpretive Centre in Chandler.

Housed inside a beautifully restored 1930s stone armoury, it tells the story of the Mother Road through the eyes of the people who lived and travelled along it. Deborah, one of the volunteers, brought the place to life with stories of migration, family journeys and how Route 66 became far more than just a road.

Places like this remind you that Route 66 isn't famous because of the tarmac.

It's famous because of the people.

The final stop before Oklahoma City was the motorcycle museum at Warwick.

It houses a wonderful collection of British, American and Japanese motorcycles, each with its own story to tell.

Outside, however, nobody was talking about motorcycles.

They were talking about the heat.

It was nudging 36 degrees.

As we walked back to the bikes, Chantelle stood waiting with bottles of ice-cold water, happily soaking anyone who wanted a quick cool-down before zipping their jackets back up.

There weren't many refusals.

The ride into Oklahoma City was short, but by the time we reached the Embassy Suites we were all ready for a break.

The hotel was superb.

Large suites with separate lounges, a kitchenette and, most importantly after a day like today, a swimming pool.

There wasn't even a discussion.

Bike gear off.

Swimming shorts on.

Straight into the pool.

Absolute heaven.

After Steve's usual evening briefing we made the most of the hotel's complimentary happy hour before grabbing dinner and taking a short Uber into downtown Oklahoma City.

There was one place we all wanted to visit.

The Oklahoma City National Memorial.

Nothing prepares you for it.

The 168 empty chairs sit silently on the footprint of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, one for every life lost in the bombing on 19 April 1995. The smaller chairs, representing the children who died in the daycare centre, are particularly difficult to take in.

I found myself chatting to one of the security guards who explained that the chairs occupy the footprint of the building while the reflecting pool marks the road where the bomb exploded.

As we spoke, I couldn't help thinking that history has an unfortunate habit of remembering the names of terrorists while the names of their victims slowly fade.

This memorial turns that on its head.

It isn't about the man who carried out the attack.

It's about the people whose lives were taken, the families left behind and a city that refused to be defined by one terrible day.

It's beautifully done.

Quiet.

Respectful.

Powerful.

As we walked back to the Uber afterwards, there wasn't the usual laughter and banter.

Everyone was just quietly taking it all in.

Not every memorable stop on Route 66 is quirky.

Not every highlight is a roadside diner or a giant neon sign.

Some places stay with you for very different reasons.

Tomorrow we leave Oklahoma behind and cross into Texas.

The miles get longer.

The temperatures get hotter.

And the landscapes that most of us picture when we dream about Route 66 are finally just over the horizon.

I can't wait.