Rich Mountain, Arkansas, Sun. 14th Mar. 2010

A fine Sunday morning, the chill of winter still in the air, my first opportunity to explore a little of Arkansas, "The Natural State." Driving north from Texarkana on Hwy71, crossing a long straight reach of the Red River. Looking down river to the east from the bridge I wondered if anything much has changed from when the first hardy European settlers pushed southwest to the new lands opening up in Texas and Oklahoma, certainly there is little evidence of mans encroachment along this reach . It must have been daunting for those wanting to cross this significant river and continue their quest for a new life in the West, a small number of ferries offering the only means of safe passage.

With it's head-waters in the Texas Panhandle, the two east flowing forks of the Red join to form the Oklahoma-Texas border and a short section of the Arkansas-Texas border. At Fulton, AR, it tracks south, is joined by the Sulphur, and makes its way to the Mississippi and Atchafalaya rivers in southern Louisiana. I cross the Red each day travelling to and from work near McNab, AR, it is wide, swift flowing with a colour true to its name. I have begun taking a series of photographs of the Red from a bridge on Hwy67. At two weekly intervals I'm hoping to capture the changing moods and colours of the river and its surrounds. At this time of year everything looks "dead", trees in waiting for the warm days of spring to sprout forth new foliage. It is sure to be an interesting exercise even if my photographic skills fail to adequately capture the unfolding seasons.

Wilton, McNab, Fulton are like so many small rural towns, in an apparent economic struggle to stay afloat, and southwestern Arkansas certainly has its share. Boarded up shops and businesses, victims perhaps of poor management or more likely the Walmarts, the Home Depots of this world. Houses in ruins that were once the homes to proud families. What happened? What went wrong? Where did these people go? Someone should find them and learn their stories. Others living in run down houses and trailers that hardly seem strong enough to withstand the next windy day, probably without the means or the inclination to do much about it. These communities sadden me, simply holding on, they seem to be without a future, depressed in almost every sense of the word. Yet they all have a history, someone at sometime deemed it necessary to establish a settlement at that location, the reasons had to have been sound. Today, it seems, those reasons no longer exist.

The flat country gave way to rolling farmland as I drove north, cattle and horses grazing in fields lush and green from recent rains. I never tire of looking out over farmland, seeing what generations of hard work and sacrifice have achieved. The old barns and farm houses, some well cared for, others not so much, but each adding character to the countryside. I noticed several long sheds at different times, it wasn't until I passed a Dyson processing plant that I realised that chicken farming was an important industry in this area.

Hwy 71 leaves its northerly track and heads west for a short time to DeQueen. The town was founded along the Kansas City to Port Arthur, TX, railway line. Jan DeGreoijen, a wealthy European coffee broker, was one of financiers who kept the project alive when the 1893 economic depression put a severe squeeze on capital supply in America. The town was named DeGreoijen in his honour, but was changed to DeQueen, locals finding the original too hard to pronounce. DeQueen itself is fairly non-descript, just another country town serving the needs of the surrounding region, what it does have though is a newspaper, The DeQueen Bee, going strong since 1897. I just had to buy a copy, in fact I bought three copies, two of which will end up in Australia, where I'm sure they'll bring a smile.

The road out of DeQueen heads north, the country flattening out for a while. Just on the outskirts of the town I came across an old house surrounded by a high wire mesh fence, its front yard filled with tables of bright coloured stones. This I had to see, my first thought was of getting Gayle a birthstone. But, wouldn't you know it, hers is emerald and this was no jewelry store, just an old man selling bits and pieces of just about everything and certainly nothing of any great value.

Being spring, the trees were starting to gain their new foliage and along with it plenty of blossom. I occasionally saw mauve, but mostly white, beautiful along the roadsides shinning in the midday sun. In a week or two all the colour will be gone for another season, to be replaced by the multiple shades of green. What the trees were I have no idea, but they were a spectacle. This was, I think, the first real blossoms I'd seen since leaving New Zealand.

I arrived in Mena - pronounced Meena - another railway town, just on midday feeling like a meal. Gayle had suggested I try some Arkansas BBQ which she felt sure would be different from the Texas variety. To be honest i'm not a big fan, I find BBQ a little smoky for my liking but I agreed to keep an eye out for some. I'd spotted one back off the road, several vehicles parked outside on my way north to Mena but didn't think anything of it until I arrived in town and found very little to choose from apart from the standard chain restaurants. I turned around and went looking for the BBQ establishment, however after about 5 0r 6 miles I decided it can wait for another time.

Back in town, right on the main street was the Sunrise Cafe doing a brisk trade. A full house says it all for small town restaurants, the food and service have to be good if they are to stay in business in what is a very competitive industry. The Sunrise has been in business since the 1920's, a feat for any company especially so for a cafe. My meal did nothing to dent their reputation, nor the young ladies who served me, bright, cheerful, chatting to everyone, friend or stranger, making all feel we were a little special. One told me she had an "internet friend" in NZ who keen for her to go visit him. When I asked where abouts he lived she said he hadn't told her yet.

With some friendly and helpful directions I was on my way to my intended destination. Mena sits at the foot of Rich Mountain, part of the Ouachita Mountain Range. While it is no Southern Alps or Rockies, this range is none the less very scenic, the hills and valleys running parallel with each other as if carved out by some great excavator. The views from the lookouts in the Queen Wilhelmena State Park along the ridge road of Rich Mountain were spectactular. As a testimony to the strong winds that blow up there, white oaks have bent their limbs in submission to this wild location.

In full foliage the seemingly endless forests stretching off to the horizon must be glorious, no sign for miles of any human habitation. My friend Charlie Wade, native to SW Arkansas, assured me there were "mountain people" down there among the trees with no electricity or running water, quite willing and able to defend their land from unwanted visitors. Stories abound, he told me, of gunfights, people going missing, of moonshine and dope. Not a good place to find yourself lost or stranded. Whether or not Charlie was pulling my leg it was obvious just how easy it would be for someone to wander off and not be seen again, this is beautiful and rugged region.

The Bastrop Loop, Sunday 14th Feb, 2010

At last, a warm clear Sunday. For weeks now it seems Houston weather has been cold, rainy and downright miserable so an extended ride has been out of the question for me. Now, if I had some of that expensive cold weather riding gear battling the elements would be no problem, but for now I have to choose my days to suit what I have. Other than a few trips to church each Sunday morning and a run down to ExImports for a 6k mile service, the Triumph has hardly been used. I had the handlebar risers fitted at the same time so I was keen to feel the difference, and what a difference that extra 30mm makes. With very little downward pressure on the bars I felt no wrist/forearm fatigue or any numbness in my fingers. That minor modification was money well spent.

I decided to go west on I10 to Columbus then NW on 71 to Bastrop, east on 21 then 290 back to Houston. I10 has become my road, it's the great artery from Florida across the Gulf region, through Texas and on to California. Seems that wherever I go I10 plays a part somewhere in the journey. It's a big and brash highway, as if she is on a mission, her travellers hurrying, all intent on reaching their destinations as quickly as possible. I've driven and ridden I10 day and night, it is never a quiet road, cars and trucks in an endless procession east and west. One day I'll make the journey west to California on this great highway, 1548 miles from Houston according to Google Maps, now that would be quite a ride.

Today it was only I10 as far as Columbus, a quiet country town on the Colorado river. There is a neat McDonald's on the southern outskirts of the town, exit 696 puts you right into the carpark. How do I know this? In April/May of 2008 I was working at the Sam K. Seymour Jr. Generating Station near La Grange. I would ride to the site early each Monday morning, stopping at Macca's for a coffee, perhaps some hotcakes, maybe a hash-brown on the way. With a little something to go on with the last 20 miles went quickly. Sometimes on my return journey late on a Friday afternoon I would also stop for a snack before tackling the 70 miles to Houston. Over the course of 5 weeks travelling to and from La Grange Macca's and me became good friends. Today, however, I decided not to stop, there had to be something more interesting further up the road.

Travelling north-west on Hwy 71 is an easy ride over gentle rolling ranch country with plenty of well fed cattle in the fields. There is no doubt Texas has some quirky people doing some quirky things, a little way up the road from La Grange is a Dodge dealership that is all about reducing those expensive overheads. In this case the overheads are free, a forest of pine trees, there must be at least fifty new trucks sitting out there in the weather. No need for all that concrete on the ground, why spend all that money, grass will do just fine.

Further along 71 I came across a Cowboy Church, a local fellowship that is part of a large network of churches spread across the US, Canada, Australia and else where, loosely affiliated to the Baptist denomination. Going by the number of people gathering outside, this particular church is quite successful. There is something peaceful and comforting to see a group of church goers standing around after a service enjoying the beautiful day, talking, laughing, united in their faith. No one needs to alone, just a find a place where God's people get together.

I arrived in the thriving community of Bastrop right at midday, time for a meal. Today I was going to adventurous, no Macca's for me. I saw that big orange "W", Whataburger it is. Ok, I admit it's not that adventurous, but they do have a pretty good burger, good enough for this ol' vaquero anyway. The town was originally settled, albeit temporarily, by Spanish soldiers in 1804 who named it Puesta Del Colorado. In 1832 it was re-named Bastrop only to be changed to Mina in 1834 and finally back to Bastrop five years later. Bastrop was almost the capital of Texas, however land prices in nearby Waterloo - later to be re-named Austin - were cheaper so the state government settled there. There's alot interesting history in these small rural towns if you dig around a bit, some significant, some not quite so, but all have a place in the fabric of Texas. And like so many other country towns, Bastrop deserves a visit and a nose about, you never know what gems you'll unearth.

Hwy 21North took me to 290East and my route for Houston, through some pleasant rolling farming districts, some of the farms obviously the "hobby" variety, the owners wanting a rural experience while commuting and working else where, Austin most likely. I'm not sure a hobby farm would be much of an experience unless money wasn't an issue as I seriously doubt there's any financial return from the place. However, plenty of people are into it so there are obviously some benefits, either real or perceived.

My final stop was Giddings, even if it was unplanned. As I rode into town my attention was grabbed by this big pink pig sitting on side of the road. I couldn't keep going, this I had to take a close look at. In the midst of a wide range of weird and wonderful sculptures in the front yard of the "Cabbage Patch Cottage" a large pink porker sits in all his, or her, glory, just waiting for someone to come along and take it home. There must be a market for pink pigs because upon exploring the inventory I found another one, although this was smaller and had wings. Maybe pigs do fly, in Texas anyway.


Next door to the Cabbage Patch Cottage was the Bethel Union Baptist Church, later to be re-named St. Paul Baptist Church, a fellowship started in 1871 by a group of ex-slaves with the Rev. I. Tolliver it's first minister. One of it's prominent members, ex-slave Matthew Gaines became a minister, a state senator and a spokesman for civil rights.


Giddings started it's life as a railway town in 1871 when the Houston and Texas Central Railway came to the area. In the 1980's it was an oil town sitting atop the the oil laden Austin chalk. The oil boom has since passed, now Giddings is eased back into a quiet rural community servicing the local district. The town's motto "Experience Hometown Hospitality" was colourfully illustrated with a large mural on a downtown building wall.

Mid afternoon, time to head for home, east on the notorious 290 into Houston. I say notorious because as the freeway gets closer into the city the traffic gets thicker, the lanes seem narrower, especially the left hand lane which has no shoulder, just a concrete barrier. On a bike with no escape route in an emergency, it is a hairy piece of road.

Total Distance: 266 miles (426kms)
Ave. 44.5 mpg
Top Speed: 96.6mph (154kph) - I can't help it, the Triumph just goes fast.

Name Change

The Triumph has to have a new name, Gayle says Trumpie is too Donald.

610 Loop on a Warm Sunday

A prolonged spell of cold and wet weekends has meant very little riding of late. Sunday 17th Jan. the sun finally showed itself, the temperatures rose to an acceptable level. Mid afternoon seemed like the perfect time to wheel out Trumpie and go for a quick spin around the 610 Loop. It was all of 50 miles but it was sheer pleasure to wind her up and let some cool Texas air blow out the cobwebs. Two weeks ago I had set out for La Grange then across to Roundtop on to Brenham and home, but by the time I reached Columbus I was too cold to go any further. A hot meal at a local family restaurant and I was on my way home.

I'm still experimenting with the seat in an effort to eliminate, or at least minimize, the sore bum issue. The Corban seat is very comfortable but being vinyl it has no absorption qualities, on a long ride the bum gets warm and moist, therefore quite uncomfortable. Yesterday I tried a gel seat-pad under sheepskin, a slight improvement but I'm not there yet.

I recently purchased a pair of seamless Dryline undergarment shorts. The theory is they will draw moisture away from the skin, kind of like Nike running gear is designed to do. I'm thinking a combination of the Dryline shorts worn under a pair of relaxed fit Levi's and the sheepskin may just work.

The next improvement/modification will be to fit 1 1/4" handlebar risers. The '07 Sprints were fitted with higher bars as standard, this was done to increase the comfort for the wrists, arms and lower backs. The risers will bring Trumpie up to '09 spec. Since she already has the Triumph high performance stainless steel exhaust and a re-mapped engine system there's not much else to do as far as the mechanics are concerned. Just some accessories to make life a little easier, a top case, a GPS, a communication system, some new riding gear including some decent boots. Given time I bet I can find a few more things I just can't live without. But hey!

This coming April I plan to see some more of Texas, get out on to the Great Plains up in the Panhandle, take in the wild flowers in full bloom, visit those towns that pop up in so much Texas music.