COKE, DEATH, AND GLORY FOREVER

No, we’re not snorting.  After leaving Little Rock, we thought we’d get in a little kayaking in our inflatable, so we headed for “The Oasis in the Delta,” Lake Chicot State Park, down in the southeast corner of Arkansas.  It’s a 20 mile long oxbow lake, formed from a cutoff portion of the Mississippi when it changed course long ago.  The brochures had pictures of nifty cypress trees in the water which gave us visions of bayou paddling.  Well, they weren’t quite what we expected.  They just hugged the shoreline and wouldn’t make for interesting kayaking.

Plus, the wind came up a bit and we didn’t want to hassle trying to launch from those high piers.  So, we just did what comes naturally.  We loafed.

We spent two nights at Chicot and then crossed the Big Muddy.  They have built a beautiful new bridge.  Unfortunately, it’s not open, so we traveled the one that presumably is too old and decrepit to repair.  Nice view of the new one, though.

The Mississippi is every bit as big as you might have thought, with lots of long barges being pushed by tugs.

Ah, now to our title.  Our destination was Vicksburg, the scene of one of the pivotal battles of the Civil War.

First, we toured around the town and stopped at the Coca Cola museum, housed in the late 19th century candy store where Joseph Biedenharn first bottled Coca Cola.

He didn’t invent the Coke formula, that was done by a Georgia pharmacist in the 1870’s who lived only two years after his invention.  Poor sap.  The guy who bought the rights was a marketing maven, and the rest, as they say, is history.  Prior to Biedenharn, Coke was available only as a fountain drink.  The museum is kitchy-cool.

 

It includes the original bottling equipment.  Initially, it was filled one bottle at a time, no automated equipment.  At the center-right, you can see a single nozzle protruding out:  that was the filler.

 

Of course, we had to take the “pause that refreshes,” and have a Coke float.  Well, I did, anyway.

Vicksburg sits high on bluffs with a commanding view of the Mississippi, and the Confederacy used it to control the river.  From the bluffs they could shell the Union ships with devastating effect.  Lincoln, Grant, et al. believed that they needed to control the river so as to cut the Confederacy in half, east-west.  Vicksburg was the key.  Attempts to take the city by land and river failed (with shocking loss of life),

so Grant decided to lay siege, and in 1863 did so for forty-seven days, ending in surrender of the city by Gen. Pemberton.  The city then became the base of Union operations in the area for the rest of the war.  Sherman began his “march to the sea” from there.  The National Military Park, established in 1899, memorializes these events, and originally encompassed the entire extent of the siege and defense lines.  It consists of a beautiful one-way loop drive through the picket lines and gun emplacements so you can see just how they faced each other and where various charges and battles were fought. 

Throughout, there are monuments to the “glory” of the various regiments and individuals who fought there.

So there you have it:  coke, death, and glory.

Another part of the park features the USS Cairo museum.  The Cairo was one of 8 or so identical, iron-clad gunboats operated by the Union navy on the rivers.  In 1862, it was steaming up the Yazoo, north of Vicksburg, when it had the ignominious honor of being the first vessel in history to be sunk by an electrically detonated mine.  It sank into the ooze, where it was preserved amazingly well, with its stores, armament, and personal gear of the crew all recovered in the early 1960’s.  It’s all on display here, as well as the boat.  The bottom still has the original timbers; the top is a reconstruction, with a cradling framework to keep everything together.  It’s amazingly big. This is taken looking directly at the bow.  As you can see, it was well-armored topside, but vulnerable under the waterline.

   Before leaving Vicksburg, it was time to get Albatross serviced as we had about 4k+ miles since the last oil change.  Fortunately, after looking mournful, I convinced the service manager at the local Ford dealership to squeeze us in right away.  Squeeze he did!

BILL, BILL, BILL. TSK, TSK, TSK.

After all the scenic beauty, it was time for bright lights, culture, and revisionist history.  Little Rock!

But even in the midst of the state’s capitol, we again had a beautiful Arkansas park to stay at.  This one is a joint effort with the Corps of Engineers, so we got federal pricing, which meant the Golden Age Discount!  Yes!  Half price for geezers, and a spot right on the Arkansas River, which is a major working waterway with huge barges being pushed by tugs sharing the waters with fisherman slowly trolling along.  It was very nice.

This was the first time on the trip that we offloaded the scoot for local getaround.  Our first stop was the Arkansas Arts Center which was one of the four U.S. sites to host the traveling “World Of The Pharaohs” exhibit.  We had seen the last big touring exhibit many years ago in L.A., and were looking forward to all of the nifty gold treasures.  NOT!  They didn’t allow photography, so the tickets will have to suffice.  This was a very interesting exhibit, but no gold whatsoever except for a couple of very tiny figurines.  This exhibit focused on bowls, vessels, crafts, and a couple of mummies with sarcophagi.  Like I said, it was quite absorbing, but not what we expected.  At least we didn’t pay L.A. prices ($18 each).  Had a nice lunch at the museum.  Blackened tilapia sandwich for me, and a veggie concoction for Loni.  And, of course, I couldn’t resist the “homemade” apple cobbler.  Don’t bother.

After lunch we got directions from the waiter to the Children’s Hospital, where we hoped to catch Dr. Doug Blackall, formerly the blood bank director at UCLA, and presently the director of the clinical labs here at Children’s.  Fortunately, he was in, and incredulous that Loni popped in on him out of the blue.  We had a nice chat and tour of the clinical lab, which puts the shoebox facility at UCLA to shame.

 

The next day we scooted back to town (about 12 miles from the campground) to take in the William J. Clinton Presidential Library, situated on the banks of the Arkansas River.

 

They keep the place as cold as a meat locker, which kept us moving through the exhibits faster than we would have otherwise.  The main gallery space is multi-level, supposedly inspired by Trinity College Library in Dublin.

Loni’s up there looking over the table settings from one of the state dinners.  The upper level features the “Life in the White House” exhibits, which were fun.  Walls full of gifts received, photos of various White House events, and personal memorabilia.  The first floor contains the “time line” of the course of Clinton’s two terms.

Despite all the Lewinsky and impeachment nonsense, he really did accomplish a lot, and you’d go blind before you could ever read it all.  Speaking of Monica, they don’t!  Her name is never mentioned.  Everything about that fiasco is a careful pas de deux around the subject, and is characterized entirely in terms of the constitutional crisis of the phony impeachment effort.  No blue dress on display. 

Other areas contain reproductions of the cabinet room and the oval office.

A nifty temporary exhibit was a display of SofS Madelyn Albright’s collection of pins.  Say, what, you say?  It seems that she has collected pins all her life, and received a ton as gifts.  We’re not talking political buttons here, but fine jewelry which was dazzling.  She would select a pin to wear each day to match either her mood or some point she wished to convey to whomever she was meeting with.  Each pin had a story to explain why she wore it and where she got it.  I enjoyed this exhibit a lot more than I expected to.  Unfortunately, no photos permitted.

The only road leading into the Library is “President Clinton Avenue,” a two-lane slow-moving crawl through what looks to be a college student’s dream quarter-mile of bars, pubs, questionable eating establishments, and trinket shops.  Not exactly the grand entrance one would expect.  Of course, we had to stop on the way out and stroll around, and found a place that boasted homemade mango ice cream.  Well, alrighty!

Never pass up dessert.  Life is too uncertain.  And yes, it was homemade, and delicious.

WHERE’S ROBIN?

Adieu to Hot Springs and on to Petit Jean State Park, a Sherwood Forest setting if ever there was one.  We climbed (natch) out of HS on Route 7 through some very scenic areas, including nifty overlooks.

Thank goodness for the fencing:  it went straight down from there.  Petit Jean is Arkansas’ first state park, and it’s a beauty.  The featured attraction is the hike down, down, down into the gorge to Cedar Falls.  But first we satisfied Loni’s craving for a hamburger at the lodge, which boasted locally grown beef.  It was a very good burger.  Having thus loaded our bods with extra weight, and shifting the blood supply to digestive needs, we of course promptly launched into the hike.  At least the first half was down.

Then through the forest:

Over the bridge:

and finally the falls, about 90 feet in height, and with a good flow from the recent rains:

The climb back up went a little more slowly.  We’re really impressed with the extensive forests that blanket Arkansas.  Everything is so, well, green!  A big contrast from the West.

THE STRANGEST NATIONAL PARK

Without a doubt, Hot Springs National Park is the nation’s oddest.  It claims to be the oldest national park, having been “set aside” as a reservation in 1832 by the federal government to protect the purity of the water, but little effort was made to establish boundaries.  Claims to seeps and springs sprang up all over, the town of Hot Springs encircled the reservation, and by the 1870’s the government had licensed private bathhouses to be erected along Central Avenue, now known as “Bathhouse Row.”  In 1921, Steven Mather, the first director of the National Park Service, convinced Congress to make it the 18th(!) national park.

So, what is it?  It’s just a row of restored classic bathhouses, but only one is still operating.  The rest are just pretty faces, although some are in the process of interior renovation for future operation.  The old Fordyce House, dating from 1915, and renovated n 1989, serves as the park headquarters, where I relax:

The “Row” spreads out on both sides of the headquarters.  Here’s the north end:

The Park occupies only this side of the block; the other side is an unbroken row of the sleasiest souvenir and trinket shops you’d ever want to avoid.  Rather sad that the period elegance has to face modern blight. 

The headquarters building has been renovated back to period authenticity, and it’s a hoot to see how folks came to “take the waters.”  The equipment verges on the Star Chamber, with soaking tubs, needle sprays, virtual fire hoses, and Frankenstein’s lift (below):

 

The facilities were gender segregated, and the men’s side always was much more elaborate than the distaff.  The women’s basically looked like the rooms above, but the men languished in splendor.

Boorish behavior was frowned upon:

Yeah, mind that vapor!  The water itself is ancient stuff.  Scientists have determined that it fell as rain over 4,000 years ago, percolated downward through the rock, getting heated at +4 degrees F for every 300 feet it dropped.  It’s not heated volcanically, but rather from the heat generated from radioactive decomposition! Eventually, the seeping water meets faults in the sandstone which leads to the surface, and rises up, emerging at 143 degrees.  There are fountains around town where you can fill a jug or take a sip.  It’s odorless and tasteless, so what the heck:

Maybe it’s a fountain of youth?  I could use one.

INTERSTATUS INTERRUPTUS

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?

COWBOYS AND CRACK

We woke up today to more of the same.  The musical “Oklahoma” got it right with that “where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain” refrain.  That might be the least of our worries.  Severe weather due this week, bad enough that the local t.v. stations are advertising their emergency service where they’ll text you with warnings of tornados, severe hail, etc.  Yikes.  Give me California earthquake anxiety any day.

Not wanting to risk getting blown clean off the scoot, we unhooked and drove the rig over to the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum.  This is a very neat museum that we raced through on our last trip here a year ago.  It’s well worth spending a day, and there’s more than enough to keep you interested.  The current special display was all about guitars and they had some absolute beauties from Gibson and Fender, as well as other makers.  Nice history of the instrument as well.  Did you know the ukulele craze towards the end of the 19th century was largely responsible for saving the Gibson company and sparking new interest in the guitar?  Thank Hawaii for today’s picking and strumming.

They have some great dioramas:

displays (besides hats, barbed wire, boots, spurs, guns galore, clothing, etc.)

They didn’t allow photos of the extensive art collection, but they had a wonderful collections of contemporary and period western artists like Russell, Remington, etc.  Great stuff.  There’s also a trip down memory lane with a room paying tribute to the celluloid and videotape cowboys.  Everyone from William S. Hart to Clint Eastwood with, of course, a huge section devoted to John Wayne.  As you would imagine, he’s somewhat more idolized here than, say, on the coasts.

Oh yes, the crack.  Referring to the windshield, not the stuff.  Tried the do-it-yourself fix today with a kit bought at Wal-mart.  Some sort of epoxy resin that has to be applied in the shade to the crack, worked into it by pushing the glass on either side, then plastering clear plastic covers over the goop.  When you’ve supposedly squoze the air from the crack and replaced it with the epoxy (say, WHAT?  Squeeze the windshield?), you maneuver the vehicle so that the crack is exposed to the U.V. rays from direct sunlight.  Well, all I’ve got to say is don’t try this at high noon with a Class C RV.  For the uninitiated, those are the ones with the bed area that hangs out over the cab and windshield and . . . blocks the sun.  We were in the remote parking lot at the Museum, so I drove all over trying to get some light on the thing.  No dice.  Parked it facing SW and went back to the Museum for the afternoon.  When we came out the sun was lower, and I could back down a slight hill so we were nose up.  The sun just barely reached the crack, so we let it sit there and cook.  Now we’re back at the RV park, peeled off the plastic, and    there’s    still    a     crack.

The only thing to do is to head for the County Line BBQ Restaurant, gorge down on a ton of meat, draft beer, and a mountainous brownie-ice cream-kahlua concoction.  Gustatory solace.

We’re headed into more remote territory in western Arkansas, so we most likely will be off the internet grid for a while.  Now, just where is the nearest storm shelter?

THE LONG AND WINDY ROAD

That’s a short “I,” not a long one.  As in GALE.

That’s a big flag, standing straight out.  Unlike our course of progress, which had more weaves, zigs, and zags than Gayle Sayers swiveling through the defense.  We hit the Oklahoma border

and the winds, previously a friendly push from the rear, shifted to a 90 degree 40mph broadside, with frequent, higher gusts.  LD’s are much better drivers than just about any other class “C” on the road, being significantly lower in overall height, but these winds were something else.  We were dancing, and out of step.  Other than a two hour fight with the elements, not much else to report.  Flat, flat country.  However, that is a plus if your goal is to make visible from long distances the thrill of . . . THE LARGEST CROSS IN THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE!  That’s what the billboard said.  And who are we to argue?

Not convinced?

Those are people down around the base, some cars on the right, for perspective.

Only in the Bible Belt.

We now sit in the Twin Fountains RV Park in NE Oklahoma City, a very nice park where the wind still blows.

Personally, I need a drink.