My alarm went off a little later this morning around 6:30. I was tired from the last two days of riding and I didn't have any firm riding goal for the day. As a bonus, while I had to run again this morning I had a shorter run scheduled of only about 4 miles which wouldn't take as long.
First things first, however, was that I needed to figure out how to charge my phone. Thankfully I had the foresight to throw my charger in the luggage. My camp site didn't have an electrical outlet. There was a garage across the path and I thought maybe it would have an outside electrical box mounted, but no such luck. I then wandered a couple of campsites over to a cabin and found a receptacle behind the building by a picnic table and fire pit.
I decided to gamble that the people staying in the cabin wouldn't mind me using their outlet for a couple of hours. I plugged my phone in and sat it on top of the post to which the electrical box was hanging.
I then went out for my run. This run was pretty much a carbon copy of the previous morning's run, only I turned around a little sooner to log fewer miles. Even the same car went by with the crazy loud dog. I could tell I didn't have as much "oomph" as usual which I attributed to the physical exhaustion of the last few days of riding.
This day was apparently the first day of school here in Arkansas. As I ran I would pass groups of kids waiting for the bus. They didn't look too happy.
After my running and stretching was complete, it was about 7:30. I took a shower and got dressed, then went to check on my phone. Thankfully it had finished charging before anyone noticed it sitting unguarded.
I loaded up the bike for the day which again didn't take much as I was returning to the same camp site this evening and I didn't expect to be gone a long time. As I was pulling out of the campground I decided to stop at the office and fill my water bottle in the bathroom sink faucet.
As I was walking away from the building a woman from the office said, "Good morning," and then asked if I was ready to pay for my camp site. I responded that I thought I had already paid when I gave them my credit card information over the phone. She told me that information was just taken to secure the camp site, but that they don't actually run the card at that point in time. I'm thankful she found me, as I would probably have left the next day and stiffed them, although I suppose she would have just charged my credit card at that point in time.
Once again I hopped on the bike and rode into town. I would discover later that morning that I left my water bottle sitting on the rail outside the office.
I wanted a quick breakfast before I left town. As I rode along looking at the various restaurants nothing was really jumping out at me. Eventually I reached where Pancakes was located and I came to the conclusion that I could keep riding through town and maybe find something or I could just eat here again and know what I'm getting. I pulled into the parking lot and had another breakfast at Pancakes.
As I ate a guy in the next booth struck up a conversation with me. He'd been out riding for six weeks and told me all about his travels. He was on his way back home to Boston to see his wife. I really wonder about people who do this type of thing. What kind of job do they have where they can afford to just take off and travel for months on end? What kind of family life do they have where they would be willing (and allowed) to leave it and head out on a cross country motorcycle trip for six weeks? The guy was kind of a strange bird anyway.
By the time I left Eureka Springs it was nearly 9 AM. I didn't have any firm plans on where I wanted to ride, other than I wanted to ride the Pig Trail again. I had ridden it from south to north last time I was in Arkansas. Like the Arkansas Dragon, this time I wanted to ride it north to south. On the south side of the Pig Trail was Magazine Mountain, so I figured I might as well ride that again.
I kind of wanted to go to Hot Springs, but I knew that was quite a hike from Eureka Springs. I decided I would ride down to Ola and decide then how much time I had left in the day and how tired I was. If I felt like continuing on to Hot Springs I could, otherwise I would just return by a different route to Eureka Springs.
I had gone through Hot Springs on my last trip through Arkansas (in fact I dumped my bike just north of town.) Somehow I managed to ride right through the national park without ever knowing I'd been in it. I was interested in returning sometime during my life and seeing what I'd missed. If I felt up to it maybe this would be the day.
I headed south on highway 23. It was a beautiful morning for a ride. I tooled along and enjoyed the morning. An hour or so later I reached the Pig Trail Scenic Byway. This is an excellent motorcycle road which is made up of 20 miles of hairpin turns and steep hills.
I was having a blast tearing through the Pig Trail. Traffic was very light which allowed me to ride the curves without slowing down, except when I wanted to take a picture or just occasionally back off from the adrenaline.
As I was riding, I saw another biker on a BMW in my rear view mirror. I was trying to stay ahead of him but he quickly caught me. When we came to a spot where it was clear to pass, I pulled to the right and let him go by. I then decided to attempt to keep up with him. I think I kept him in view for about 3 curves, and then he was gone. I was scraping my floorboards and riding way past my comfort level and I still couldn't stay on his tail. I came to the conclusion that BMW sport touring bikes corner way better than an 800 lbs. cruiser.
South of the Pig Trail I entered the foothills of Magazine Mountain. As I was riding along I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my right forearm. It was bad enough that I quickly pulled over on a gravel path. As I removed my glove and rolled up my sleeve, I discovered a bee had flown up my jacket as I rode. This must have angered the little bugger because he proceeded to sting me, thus causing the sharp pain I felt.
There wasn't anything I could do at this point. The bee flew away no doubt to die in a short while. I didn't see any stinger in me that needed removal. I just pulled my sleeve back down and gave it a good rubbing. Hopefully I wouldn't suffer an allergic reaction. I've been stung numerous times before and never had too much of a problem so I wasn't expecting anything dire to happen. The one exception was one incident in high school when I got stung while riding my bicycle to work and I felt like I had the flu for about three hours afterwards. I was hoping this wasn't a repeat of that day. Thankfully, it wasn't.
As I was preparing to turn around and get back on the road, two dogs came wandering out of the woods. I was nervous, remembering my incident with the pit bull the previous afternoon. I wasn't in any position to suddenly take off and leave the dogs behind before I discovered whether or not they were friendly, so I just sat there frozen waiting to see what they would do. As it turned out the dogs weren't aggressive and actually seemed indifferent to the fact that I was sitting there. I snapped a couple of photos and then got on my way.
I started making my way up Magazine Mountain which is the highest point in Arkansas. I had gone over this mountain the last time I came to Arkansas, but like the Pig Trail I had ridden it from south to north. This time I was riding the other direction.
My butt and head were starting to hurt, and I was getting concerned that I was risking more sunburn. Towards the crest of the mountain was a visitor's center. I decided this would be a good place to stop and refresh.
The visitor's center also featured a small museum featuring information about the mountain. One of the displays showed a picture of all bees native to the area. Seeing as I had just been stung I searched with great interest to find the type of bee that got me. As small consolation to the pain of being stung, I was hoping the bee had some ferocious name that would make the attack seem that much more impressive. Something like the "Venomous South American Bringer of Stinging Death" would have made me happy. Unfortunately when I found my attacker I was let down to see that I'd been stung by the "Wandering Cuckoo Bee."
After resting for a while I hit the road again. I wasn't too far from Ola (about 40 miles) which I had marked as my decision point. I still wasn't sure whether or not I felt like pressing on to Hot Springs or if I should cut the day short and head back. My body was really complaining, and I knew I had a long day of riding ahead of me the next day. Still, I hated to come this close to Hot Springs and not return to see the park.
At Ola I stopped at a truck stop. I didn't need gas, but I needed a break. It'd been less than an hour since my break at the Magazine Mountain visitor's center yet I was getting more and more weary. I went inside and bought some ice cream and some cold water and rested. I was hoping that a few minutes off the bike would give me some clarity.
One of the problems I was having making up my mind was I wasn't sure exactly how far it was to Hot Springs from Ola. I had ridden the route three years prior but really don't remember how long it took. I also didn't have internet access so I couldn't check Google Maps on my tablet. Was it 30 miles or 100? Whatever the actual mileage, I would have to double it to account for my return trip back. This could turn into a significant number of miles.
Also, it was now almost 1:00. It had taken me longer to get to Ola than I had anticipated. If I were to ride to Hot Springs I wanted some time to look around rather than getting there and needing to turn right around and head back to Eureka Springs. I wanted to get back "home" with a little bit of evening left to allow me some time to relax before my trip home the next day.
With my ice cream finished, I still didn't have a clear idea of what I should do. I decided I would start heading down highway 7 towards Hot Springs. I was bound to see a mileage sign which would give me an idea how long a ride I was looking at. I set my upper limit at 50 miles. When I saw the mileage, if it was more than 50 miles then I was going to abort my ride and head back to Eureka Springs.
I got back on the bike and started riding south on highway 7. The road was twisty and fun, so at least it would be enjoyable even if I did bail on my mission.
I rode a lot farther than I thought I would before I saw a mileage sign. I think I was at least 15 miles down the highway before I came across one that read: Hot Springs 52 Miles. This was over my limit, but not by much. I made a quick decision that these extra four miles would add at most 10 minutes to my day. I knew I would kick myself if I turned around after getting this close, so I decided to ignore my self-imposed 50 mile limit and pressed onward.
Highway 7 is a great ride, which was a relief because I was going to ride it twice this day. Traffic was still light, which allowed me to ride at my own pace relatively unhindered. At one point on this stretch I must have been near an air base as a C-130 flew over me at a fairly low altitude.
After what seemed like an eternity to my aching body but in reality was about an hour, I pulled into the city of Hot Springs. According to the map I had looked at earlier, highway 7 goes right through the middle of Hot Springs National Park. I kept my eyes peeled for any signs pointing to the park as I was bound and determined not to miss it this time.
I rode through the downtown area and didn't see a single sign for the national park. I was on the verge of giving up and turning around when I saw the "Hot Springs Visitor Center". Surely they would know where the park was located.
I pulled into the parking lot and got off the bike. The temps had really gotten pretty warm as the day progressed and I had traveled south. I went into the visitor center and struck up a conversation with a couple of very nice ladies who worked there. I explained my predicament that I had ridden through Hot Springs twice and didn't see the national park.
They explained to me that the national park was actually a three block stretch of buildings on one side of the street, known as Bathhouse Row. It is the smallest national park in the United States and the only one that contains commercial property. Because I was looking for a traditional style national park, I had ridden right through without knowing I was in it.
The ladies went on to explain that there are a couple of roads on either side of Bathhouse Row that go up some small hills and are more wooded, but that they really aren't any larger than a large city park. They gave me a map of the downtown area and told me that I could just leave my motorcycle parked in the visitor center lot rather than having to pay for parking somewhere. I thought that was very nice of them.
I walked about a half mile down the street to where Bathhouse Row was located. These are privately owned historic bath houses that are still in operation. They are heated by the natural thermal springs in the area. I considered going in one and taking a bath, but decided I didn't have that kind of time available to me. Plus with the summer sun beating down on me the idea of crawling into a hot tub of water wasn't that appealing.
On the north side of Bathhouse Row was a small park area that contained a waterfall fed from one of the natural hot springs. I put my hand in the water and confirmed that it was indeed very hot.
I wandered back down Bathhouse Row and saw that one of the bathhouses was now a museum.
I decided to spend a few minutes and look around inside the museum. This turned out to be cooler than I had expected. Rather than a traditional museum full of displays and pictures, they had restored this building to its original glory from the early 1900s. At the time it served a very elite clientele, which meant that everything was ornate and posh for the time period. For example the men's locker room had a beautiful stained glass skylight.
The building was placed on top of one of the openings to the hot spring. Because the bath house was no longer functional they had removed the plumbing from over the spring opening and placed it behind glass so you could see the spring.
The whole bath house had a very sterile, clinical feel to it. I reminded me of the sanitarium from "One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest". There was white tile and solid floors everywhere. On the top floor was a gymnasium with the original exercise equipment still in place.
After I looked around for a bit, I decided that I needed to start heading back to Eureka Springs. I wished I had more time to look around, but I had a couple hundred miles to ride. I ambled back to the visitor center where my bike was parked.
On my way out of town I decided to follow one of the roads back behind Bathhouse Row and look around. The road was only a mile or so long so it wouldn't take long. It turned out to be a very pretty little ride.
There were places where metal covers had been placed over openings into the hot springs. This was to keep people from accidentally falling into the holes and injuring themselves, and to keep idiots from throwing stuff down into the springs and wrecking them.
At the top of the hill one could get a good view of the city of Hot Springs.
There was a neat little pavilion looking shelter where I supposed you could have a picnic if you were so inclined.
At the very top of the hill was an observation tower. Tickets were available for purchase to ride up the elevator and severely invoke your acrophobia. I declined the opportunity.
The road wrapped around to the north side of the hill and made its way down. There was a scenic lookout on that side as well were you could see the wooded valley below.
I left the park and got back on highway 7 heading north. On the edge of town traffic was completely gridlocked. As it turned out there was a high school that had recently dismissed for the day. The highway was a two lane and traffic was backed up as people were attempting to leave the school or arrive to pick someone up. It was a huge mess and I'm not sure why they haven't tried to rectify this problem as I'm guessing it's an issue every morning and every afternoon.
Once I was finally through that mess I made my way back up highway 7. I was in need of gas as I had gone well over 200 miles on this tank. Due to the time of day traffic was getting pretty heavy through the north side of Hot Springs through Hot Springs Village. Rather than trying to fight a crowd at the pumps I decided to try and get to a station a few miles up the road in Blue Springs where hopefully things were a little quieter.
I filled up in Blue Springs as planned. Being the last gas stop until Ola it was a little busy but not bad. I topped off the tank and went inside to grab a snack. I hadn't yet had an official lunch, once again thanks to the Pancake's buffet that morning. By this time in the late afternoon I was pretty hungry. I snarfed down a few assorted Little Debbie treats and also had an RC cola, just because it'd been years since I'd had an RC cola. Wasn't as good as I remembered it being.
The next few hours were all about putting miles on. I had already ridden part of the stretch of highway 7 just a few hours earlier so I didn't stop and take any pictures for a while. I just focused on moving and keeping myself awake.
At Russleville I planned to swing west on I-40 for a few miles to pick up highway 21 north. I needed a short stretch break so I pulled over in a parking lot of some store and got off the bike for a couple minutes. A cop was eyeing me closely as I tried to restore the blood flow to my butt. Not feeling like undergoing a round of questioning down at the station, I kept my break short and got back on the bike.
On the north side of Russleville I passed the Arkansas Tech campus. Their football team was out practicing, and what was most memorable was the sheer number of guys dressed for practice. There had to have been 150 players doing drills. I can only guess they don't keep that many players on their roster and that some of them would probably be cut before the regular season started.
I got on I-40 as planned and headed west to Clarkesville where I picked up highway 21. Interstate riding isn't very exciting and the most memorable thing about this leg of the day was that I passed by the Russleville power plant, which was an active nuclear reactor. I have mixed feelings about nuclear power. I like the promise it holds for a more efficient means of energy production, but I have concerns about safety and storage of radioactive waste. Regardless, I do think they're cool to look at.
At Clarkesville I was off the interstate and back to more interesting roads. Highway 21 twists and turns as it winds its way through the Ozark National Forest. I would have really loved this ride had I felt a little fresher. However at this point I was physically and mentally spent and I just wanted to get to dinner. I wasn't looking forward to the long dull ride home to Sioux Falls the next day.
The miles ticked by slowly. Again, evening was approaching and along with that came the danger of deer. I tried to be extra vigilant about watching for any animals looking for an opportunity to leap out in front of the bike.
I passed what looked like a chicken farm. What called it into question was the smell. I've smelled chicken farms before and while they're not pleasant, this place had an aroma like I've never experienced. It smelled like the chickens were bathing in ammonia. There was a farm house next door and I can't imagine who would want to live there.
The miles slowly ticked by. I wasn't really sure where I was in relation to Berryville. All I knew was at Berryville I would turn west on highway 62 and only have about 10 more miles to Eureka Springs. It seemed like every few miles I would expect to see the junction sign for 62 but it wouldn't be there.
Around Marble, highway 21 jogged east for about a half mile then headed north again. Looking on the map now I can see I was about 15 miles south of Berryville. At the time I just felt like I was in the middle of nowhere.
This stretch of 21 had recently been repaved and was in great shape. In fact, the road was so new it didn't have any lines painted. There was a sign stating to watch for line painting crews. It was now past six-thirty at night, so I assumed by now the line painters had quit for the day.
The road was so nice and smooth, and the traffic was so non-existent that I really started pushing it around the corners. I was streaking down the road when suddenly I crested a blind hill with a right handed sweeper only to discover the line painting crew a couple hundred feet in front of me.
It's weird how in moments like these time seems to come to a complete stop. I got off the throttle and jammed down hard on both brakes. My rear wheel locked up, but I didn't realize it right away because it was completely silent as it slid on the fresh smooth blacktop. One of the trucks for the line painters was sitting still in the middle of my lane, and the giant line painting machine was taking up the other lane so there was nowhere for me to steer. There was no shoulder on the right side. I had to try and stop.
I grabbed even more of the front brake which caused that wheel to start to lock up. Locking up your front wheel is bad news and is a recipe for laying the bike down. I then released the brake to let the wheel start spinning again. I was trying to feather the front brake, alternating between locking the wheel and letting off. The fresh blacktop didn't seem to give me a lot of traction.
It was at this point I looked ahead and made the realization that I was quickly running out of space and there was no way I could get stopped in time before I hit the truck. About the time I made this realization and was starting to brace for impact, the guy in the truck also realized I wasn't going to stop in time. He threw his truck in gear and pulled forward about 20 feet. I stopped with literally inches to spare before hitting him. Had he not moved, I would have met his tailgate with my face.
Needless to say, this didn't impress the line painting crew at all. They were screaming and cursing at me. Frankly, I don't remember a thing that they said. I was in shock with the realization that I had just avoided a very serious accident. I sat motionless for a bit (I'm really not sure for how long) until I noticed that one of the workers was screaming for me to get out of there. Not knowing what else to do and still in a daze, I took off and headed back down the road.
The last 20 or so miles to Eureka Springs were pretty much a blur. All I could think about was the near-catastrophe. Once the adrenaline rush passed I was left with a deep bone-weariness. However, I must say that I was extra vigilant the remainder of the trip back to Eureka Springs. I would slow down cautiously if a leaf blew across the road 100 yards ahead.
Finally at a little past seven I made it back to town. I was starving hungry and even though I entered town right by my campground I decided I didn't have any good reason to stop before I went and had supper. I rode through town and tried to figure out what I wanted to eat. Chinese food sounded really good but when I went by the restaurant the parking lot was empty and the place looked sketchy. I decided to keep looking.
West of the downtown area I came to "Bubba's Southern Pit Barbecue". It was in the basement of a building but there were cars out front so I decided it was worth a shot. I went inside and was seated. On the inside it was much smaller than I had expected.
I ordered the beef brisket which came with toast, fries and bean. It was delicious. I relaxed and read my book while I ate. After supper I paid for my meal, then walked outside and called home from the parking lot.
Like I did the night before, I decided to fill up with gas so I wouldn't have to worry about it in the morning. At the gas station, I surrendered to my cravings and bought a bunch of snacks. Supper was actually enough food for two people, yet here I found myself uncontrollably wanting more. I know, I'm a sick individual.
Back at the campground I relaxed in the same swinging bench while I read my book and munched on my snacks. As I find myself doing far too often, I ate too much. This was to be my last evening in Eureka Springs so I was savoring it.
Around 10 PM I decided to call it a night. I was wiped out tired and had a long day in front of me the next morning. An extra hour or so of sleep would have been nice.
Unfortunately, I didn't get that extra hour because for some reason I had a hard time falling asleep. I don't know if it was the temp or just an inability to get comfortable due to all of the snacks. Whatever the reason, I tossed and turned before I finally sacked out.
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This page last updated on 06/28/2018