And then there is this

My pirate name is:

Iron Harry Vane

A pirate's life isn't easy; it takes a tough person. That's okay with you, though, since you a tough person. You tend to blend into the background occaisionally, but that's okay, because it's much easier to sneak up on people and disembowel them that way. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

I like it! Sorry the formatting is kind of screwy. The site didn't give me good code & I can't program in HTML!

Talk Like a Pirate Day

Back to the balance of the bike trip later, I need to find photos of Eureka Springs anyway.

I discovered through a sports blog (go figure) that today is Talk Like a Pirate Day, so I went to their web site http://www.talklikeapirate.com/ Very interesting. Anyway, I took a personality test & they gave me code to place in my blog. Here it is:

You are The Cap'n!

Some men and women are born great, some achieve greatness and some slit the throats of any scalawag who stands between them and unlimited power. You never met a man - or woman - you couldn't eviscerate. You are the definitive Man of Action, the CEO of the Seven Seas, Lee Iacocca in a blousy shirt and drawstring-fly pants. You’re mission-oriented, and if anyone gets in the way, that’s his problem, now isn’t? Your buckle was swashed long ago and you have never been so sure of anything as your ability to bend everyone to your will. You will call anyone out and cut off his head if he shows any sign of taking you on or backing down. If one of your lieutenants shows an overly developed sense of ambition he may find more suitable accommodations in Davy Jones' locker. That is, of course, IF you notice him. You tend to be self absorbed - a weakness that may keep you from seeing enemies where they are and imagining them where they are not.

What's Yer Inner Pirate?
brought to you by The Official Talk Like A Pirate Web Site. Arrrrr!

So, there you have it - I'm The Cap'n & all this time I thought I was a Leo!

Labor Day Ride part 2

View of the lake at Petit Jean State Park

I took several pictures of the lake & this tree. Some with my camera, some with my Mom's more expensive camera. I like this one; plus, the one's with Mom's camera are much larger images, so Blogger has some issues with them.

While at Petit Jean State Park, my Dad decided to nap. Note his head is on my Mom's leather chaps & his hat is shielding his eyes from what little sun is coming through the trees. His boots are off & he was clearly asleep! The snoring gave him away!

We got to Clarksville right at dark. My sis & I had bootlegged beer into a dry county, but all the ice in the small cooler had melted. We re-iced & waited for it to cool. We all re-grouped in the pool at the motel. It was cool & nice, but reasonably crowded with other families with small children. I especially liked the 19 year old in the Confederate Battle Flag bikini.

Regardless of the company, all six of us cooled in the pool & talked about my cousin who races bikes on tracks. He's raced maybe 6 or 8 times & was scheduled for "track day" that day. Track day is when each rider gets used to the new track but doesn't race or participate in timed trials. According to my cousin, no one wrecks on track day. Until Saturday, September 1st. He wrecked & broke his collar bone, again. The bike is fine, but he's done for the season. That dominated the conversation in the pool & hot tub later. Of course, the young man is 26 years old & can make his own decisions about his bike & his body, so his parent's grousing about it does little good.

We eventually moved to my parent's room to play Rook. I was a novice & no one told me the complete rules, so my aunt & I lost to sis & uncle. We played probably 6 or 8 hands & then went to bed.

The next morning we tried the Continental Breakfast at the motel. It was ok, but not great. Mostly, I had coffee. We talked with some folks from Witchita, KS who were passing through, heading to Tennessee with no real agenda other than Monday, September 10th 8:00 AM they had to be back at work. It was a little cool this morning & I knew we'd be heading into the Ozark National Forest, so I put on the long-sleeved Turner's Bend shirt. My Dad harrassed me about it because, in his mind, the pig was riding a Harley & he thought Leroy would take exception to that. I assured Dad that Leroy & I had reached an accord about the shirt.

We left the Arkansas River Valley up Hwy 23 & then turned onto forest roads to wind over to Haw Creek Falls camp ground. I hesitate to publish the name of it here because it is one of the few unspoiled areas in the Ozarks & I'd like it to stay that way. It is somewhat difficult to find, but does show up on maps that show the state campgrounds. If you see this & travel there, please respect the wilderness. Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints. Unfortunately, not all do so - we cleaned up several beer cans & a used diaper from the area around the falls.

When I was in my teen years, there were no paved roads to it, no toilets once you got there & no picnic tables, trash cans, etc. It was primative camping in one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. There are maybe a dozen camp site spread around a loop dirt road.

View down the loop road at the campground

Squirrell camp was always at the end where you can see the picnic table

The Falls at Haw Creek, dried for the summer

What little trickle there was at Haw Creek Falls

The only thing that had changed at Haw Creek Falls was what I mentioned above. They recently built compost toilet buildings, put in picnic tables & trash cans. Still very primative - no showers or running water of any sort, no power, no RV hook-ups. There were several groups of campers there. When we used to go, there were none. We would go to hunt squirrell in the valley. They were plentiful this day, though we were not hunting. I was reminded of the day that Dad killed a squirrell. We went to the falls to clean it. Right then & there, I decided that I was not to be a Great White Hunter - I simply could not stomach the cleaning of the animals.

I was reminded of the beauty of the place. I was reminded of the nights spent under the stars & the camp fires & the stories & the friends. My friend Perry Jon is now in Iraq with the Arkansas National Guard. His father, Jerry, led the same unit in the original Desert Shield. Jerry died a few years ago, but its a shame that he was not allowed to finish the job in Iraq when he was there in the early 1990's. Now his son has to be there, leaving a wife & 2 children alone in Arkansas. It was a bitter sweet occassion.

Jerry was the leader of the squirrell camp, a realtor from nearby Dardanelle. Dad began going when Jerry's sons & I were too young to hunt. As we got older, the group dwindled. Most moved away from Dardanelle or just got too busy. Dad loved those weekends & I loved the few times I went with him when I was old enough. There's one famous story of a weekend when it was just Dad, Jerry, his sons Perry Jon & Kimble & myself. The dads warned us not to play in the creek, but we did & came back with wet boots. Kimble burned his boot laces trying to dry them by the fire!

We left Haw Creek Falls too soon, but I promised myself, silently, to return within 2 years with my father & children to observe the beauty of the place where I used to camp. My father wrote a story about the place that mentions taking his grandchildren there. When my 2 year old is a little older, I'll make sure Dad takes his grandchildren there.

We took forest roads on over to Scenic Highway 7 & turned north towards Jasper & Harrison. My brother-in-law was to meet us in Harrison for lunch. This is a view from Highway 7.

View from overlook off Highway 7, south of Jasper

Me leaping over the rockwall at the overlook after retreiving a water bottle that fell off the wall. Environmental friendliness ahead off personal safety

From Harrison, we said goodbye to my uncle & aunt, who headed back to Kansas City. We backtracked down to Jasper so we could take the route south of the Buffalo National River over to Kingston, up through Huntsville & finally into Eureka Springs, where we stopped for the night.

This was a great ride that reminded me of boy scouting days. We passed the entrance to Camp Orr, the summer camp of the district. I spent a week there several summers in a row. The camp is on the Buffalo National River. There are large fields on the river's edge for archery & other activities. The camp sites are up the hill away from the river. I once did the Mile Swim in the river. That's much harder than doing it in a pool - one lap you are swimming with the current, but then you have to turn around & swim against the current.

My troop would canoe at least once a year on the Buffalo River. We would typically borrow the scout camp's canoes, put in at the camp & then canoe a few miles down river & take out at Pruitt, near Jasper. Many memories of great camping came out of this ride.

Labor Day Ride

Just back from the annual Labor Day motorcycle ride with my family. This year, I flew into Dallas on Thursday. Dad & I rode Friday afternoon from Plano, TX to Atoka, OK where we trailered the bikes on up to Fayetteville. It was a nice ride, but a little boring on US 75. I had the Goldwing so I was surfing radio stations the whole way. Found the local country station in Sherman & listed to it for a good bit. We finally got to Fayetteville, AR around 10:00 PM.

The Kemp Crew at the foot of Mt. Magazine, AR

Saturday morning dawned clear, but a little cool. We left Fayetteville around 8:30 AM & headed out Hwy 16 down what is called "The Pig Trail." It got that name as the favored route for college students at the University of Arkansas travelling home to Little Rock & parts east. It was quicker & less travelled than US Hwy 71. The Pig Trail puts you on I-40 at Ozark well east of Alma where 71 catches I-40. However, with the completion of I-540 several years ago, neither route gets that much traffic anymore and the roadway shows! Its a little rough, but the switchback curves are great! My sister & I frequently took the curves faster than the old folks. Of course, they are both riding 2-up & sis & I are singles.

It was a great ride! We stopped just south of the Hwy 16-Hwy 23 junction at Turner's Bend for a break. Mom bought us all t-shirts advertising Turner's Bend & The Pig Trail. Mine is black & long sleeved with a snarling pig on the back, complete with earring, do-rag & thumbs-up sitting straddle handle bars. Very cool. I almost bought a black cowboy hat, but resisted as I couldn't figure out how to get it back without crushing it in a saddle bag. My uncle especially liked the gal behind the counter wiggling her butt to the classic rock station on the radio!

Crew plus bikes at foot of Mt. Magazine

I'm 2nd from left with Leroy. Dad is next to me with the 'wing.

Uncle & Aunt with the new BM'er are on right

We continued on down State Road 309 to climb Mt. Magazine, the highest point in Arkansas. Lunch was at the lodge on top. What a beautiful view from the top!

View from the top of Mt. Magazine at the lodge looking south

Upon leaving the lodge on the mountain, I promptly ran Leroy out of gas! I knew it was going to be close, but neither Dad nor I could remember the mileage when we last filled up. Leroy can go around 130 miles on a tank. We last filled up somewhere around 20 miles from Atoka, OK before trailering the bikes at Atoka. At that time, I was riding the 'wing & Dad was on Leroy. Fortunately, Leroy has a reserve tank. It took a few minutes to pump the gas down from reserve, but he soon started up. Sis was leading with strict instructions to hit the first station at the bottom of the mountain!

Falling back down into the Arkansas River Valley, the temperature shot up to over 90 degrees. We rode over to Petit Jean State Park, which is up a slightly shorter mountain. We rested there for probably an hour and a half or so. Then we contined on to Danville & into Dardanelle where we crossed the Arkansas River & into Russellville, the first town I remember living in. Not much has changed in Russellville recently. We ate dinner at Whattaburger, not the chain, but the original drive-in owned by the Feltner family. Great burgers. Last stop of the day was in Clarksville about 20 miles west of Russellville.

Two problems: 1.) travelling west at sunset is brutal! & 2.) the Razorback football game kicked off at 6:00 PM so every state trooper on duty was patrolling so he could listen to the game on the radio! We must have seen 4 or 5 in the 20 miles between Russellville & our motel in Clarksville.

Funny story though. Just outside of Russellville, we crossed a levee that forms the southeastern bank of Lake Dardanelle & protects Russellville proper. Dad said that his dad, Grandpa Kemp, was driving the water truck for the construction company that built the levee. As work progressed, the bank became too steep to safely drive the water truck on. Grandpa got into a tiff with the foreman over it. The foreman insisted that the slope be watered down by truck & would not listen to reason. Grandpa turned the truck around so that as he drove on the slope, the driver side was high & he locked the door open. When the truck began to roll, he stepped off the running board & let the truck roll off into the dale below, just as he knew it would!