Day Before #33
- Steve's Trip Report Index
- Next Day #35
Day 34: El Dorado, AR to Lake Village, AR
92 Miles: Loose Dogs, Lower Ouachita NWA, Long Ride in Southeast Arkansas - March 5, 2008
Riding With The Dogs In South Arkansas
Photo Above: Highway 82 somewhere between El Dorado and Crossett.
Riding With The Dogs
This morning's ride started with a "bang" ... er, maybe a "bark."
Outside of El Dorado,
a dog can running out to the highway from a roadside home.
The dog was mean and barked loudly, and it kept barking and barking as it did its best to
chase and scare me with its canine instincts. The dog was unleashed and had no sense of
its master's property boudary and where the public right-of-way began.
Bark, bark, bark, bark! The dog was practically racing me by
running along the grassy area next to the shoulder as if it wanted to attack me.
On and on this went for about 10-15 seconds, for what seemed like a much longer time.
I out paced the dog, of course, but it was not good for the nerves.
Just a few miles up the road, it happened again! This time, it was a
larger dog who darted from a front porch from across the highway. It lankily galloped on
the road without any regard of the possibility of getting hit by a car.
With minimal traffic, the dog avoided a nasty collision and I easily out rode the dog.
What is up with these dogs?!
These experiences were alarming to say the least.
Now I was aware from the outset recounting this story might be humorous to some -
the idealistic notion of bravely bicycling across the country shattered
by the spectacle of dogs chasing me down the road.
The reality of these moments with dogs, however, was never a laughing matter.
There was that sudden moment of realizing a
dog sees you, has decided is
going to chase you and here he comes! I learned right away to act like I did not care about the aggressive dog, yet
I peddled harder in those moments to keep my distance,
all the while dealing with being really pissed off and wanting to give a piece of my mind to
the dog owner, who was never there.
My indignation inside stewed toward these unknown and unpresent people:
How about being a responsible human being and leashing your dog if
you know its going to run wild and cause problems with your neighbors? Ah well, let's just say my
opinion of the South and Arkansas was not the greatest at this point. ;)
This problem of people irresponsibly not leashing their dogs, I was quickly learning,
is a very embarrassing feature in today's rural South.
I arrived in Gardner, Arkansas, and bought snacks and a drink at a store.
I calmed down and was enjoying the sunny morning, but the dog incidents were clearly the headline news of morning.
"Can you tell me, what is up with these loose dogs around here?" I casually asked the cashier.
The young woman nodded like she understood, but did not say much else.
A few more miles brought me to Strong, Arkansas, where I stopped
in town to take off some layers of clothing as the day
warmed up. A local man introduced himself as a fellow road bicyclist, asked where I was heading,
and we talked about my five week journey so far and about the loose dogs.
"Oh yeah, there's a lot of (loose) dogs. It's problem down here ... Be careful.
Once my riding partner was taken down by one." he said.
Taken down?! Oh boy, after my two dog alteractions this morning, I believed him.
Now today was not the first day that I had incidents with loose dogs, although
it became the concern of the day.
There were three loose dogs I encountered to this point: 1) A mean dog that growled and tried to intimidate me,
standing its owner's edge of the street across from the
Reserve, NM High School; I grabbed some large
rocks, the only thing I could find that might have harmed it, 2) a dog in rural Cruzville, NM and 3)
a dog somewhere in northeast Texas that ran out to the road.
In retrospect, I definitely should have carried pepper spray,
which would effectively halt an aggressive dog and stop it in its tracks as it sat in pain for awhile.
I also probably should have carried a second weapon as well - a
staff or club that could crush the skull of a dog. Some bicyclists have suggested carrying
a firearm on long trips like this one as well.
Guns are not my style (at least just yet), but I would completely understand one's rationale
as a measure of protection, especially if they were camping.
The Dog Problems Continue
Onward I traveled on Highway 82. Another dog, albeit a small one, ran out to greet me after I rode by.
I was not scared of this one, but it fueled my rage. It was then that I devised a plan:
When the next dog comes out to chase me, especially if it is on my side, I am going to ride out into
the middle of the driving lane to get the dog on the road. My hope, in the heat of the moment, was to see the chasing and vicious
dog get bashed by a car. I was ready!
Oh the excitement! Come on dog, come on dog, come on out here ...
A few minutes went by. Bark, bark, bark, bark! A dog! It was a dog!
This one was fenced in on a large homestead, and it ran along with me
for hundreds of yards before reaching its end. "Stupid dog!" I cursed up
a few derogatory remarks at the dog to taunt it. Hey, at least the owner had a fence for this one.
I was nearing the Lower Ouachita forest area, thinking the isolation might
be the end of the battle, when ... bark, bark, bark, bark! Oh no, here we go again!
A dog came rushing out from my side of the road! I slowed down a little as planned so he could catch up. I checked
the traffic behind me. All clear. I leaned out on the middle
of the right lane and the dog came out on the road! I stayed on the road for awhile,
constantly watching traffic for myself, with the hope that maybe, just maybe,
a motorized vehicle would teach the dog a lesson. Uhhhhhh, there was just one problem: There were no cars anywhere. :(
I performed this strategy once safely, but I decided it was not a good idea to do again. The
anxiety and intensity of the moment, coupled with me riding hard and checking traffic for my own safety, just
was not a good idea on the road. Plus, a motorist would be involved in a collision, albeit
a very lopsided one in favor of the car.
(Then again, I was told crashes with unleashed dogs in the South is common.)
Lastly, these incidents really were not the fault of the dog; It was the owners who deserved to be punished.
There would be two more memorable loose
dogs in the South, but on this day in southeast Arkansas, the "per capita" of unleashed dogs was the greatest.
I entered the Lower Ouachita forest and swamp area (photo above)
where there were no homes for about 15 miles. It was a relaxing ride and
thankfully, I did not encounter any more loose dogs for the remainder of the day.
|
| I had a good talk with this man in Strong, Arkansas. He is a road biker himself
who has done many of the most difficult passes in Colorado. He rattled off a number of very impressive passes
in my area including Independence Pass.
He empathized with me about the loose dogs in the area.
He also said something that stuck with me: To this day, he has always wanted to bicycle across America,
but that was unlikely to happen with obligations of being the only pharmacist
in town and other life responsibilities. I felt so sad for him, and part of
me wished I was a pharmacist so I could take over his job for a few months so he could do it! |
| ADJACENT: A photo of the beautiful and thick forest as I entered into the Lower
Ouachita Wildlife Management Area. It was a generally marshy and swampy area
comprising of a large lake, numerous bayous and the Ouachita River itself. The road was nice and flat too! :)
I stopped for lunch in Crossett, Arkansas and ate at a Taco Bell.
This was my first visit to a Taco Bell
since the one in Phoenix, and it was clear
theft was not something to worry about in this sleepy southern town. Still,
it brought back memories of the
stolen bike incident. Watch that bike!
I never relented in being vigilant unless I could dine inside with a
direct view of the bike through a window.
Crossett, situated just nine miles north of the Louisiana border, seemed really laid-back with thick forests.
Much of my route across south Arkansas on Highway 82 traveled fairly close to and parallel the Louisiana state line.
I snapped no pictures of Crossett, but directly below is a larger photo of the highway as I continued eight miles east.
|
Ramblings In Ashley County, Arkansas
Photo Above: Highway 82 near in Ashley County, Arkansas.
In The Deep South
I was tired. A moderate level of discomfort and soreness was
pretty much a given on most of my rides and it often affected my thinking, attitude and outlook.
I had songs I could not get out of my head, and I dwelled on dilemnas and issues that a
single, 36-year-old man with an adventurous spirit might potentially face in his life*.
The morning experiences with the dogs had my guard down emotionally more than usual too.
I was definitely pressing on though, and I expected reaching Greenville,
Mississippi to be my destination by day's end. If successful, it would be my
third "century ride" (108 miles) of the journey.
By the way, this was definitely feeling more and more like the deep South. It felt quite humid with
lots of small, quaint southern towns. Somewhere in Ashley County, among large timbered land,
I saw a man who looked (for lack of a better word) like a hillbillie near the roadside. It all happened so fast,
but I am 90% sure he was wearing overalls. He was an
interesting-looking guy and a black man.
Up to this point in my writings, I have not mentioned the race of
anyone I encountered. There simply was no reason to. Of course, the race is evident of the
people in pictures on this web site, but that is it. Occasionally,
someone by phone would ask me during the trip something like,
"Are you having an problems in the South?" alluding to race, rednecks or whatever. To the best of my knowledge,
no person of color shunned me because of my whiteness and let's not take white people off the hook either.
On rare occasions, I have encountered uptight and conservative
white people who have either judged me for my
amazing long, naturally curly hair or for having a judgemental attitude
that "Bicycling is for fun, and you should be working and doing something serious, blah
blah blah (Fill in the mantra of the Protestant work ethic here)."
Nope, down here in the South, I did not have any race-related problems or
people judging me based on my outward appearance. Actually it was mechanical bike problems,
roads with debris and little shoulder, unleashed dogs and large trailer trucks that were more concerning on
a daily basis.
Disconnect With An Arkansas Man
Anyway, let me continue. This black man, appearing in his 40's or 50's, gave me no eye contact or acknowledgement
as I peddled by. As was the usual case, I was willing to give a friendly nod with a
smile to anyone on the roadside, but to no avail. I realize this could have been for many practical reasons:
Maybe he was busy, he might not have actually seen me or
perhaps he had a lot on his mind. I felt a little bad, partly
because he looked so interesting with those overalls! I wish I could have gotten a picture with him! :)
It was one of those moments where I would have loved to have stopped, talked to a local, had an
excuse to rest and get to know someone however shortly.
Maybe he was scared.
Maybe his refusal to say "hi" had to do with race. Who knows? Nobody really knows
the deep motives of anyone regarding why they behave a certain way in a situation.
To make guesses or judgements about such things is foolishness.
But the lack of eye contact caused me to reflect. Call me opinionated
therapist if you wish, but do not engage
in much eye contact with your spouse and your marriage is likely headed for trouble.
In the world of retailing, the general rule is for the customer to determine how much eye contact
they want, with the retailer following the customer's lead. In some Asian cultures, eye contact
is considered rude and impolite. Oh and in the South, at least a few generations ago,
a black person giving eye contact to a white could trigger some serious trouble.
Maybe that old culture barrier was a factor here, but again, who knows?
I did sense one thing in myself: I wanted to be a positive healing agent in the matter of race relations.
It did not have to be much - maybe a friendly conversation or a gesture of kindness. I was well aware my route in
the next week would take me through southern cities and towns that made it
in the history books of the civil rights struggle. I did not expect much, but my hope was that
I could do one meaningful act, even if it was tiny, toward advancing racial harmony.
As for that man on the roadside, for reasons unknown to me, his face remains vivid in my memory.
I hope he is well. I have prayed for him.
|
|
ADJACENT PHOTO: Highway 82 eastbound outside the town of Montrose, Arkansas.
The scenery opened up as I approached the Mississippi River.
This was definitely Mississippi Delta territory, with wide open fields, plenty of bayous and man-made lakes.
Just looking at the land was enough to conclude this area probably floods frequently.
|
| Lake Village, Arkansas
Photos Above: As I rested, I realized I did not take many pictures despite a full 92 mile day of scenery,
loose dogs,
quaint southern towns (Crossett and Hamburg) and a man in overalls that provoked me into
deep thought and emotional release.
Thus, I captured some more shots:
The two really loud people with red lines etched to conceal them and the green style bathroom.
I am not knocking it at all - everything worked and it was clean - but good heavens,
I felt like it was 1966 all over again! ;) (FYI - I was born in 1971.)
|
Another Motel Story
I got a flat in the back wheel just as I entered Lake Village, Arkansas. I rode 92 miles already, and was
very willing to continue to Greenville, Mississippi, but this flat took the riding tenacity out of me.
Considering I was in town and
not far from restaurants and a motel, my laziness kicked in.
I was not in the mood to change the flat at this point, even though it was 3:50 p.m. with plenty of time to ride
the final 16 miles to Greenville. (The days were becoming much longer compared to
my first ride in San Diego
on February 1.)
I saw a cheap motel, your average "mom and pop" motel with about 80-100 rooms, and I was finished.
Outside a room, I noticed two "iffy" people sitting outside their room, drinking beer
with an intimidating presentation. No big deal, I thought.
I checked in, obtained my key and saw I had room 24.
I walked around looking at the door numbers and noticed I was walking toward those two men drinking in public,
and what do you know, my room door was exactly next to these two young men. We were neighbors!
I was unnerved. Loud rap and/or hip hop music (whatever genre it was) blared through the wall ... and it was 4 p.m!
I turned the large fan on to drown out
the noise, which I usually did anyway in noiser motel rooms. Still, I could hear
them talking outside, and I think someone was inside playing a video game on top of the music.
I took a relieving shower and felt so much better physically, but it
was clear I could not deal with this situation!
Usually in such cases, I just learned to deal with the
inconveniences of renting low-end motel rooms, but this ridiculous situation with the people next door was too much.
I returned back the office. "Can you please give me a different room that is a little quieter?
How about something over there?" I asked. I pointed at the far end of the motel. The young girl
behind the desk, who was amazed at my trip when I checked in,
got her manager to come out. I explained about the really noisy people
who were drinking outside their room, and he nodded in frustration as if he knew all about those guys.
The rooms on the quiet end were "doubles" (i.e. two large double beds)
and despite being apologetic about the selfish and noisy people,
he requested I pay $10 extra to move into a double. A little tacky in my mind,
but I only paid $30 to start and $40 was reasonable. Whatever ... I just wanted a little more peace of mind!
|
| Flat Tire #5
| As I put in a new tube in my tire that evening, I spotted the
metal spike in the wheel that probably caused the flat.
I did my best to zoom in on it. That little guy, a long and thin piece of metal, punctured the tube! :p)
This was Flat Tire #5 on the journey, and just the second flat since buying the bike in Phoenix. At this point,
the back tire was showing significant wear and I was concerned about its increasing susceptibility to flats.
The back tire, carrying all that extra weight with the saddlebags and my body on the seat,
endured more friction on the road and wore quicker than the front. Looking at the wheel,
it was definitely time for a new tire, and thankfully,
there was a small bicycle shop in Greenville, Mississippi that was going to help.**
** - There was actually a bicycle shop in Texarkana, TX as well.
I wanted to replace the tire then, but I rode through the city on Sunday morning,
and the bike shop was closed on both Sunday and Monday. Waiting around for
two days was not going to happen! |
* - An elaboration of such issues might be coming after
I have completed writing all 45 days of this journey. I make no promises, and don't get your hopes up!
Day Before #33
- Next Day #35
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