Today's ride was to be the shortest of the trip mileage-wise. Because of this I was in no big hurry to get up early. The bed felt wonderful, and I had the air on full blast the whole night so when I woke I felt pretty good. It was a king sized bed and at the moment it was making me feel like a king.
Interestingly enough, at home I sleep on the right side of the bed and my wife sleeps on the left side. We've done that for so many years, that even when I'm traveling and/or sleeping alone, I still have to be on the right side. For some odd reason my brain won't let me settle down and sleep on the left side, even if the hotel room layout would make it more convenient to do so. So on this morning, even though I had a king sized bed all to myself, I was still laying on the right side.
I got dressed and packed up my things, then wandered down to the lobby where they had a continental breakfast. It was still a little limited due to the pandemic, but they had enough for me to put a plate together. Lobby seating had been shut down, so I had to take my food back to my room and eat it there.
The previous evening I had parked my motorcycle outside my hotel room window. When I opened the curtains and looked outside it appeared to be a pretty nice day.
I grabbed my luggage and walked out the hotel room door only to discover that it hadn't cooled down overnight, and the temperature was already around 90 with the humidity still pushing 100%.
As I was putting my luggage on the bike I noticed spots on the tank from rain. It obviously rained during the night, but I was so exhausted I didn't hear it.
With everything loaded up, I walked down to the front desk and checked out, then walked back and hit the road. It was about 8:40 AM when I pulled out of the hotel.
The fast way to get to where I was going would have been to get back on interstate 270 for eight miles. Instead, I opted to ride down Lindbergh Boulevard for the eight miles, as I felt it would be more interesting. This turned out to be much slower as it probably took 45 minutes to make it those eight miles. But I got to see more of St. Louis this way.
As I rode, I passed Saks Mall. This is a high-end shopping center that I remember passing on a family trip back in 1982. I remember my mom pointing it out and telling me that if a person had money, they could get anything they want there. I also remember my pubescent male brain wondering if they could produce Loni Anderson for the right price.
Further down, I passed the Magic House. This is a children's museum, that if you ever get a chance to visit is well worth it. We went there as a family back on the aforementioned trip in 1982, and then I took my family there again in 2011. It has grown significantly over the years. In it's current state it has to be at least four times as large as the first time we visited back in the day.
As I rode I kept glancing to the east to see if I could get a glimpse of the St. Louis Arch. I never did see it, which I attributed to all of the hills. Upon looking at a map later on, I also realized that it was probably because I was still at least 10 miles away.
I reached Tesson Ferry Road and turned south. This road would turn into highway 21.
Once I left the city, the first leg of the journey was to ride highway 21 down to Potosi, MO. It was already about 9:30 AM. Getting through town took longer than I had anticipated.
Highway 21 was a four lane road. Traffic was light on this Tuesday morning, so the highway was moving fast. It was very pretty, with tons of trees lining either side of the road.
About halfway to Potosi I came to the town of Hillsboro. Here the 4 lane highway ended, and highway 21 took a jog through town and then turned into a two lane road. I stopped at a local park to double check my directions and snap a photo.
With the highway reduced in size, things slowed down a bit. There were a lot of houses and intersections where cars would be entering and exiting. It was still a very pretty ride, however.
When I reached Potosi, I pulled into a gas station to take a short break. As soon as I pulled in a very friendly guy walked up to me and started chatting. Often times when people randomly walk up to me and start conversations I get weird vibes from them, but this guy seemed genuinely nice. He mentioned that he also rides, and was in the area working at a facility that didn't have air conditioning, and how hot the day was going to be.
After a minute he wished me well and went inside. I went over to the gas pumps and grabbed a squeegee to clean off my windshield. It had gotten pretty bug-riddled from the previous two days.
With the visibility through the windshield restored, I went into the store and bought an iced tea. As I was leaving the guy I had been talking to was also departing, so we said a few more parting words and went on our separate ways.
I resumed the journey and headed south on county road P. The next few hours were going to be spent exploring back roads that mapping software doesn't usually send you down when it's trying to calculate the fastest distance from point A to point B. I picked out the roads I was going to ride based on how squiggly they were on the map, so I wasn't sure if I made good decisions or not? I was about to find out...
I noticed that the extremely high humidity was still amplifying smells. I rode by an ethanol plant that had a very distinctive stench. They normally don't smell real good, but on this day it was like stink espresso.
As it turned out, County Road P was a great road. I'm really glad I chose it. Lots of curves, and I rarely saw any other vehicles. There were no shoulders, so when I wanted to pull over and take pictures I had to find driveways.
County Road P came to an end, where I jogged west on Old Route C for 1,000 feet and then headed south on County Road DD. I was really hoping that this next road I picked was close to being as good as the previous one.
Much to my surprised, DD was even better than P. The hills and curves got more intense, and the sparse traffic got even lighter. I can't remember seeing a single car the whole time I rode on DD.
At some point on DD I officially entered the Mark Twain National Forest. There was no sign stating this, and I only knew because I saw it on the map.
As mentioned, this area was very, very quiet. (Try to say that sentence in your head without hearing Elmer Fudd.) It was quiet enough that I started wondering if I were to crash, how long would it take for someone to come along and find me?
At some point I finally saw a sign for the Mark Twain National Forest.
I was really enjoying myself. This area of the country is very peaceful.
One thing about being from South Dakota is I'm not used to seeing trees, at least not in quantities such as these. Nearly all of the trees in my home state (except for the Black Hills area) have been planted by people in the last 150 years. When western settlers first came to the area they had to build their homes out of mud and sod, as there weren't any trees available to chop down for lumber. It was called the "Great Plains" because that's exactly what it was: a large, mostly flat grassy area devoid of any trees.
Conversely, this area I was riding through was riddled with trees. It is a wonderful change for me. I suppose people who grow up in tree-filled areas probably marvel with the same wonder about South Dakota's vast open spaces.
Sadly, DD came to an end and I headed west on highway 32.
Thankfully the scenery didn't end. I rode on highway 32 for five miles, then turned south on highway 49 at Dent Township. As I rode, I would occasionally pull over and take a picture.
When I reached the junction at highway 72, I technically had left the Mark Twain National Forest. After a few miles, however, I rode back into the park border. This "in-and-out" is due to the curvy nature of the road.
Highway 72 turned into highway 21, which is the same road I had started out on earlier when I left St. Louis. I just took a different route to get here.
The hotel pandemic breakfast wasn't very filling, so by now I was starting to get pretty hungry. I had seen Ellington, MO on the map and thought this would be a good place to stop to eat. When I rode through I started looking for a place that served food, but didn't see much. The town turned out to be smaller than it looked on the map.
I was so focused on looking for somewhere to eat that I missed the sign for route 106. I was supposed to head west on 106 and I rode right by it. Thankfully I quickly realized my error and hadn't gone too far down the road before I figured it out. I turned around in what looked like the remains of an old gas station. There were no buildings left, but there was an overgrown concrete parking lot and some light poles indicating that something had once existed here.
After turning around, I found the route 106 junction and headed east. As I rode through this side of Ellington I kept my eye out for food options, but nothing really jumped out at me as a good place to stop. My tummy was really wanting food and I could have used a break, but I decided to press on a little further. In 30 miles was the town of Winona which looked large enough to have somewhere to get food.
A few miles up the road on route 106 I crossed the Current River. There wasn't any traffic so I opted to stop right on the bridge and take some photos.
I came to the junction of highway H where I headed south. My directions said this would be in the town of Thorny Gap, but there were no buildings to be seen. Really, I felt like I was in the middle of nowhere on this road.
Since I had left Potosi a couple hours ago, the roads had been constantly twisting with roller coaster hills. The constant back and forth and up and down, combined with the intense heat of the day was making me a bit "carsick" (technically I should probably say "motorcyclesick," but you know what I mean.) This is really weird to experience on a motorcycle as usually the amount of wind generated is enough to stave off those feelings. Not on this day, however. I was feeling a bit queasy and definitely was in need of a break when I arrived in Winona.
The first thing I saw when I reached the town was a Casey's. They always have pizza. I was in that weird state where I was ravagingly hungry, yet my stomach was feeling slightly upset from the road. I decided pizza may not be the best thing I could eat right now so I decided to see if there was any lighter fare available in the town. I could always come back if necessary.
At the junction of highway 60 there was a gas station. I needed gas, so I decided to pull in and at least get that task out of the way. Once I stopped and got off the motorcycle the true intensity of the heat and humidity became even more apparent. It felt like where Satan would go on Spring break.
While I filled the tank I looked around and noticed a Subway in the back of the parking lot. A sandwich seemed to be a more sensible choice than greasy pizza, so I opted to ride over there and take a lunch break.
As I went to put on my sunglasses I suddenly found myself holding two separate pieces. They snapped right in half. I monkeyed with them for a minute hoping I could somehow mend them but they were beyond fixing, at least with the resources available to me in a gas station parking lot. I accepted their fate and tossed them in the trash. Rats. I really liked those sunglasses.
This isn't the first time I've broken a pair of sunglasses on a motorcycle trip. Because of this, I always travel with a spare pair. I opened my luggage bag and pulled out the second set, only to discover that they suddenly had broken too. What are the odds?
This pair had broken in a different spot than the first pair. I experimented with them to see if they were still useable in the broken state, but because there wasn't a full earpiece on one side they wouldn't sit on my face straight enough to use. I tossed this pair in the trash too.
I still had my clear glasses I use for night riding, so I pulled those out (please don't break, please don't break, please don't break...) I would have to make due with them until I came across somewhere to purchase more sunglasses. I was about 250 miles from the Wal-Mart headquarters in Bentonville, AR, so surely there are probably plenty of Wal-Mart stores around the area, right? I would just have to deal with nothing shading my eyes for a few minutes on this sunny day.
But first I went into the Subway and ordered a footlong sub with Sun Chips and a water. I sat in the cool A/C and felt like I'd been run over. I've ridden on some hot days before, but I don't recall any this brutal. I think it was because in addition to the air temperature being so high, the humidity was also about as high as it could go. I was savoring the cool air and lingered over my sandwich as I was in no big hurry to go back out into the furnace.
I reviewed my map, and texted my wife. As I sat and ate, a few people came in to the restaurant. I noted that this is a small enough community where everyone knows everyone. They didn't know me, however, so this sweaty guy in biker clothes that just looked like he'd walked off the surface of the sun was a curiosity to them. Nobody said anything, but I got some interesting looks as they were trying to figure me out.
After I had eaten my food and drank a few glasses of water, I decided before I got up from the booth I would take a few minutes to re-apply sunscreen. So far on the trip I had done a pretty good job at not getting myself burnt. A sunburn on top of the miserable heat wouldn't be much fun.
I exited the cool solace of the restaurant and went back outside. The temperature hadn't gotten any better, not that I was expecting it to have. I got back on the bike and headed south on highway 19.
As I rode along I would see signs for the Mark Twain National Forest, indicating that I was still in it in some form or fashion. This was interesting as according to the map on the phone, by now I was well outside the boundaries indicated.
The lunch break had somewhat revived me, so riding was fun again. The roller coaster hills on highway 19 were a ton of fun. The hills were short but steep, kind of like exaggerated whoop-de-doos. I would blast down a hill and feel my stomach rise to my throat. At the bottom I would be pressed down into the seat of the motorcycle by gravity as I started the climb up the next hill. Then when I reached the top and went over I would have that brief sensation of weightlessness. This repeated itself over and over, countless times. It was a hoot.
In Alton, MO, highway 19 branched to the left. As I rode through the town I kept my eye out for a Wal-Mart but didn't see one. Hmmm, maybe in the next town?
After about 15 more miles highway 19 came to an end at the junction of highway 63. I headed south towards the border and the town of Mammoth Spring, AR. This was a busier road.
When I reached the Arkansas border, I pulled over to get a picture of the sign. Interestingly enough, the first thing I saw was a Sonic. On my previous trips to Arkansas I noted that nearly every town had a Sonic, even if they were too small to have a gas station. Still no Wal-Mart though.
Once again I took a cell phone picture of the state border sign and texted it to my wife.
Mammoth Spring was a bustling area. I got the impression that a lot of the activity was tourists. Today, however, I was just passing through. I was now on my final stretch of the day's journey, and even though at this point I had only ridden about 200 miles, I was ready for it to be over. The heat was really starting to get to me, and I was starting to feel my shoulder ache.
I left Mammoth Spring heading west on highway 9.
I rode along and came to the town of Salem, AR. As I passed through, a bank sign said the temperature was 100°. I had absolutely no doubt that it was accurate, if not underestimated. I kept riding, but really wished I had stopped and got a picture of the sign. My regret of not getting the picture was outweighed by my desire to get to my hotel room, however, so I just kept riding. Still no Wal-Mart.
At some point I got passed by two guys on dual-sport motorcycles set up for touring. They blew by me pretty quick, even though we were in a no-passing zone. I kind of grumbled to myself about them, but little did I know I would meet them again the next day. But we're not at that part of the story yet...
West of Melbourne, AR highway 9 went over mountain. I had seen the squiggly lines on my map, but I hadn't considered exactly how squiggly the real life road was going to be.
I only had 20 miles to go, but the road was so curvy and steep that it took an hour to ride that stretch. Most of the curves were rated at 15-20 mph, and although I tried to take them a little faster than the advised limit, it really slowed me down. By the end of the mountain I had a few cars lined up behind me, but there was no passing and nowhere safe for me to pull over and let them go by. No doubt they were locals who had the road memorized and knew exactly how fast they could take each curve. I didn't have the luxury of that knowledge however, so I'm sure to them I was being pokey.
This road would have been fun at 9 or 10 AM, but by 3 PM in the heat and with my shoulder ailment I was completely done mentally and physically. I just wanted off the bike. Much to my relief I finally got to Mountain View, AR about 4 PM.
One of the things I was hoping to do in Mountain View was to visit the Ozark Folk Center. I had gone there once before in 1984 with my family, and had returned in 2011 only to find it closed on the day I tried to make a second visit. The folk center closed at 5 PM. I had mentally set a cut-off where if I made it to Mountain View by 3 PM I would go see it. When I actually reached the corner where it was located it was 4 PM. I probably could have still squeezed in a visit if I really wanted to, however, most of the folk center is outdoors. At this point I just wanted out of the heat. So, similar to the Mark Twain museum the day before, I decided to skip it. I'm not a very exciting tourist, am I?
Instead, on this same corner was a dulcimer shop. Being an indoor activity it sounded more appealing. I had also gone by this shop in 2011, but it too was closed. Since that day I had often thought about that shop, so I decided to go inside and look around.
For anyone who doesn't know, a dulcimer is a stringed musical instrument. There are a couple variations. One is known as the hammered dulcimer, which has many strings and is played with mallets. The kind sold in this shop is the mountain dulcimer, which has three to five strings and is strummed while holding it across your lap. It's kind of like a thinner zither. And no, I'm not going to describe what a zither is.
I walked in the door and to my delight felt the air conditioning. Of course, as had happened the previous day, once I hit the cool A/C I started to sweat profusely as my body attempted to cool itself off as fast as possible. The lady behind the counter greeted me and told me to feel free to play the dulcimers and ask any questions.
I browsed around and played a couple. They had a tuning and chord chart on the wall so I was able to figure out some rudimentary chords. I thought about purchasing one, but I would have to have it shipped home. I decided to sleep on it. I could always come back in the morning before I left town if I wanted to buy one. After a night to think about it, I didn't. If I really want a dulcimer I would probably just make one.
In the back of the store were large windows into the shop where they actually built the dulcimers. Given the fact that I make guitars, I was fascinated by their shop set up.
There were two guys working in the shop. I kept staring at them as they worked and giving them head nods when they would make eye contact in the hope they would see my interest and come out to talk, or even better invite me into their work area. I would have loved to talk shop with them for a while. Alas, they did not.
After browsing around a while longer, I decided to go find my hotel. I left the cool refuge of the store and went back into the heat. As I started up the motorcycle it acted like it was tired of being in the heat too. The engine just didn't sound as happy as normal, like the heat had made the oil so thin that it was rattling and grinding more than usual. I hoped I wasn't doing any damage to it.
When I got further into town I finally came across a Wal-Mart. I stopped and went inside. As I entered, the PA was playing "The Fez" by Steely Dan. I thought this was an unusual tune to hear in Wal-Mart in Arkansas. Unusual enough that I texted my brother about it.
I found a couple pairs of sunglasses that were satisfactory. One I would wear immediately, and one would be my new backup pair. I was also tremendously thirsty, so I loaded up with as many bottles of flavored water as I figured I could get transported to the motel. I wedged as many as I could into the saddlebag, and then carried the rest in a bag hanging from my left wrist. Not very comfortable, but I didn't have far to go.
The motel was only about a mile further down the road. This was the motel we had stayed at as a family back in 1984 when we visited the Ozark Folk Center. I thought it would be fun to stay there again, simply for nostalgic reasons. If I could remember what restaurant we ate at, I would have gone there for supper (assuming it is still around too), but my memory isn't quite that sharp. I actually have vague memories of where we ate in 1984, but not enough to pinpoint the exact spot.
When I went into the office to register, there was a distinct smell of some sort of south asian food cooking. I thought I could detect some curry in the mix of aromas. It didn't smell bad necessarily, but it certainly smelled bold.
The woman behind the desk was nice, and I got my room key. I moved my bike down to where my room was located, which turned out to be in a corner. In fact, the window out from my room mostly faced a brick wall. From inside the room I could see out to the parking lot only from certain angles. Not my first choice of room, but it didn't bother me enough to go back and ask for a different one.
I unloaded the bike. The A/C in the room worked, but not quite as effectively as the previous night's A/C. I cranked it up hoping to reach the same cooling levels given time.
First things first, I was terrible thirsty. I picked one of the flavored waters I had bought at Wal-Mart and decided I didn't want to drink it warm. The ice machine happened to be right next to my room, so I filled up my ice bucket. I also texted my wife to let her know that I had arrived at the motel, and that I actually used the ice machine. She immediately texted back, and I quote, "Wow! It MUST be HOT! Lol!"
So a little backstory to put this in context. I'm generally pretty oblivious to the temperature of liquids. When I fill my water bottle every day, I really don't care if the water coming out of the tap is room temperature or ice cold. My wife, on the other hand, is extremely sensitive to how cold her water is. She will not drink water that is anywhere near or above room temperature.
As a result, when we stay in hotels the very first thing she looks for is the location of the ice machine. Up until this day, I couldn't care less where the ice machine is located. Seriously, this day was the very first time I had ever gotten ice from the ice machine at a hotel, excluding the times when I'm filling the bucket for my wife. So when I told her I was hot enough to use the ice machine, she understood the gravity of the situation.
I filled up my glass with ice and added as much water as it would hold, then immediately chugged it. I repeated this until the water bottle was empty. I then opened a second bottle and filled the glass up. This bottle I drank at a slower pace, allowing the ice to actually cool the drink before I consumed it. I put the remaining bottles of water in the mini-fridge to let them cool down for later.
Like the previous evening, I removed my clothing and relaxed in the cool air for a few minutes. I then took a shower to remove the layer of grime and sweat that had accumulated during the day's riding.
After my shower I realized it was time to remove my toenail.
So here's another part of the story that needs some context, and the disclaimer that when it comes to TMI (Too Much Information,) I am the king. As I write about things I'm more likely to share information than I am to withhold it. That's just the way I am. So I apologize if the following paragraphs gross you out or cause nightmares:
Years ago when I was in middle school I broke my right big toe while running down the basement stairs in stocking feet. It didn't heal quite correctly, and as a result I started getting terrible ingrown toenails. Every few months I would have to go into the doctor to have the ingrown toenail cut out. After this continued for several years, the decision was made to do a minor surgery to permanently remove this toenail so I wouldn't have to continuously deal with the ingrown nails and visit the doctor.
Well, that surgery was unsuccessful. Despite having it removed "permanently", it grew back and my problems continued. So after a couple more years another more aggressive surgery was attempted to once again try and remove the nail and kill the nail bed. Apparently I have unusually tenacious toenails, because once again the toenail grew back, only this time it didn't grow back like anything resembling a normal toenail. It's in three different sections, growing at three different rates and directions. As a result, this nail is now a gnarled mess.
This gnarled mess of a nail still has the tendency to become ingrown. However, after 30 years I no longer visit the doctor to deal with it. I just remove the nail myself. This is pretty painful, but I've accepted it's just the way things are for me. About every six months I have to deal with it. I just hold my breath and cut and pull until the nail comes free. As I tell my wife, "I have a high tolerance for discomfort."
So back to this motorcycle trip. I had noticed during the previous couple of days that my nail was again ingrown, and starting to become pretty painful even when not walking on it. I've learned that putting it off makes things worse in the long run, so I bit the bullet and dealt with it.
With that taken care of, it brought me a nice feeling of relief and I was able to relax and read my book for a while before I went to get some supper.
I wasn't craving anything in particular for supper. I opened up my map on my phone and looked at what was available close to the area and compared it to what was rated highly. I found a Mexican restaurant called Los Locos over by the Wal-Mart that got good reviews. I like Mexican food probably better than any other kind, so it wasn't a real difficult decision.
I rode over to the restaurant. The motorcycle was sounding a little better after resting a couple of hours. It no longer sounded like metal was scraping on metal.
The staff was nice. They seated me in a corner. It was a little dark, but I still tried to read my book while waiting for my food to arrive. I ordered the fajitas. I also drank three or four glasses of water, as I was still thirsty.
After I ate and paid for my meal (with a generous tip as the staff was excellent) I rode to a nearby gas station and topped of the tank. Then I headed back to the motel.
As I pulled in and got off the bike, my motel "neighbor" came out to investigate the sound. It turned out he was a talker. He was a bit of an odd bird, but seemed harmless. He told me he was part of a construction crew that traveled to jobs, so he was in town and staying at the motel. I got the impression that he was bored and probably would have stood and talked all evening. I finally used the need for the restroom as a polite opportunity to excuse myself from the conversation.
The motel had an outdoor pool. I remember swimming in that pool back in 1984. I had brought my trunks and thought a dip in the pool might be a nice way to cool off. After changing into my swim clothes and walking out to the pool area, I realized the pool did not look very clean. I don't think it had been used in a while. Having no real interest in contracting Legionnaires Disease, I opted to just return to my room and change back into clothes.
The Twins were playing the White Sox again this night. The game wasn't being broadcast on TV, but I was able to pull it up on my laptop and stream it. I watched the game while I read my book and relaxed. The Twins played better this evening and beat the Sox.
When the ball game was over I called my wife to check in, then called it a night. The bed was fairly comfortable. It wasn't as comfy as the previous night's bed, but it was good enough.
I slept a bit fitfully, having some odd dreams. Also at some point I woke during the night feeling sunburn pain. Apparently I had missed a spot on the back of my neck. At least it wasn't enough to keep me awake for a long time, and I was able to go back to sleep.
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This page last updated on 11/09/2021