Finally, we got off the interstate. We had been on I-40 ever since California only to get east as quickly as possible. As interstates go, it’s probably as nice as any, but it’s still just a high-speed corridor, with very little local color. Well, high speed for everyone but us. We kept it at about 61 mph to try and save on gas. That makes for longer hours and fewer miles covered per day, but it got us to OKC. We left OKC Saturday, and jumped off I-40 on SR99/US377 (it seems like most roads have more than one designation in these parts), about 52 miles east of OKC. This took us south to the town of Seminole, which sported brick streets in the old downtown area. That sounds cool, but try driving on them with 13,000 pounds of weight on hard tires. I imagine the road to Chaca Canyon is smoother.
One nice thing about the interstate is that everyone else was doing the passing, of us. On the backroads, it’s another matter:
We saw him pull out onto the road when we were about a block away. Timing is everything. See those double yellows and blind dips? They continued for the next ten miles. And there we crawled. Eventually we got around him and motored on down US270 to the metropolis of McAlester, which, I am sure, has Napa quaking:
After our experience with Indiana wineries, we weren’t tempted.
All smirking aside, having gotten off the interstate, we felt our real trip had finally begun. The backroads are the best. Farms, ranches, the full range of houses from decrepit to wowser, small towns thriving and decaying. We love it. Our goal is to avoid the freeways as much as possible.
Our first stop was Talimena State Park at the beginning of the Ouachita (I don’t make these up) National Forest. As it was late afternoon, we decided to stop here and then do the Talimena Trail the next day. That’s a scenic highway touted in the guidebooks. Of course, what they tout are the fabulous Fall colors. It’s Spring. First things first, however. We had purchased a vent cover at the Camping World in San Bernardino. With that, we could keep the vent open when it rains and keep the fan going to circulate the air. The park hosts have disappeared for the night, so I could work without officious interruption. For once, the directions were reasonably clear and complete, and all parts were in the attached baggies. A few holes drilled, brackets attached,
and we were good to go.
Loni was happy I didn’t trip on something and pitch off the roof.
It got its first workout that night, as the rains we were trying to keep ahead of showed up about 2 a.m., with ferocious sounding winds and the clunks of unknowns dropping on the roof. No leaks, so I claim success.
After using the park’s deliciously hot showers the next morning, we set out for the scenic drive. It’s actually quite beautiful once you get up to the vista points; otherwise, it’s a pleasant drive through dense pine/hardwood forest where you can’t see anything but the trees on both sides of the road. After the rain last night, there was a lot of fog and mist down below.
Loni is standing, believe it or not, on “Choctaw Ridge.” Where’s Billy Joe? We couldn’t get that darn song out of our heads for the next hour. We kept climbing and the mists kept rising. It was a great road:
Unfortunately, once we got to the halfway point (between Talihena and Mena) at the Queen Wilhelmena State Park, the fog really closed in. We couldn’t see more than 50 feet for about 20 miles. Win some, lose some.
That night’s destination was Hot Springs, Arkansas, boyhood home of good old boy, W.J. Clinton. There are a number of RV parks in the area so, not knowing one from the other, we naturally chose the one the farthest away. We were disbelieving Dora when she kept having us turn and drive seemingly endlessly away from Hot Springs. We finally got to Lake Catherine State Park. Despite all the driving, it turned out to be a gem. We landed a space that we could back into with a three-side water view.
Arkansas campgrounds so far appear to be beautiful, well laid out, and clean. Boy, could California take a few (dozen) tips. After settling in, we took off on a hike to the local falls, across the galloping Gertie swinging bridge
and to the . . . falls?
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