Posted by Mountainman on May 23, 2000 at 20:05:35:
Hi, all. Wrote this little story last month about introducing my Savage to "the Pig Trail" for the first time. Thought you might like to see it, sorry for taking up so much bandwidth! On another note, heard on the radio this morning that the US Forest Service has had the Mojave phone booth removed because all the traffic to it "has a negative environmental impact" on the desert. Sort of like the Los Alamos fire, maybe?... ;-)
Mountainman
Thumping Into The Sunrise
By John M. Morgan
04/20/2000
Find myself struggling up from the depths of sleep. What is that horrible, high-pitched beeping noise? The alarm clock, its digital face showing 5:00a. 5 am, why? Why am I getting up so early for work, what did I forget? Hey, wait a minute, today is Saturday! Huh?
Then the fog of sleep begins to lift and I joyfully realize; the bike is sleeping in the garage, sunrise is coming and the Pig Trail is waiting for me! Yes! I get up quietly so as not to wake my wife and stumble off to the kitchen to push the magic button on the coffee maker. A quick shave and de-scuzzing of the teeth, then a hot shower. God, that hot water feels good on my sore ribs! (a little souvenir of my misadventure on the SV three weeks ago) Dry off, pull on the Levi’s, find my long-sleeved denim shirt and head for the coffee. Gulp down two cups while stomping my feet into the boots. Out the back door for a quick weather check: Chilly! But a clear sky sparkling with stars, the east just turning red; here comes the sun! Back to the closet, pull a sweater over my shirt and put on my old leather jacket, redolent with the good smells of rides gone by.
Into the dark garage, push the button and the door noisily rises, letting in the faint, early light which reveals the outline of the little Savage 650. Click on the mini flashlight and check the oil, then the tires. All looks good, so I throw a leg over, pull the choke out and hit the starter, generating an instant growl and rumble from the big single. Sit there enjoying the thumper massage for a minute, then push the choke in to the second stop, slowing the quickening idle. Pull on the helmet and gloves and just sit a minute more, enjoying the sight of the growing dawn light on the treetops across the pasture, cattle already chomping breakfast below them. Push the choke all the way in and little Suzi settles into her slow, loping idle. Time to ride!
Pull up the stand and give a little push to glide out of the garage and down the sloping driveway to the road. Down goes the garage door, and we’re off, heading for one of the best bike roads anywhere in the world. Arkansas Highway 23 South, otherwise known as The Pig Trail. Rumble quietly through our little semi-rural neighborhood and turn right onto Highway 16 East. Not a headlight in sight as Suzi and I pick up speed, heading for the sunrise.
Cross the bridge above the arm of Lake Sequoyah that passes under the highway, smelling the rich, warm reek of the shallows beneath me. Cattle smells wafting by from the ranches on either side of the road. Someone from the city might find it offensive, but it smells like life to me, newly awake in a new day. Roll off the throttle and slow her down to ride through the little town of Elkins, the only people out and about yet my fellow geezers straggling into the Citgo Mini-Mart for their morning coffee and tale-telling. I’ll have one to tell you boys about this ride some morning soon, I think.
Takes but a couple of minutes to be free of the little town and Suzi’s soon happily blatting along in fifth, exhaust note booming back at me from the hillsides close by. What a happy sound! Sun’s almost ready to peek over the eastern ridges, so I pick up the pace a little. I want to be in The Cathedral Of The Trees once it’s up fully. Man, can you smell the spring this morning! The sour tang of fresh manure on the fields, the new grass and the wildflowers in their profusion; all combine to say “Winter’s gone, and riding season is here.” Now the White River puts in its first appearance of the morning to my left. Recent rains have given it back its flow after our overly dry winter. It catches the glow from the eastern sky, forming an incandescent, red curve through its rocky banks, tipped with pink and white in the little rapids over the limestone shoals.
Road’s becoming twistier now, the closer I come to the turnoff for the Pig Trail. The little Savage is happy to accommodate the curves, her low-slung weight starting to pendulum beneath me as we glide along. God, how can people not ride? Through a long sweeper to the left and the river comes back into view. A flash of movement catches my eye and suddenly a mature bald eagle comes swooping up from the river, passing over at treetop level just in front of me, glorious white head glowing in the sunrise. "Mitakue Oyasin,” I whisper into my helmet. “All my relations,” something I learned from old Henry Crow Dog up on the Rosebud so many, many years ago. Fly, my brother, fly as Suzi and I fly with you through this holy moment.
I pass the old house on the right with the sign saying “wolf pups for sale,” and know it’s almost time to take a deep, deep breath and hold it. Around a hard left and down a long straightaway. Now: breathe in and hold it. Three chicken houses just off the road to the right, last cleaned out when saber-tooth tigers still roamed these mountains. Breathing all the smells of spring is one thing, but this is definitely another. Some smells are thick enough to take you right off your bike. Safely by, I exhale and breathe in the clean morning air. Almost there!
Then it appears: the right-hand turnoff. I negotiate the tight curve and I’m on the Pig Trail, headed down through the mountains. I remember something else old Crow Dog used to say: “It’s a good day to be a man.” You got that right, old friend. Taking the long, lovely sweepers that form the introduction to this wonderful road I’m soon alongside the one view of the White River you get on 23 South. Much more of a mountain river here, all splashing and gurgling little rapids as it heads busily away from me. Time to start paying more attention to the road now, getting more serious by the minute, the curves coming quicker and tighter as we head uphill. Soon I’m in the deep shadows of the mountains, their flanks covered with new foliage, their bulk pressing ever closer to the ever-narrowing little road. Suzi’s in bike heaven here, her one lung singing a happy song as she weaves and bobs and dips, showing a surprisingly light-footed agility as she dances along. Then we’re suddenly out into the clear of a little valley, the old abandoned farmhouse up on my left that is the thirty-mile mark from my house, this little straight stretch the last one we’re going to see for a while.
Now uphill again, into the cold darkness where the sun has yet to penetrate, the curves intense and sudden, one after another. Now we’re taking the right sweeper topped by the high cut for the road, the red earth like old wine as the sun tops the ridge, bathing us in glory. Sunrise timing perfect! Down the long sweeper to the left and here we are: The Cathedral of the Trees. The branches of the trees from either side of the road meet overhead, forming a high arch over the road backlit with the newly risen sun. I downshift and Suzi and I ride slowly and reverently down, the road become the main aisle of this cathedral man never built. Man built the road; God grew the building around it. “Blessed be God; Father, Son and Holy Spirit. And blessed be His Kingdom, now and forever.” I find myself whispering these ancient words from the beginning of the Mass as the dappled light plays over us, blessing us as we ride. Old Crow Dog’s Native American spirit meets my Anglican soul in a moment of total unity. Wokan Tanka or Father in Heaven, Allah or Shekinah, these are but names as the holy light grows ever brighter.
The reverie recedes as the gentle curves of the Cathedral give way to their tighter, meaner brothers. Working the gears now, keeping Suzi in the sweet spot as we enter the downhill esses, her pendulum effect in full force as we left-right-left-right-left again, then the short downhill straight and there they are: the two switchback curves, each marked 10mph and this time the state’s not kidding! Ooomph! And we’re through the first and ooomph again and out of the second, up the little right-hander to the short straight, then the long, long sweeper to the right, then left and down, down, and down again till I see the turnout on the left. Slow and pull in, Suzi happily panting in neutral. Here we have an incredible view of the ranches in the valley far below, the new green of the fields dotted with Angus cattle, black as midnight in the morning light. We take this in, then clunk into first and I introduce my little girl to the wonderfully banked curves that lead us down into the valley. We take the last left-handed sweeper and pass through the little community of Cass, then the long straights and gentle curves that culminate in a long, tight left one that’ll push your liver all the way over and there’s the bridge ahead of us. We’re here, baby, Turner Bend on the Mulberry River.
As we idle over the bridge I hear whoops and hollers coming from the river below us. Look over and two guys are riding the fast chute on the river’s right side, working that canoe for all it’s worth. One sees us and briefly raises a paddle in salute. I wave back. Canoes on fast water are, after all, bikes that don’t need wheels. Enjoy your morning, guys. God knows Suzi and I are. Push the left turn signal and idle up to the old store. Hit the kill switch and Suzi burbles down, giving one happy little fart to announce our arrival. What a character! Pull off the helmet and gloves, put Suzi on her stand and walk into the store. Fresh Coffee! Life is good, Bubba. I take my coffee outside and stand by my little black steed. I know she’s deliriously happy with her introduction to the Pig Trail. There’s still some interesting road below us, and soon we’ll discover it; her for the first time and me for probably the two thousand, one hundred and thirty fourth, but the first time together. Then we’ll turn around and get to do it all over again, just uphill this time. Gives all those beautiful curves a whole new meaning, that does. Then it will be time to head for the garage and the usual suspects of weekend chores. Won’t matter though. As I mow and mulch and weed-eat and till the tomato patch, I’ll be reliving every grand moment of Little Suzi’s introduction to one of the best bike roads the world has ever seen. Don’t worry, little girl. We’ll be going back soon.