There’s nothing quite like the feeling of twisting a throttle on a crisp Oklahoma Sunday morning and knowing the whole family is right there with you. On September 27, 2026, Kay and I fired up the bikes in Edmond with our daughter Emily Mathews, her husband Dirk, their kids Luna and Casper, and my long-time riding buddy (and Kay’s brother) David Blankenship. Luna climbed on behind me because she doesn’t have her motorcycle endorsement yet, and young Casper rode with his dad since he’s not old enough for the street. The plan was simple: pavement-only back roads up to Pawhuska for lunch at the Pioneer Woman’s café.
Of course the café was closed on Sunday.
So we did what every good motorcycle adventure requires—we shrugged, grinned, and rolled with the punches. The road has a funny way of rewarding the flexible, and that day it delivered in spades.
Ghosts, Outlaws, and Empty Hallways in Guthrie
Our first stop was the old Guthrie Memorial Hospital, that looming five-story brick relic that looks like it walked straight out of a spooky movie. Construction started in 1925 with big dreams and Methodist money, but the Depression left it unfinished until the Sisters of Saint Benedict finished the job in 1946. It served the community under a few different names before a newer hospital opened in 1978 and this one was left to the weeds and the rumors.
Local legend says the place once housed mental patients in its later years, and plenty of folks swear the spirits never checked out. Lights still flicker on empty floors. Shadows move past third-floor windows. Some visitors claim a heavy, cold feeling settles in your chest if you linger too long. We didn’t hang around to test the theory, but the building sure knows how to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Perfect first stop for a family of motorcycle explorers.
From there we pointed the bikes toward Boot Hill in Summit View Cemetery. Standing among those weathered stones always feels like time-traveling. We paid our respects at the graves of Elmer McCurdy, Bill Doolin, and Little Dick West. I’ve written about Elmer before (see my 2015 post from when I was mapping dual-sport routes through Logan County). He was the hard-luck outlaw who couldn’t rob a train without blowing the safe to smithereens, got shot by a posse in 1911, and then spent the next sixty-plus years as a carnival mummy—even starring as a prop on The Six Million Dollar Man—before they finally buried him here under concrete so he couldn’t wander off again.
Bill Doolin was the real deal, the leader of the Wild Bunch after the Dalton Gang met its end in Coffeyville. Deputy U.S. Marshal Heck Thomas and a posse caught up with him near Lawson in 1896. Little Dick West, short in stature but long on grit, rode with Doolin’s crew and later the Jennings Gang before his own shootout near Guthrie in 1898. Standing there with three generations of our family, the stories felt alive again.
Closed Doors, Open Roads, and a Fine Steak in Pawnee
We meandered northeast, stopping in downtown Perry where the famous café on the square was also closed for the day. No problem. The road was calling louder than any menu. By the time we rolled into Pawnee, the Pawnee Bill Museum was under renovation and locked tight. Another closed door. Another reason to keep exploring.
Instead we pulled into Klick’s Steakhouse and discovered that some of the best decisions on a motorcycle trip are the ones made when the original plan falls apart. The food was excellent—hot, hearty, and exactly what a pack of hungry riders needed after a morning of history and highways.
Full and happy, we made a quick side trip to Skedee to see the statue of Chief Baconrind. The monument shows Osage Chief Bacon Rind (Star-That-Travels) shaking hands with Colonel Ellsworth Walters, the oil-lease auctioneer who helped the Osage get top dollar during the boom years. Dedicated in 1926, it stands as a quiet reminder that friendship and fair dealing can leave a mark bigger than any oil derrick.
Pawnee Nation History Under Our Tires
From there we wandered through the Pawnee Nation capital, rolling past the old underground wigwam and the early 1900s sandstone buildings that still serve the tribe today. The Pawnee people once lived in large earth-lodge villages along the rivers of Nebraska and Kansas, farming corn, beans, and squash while following the buffalo. After years of pressure, they sold their Nebraska reservation in the 1870s and moved south to Indian Territory. The agency and boarding school complex that grew here became the heart of their new home. Many of those original buildings still stand, now housing tribal offices and the Pawnee Nation College. Riding through that history with the family felt like being handed a living textbook—and the best classroom in the world has two wheels.
We finished the day with a sweet treat in Stillwater and rolled home to Edmond late, tired in the best possible way. There’s something magic about packing a multi-generation crew onto motorcycles and simply letting the day unfold. Luna chatting behind me, Casper riding with his dad, Emily and Dirk right there in the mix, David grinning under his helmet, Kay and me soaking it all in. The road didn’t care that our original plan fell through. It just kept offering up pieces of Oklahoma history and a whole lot of family time.
If you’ve been waiting for a reason to throw a leg over your motorcycle and go explore, consider this your official invitation. The best rides aren’t the ones that go according to plan. They’re the ones where you roll with the punches, follow the curiosity of the day, and share the miles with people you love. The road is waiting. Go find out what it has for you.
