The day had finally come. I pulled up to the shop in my car and unloaded my panniers and other bagged gear. It was about 6:30 on a Saturday morning, and Caleb had already arrived and begun making pancakes for the dozen or so riders that had signed up for our overnight bikepacking trip to Okmulgee Lake.
The route was about 85 miles on the first day and followed by another 60 miles on the second day. I was thrilled with the folks that decided to come out, as a lot of them were newer riders and had never bikepacked before, let alone ridden on gravel roads.
I dropped my panniers onto the rear rack of my Gorilla Monsoon and stuffed all of the odds and ends into my frame and basket bag. I had set my bike up single speed in anticipation of Mid-South 2025, which I had registered for in the 100 mile single-speed category. The loaded, 85 mile day would prove me capable or totally unable. Time would tell. I had done this route on a fixed gear several years before, but I was in much better shape back then than I was now. I was nervous that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the group or blow up and bonk too early in the day to recover.
On the more assuring side, however, I had finally more or less finished my bikepacking bike build: a Gorilla Monsoon with ultra wide flat bars, Cane Creek bar ends, a full SON dynamo setup laced to polished Velocity Cliffhanger rims and a Paul Components single speed chain tensioner.
The gang slowly started to trickle in, a mix of familiar and new faces. Caleb’s aunt and uncle, Katy and Tom, had generously volunteered to run SAG support and also do some camera work for us, as had our good friend Denise. One of my favorite aspects of these open-call bikepacking trips is the diversity of riders and people they attract.
Rookies and veterans, shop-regulars and folks from out of town; name the dichotomy and it was probably there. Everybody mingles and it creates a really unique and diverse vibe.
After hounding down some of Caleb’s delectable pancakes, we all saddled up and began rolling out of town. Pretty early in the ride we had some newer riders need to stop and tune up their bag setup to better secure their gear. It’s all part of the process!
After a flat tire stop and a brief detour down what on Google Maps had looked to be a sick doubletrack line that went through a plot of land but ended up being a private gated oil road, we finally made it out of Tulsa county and began pounding up the still-paved but rural roads of northwest Sapulpa.
It was immediately apparent to me that I had over-geared my single speed setup, leaving me mashing a little harder than was ideal on the steep climbs. While we rode west of town, we quickly realized that we had a south wind to our left, and would be riding straight into the wind for the majority of the day once we turned south towards Okmulgee.
After a brutal paved climb, we finally arrived at our first section of gravel. One of our riders needed to drop out due to a knee injury and decided to drive out to the campsite and meet us on his e-bike towards the end of the route. We all regrouped at the first section of gravel and naturally dispersed into several smaller groups. It’s always interesting to see how a group of bikepackers disseminate themselves across a landscape.
For better or for worse, I have always found it difficult to create artificial pace groups on these trips, nor do I find it in the spirit of things. There is no rush to the destination, nor any reason for everybody to remain right on each other’s wheels. We are all on the route, and I want everyone to traverse it as they see fit and at a rate that they are able to.
Since I was on the single speed and was just mashing up every climb (much to my legs' detriment), I was way up ahead of everybody and had a lot of space to ponder and reflect. I had ridden this route close to 6 times, and knew every turn, dilapidated barn and climb. Little had changed on these rural roads over the past 4 years, but many aspects of my life certainly had.
I was happy to see the classic truck in front of the small farmhouse about 30 miles in, its aging and yellow patina a nice complement to the fall colors, that random bean field with a black mailbox that produced a rainbow during my first time on this route, and the rusting pile of scrap metal at the top of that steep winding climb. I didn't normally appreciate familiar and studied places, but the stasis of those environments is often the only way of measuring the rate of internal change.
I finally rolled into the thriving metropolis of Slick, Oklahoma (population 159), our approximate halfway point and the only c-store on day 1 of the route. The gas station is pretty derelict these days, and they rarely even fire up the fryer, let alone have a hot dog roller. Luckily, a local feller had set up his BBQ truck across the street and hadn’t sold out yet, despite it being close to 2.
That pulled pork sandwich and coleslaw were a welcome and badly needed refreshment. My legs were fucked up after crawling up those ungraded gravel roads all morning. The group was pretty spread out at this point, and my new friend from Texas, Brent, and I were the only ones who had arrived yet. We chatted about past adventures, career ambitions and our mutual love for bikepacking while the crew trickled in. Tom and Katy pulled up in the SAG wagon and got all of us some water.
By the time some of us rolled out of the gas station, the sun was honing in towards the horizon, and the sort of primitive urgency that can only be felt with the threat of being outside at night began to set in. Several of us tore out of Slick and began knocking down miles while watching the all-powerful orb that gave us light and guidance slowly sink into the horizon.
Few things as delectable as riding through the rolling plains of Oklahoma while the the setting sun beams between dotted clusters of trees. The temperature had fell, and we all stopped at a turn to don some extra layers and keep pushing through the night.
On one of the final and flattest stretches of gravel road that day, a blood moon rose from the dark skyline and illuminated the chossy road in an ambient haze. My dynamo headlight beamed 30 yards ahead, in a perfectly white light, but I toned down the output a bit to enjoy the natural luminescence. My legs were sore, but my appetite for miles was revived by the colorful gift.
I finally reached the state park, grinding up its steep, but at least paved, climbs and soaring down the winding descents in the dark. I rolled into the campsite to find a few of the riders that had sagged in and folks pitching camp.
After we had set up our tents and sleeping bags, we gathered around the campfire and shared some fresh hot mulled cider. A rider had packed the ingredients and means of production in the SAG wagon. My girlfriend, Grace, had driven down to hang out for the evening and chat with everybody, and all of us recounted the events of the day’s ride and other former crusades gone by. 
Upon waking, I poked my head out of the tent and looked out on the glassy surface of the lake, aglow with its reflection of the clouded sunrise. Some folks were scrambling over to the central picnic table between our campsites and grabbing food out of the cooler while others pulled dried food out of their panniers and fired up their camping stoves.
If someone wanted to see the face of addiction, they only needed to see how much us “ultralight” bikepackers had brought in the form of coffee accoutrements. The setups varied from an Aeropress to a Jetboil pour over stand. Last year, Mike even brought his glass french press.
While everyone sipped and chowed, Katy and Tom, our sag drivers, made the rounds and interviewed several of us about our bikepacking setups.
In true City Cycles fashion, we packed up and rolled out of camp about an hour later than we planned for, and began knocking down the winding rollers that snaked through the park. It was fantastic to be able to actually see the park in daylight, as we all had arrived in the dark the night before. The lake was built about 40 years ago. It's surface covered about 1,100 acres and was turned into a recreational park after being dammed.
The goal was to make “Oklahoma's first Trophy Bass Lake.” It had broken my heart not to bring a fly rod, but I knew that upon arriving after an entire day of rocking single speed, I would have little interest in anything beyond eating and sleeping.
All of us flew out of the park on a long, paved downhill at a good clip, passing the beautiful dam on our way out. It was a terraced stone structure, about 150 feet tall by 500 feet long, and the dammed water slowly trickled over its edge, creating a sort of waterfall. At that time of year, however, the water was at a slight trickle, and the mossy stone steps sat largely dormant but still damp.
As soon as we departed from the lake’s shoreline, we turned onto our first section of gravel that day. Immediately, a 12 percent grade greeted us. Luckily, our legs had been warmed up from the first 6 or 7 miles of riding that morning. I bum rushed the hill, but unfortunately only made it halfway up before needing to walk it. As I pushed my bike over the crest of the hill, I felt the south wind pick up on my back and was glad to feel that the wind would be on our side today.
After rolling through several cattle fields on gravel roads for a while, we hopped onto Dentonville Rd., a long, relatively flat highway with a northbound elevation loss. Between this false flat and the tailwind, I was quickly spinning out on the single speed, pedaling at 130 RPMs in sporadic bursts and barely keeping up with everybody else who had much higher gear ratios in their cassettes’ quiver.
Eventually, I got dropped and was left coasting along at a more comfortable pace. Katy and Tom pulled over at an intersection about 10 miles later for some water and food distribution and everyone was gathered around the vehicle, but I pedaled past the stop to make up for some lost time and get a bit of a “lead” so I wouldn’t be holding up the crew.
Finally, I arrived in Mounds with several of the other riders who had quickly caught up with me. I slammed a chocolate milk, a plate of fried chicken and potato wedges, a 16oz coke and a slice of Hunt’s Pizza. We all gathered in front of the gas station and broke bread, getting our equal share of strange looks from the small town locals gawking at our lycra bibs and primitive appetites.
We sailed through the last 5 or so miles of gravel on the route and began inching towards the Tulsa county limit.
I have always hated the portion of bikepacking and touring that is navigating the entrance to a major metropolis after relishing in the general spaciousness of the countryside. Traffic, honking, numerous turns and worrying about the bike being stolen while you're inside a gas station all slam back into the mind, a list of issues to be attended to and navigated. Things suddenly become more stressful and complicated.
I had done my best to craft a relatively quiet entrance back into the city when building the route. My good friend Nicolas and I wove our way back into Tulsa through the suburbs of Sapulpa while we chatted about his time working in NYC several years prior and why we both liked Tulsa.
Several riders peeled off of the main group and rode straight home, and about 6 of us ended the day back at the shop. We all cracked a cold beverage out of the fridge and I slammed some gummy bears.
My legs were sore and my face was covered in dust, but now new friends and old all laughed over some freshly shared experiences. ‘Twas a solid adventure. We all parted ways and looked forward to future trips to come.