Six Days South- Part 5

The hotel breakfast in Beaumont managed to be the worst of the entire trip. Even the free Starbucks somehow tasted off.

It didn’t matter much.

Outside the weather was a perfect seventy-five degrees and clear skies. The kind of day that makes even long highway miles enjoyable.

Most of the ride would take place on the wide, straight highways of Texas. While the scenery occasionally blurred into repetition, the ability to cruise comfortably at faster than normal highway speeds meant the miles disappeared quickly.

Every now and then we peeled off onto smaller roads, crossing bridges over lakes and reservoirs before eventually returning to the main thoroughfare.

A couple from Texarkana rolled into the park on their bikes while we were taking a break. Before long we were leaning against the picnic table trading the usual roadside conversation; where we were headed, how perfect the weather had been for riding, and how they always keep one eye out for the occasional alligator in the lakes around there.

After our break we headed north for a quick 16 mile ride through southwest Arkansas. Formen was exactly the type of midwest town you’d expect, and very proud of their number one export– country singer Tracey Lawrence.

From there the destination became Broken Bow, Oklahoma,

I hadn’t been back to Oklahoma since my family moved away when I was very young. Even though Broken Bow sits on the opposite side of the state of my birth place, simply crossing the border felt meaningful.

Eventually the sign appeared.

Welcome to Oklahoma.

I pulled off the road and stopped for a photo. It had been a long time since I’d done the classic roadside sign picture, but this one felt worth it.

The region sits within the Choctaw Nation. The land was greener and more lush (even in early spring) than I expected. As we rode route 3 west the scenery was flat compared to the terrain I’m used to riding back home in the Northeast. However the big open sweepers and setting sun welcomed us in like a warm hug.

Broken Bow itself had a small historic downtown, though by the time we arrived most of the businesses had closed for the evening. We ended up grabbing dinner at a Mexican restaurant near the hotel before settling in for the night.

That day’s soundtrack had been a few albums by The War on Drugs, which always enhance the mood.

As the days miles passed I found myself thinking about finances, riding more, and family, and occasionally drifting back to my old career. Not so much the job itself, but the parts of it that came with being in leadership: building a team, mentoring younger people, and watching them grow into their roles. Those were the rewards that stuck with me, the ones that tend to resurface when you have long stretches of road and time to think.

At the same time I couldn’t ignore the reality around me.

I was spending my days surrounded by motorcycles—writing about them, riding them, living inside the world that had inspired me for years.

What more could I need?

I knew leaving a stable career to pursue a dream and my passions would come with a few stipulations. After all, I’m the new guy in a new business and have to work my way back up. Most days the trade has been worth it, stepping away from the pressure of a director role for a position where my focus is learning a new industry while letting my customer service and people skills show through in the day-to-day.

Still, rising costs of living have a way of applying pressure, and the constant hum of my seeker mindset, always looking for growth and prosperity, can turn those thoughts into self-imposed stress.

The next morning we left Broken Bow and quickly found one of the best roads of the entire trip: Route 259 heading north.

The elevation climbed above two thousand feet as we entered the Ouachita National Forest. The road twisted through the mountains while fog clung to the higher ridges. At one overlook we stopped and looked down into the valley we had just climbed from.

Those are the moments when riding feels the most alive.

Soon after turning onto Route 59 my time in Oklahoma ended as we crossed back into Arkansas.

The state had always existed in my mind mostly through a few well-known exports—Walmart, Bill Clinton, JB Hunt, and the occasional viral video of the Arkansas highway patrol chasing down sport bikes.

But riding through it revealed something else entirely.

The highlands slowly gave way to farmland as we approached the Arkansas River, eventually leading us toward Memphis and the final stretch of the trip.

Knowing the ride was almost over made every mile feel sharper.

In just a couple days I’d be back in the Northeast, back to routine, back to winter slowly fading into spring.

It made me wonder why travel has such a powerful effect on us.

Why do so many people come home from a trip ready to change their lives?

Why does distance from our daily routines suddenly make things clearer?

This trip had been planned for the hardest part of the year, the long stretch of winter when riding feels impossibly far away. The goal was simple: reset the mind, spark creativity again, and make the final push toward spring.

In that sense the trip did exactly what it was meant to do.

And then some.

This is the final part of the Six Days South series. Thank you following along on this journey. If you missed parts 1-4, here they are again Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4.

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