Another few days of 30C plus temperatures had me riding in just a t-shirt. No longer boiling but definitely burning. My normal patchwork of red, redder and white body parts are now in place. After a day riding dead straight roads in the heat with the only highlights being on Route 66 in Oklahoma (yes its was straight too) and a golden eagle flying alongside and over the bike, I arrived in Arkansas and the roads changed (thanks Bill C). Switchback after switchback woke me up - not before time. Sadly, no sooner had I got into the rhythm of corner after corner, I came up to a convoy of trikes. Harley's are of course noisy, slow and clunky cornerers. Trikes are similar but completely unable to corner at all.The bandanaed pensioners all frowned as I waved whilst passing them on a no overtake corner. This would come back and haunt me.
Awoke in Eureka Springs to torrential, monsoon rain and a weather alert for thunder. Decided to sit tight. This is a historical Spa town between the Ozark plateau of Missouri and the Boston mountains of northern Arkansas. When the sun eventually came out, I had a look around. The Victorian down town encapsulates American history and is fiercely protected.
I rode at to a nearby dam expecting a wet ride but found virtually dry, traffic free roads. The dam was a great place to watch the vultures above and the swallows below.
The roads around the Beaver dam were a pleasure to ride - sweeping curves, single lane bridges and little traffic. Returning though, I was turned back after a truck had jack knifed. Clearly, the roads don't suit all. I came back into Eureka Springs via a different route and arrived at a trike event. Despite having already cut up three of their kind, I was relieved to find few people under the age of seventy. If the ubiquitous Harley attracts the middle class, middle age mainstream, trikes appear to bring out the madcap, past caring pensioner brigade. On the road, I have my doubts but parked up you have to admire them. Still can't corner though..
Was there a show there?
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