Oklahoma City, OK -> Fayetteville, AR

Growing up in California, I have heard a lot of people talking about how southerners pace themselves. People use phrases like "time moves differently down there" or "things are slower in the South." Melissa helped me to get a feel for that today. Melissa is a proper daughter of the south from Mississippi who has relocated to The Okay City for work. She was staying at the same Airbnb as me. Last night she was invaluable in helping to put me in touch with the manager so I could get back in to my room after I locked myself (and my phone) out. This morning, I woke up early, incredibly early. So early that I could have gotten to Fayetteville by lunch. I was excited. I made tea, packed my bags, and prepared to load up the bike. When I got outside, Melissa was there enjoying the morning. We chatted for a while about her daughter who had come up in conversation the previous night. After picking up her two bachelor's degrees, she decided to backpack through Europe for over a year on her own. The pandemic meant that she had to leave Morocco but this was right as she was getting homesick. We talked about how to properly approach an adventure such as hers or mine. On my shortest day yet I was planning to cannonball down the interstate to get to my family. Melissa dissented. She talked to me about how vital it was to skip the interstate and take the slower highways. How you see so much more there. I tried to disagree with her but she held me down. She asked me if I was planning to visit the south and when I said that I wanted to but lacked the time she threw a fit. This was the beginning of an important lesson in the southern concept of time. I sat and listened as talked about her family, her daughter, her son, fate, and even her cars growing up. Those subjects were not the important lessons. Disregarding time to live in the moment for a while was the key, if subtle, point. She made me promise her that I would skip the interstate that day, I agreed. This post is making good on that promise.

Thank You

I went north to the suburb of Edmond, a nice little town with cute buildings and a good breakfast stop. From there, I took Oklahoma's Highway 66 east. It was pleasant to get away from the overbearing winds, monotonous terrain, and unending tacky billboards of the interstate. It also proved invaluable. Rain is the enemy of the motorcyclist. It makes the road slick, It cuts down on vision, but most importantly it soaks you and your belongings. That morning I had looked at the weather and decided that it would be dry enough to set out without fitting the waterproofing to my gear. This is fine so long as it does not rain hard or long enough to soak through. A few drops need not hurt. The first couple drops hit my helmet shortly after getting on the highway. They didn't stop. About five minutes in I decided to pull over in a covered area. It took another five minutes before I came across a closed fruit stand where I could change my gear out and be dry. If I was on the interstate the rain would have soaked me quicker and I would have had a harder time finding shelter. The highway was already turning out to be a good move.

My impromptu changing room

After getting sorted out I set off in the rain. I was nervously watching the waterproof covers on my luggage, hoping that they would hold on at speed. I had never ridden in any real rain before and of course not with this gear. Luckily the covers held on, my liners kept the wet out and I was able to ride on. There's a funny thing that motorcyclists do to keep our visors free of water. To clear off a wet visor, we turn our heads to the side to have the wind blow the water away.

Sign Reads, "Seba Station Motorcycle Museam"

I kept going until I came across a motorcycle museum in the town of Warwick, OK. Population 191 souls. This place blew my mind. There were several incredibly rare motorcycles there. Notable to me were a DKW Hercules (rare rotary-engined motorcycle), some bullet-faired Ducatti race bikes, a Motobecane, and an early Moto Guzzi. None of these had any reason to be in an old service station in the middle of nowhere in Oklahoma, but there they were. The gentleman behind the counter told me that the collection was the work of him and another local. He also told me that the Norton Classic rode much better than the DKW Hercules. A true connoisseur of rotary engined motorcycles.

Goose go HONK. This was a quarter of the collection.

The route took me through many other small towns along the way to Fayetteville. One notable trend was that every tiny town in rural Oklahoma seems to have a dispensary these days (the doctor is in!). I meandered and wound my way through the rest of the Oklahoma countryside to the Arkansas border. Tonight I am staying with family, there is nothing quite like that. It made my heart jump to get to the end of the road and see everyone out in the driveway to greet me and welcome me in. It is beautiful here and I am looking forward to having a little rest on my way to Maryland. Well earned. Tired and smiling.

The helmet belongs to the next generation of riders. Start them safe!

Today's Distance: 217 miles

Total Distance: 1757 miles