Back to the Ozarks

I leave Phoenix heading north, following the road towards Payson. It doesn’t take very long to leave the desert and start climbing in elevation. There are quite a few groups of bikes heading from the city, some going slower than me, and others going much faster. I am in no hurry, and it is a beautiful day for a ride and great scenery to enjoy.

There are evergreens and large trees in the mountains. A stark contrast to the brown desert floor. I see only an occasional motorcycle, mostly individuals, not groups.  Fewer cars, as well. It is nice to get away from the traffic.  When I reach Interstate 10, I stop for lunch at a small Mexican restaurant. An older couple approach me after noticing the motorcycle. They are traveling from Indiana, and were amazed to see a motorcycle all the way from their neck of the woods. We chat for awhile before heading our separate ways.

The only thing of interest on the interstate is the line of rain clouds far ahead of me. As roads turn to follow the terrain, it is always a challenge to know if it will lead me straight to the rain, or whether it will veer off and remain dry.  There’s no use trying to predict it, as there is not much preparation or rain gear that is practical just yet. The temperatures drop a bit. A welcome change. The road goes on.

I am heading towards Tulsa, Oklahoma, and have several days to get there.  I am in no hurry.  After entering New Mexico, it is apparent that the highway is going to intersect with the path of the rain. Although it is mid-afternoon, I decide to stop for the day and find a motel in the town of Grants, New Mexico. There is a Chinese buffet next door, so there is no need to ride in the rain. There are two young oriental children, no more than ten years old, that show me to a table at the restaurant. It is a few minutes before an adult appears from the kitchen to restock some of the items and cash out some customers. It surprises me to find authentic Chinese cooking in New Mexico. No wonder this country is called a melting pot.

The rain has passed by during the night, but it remains cloudy as I pass through Albuquerque. The clouds completely disappear as I enter Texas. In Amarillo there is a Harley dealership near the highway, and I stop to buy t-shirts for some friends back home. There don’t seem to be many occasions that I have spare room on the bike, but since I sent most of my camping gear and excess clothes back from Des Moines, I have been traveling lightly.  I find a small diner for lunch before leaving the city.

Just ten miles away, there is a single, black rain cloud in the distance. It appears to be north of my path, but the road makes large sweeping turns to keep me alert. There is lightning in the storm. Not a friend to motorcycles. By this point, it is too far to turn back to Amarillo, so I hope that I can make it to some shelter if I can’t bypass the storm on the highway. The winds pick up speed, and I have a chance to squeeze by the downpour just a short distance away. I look in the rear view mirror to see the black clouds engulf the highway. Just small specks from the headlights of the cars behind me. Phew!

There are a few more downpours near the highway, but none are as black, and none have lightning. The weather has been very dry in this region for a long time, so most residents are hoping that their crops get the water they need.

I stop for the night at the eastern edge of Texas, in the town of Shamrock, near the Oklahoma border. There is a small bar with barbecue just across the street from the motel. There does not appear to be much else in town. The four older men hardly notice as I take a seat at the bar. The young, pretty waitress knows them all by name as they flirt with her. She sings a country song to the karaoke machine, with a light, sweet voice. When the song is over, the men give her tips, pay their bills and leave. We talk for a short while. This is her grandfather’s bar, and she likes to help him out. The town has not had rain for more than a month, and it is badly needed. Every time it looks like the storms are approaching, they stop just outside of town.

A group of construction workers come in after a day outside, she brings me a menu as she takes them their beer. She doesn’t even need to take their order. I order the barbecued  beef platter, and can hardly finish the large servings. I return to the motel and sleep soundly.

I talk to a friend, Jeb, in Tulsa.  He has to work until at least 10pm, and he suggests that we meet at a biker bar. There is no hurry for me to get to town, but a check of the weather shows strong rains along the more scenic alternatives. I get to Oklahoma City and turn north to Tulsa. There are several motels close to the bar, and I stop in for a cold beverage. There are a surprising number of bikes parked outside for a weeknight and the bar is busy.  I make conversation with a few people, who suggest some restaurants for dinner, choosing a local steakhouse. Back at the bar, Jeb arrives and we spend some time visiting.

Bubba, Mike, and Paul are going to meet me in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. It’s only a few hours from Tulsa, so I am not in a hurry. Jeb and I grab lunch at a local diner, next door to a Harley dealership. I didn’t ‘tour’ Tulsa, but it seemed like a nice city. It gets added to the list of places I should spend more time.

As I exit the highway to Eureka Springs, there is another biker just in front of me. There are a few traffic lights, and we chat briefly. He lives in the area and was just out enjoying his day off from work. I follow him on the winding roads for the rest of the trip into the mountains.

In the late 1800’s, the hot mineral waters in Eureka Springs were thought to have medicinal purposes, and the town’s economy was based on the wealthy tourists that would visit the area. In the 1930’s, the interest in the springs waned, and the town changed to an artist community for us ‘less wealthy’ variety of visitors. It is an unusual town in the Ozarks, best described as ‘quirky’ and fun. The excellent mountain roads make it a popular destination for bikers, and the Victorian architecture and large variety of shops make it popular with tourists.

Paul and Mike find a local resort with many small cabins. With Bubba and I joining them, we decide to rent the rooms in a small house, so we basically have it to ourselves, with a common kitchen, living room, and porch.  The resort has a pool and hot tub.  Very nice setup!

We are in Eureka Springs for the ‘Opera in the Ozarks’ festival, a summer music program that brings about four dozen trained vocal and instrumental musicians to this mountain region. Surprisingly, this is one of the longest, most established, events in the Ozarks.  The theater is about ten miles outside of town on the top of a mountain, in a converted barn. Paul and Mike are very impressed with the performance of ‘La Boheme’ on the first night, and the second night we enjoy ‘A Little Night Music’ (not really considered an ‘opera’, but an American musical. The performances are enjoyable and the setting in the mountains make it even more memorable.

One of the biker bars in town is featuring a live band, and we stop to watch the band ‘Mountain Sprout‘. Our long beards put us in good company with the band, and their lively mountain music is quite a fun change from the opera. The bar is packed with customers, dancing along with the music. A very fun night.

I’ve packed in about as much as I could into this five-week trip.  Its an uneventful trip back to Ohio, and I return to my normal working life.  Fun memories and friends!