Arkansaw High Country Race Day 8 / Mountain View to Witts Springs / 93 miles / 10k+ feet elevation
“Be like a rocky promontory against which the restless surf continually pounds; it stands fast while the churning sea is lulled to sleep at its feet. I hear you say, "How unlucky that this should happen to me!" Not at all! Say instead, "How lucky that I am not broken by what has happened and am not afraid of what is about to happen. The same blow might have struck anyone, but not many would have absorbed it without capitulation or complaint."
-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
I rolled out of the Dogwood Motel an hour later than I had intended and was rewarded for my sloth by arriving at Walmart just a few minutes before it opened at 7 a.m. I resupplied water and snacks and bought reading glasses that I slid down in the camelback pocket next to the sunglasses that hadn’t come out since Day 3. I continued riding north out of town past the signs advertising various productions of Ozark folk music. I knew from having ridden this part of the course in the other direction that I had a devastatingly hard day in front of me. The road to Allison and just beyond was mercifully gentle, paralleling the scenic White River before turning off into a series of short, steep gravel hills leading to a tick-infested weedy section that descended into the backside of the closed Blanchard Springs.
I did a good job this trip of applying the things I brought with me when I needed them. As soon as I saw the closed gate and the tall weeds of the Tick Olympic Training Center that I knew I had to pass through, I stopped and applied my bug spray. I did the same during the earlier sunny days with sunscreen when I knew it needed it. Sometimes we get preoccupied or miserable and, cocooned in our despair, lose the discipline to eat, drink, take, put on, or apply something we´ve gone to the trouble to bring with us and carry around on the bike.
I decided that I would stay positive and express gratitude
by celebrating the beauty I was to see throughout my day. “Beautiful!” I'd
shout at a waterfall cascading down from dark rocks. “¡Hermoso!” I’d shout at a
broad green pasture framed by darker green hills in the distance. “Belli!” I’d
shout at the clutch of wildflowers I couldn’t identify growing at the edge of
someone’s property.
The torment briefly lets up as you roll into Leslie, a neat
little town in Searcy County, which has become a kind of fan club and support
center for cyclists due to the efforts of Arkansaw High Country Race veteran and
Witts Springs resident Dirk Merle and others. Resupply at the convenience store
in Leslie was obligatory since I had slugged down most of my water
over the preceding 40 miles. I left Leslie and climbed two more 500-footers
in rapid succession before descending into the big(ish) town of Marshall, which
has a truly fascinating Civil War history.
To avoid the flooded Calf Creek crossing[1] I took a cut-out to pass through Buroak and pop out at Snowball. This move, approved by Chuck Campbell the race director, cut several miles off the course but was absolutely necessary. About the time I got to Snowball in late afternoon the light rain turned torrential, and then biblical. While I was stopped and frantically trying to get my rain jacket on, a lady in a pickup truck stopped and offered me a ride. I could have gotten her to take me to Witts Springs, but then I would have had to get someone to take me back (or ride back) to that point on the course to continue the route. I wasn’t about any backwards movement at that point. I was already soaked to the bone anyway. After turning onto the gravel of County Rd 5, I crossed a couple of low water crossings that should have given me pause for continuing. This road crossed over (and under) Lick Fork creek multiple times before eventually taking me to a point I immediately knew would be too dangerous to try to cross.
I turned back, soaking wet, and exhausted, and returned to the paved road. “Well, at least it looks like I’ve got pavement all the way to Witts Springs,” I thought. I didn’t realize that road took me straight up Mt. Snowball, a climb of 1,200 feet in 5 miles, most of it too steep for me to ride in my depleted state even though it was paved.
Dirk Merle made a phone call to ensure the Witts Springs Community Center was
open for me, and I was giddy with gratitude and relief when I arrived there as
darkness fell. The community center is a well-known respite for cyclists. A
large, spotlessly clean, lighted, air-conditioned space with showers, a
kitchen, snacks, and coffee are provided in exchange for a donation.
I had only covered 93 miles that day but had climbed over
10,000 feet, an extremely hilly ratio. I was tired but satisfied with
the way I had stayed positive during the long day. I read an excellent book
recently by Gary John Bishop that commits an entire chapter to the phrase, “Expect
nothing. Accept everything.” I had not expected to stay dry through the day, so I was not surprised by the rain. I had not expected the creeks to be down and fordable, so it was
easier to accept the lost hour and extra ten difficult miles when the road was covered in fast flowing water. I had not expected an easy, flat route, so I didn’t despair pushing my bike up Snowball
Mountain.
I maintained my bike, showered, ate, plugged in my devices
and unfolded a cot that was provided. My phone signal was very weak, but I had wifi
that enabled me to call Margaret on Facetime. As always, it was a huge boost to
see her and talk to her. She was positive and supportive of my race and her loving
patience was one of the prime factors of my success.
[1] Calf
Creek is typically at least knee-deep in any season. I forded it in the middle
of the night in 2020. It was reported to be over a person’s head and fast
flowing in 2021.
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