My alarm went off at 5 AM. This wasn't an unusually early time for me as of late as I had been in training for a half-marathon that was to occur in September, so I was used to my alarm going off between 4:30 - 5 AM. The difference was on this particular morning I didn't have to go out and run.
My goal for the morning was to be on the road about 6 AM. After showering, dressing and eating some breakfast I was ready to go. Unfortunately, by the time I rolled out of the driveway it was 6:21. I'm really not sure what took me so long on this day. Whatever the reason, I started out a little behind schedule. Having already gassed up, I was able to ride directly to the interstate which is only about 1/2 mile from my home. So at least once I left the house I was rolling down the road in a short amount of time.
The morning was chilly. The temperature said 58 degrees, but the humidity was fairly high which made the chill seem that much more intense. In order to save space, I hadn't packed any of my cold weather gear such as chaps or my balaclava. While packing I reasoned that once I got south I wouldn't need any of these items. My reasoning was sound, however I first had to endure this cold morning before I got south. At least I had worn a sweatshirt underneath my jacket so I had a little additional protection.
I rode on through the dark and cold heading south on interstate 29, and welcomed the sun as it began to rise. I knew that within an hour or two it would be plenty warm enough for me to remove my jacket.
I must be getting old as, similar to what happened last year, within about 15 miles I started to need the restroom. My two cups of coffee had done their work and now were knocking on the door of my bladder. Once I reached the Beresford exit 30 miles south of Sioux Falls, I decided that I was no longer going to be able to hold off any longer. Already leaving behind schedule it bugged me that I had to stop this soon into my trip but there was no way around it. The next restroom break opportunity was another 25 miles down the road and there was no way I would have been able to make it without having an accident.
I pulled in to Truck Towne, which is a small truck stop just west of Beresford on highway 46. I have a lot of memories of Truck Towne from when I was a young boy because we would take highway 46 on the way to my grandmother's house. Sometimes my father would stop and buy us cans of soda to drink. This was back in the day where a can of soda was an occasional treat like ice cream, not a daily beverage. Yes, I really am that old.
On this day I wasn't here to consume more liquid. I had one objective and that was to empty my bladder. Once I did so, I was back out at my bike. I also took the opportunity to insert my earplugs, which I had neglected to do when I left the house. So if there was a consolation to having to stop only 30 miles down the road, I could at least be happy that my ears wouldn't be ringing at the end of the day.
I continued south, and after an hour or so reached Sioux City, IA, which is right at the junction where South Dakota, Iowa and Nebraska collide. Along this stretch there was a fair amount of road construction where the southbound lane of the interstate was closed down, and diverted over to share a single lane of the northbound side. In this stretch of construction the speed limit is reduced from 75 mph to 65 mph.
Being early on a Saturday morning, the traffic was pretty light. There wasn't anyone immediately ahead of me. Nevertheless because of the hefty fines levied on those speeding through construction zones, I didn't push the envelope and set my throttle-lock right at 65. As I rode along this lonely stretch, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a fellow biker behind me off in the distance.
After what seemed like only a few seconds, as I was tooling along this guy came blasting past me in the left portion of my single lane. Thankfully I was riding on my right and holding a steady line, as he had come up behind me fast enough that I didn't notice him approaching. I'm not sure if I would call this move by him gutsy, or stupid. Probably some of both.
2011 was the year the Army Corps of Engineers had greatly increased the flows of the dams along the Missouri river, due to the high amounts of snow and rain received in Montana earlier that spring. As a result of this increased flow there was a great deal of flooding along the river south of Pierre, SD stretching all the way down to Kansas City, MO. Many people blamed the Corps for mismanaging the river levels and making decisions that caused the flooding to be much worse than it needed to be.
As a quick aside for you non-South Dakotans, regardless of what you may have been taught in school, Pierre the capital city of South Dakota is pronounced like "peer". It is not pronounced like the French first name "pee-air". Before you start to argue with me that we in SD pronounce it incorrectly, let me remind you that on this trip I was traveling to a state named "Arkansas" but pronounced "Are-can-saw."
Anyway, back to the flooding. The river had raised high enough to cause a fair amount of destruction in areas near the river. The Missouri is first visible from I-29 at Dakota Dunes, SD and from here I could begin to see the devastation some homeowners had experienced. The river had receded some, but still was overflowing along much of the banks. Sandbagging had been done in an attempt to slow the river's intrusion onto property, but in many cases it simply wasn't enough.
Between Dakota Dunes and Omaha, NE there were many areas where the flood waters had covered the interstate. On the portion of the interstate that I rode at this time there wasn't any water currently flowing over the road. There were several spots where the interstate had been reduced to one lane as there was water or water damage on the other lane.
South of Sioux City my bladder got the best of me again and I stopped at a rest stop for a short break. This particular stop is a familiar one for me as it's about two hours south of Sioux Falls and at about the right distance where I need a break. I usually stop at this spot whether I'm on the motorcycle or in a car.
With my bladder emptied and my legs stretched, I got back on the bike and continued to ride south on interstate 29. As I rode I noticed I was having a noticeably more issues with target fixation than I have on previous trips. When I would see a rock or pothole in the road ahead of me, I would stare at it and wind up riding right over the thing rather than riding around it.
I'm not sure for reason I had a sudden increase in this phenomenon. The only thing I can speculate is that I haven't been riding my motorcycle as much over the last few years, preferring to do most of my commuting on bicycle whereas in the past I would be on the motorcycle. Whatever the reason, during the whole trip I found myself occasionally running over objects in the road that I clearly saw from a distance away.
As I got closer to the I-380 intersection where I would detour east due to I-29 being closed for flooding, I had an embarrassing incident involving other riders. I was riding along with my throttle lock set for about 68 mph when I encountered a pack of motorcycles riding in formation in the right lane. From the way they were loaded down, I'm guessing they were returning from the Sturgis bike rally which was wrapping up this same day. They were only going about 60 mph, so I pulled into the left lane and proceeded to pass them.
This was a large pack of riders, probably 25 to 30 bikes long. I was riding along in the left lane, passing each bike and doing the "friendly biker wave" thing. When I had passed about 15 of them, to my dismay I saw a sign quickly approaching where the left lane was unexpectedly closed due to flood waters.
At this point, there wasn't enough room for me to accelerate and get ahead of the whole pack before I had to merge back into the right lane. This left me with two options: jam on the brakes and let the whole pack pass me on the right before changing lanes, or merge into their pack.
Merging into their pack was not a wise idea. Bikers travel in tight formation for a reason and generally aren't too keen on letting strangers into the middle which would cause separation in the group. The other option didn't seem to appealing either, as at this point I was going to have to pretty much stop in the left lane before the whole pack would pass me.
At the last second I saw a third option which wasn't ideal but it seemed better than the previous two. There was an exit ramp leading to a weigh station that had closed. I quickly changed lanes to the right through the pack and continued right into the exit. Once in the turnout, I stopped for a couple minutes to let the pack get far enough ahead of me so I wouldn't encounter them again. I didn't want to show my face after that little embarrassing stunt. I'm still not sure what I could have done to avoid it, as the lane closing wasn't visible when I initiated the pass and the pack was so big that when the closing made itself known I was hemmed in. Chalk it up to bad luck I guess.
With the embarrassing situation in the past, I resumed my journey. A few miles south of Missouri Valley, IA I was forced east on the I-380 bypass to I-80 east, due to I-29 being reduced to a pile of rubble because of the flooding. Normally a person would stay on I-29 all the way to Kansas City. This detour would add about an hour to the trip as I would head about 40 miles east out of my way and then ride about 100 miles on a two lane highway until I joined back up with I-29 near Mound City, MO.
As I-380 merged with I-80, a car coming from my right decided that slowing down for five seconds was an unacceptable option, and he proceeded to gun his engine and cut me off in order to pass a slower moving semi-truck mere milliseconds before I did. I jammed on my brakes to avoid getting hit. The best part is as soon as he got in front of the truck and pulled back into the right lane, he must have hit "resume" on his cruise control only to discover he was cruising at a slower speed than I was. I don't understand some people.
A few minutes after this incident, I hit a large bump which sent my water bottle airborne. I felt worse about littering than I did about losing my water. I could always get another bottle of water.
I was getting quite hungry and was getting low on gas, so I planned to make a stop at the highway 59 exit where I would swing south. On top of that, my bladder was calling again (surprise, surprise.) I pulled into a Kum & Go convenience store and proceeded to gas up. As I was doing so, I realized that after I stood up off the bike I really needed the restroom bad. At this point I had already started pumping my gas, so I had no choice but to hop up and down as I waited for the tank to fill.
As luck would have it, a guy pumping gas behind me became intrigued by the fact I was traveling by motorcycle and walked over to strike up a conversation. I remained pleasant to him, but on the inside I was about to burst because of the coffee I had consumed earlier. He told me about all the different motorcycles he himself had owned, and about his history of having his saddlebag contents stolen. Finally I was able to politely dismiss myself from our conversation and bid him safe travels. At this point I rode my bike up to the door, hopped off and ran inside for relief in the men's room.
Having met two of the three needs for which I stopped, I turned my attention to finding some breakfast. This convenience store had a pretty good selection of various food items. Finally I settled on a piece of breakfast pizza and a doughnut, along with a root beer. A breakfast of champions.
There were a few small booths, so I sat down in one to eat and relax for a few minutes. Two older women were meeting for coffee in the booth next to mine, and I did my best not to eavesdrop on their conversation as I consumed my breakfast.
As I ate my slice of breakfast pizza, I realized that it was the most delicious piece of breakfast pizza I had ever experienced. I should have bought two slices instead of the doughnut, but seeing as I had already purchased the doughnut my realistic side knew I didn't need the additional calories of a second slice of pizza.
Once again it was time to roll. I was running a bit behind schedule from what I had tentatively planned, but this is nothing unusual for me on these motorcycle trips. In fact, it's pretty rare when I over-estimate how long it will take me to get somewhere.
I headed south on highway 59. This is normally a quiet two lane road, but with the closure of I-29 the amount of traffic using this route was dramatically increased. The next 100 miles were rather slow moving, due to the occasional small town and slow traffic with minimal opportunities to pass. At this point the weather was warming up, the sun was out and I was accomplishing my goal of riding my motorcycle, so it didn't bother me much that I was moving a bit slower than I had anticipated. My biggest goal for the day was to get into Eureka Springs that evening and have some time to relax.
About half way between Avoca and Mound City, I noticed another rider parked on the shoulder of the road and appeared like he was having some trouble. He was riding an old shovelhead that looked like it had seen better days. Strapped to the back were a knapsack and a bedroll. I pulled in and asked if he was having trouble, and if he needed help. He responded by saying he had blown a sparkplug clean out of one of his heads and will have to have a shop install a helicoil.
A group of three motorcycles went by and the guy asked me if I was riding with them. I told him no, that I was traveling alone. He replied that solo is how he likes to travel as well. I offered him use of the tools I had or my cell phone but he refused. I then offered to give him a ride or send someone out for him, but he declined those offers as well. He told me I'd better be getting on my way and that he'd be fine.
I suddenly got the impression that he was intentionally dismissing me. He was smiling and seemed friendly enough, but for some reason really wanted me out of the picture post haste. My thoughts went back to the opening scene of Easy Rider where they filled the gas tank of their bike with the proceeds of a cocaine sale.
I decided there wasn't anything I could do to force him to accept my help, so I wished him well and got back on my bike. As soon as I lifted the kick stand a semi-truck blasted by at 65 mph and I am not exaggerating when I say that it was within 6 inches of my left side. That was the closest I've ever been to a vehicle that large moving that fast. Needless to say between the suspicious motorcycle guy and the near-miss (or is it a near-hit?) I rode away somewhat shaken up.
After what seemed like an eternity riding across highway 59 through rural Iowa and Missouri I came over a hill and could see I-29. As I did so, I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw my rear luggage pack leaning sideways, about to fall off the back of the bike. I pulled over and re-mounted the pack and noted that the temperature had gotten significantly warmer. I often don't notice temp changes until I stop riding as the wind will mask the warmth.
With my luggage re-secured I got back on I-29 and enjoyed the faster speed limit and the availability of a passing lane. Not long after I was back on the interstate I made another rest room stop.
As I was getting back on my bike to resume the day's journey I heard a lady remark, "There's a familiar license plate!" An older couple had parked next to me and they too were from South Dakota. We chatted for a minute and shared our plans and destinations for the day.
When I reached the north side of St. Joseph, I had another run-in with a pack of motorcycles. This time around, there were about 20 cycles entering the interstate from a ramp on the left. I stayed in the right lane and this time slowed down to allow them all to enter and move into the right lane in front of me. Much to my disappointment the pack was riding at 50 mph which was a slower speed than I wanted to maintain. However I was hesitant to attempt to pass the group based on my incident earlier that morning.
Thankfully I didn't need to deliberate the situation for two long. The pack exited to the right about a mile down the road from where they got on the freeway. I happily accelerated back to my cruising speed limit which happened to coincide with the posted speed limit.
More than seven hours after I left my home in Sioux Falls I finally rolled into Kansas City for my planned lunch stop. As I did the last time I rode to Arkansas I planned to eat at Popeye's chicken. This is one of my favorite restaurants and unfortunately (or fortunately as far as my waist line is concerned) the nearest one from my home is 180 miles away.
I pulled into Popeye's and noticed along with the heat that the humidity had also risen. It had turned into a downright warm day. I was still wearing long sleeves from the morning's chill. While this offered nice protection from the sun it had become too warm for comfort. I decided it was time to remove my outer layers of clothing so I grabbed my sunscreen along with my book and went inside the restaurant.
Upon entering, the first thing I became aware of was that the air conditioning was either non-functioning or set too high to make an appreciable difference in temperatures. I was looking forward to relaxing in cool comfort while I ate but I quickly realized that this wasn't going to happen during this stop.
I went in the restroom and gave myself a quick wash with cold water to remove the top layer of grime and cool me off a bit. Then I proceeded to order lunch. I was hoping to get online and check out the weather on my Android tablet which I had brought along but I quickly discovered there was no available Wi-Fi connection. Instead, I ate my chicken dinner and read a little bit of my book. I read a lot during my motorcycle trips which I find very relaxing. When I'm sitting alone on my trips there's little else to distract me which is unlike when I attempt to read at home.
I didn't linger too long once I finished my food. The Popeye's was warm enough to be uncomfortable, and I made the decision that if I was going to be uncomfortable I might as well do it sitting on the bike while I'm putting miles behind me. I stopped in the restroom again and applied a layer of sunscreen before I departed. I really hate that stuff as a few days after I wear it I have a breakout of acne. Also it seems that no matter how carefully I apply it to my face it always finds a way to get into my eyes as I ride.
After leaving Popeye's I made a gas stop, then got back on the interstate. I-29 comes to an end in downtown KC where it merges with I-35. Around the same vicinity I exited the interstate south on highway 71 which I would follow for the next few hours.
While technically 71 isn't an interstate, it is a four lane road with limited access. From that regard it makes for quick travel. From a scenery standpoint though, once you get south of Kansas City there is not much to look at. Every time I've traveled on this 150 mile stretch it feels closer to a 300 mile stretch. For some reason even though there are plenty of other vehicles on the road along with scattered trees and hills, this stretch of highway has a strange feeling of desolation.
Because of this, I always fight sleep during this stretch of road. Some people ask, "How can you possibly feel like sleeping on a motorcycle?" The answer is once you get north of 500 miles of riding, a long straight road with nothing to see becomes hypnotizing. The constant roar of engine and wind numbs the mind and after a while if you're not careful one could easily nod off.
Nodding off while driving in a car can have a disastrous outcome. Imagine how much more so nodding off while riding on a motorcycle would be. While I've done it (day 4 of my trip to Michigan comes to mind) I've been lucky that I haven't had any incidents due to falling asleep.
Fighting sleep while traveling is somewhat paradoxical. On one hand, when it happens the best thing is probably to pull over and take a break from traveling. On the other hand, stopping will increase the length of the day's travel, which is generally what is causing the fatigue. So we as travelers tend to walk that fine line where we're pushing ourselves to keep going without crossing over into abject irresponsibility.
During these times of mental non-stimulation, one seeks to find anything interesting that might be happening along the roadside. I encountered one of these peculiar situations as I passed a farm house. A man was riding a 4 wheel ATV through his yard, which in itself isn't interesting or unusual. What was different about this situation was that tied to the back of the ATV with a length of rope was a standard push-type lawn mower. Apparently for lack of a riding lawn mower this man had improvised one.
At long last I reached Interstate 44 at Carthage, MO. Highway 71 merges with I-44 and heads west for a bit, until it branches off to the south again. My route for the day had me following I-71 all the way into Arkansas, then heading east over to Eureka Springs.
Once on I-44, I was heading toward Joplin, MO which only three months prior had been near obliterated by a tornado. I kept my eyes out for any damage but didn't see any from the interstate. Joplin lay a short distance to the north of I-44 so the interstate itself doesn't go through the heart of the city. I considered taking a detour and riding through the town, but then decided against it. My reasons were twofold: first, if I had suffered a huge loss the last thing I would want would be some stranger gawking at what used to be my home. The second reason was by this point in the day I was getting pretty tired and just wanted to reach my destination. I rode on and turned off heading south on 71.
Once on highway 71 it was 50 miles south to the Arkansas border. For some reason this was a longer distance than I had anticipated or remembered (I had driven this route three times previously in my life.) It's never a good feeling after a long day to realize you're not as close to your destination as you had hoped.
It was at this time I started to feel the familiar dull pain of sunburn. I had applied sunscreen at lunch time to my arms, and had been wearing long sleeves prior. What I discovered was that during the morning I had managed to burn the 1.5" strip of skin exposed between my sleeve ends and where my gloves started. Also my face was slightly red from the mid-nose down. Thankfully I had kept my lips doused in sunscreen lip balm after a few unfortunate experiences on past trips.
My fuel was running low, both in the physical sense and the mental sense. When I reached the outskirts of Bella Vista, AR I stopped for gas. After I filled the bike tank, I went inside the convenience store and purchased a bottle of water and a frozen Snickers bar. The A/C in the store worked fine and I relaxed for about 20 minutes. From this point I only had 50 miles to go until I reached my campground and these miles were through the Ozark Mountains which meant the ride would be much more interesting than what I had experienced so far this day.
Bella Vista has an interesting spot in my memory. In the summer of 1984 (between 9th and 10th grade for me) my family took a vacation down to Oklahoma and Arkansas. In Oklahoma we spent about a week with my aunt and uncle's family in Bartlesville. In Arkansas we were just tourists.
Our family never having a great deal of money when I was growing up, we were always looking to save a buck when we traveled. This often meant packing food versus eating out, and foregoing many of the usual tourist attractions in lieu of more economical options. In retrospect, I got to see some cool stuff when I was young that I wouldn't have experienced had we just spent the day at an amusement park.
Anyway on this particular trip in 1984, we spent four nights in a home located in the woods right here at Bella Vista. We received the free lodging in exchange for my parents agreeing to spend an afternoon going to a sales presentation on a time-share resort in the area. They decided that an afternoon of sitting there while a salesman made the fruitless effort of convincing my father to spend money frivolously was worth the tradeoff of four nights lodging. Knowing my dad he probably enjoyed tormenting the salesman throughout the pitch.
So I had some history with Bella Vista. Our free lodging didn't get us access to many of the resort's amenities, but the cabin was pretty nice and we spent the days touring the area and seeing the sights.
As I rode through, I saw some things that I remembered from when I was here nearly 30 years prior. There had been much new development since then, so a lot of it was new. The quiet little Bella Vista resort from my youth was now a bustling hub of activity.
As I headed east out of Bella Vista and into the mountains, the riding got more interesting and the scenery got more beautiful. It was now getting into the early evening hours so I started keeping a close eye out for deer. They become much more active as the day wanes.
The road got twistier and hillier the closer I got to Eureka Springs. Not having ridden in any highly twisty roads for nearly a year, I was getting re-introduced to my lean angles and scraping the floorboards. At one point just a few miles outside of Eureka Springs I came across a section of roadway where the right lane had slid down the side of the mountain. Glad I didn't happen to be on that section when it decided to give way.
With great anticipation of a relaxing evening, I rolled into Eureka Springs shortly before 7 PM. I came in on the west side of town and my campground was a few miles to the east. While the population of Eureka Springs is low, the town itself is spread out over a fairly large area relative to the population. Tourism being the primary industry of the area, the main highway is lined with about four miles of hotels, restaurants and gift shops.
I tooled through town until I came to the Kettle Campground. Pulling in I rolled up to the office where there was a group of people sitting in lawn chairs out front. They greeted me and welcomed me to the campground. Having never met them the last time I visited, I assumed these were the proprietors and asked where my camp site was located. They started pointing me to various open spots around the grounds and after a couple of confusing interactions I realized that these were just fellow guests of the campground attempting to be helpful. I then saw my name and campsite number written on a white board on the front of the office.
My camp site was one site south of the site where I camped three years prior. That site was empty. On the other side there was a young couple setting up their campsite. I said "hello" and they responded but didn't seem overly chatty.
As I unpacked my bike and set up my campsite, I noticed that the couple next to me was rather interesting. They were dressed in what looked like neo-hippy garb; handmade (maybe even homemade) simple looking clothes out of what appeared to be a hemp-like cloth. Their camping equipment looked primitive and they had brought their own food and cooking supplies.
In stark contrast to their simple clothing and gear sat a brand-new Honda Civic in which they arrived.
I couldn't help but notice it appeared as this was their first time camping, as the guy was really struggling to figure out how his tent was supposed to go together. He had started the process prior to me pulling up, and he finished shortly after I had finished getting my tent pitched.
After getting everything set up, I ran to the restroom to wash off a layer of grime and then headed out to get some supper. I returned to the Mexican place where I ate three years prior as I had a good experience and fajitas sounded tasty.
When I arrived at the restaurant I found it to be quite busy. Most likely this was due to being a Saturday night. I sat in a booth that wasn't the most comfortable but at least it was padded, not moving and air conditioned. I ordered the steak fajitas and snagged an internet connection from a coffee shop across the street so I could check email and maps on the Android tablet I had brought along.
When my food arrived, I thoroughly enjoyed the meal and read my book. Afterwards I called my wife from the parking lot to let her know I was still alive, and then rode back to the campground.
By this time it was quite dark and I was getting tired. I decided to blow up my air mattress and lie in bed and read for a bit before I fell asleep. That was the plan anyway.
I hooked up my battery operated pump to the mattress, flipped the switch and... nothing. The motor didn't even attempt to spin. This pump had given me some hassle the last few times I'd used it but I was able to at least get it to work by flipping the switch on and off repeatedly. This time it was having none of that.
My options were limited. I didn't remember seeing a store in Eureka Springs that might sell a mattress pump. There probably was one somewhere, but it was now pushing 9 PM and the odds that the store would still be open were small. Being 60 miles from the Wal-Mart headquarters, one could guess there probably would be a Wal-Mart located somewhere within a 20 mile radius and they are often open late. Not knowing for sure, I was hesitant to pick a direction and hope I could locate one.
Another option was to forgo the air mattress for the evening and sleep directly on the ground, then hope I could locate a store with a pump the next morning. I don't sleep well on the ground. I never have, even as a young boy at sleepovers and such, I couldn't get comfortable enough to ensure myself a good night's sleep. Apparently I'm a wuss, but that's the way it is and I doubt I'll change at this point in my life.
So, I resolved myself to option "C", which was to sit there for 30 minutes inflating the mattress with my mouth. I would blow a few lungful of air into the mattress, and then have to take a 10-15 second rest to catch my breath before I repeated the process. I noticed as the mattress slowly inflated that it was pretty warm, I suppose because it was full of my hot breath. This might be nice on a cold winter's night, but it was still in the 80 degree range.
Finally I got the mattress inflated. This activity had the fringe benefit of tuckering me out, so even though it wasn't yet 10 PM I was ready to put the cap on the night. I made a final trip to the restroom and then crawled into bed. I read my book via flashlight for a few minutes, and then decided to get some sleep.
As I lay there in the tent, I noticed the cicadas were louder than I had ever heard. I grabbed my cell phone and attempted to capture a recording of the sound, but the result doesn't truly represent the pure cacophony. If I were to guess I would put it in the 70 dB range, which would place the sound level somewhere between normal conversation and a busy highway.
I was actually a bit worried the noise would keep me awake, but between the long day of riding and blowing up my air mattress, I fell asleep rather quickly.
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This page last updated on 06/28/2018