I’ve never met anyone from Arkansas outside of Arkansas. People tend to stay where their from around here. The riding has been diverse and beautiful. The bridge crossing the Mississippi was exhilarating (translation: scary for Han). It had started to rain a bit which made the dusty lanes not so dusty but the gravel more slippery. About 20 miles in to the state we found ourselves on a lengthy bridge that perched us high in the trees. Its side walls were high enough that we couldn’t see the tree trunks and the swamp beneath us. It felt as though we were driving on the top of the world, winding from tree top to tree top with the birds as the rest of the world below us disappeared.
Yesterday we entered the Ozark National Forest and we were at home. A different landscape from what we’ve seen – windy, hilly, soft, fast dirt surrounded by a light forest. We climbed protruding rocks and the bikes handled it perfectly. I could stay lost in there for days.
Our campsite I found on my “camp and tent” app did not exist and it was getting dark so we drove 30 miles out of our way to Morillton for a motel. It was the first non dry county we’ve come to in this state and we enjoyed our Blue Moons in bed. The dry counties, presumably since prohibition, are curious. I ask for a beer at dinner and my sinner face reflects in their pure eyes. I hope to one day come back to one of these counties and sell some homemade moonshine on the side of the road like a child selling lemonade. Call it, “Yellow Label.”