I decided I needed a ride to blow away the cobwebs after being at home for a couple weeks and sick for a substantial part of that. A good friend has some property in the lake country south of little rock, and it seemed like a perfect run - about 180 miles each way.
I left a little before 7am which put me at the top of the Pig Trail bypass just about 7. The sun was just rising, no direct sun in the deep valleys yet, just a warming sky and veils of mist in the deep places. The Pig Trail (AR-24) was wonderful, as some of you know, they repaved almost the entire length of it (24.7 miles) last summer. The surface is smooth, the curves are properly banked, and running water hasn't undercut the pavement anywhere yet. I was able to make a nice run pretty much at speed - the only vehicle I sat behind was a tractor trailer I picked up just before the double hairpin turns north of Cass. This fellow knew his stuff and wasn't too slow, and I managed to pass him by less than 10 minutes later, making a smooth run to the bottom of the hill.
The run to Little Rock was easy and the traffic was light, I made the entire trip in less than 3 hours... but then the trouble started. My pal is a frantic home improver... C'mon Dan, help me out with this! Ugh. I got out of some of the worst by giving a few rides in Ruby - suffice it to sat that my pal who invited me down didn't like the Slingshot and kept yelling for me to "Slow Down!!" every time I got up above 35 mph. No - I'm not kidding.
As the afternoon wore on, my friend invited me to stay. It was just him, his wife and daughter, and his younger brother. I didn't relish a long drive back from 6-9 pm, so I accepted. This was the "Big Mistake."
Sure, the wife said, we have a bed for you, no problem. Oh, by the way, the door got damaged, so there's no door on the room, is that okay?
I said, "Sure, no worries." I was about to offer to just take a couch, but the wife noted that they couldn't really offer that, since there were 5 dogs in the house... I took the hint, and the doorless room.
My friend and his wife tend to bicker... and soon the dinner conversation started. My offer to 'eat anything' was drownded out in an argument about who had cooked last, cleaned up last, emptied the dishwasher... and on it went. "Let's just go get some pizza," I suggested - and after 20 more minutes of arguing, this was agreed upon with bad grace on all quarters.
My friend and I left in his truck to go to Wal-Mart. (There shoulda been creepy horror movie, the slut's gonna die, violin music playing for this.) We passed a pizza place - why don't we order from the phone and wait for pizza there? No, no, my friend said, my wife just texted me a whole shopping list. I wanted to start cussing at this point, but restrained myself - I shouldn't have.
My pal on a shopping trip in Wal-Mart is like an old lady with Alzheimer's and a yeast infection. Hopping from one foot to the other, criticizing every choice. "Oh wait, I forgot something..." and wandering off among the Wally World zombies in various levels of hazmat gear. "I'll get the pizzas!" I said. But of course, it was all wrong. How do you screw up 2 cheese, two sausage, and two combination pizzas? "My daughter doesn't like that kind. Those kind have crappy crust. This brand doesn't put on enough cheese. I don't know why you got pepperoni, I have plenty of sliced pepperoni at the house..." and on it went. Dinner you say? No one had a mouthful before 9:30 pm.
When we got back to the house at 8:30, the place was full of people. Who the hell are these guys? The local mechanic. The kid who mows the lawn. Some random guy with his 9 year old terror in tow. The mechanic's girlfriend. The others... well, I stopped trying to keep em straight. And then the heavy drinking starts. The brother brings out a couple of bottles of gin, the lawn kid says "I know where there's a big bottle of bourbon you didn't finish last time you were here!" Before the first pizza is out of the oven, this lot is three sheets to the wind. They are grilling sausages on my pal's gas grill "They're from Louisiana!" one of the drunks keeps repeating.
Why the hell are we feeding this crew? I ask my friend. He just shrugs. I'm not at all pleased at buying $50 of pizza for a drunken mob. The giggling and stupid drunken jokes are in full flow, and someone has brought four or five more dogs. There are other random dogs hanging out by the grill, scratching at the patio door to be let in. I decide to turn in at 10 pm after I'm fed. I've been ill, I need a good night's sleep before leaving early the next morning. I am delusional.
I lay down on my bed in the doorless room... unfortunately, it's just across the hall from the bathroom. One sloppy drunk after another comes to the john, leaves the door open, and sighs "Ahhhh!". Some of them sing. Every damn one of them leaves the bathroom door open and the light on, shining right on my face. Odors waft in. After the third drunk, I say "F-This!" and start putting shoes and socks on. The only thing missing at my pal's place to make it a perfect dive bar is lots of cigarette smoke and a crappy juke box wheezing out the same dozen tunes from old scratched 45's.
It's now 10:45, I come back out and put on my riding jacket and reach for my helmet. "Night folks, thanks for dinner!"
"What? You're leaving now? But why?" The wife notes that the party should be winding down in an hour or two. She and my pal begin bickering about why I'm leaving 'in the middle of the night.' My friend helps me get the cover off Ruby. The air is cool and quiet. I can hear the tree frogs and the bugs humming. Ruby's seat is comfy and the engine drowns out other night sounds. I roll down the drive listening to Swing music from Big Voodoo Daddy and singing the praises of God and all his angels and ministers of grace as I roll out of the drive.
I stop at a closed gas station a couple miles out of town to call the Captain and let her know I'm on my way. No sense getting shot as an intruder when I come rolling in at 2 am. I ditch the helmet and put on my leather cap. Switch the daytime sun lenses out of my goggles for night-time yellow, put in my ear protection, and I'm off. The wind is cool and delicious, 74 F, as I pull out onto I-40. I bring Ruby easily up to cruising speed and practice mechanical distancing, passing semi trailers easily and keeping away from other vehicles. Traffic is light and this is easy.
120 miles to go to the Pig Trail. Easy driving with just one stop for gas in Clarksville at 1 am. Several people stop to admire Ruby. One old biker on an orange Harley, a toothless couple in their 30's grin and gum their admiration. "Yeah, thanks. I gotta get back on the road." They wave my exhaust away as I roar off into the dark and get back on the interstate.
Eventually I reach the exit at mile 35. Ozark, Cass, White Oak Station. The bottom of the Pig Trail. It's 1 am, and I have 50 more miles to go. 24.7 miles up the Pig Trail, and 25 miles after that to get home. There's no one ahead of me, and no business at the Valero. I grin, drop and gear, and speed off.
If you've driven the Pig Trail going north, you know the first few miles are rolling, easy curves, made for speed. Everything is completely dark and quiet. I flip on the high beams and press down on the accelerator; but a huge horned own flies out from a tree on my left, paces me for several hundred yards in perfect silence, then banks into the bushes on my right. I think of deer, skunk, and other creatures of the night and slow down a bit.
You know how it is when you start off on a winding road, it's pristine, perfect, and you're alone. But you know it won't last - you're going to run into some pantywaist in a fat, new SUV. He's going to slow you down, and you can picture his nagging wife clutching her pearls in the passenger seat and whining for him to slow down. You get so aggravated with the slow pace that you have fantasies of lassoing the old broad and yanking her out of the car into a ditch, while the driver yells "Thanks, pal!" out his window and you both resume your run at speed. It's just a fantasy. You don't have a lasso. If you think about it, you realize the crank driving the SUV wouldn't even be pleased by your helpful rope trick. You start thinking of new curse words, and you're trapped by oncoming traffic and cannot pass.
Except tonight is magical. Tonight is the perfect Pig Trail, and there is no traffic ahead of you. The night is perfect and starry, the air is cool on your face, the engine humms, the gears shift smoothly, and you roll on. There is a nuisance of deer - just three or four - who skitter across the road ahead of you. The gods smile, you see them in time to avoid and enjoy them instead of hearing the sickening thump as you hit them. Squirrels boing-boing-boink! out of your way. Even the skunks watch from the road side as you pass and decline to turn their rear ends to you.
The curves roll away, the roadside dives are dark and silent, the double hairpin is empty and challenges you to drop a gear and power through, drifting just a bit. A roar, a slide, and away, leaving the darkness as you found it. I realize I'm nearing the end of the trail. I pass the Boy Scout camp, the Conservation station; Gabby the GPS announces, "Prepare to turn left in two miles!"
I'm prepared, and when I reach the end of the Pig Trail, I make a rolling left onto AR-16 and head for Coombs, Durham, and Elkins. Just a mile later, one pickup passes me going the other direction. I check my time and realize I've made the entire Pig Trail run, 24.7 miles in just 37 minutes. The rest of the ride home is smooth and uneventful. No cars in front of me, and none pass me.
I roll into my driveway at 2:05 am. Hello dogs, hello Captain. Sleepy responses from one and all. It has all been worth it. It has been a perfect Pig Trail.
. Glad all ended well and sometimes looking back in life those adventures make you smile!
