www.bikesbluesandbbq.org What did I stumble into?

Showered, packed and loaded I headed off to the Ozark’s.  I told GPS Tom I wanted a “Thrill Ride” and he took me on the back roads into Missouri.  As soon as I crossed the state line a Boeing 747 splattered a yellow goo on my face shield, welcome to Missouri.  I attempted several backroads, but once they were about 6-7 miles from the Interstate, they all turned to dirt.  One even was a grass trail, marked with State Route numbers.  I must’ve spent about 50 miles on dirt today.  Finally, having my fill, I jumped back on I-49 S to Carthage, MO.

After my initial question to the 50-ish attendant at the Carthage gas station convenient store about the location of the statue for famous Carthaginian, I conducted a survey with no less than 10 people in town.  If you remember from an earlier post I mentioned Marlin Perkins, telling Jim to jump into a river and get the giant, man-eating anaconda, or something like that?  Anyway, before and after my shrimp burrito lunch, I asked shop keepers, retail clerks, passerby’s, and anyone near enough to catch in a sprint, if they knew Marlin Perkins, or who the statue of the guy in the park was.  Only one 30-ish year old guy knew the famous Carthage citizen.

Marlins Perkins of Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom fame, I asked this highly educated people.  Even the four over sixty year olds didn’t know who I spoke of—what kind of population are we that pride in one’s history is so void?  I ask three people in the park, pointing at the giant bronze effigy.

Deflated, I sat and smoked a cigar with the animal lover I remember so well from my youth.

From Carthage to Eureka Springs, the “Thrill Ride” was a great curving road through farm country.  When I crossed into Arkansas I began to see Harley’s, and more Harley’s, and more cruisers, and more Harley’s.  The waving stopped.  I was stuck behind six Harley’s on this twisty road through the Ozark’s, each with a chick on the back clad in riding gear that was either flesh-oozing tube tops, or bikini topped wrinkled saddle leather.  I followed them at about 20 miles an hour.  The roadside cafe’s and saloons pushed cold brews to the Harley crowd.  There were a thousand Harley’s if there was one.  Lucky for me, early today, while smoking with Marlin, I tried to get a camp site, but all were full, but I found the last room at a Bed & Breakfast in Eureka Springs on Hotels.com.  I pulled in to the Tradewinds with the “No Vacancy” sign posted, parked next to a Harley, and felt like a a worn wingtip in Imelda Marcos’ shoe closet.

“Is there a bike event going on, or something?” I asked one of the black t-shirts.

“You didn’t know that the fourth largest bike event started yesterday?” Black t-shirt said with astonishment.

I felt a little foolish, but responded, “I’m just passing through.  I’m on a long ride across the country.”

Black t-shirt invited me to stay the weekend and enjoy the festivities.  Suffice it to say, I’m very fortunate to have found a room, and the room is a quaint B&B with outstanding customer service from the couple that own the Tradewinds B&B.  Tomorrow I hope to get out of town before the hung-over Harley’s get back on the road.  I’m sitting in my room and just heard an ambulance go by—hopefully it’s in response to Lassie’s distress call for Jimmy in the well and not a motorcyclist.  I’m told there are 400,000 riders at the event. And by the sound of the passing exhaust notes, belching out that distinctive V-Twin roar, I think they’re all going by.