The next morning, we are at the Tulsa Harley-Davidson Dealership. I believe Brad had to get something for his foot peg; something minor that he needed a part and he repaired it in the parking lot.
Mission complete. Brad’s Ultra Classic is ready to go. I had been reviewing the paper map for a long route back to the Rt 66 Biker Rally Campground. I found a park on my paper road atlas. It was on the Arkansas River. The route along the river seemed like a ride that promised some curves and river views. The road appeared to cross into the Osage Indian Reservation. That might be neat to experience riding through a reservation.
We left Tulsa and navigated to the Arkansas River. We followed the winding road north on the east side of the river. The ride was going great at first. Nice curves. Some green vegetation. The only river views were the first few miles after turning off the highway. Then the paved road turned to a dirt road. We slowed down. Then the dirt road became rough. Our bikes rattled down the dirt road and through the reservation. The rattling became louder and we slowed the bike wondering if we should turn back. I am thinking where am I leading us? Did I miss a turn? Am I lost? We stopped the bikes at what appears to be an abandoned small business. Deterioration conceals whatever type of business it was; maybe a campground office. We dismounted the dusty motorcycles to check the map and use the phone to verify our location. No cell phone service. I know Brad isn’t happy to be riding his touring Harley down a dusty dirt road. At times it feels like we are about to fall through a crevice that will swallow our bikes. Brad has no problem making a U-turn and heading back to safety. I think he prefers it. On the other hand, I avoid U-turns. I am curious of where the road leads. I have the urge to go just a bit further. Brad obliged me in my quest to find this Osage park. So we cautiously pressed on down the rough dirt road. Both of us are watching our fuel gauges. More dirt road. No towns. Then some pavement. Then a house and a sign that says Osage! I followed the sign. We descended into a tiny community with about two dozen houses, a church, and a post office. I recall seeing a man mowing his lawn with a push mower. Another house we pass has a small junk yard or several projects in array. We blinked and had already ridden from one end to the community and exited the other end. I see the sign for Osage Point Park and feel better about navigating the previous long rough dirt road. My motorcycle bucks. The pavement is buckled. I brake before my bike throws me off. The grass and saplings are over six feet tall, forming a green wall along each side of the road. I swerve to avoid an upheaved part of the pavement. An oncoming truck speeds towards us. I can see the driver is just as surprised as I am that another vehicle is on this resemblance of a road. Further down the road, I begin to see some water through the tall grass. We get off our bikes and enjoy an open view of the river at an old boat ramp. No one is around on either side of the water. We take the moment to enjoy the sunshine. I snap a few pictures, and we look at our paper map to form a place to ride to next. Our stomachs have a big vote. We decide that Cushing looks like a town big enough for us to find some eateries. Now, if I can find our way out of this area without turning back down that rough dirt road.
