Day Six: Livingston, Texas, to Harrison, Ark.

Approximately 491 miles.

It was probably a good thing that we spent the night in a good hotel Tuesday night because Wednesday would be a challenging day. Though we were tempted to ride straight through back to St. Joseph, we decided instead to cut the trip roughly in half and ride about 500 miles to Harrison, Ark., and stay with my dad and mom.

Eric rejoined us in Livingston early in the morning after he spent the night with his grandparents in a nearby town. We set off north on U.S. Highway 59 and headed for Texarkana. We rode through what’s called the Piney Woods part of Texas and it is one of the more scenic areas of the state. The roads are smooth and in great shape. Several stretches have tall, majestic trees lining both sides of the road. Soft curves and small towns provide a little break in the boredom along the way.

Finally, we reached Texarkana and crossed the border into Arkansas. One thing that we all learned on this trip: Texas is one big, damned state.

Although highway maps are accurate, they can be a little misleading just because Texas is so big. You consult a map then ride hard for a couple of hours and check the map again. You’ve only moved a couple of inches on the map and your destination still lies quite a few more inches down the road.

Maybe we noticed it so much because we’re used to reading Missouri maps.

Anyway, we caught I-30 at Texarkana and blasted northeast to Little Rock. Thus far, our interstate highway travel had been pretty tame, but traffic on this cement slab was horrible. We must have passed at least 50 semis, most of whom weren’t happy about having motorcycles being on the road.

Finally we reached Little Rock, skirted the west edge of the town and picked up I-10 and headed north to Conway. We were supposed to pickup U.S. Highway 65 but the signs were poorly marked, thus we wasted valuable daylight searching for the right road. Eventually, we found 65 after riding through some parts of Conway.

We also smelled barbeque.

Denny was leading and as we were heading out of town, he saw the sign for Smitty’s Bar B Que and sensed the unmistakable smell of smoked meat. He made an abrupt right turn into the parking lot. We followed.

It was “Pig Night” at Smitty’s, which meant all the ribs you could eat. Smitty himself brought us out a sample plate and I have to admit they were some of the best ribs I’d tasted. We all opted for the Pig Night Special.

After eating, we prepared for a night run over the Ozark Mountains into Harrison. For me, and I suspect Dave Lau, it would be the longest part of the trip.

We set out as the thunderheads were gathering in the west then the weather deteriorated rapidly. By the time we reached Clinton, it was pitch black and misting. Dave and I slowed down, unsure of the traction while Denny and Eric zoomed on ahead.

Around a curve, we saw a sign that said, “Steep grade next 2 miles.”

A little further on down, the sign said, “Truck brake check zone.”

A little further, another sign: “Runaway truck ramp ahead.”

Down the steep grade we went, in the darkness with wet pavement underneath. After a few miles we cleared the grade and began climbing up the next mountain. That’s when nature played it’s most cruel trick.

Dave and I were riding pretty close and suddenly it started raining harder, making it difficult to see through your helmet shield. I flipped the shield up and out of the way. Then, the sky opened and a deluge of rain beat down upon us. It rained so hard that I could barely see past my handlebars. I slowed down and glanced over at Dave who had also slowed.

“This sucks!” he yelled over the roar of the storm.

“No kidding!” I yelled back. We would have pulled over to wait out the rain, but there was no room on the shoulder and no intersections within sight.

So it was night, dark clouds covered the moon, the pavement was already slick and I was smack dab in the middle of one of the worst thunderstorms I’d ever ridden through. Oh well, I thought, it can’t get much worse.

Just then, it started to hail.

It took us about three hours to ride the 108 miles from Conway to Harrison. We arrived at my folks’ house about 11:30 p.m. and, thankfully, dad was still up and had a beer in the fridge. We thankfully sipped a couple of cold beers and bedded down in my parents’ basement… their warm, dry, comfortable basement.