It appeared to have room to pull in, park, and get back out again. Actually it would have if there hadn't been a community appliance recycling drive going on behind it, with freezers and washers being crushed, scattering their innards all over the cement drive. So we double parked, blocking half the drive and our quaint little lunch consisted of peanut butter and cheese crackers and a packaged Rice Krispie bar. It turned out just as well that we didn't fill our stomachs.
I watched for incoming cars while Butch got the behemoth sufficiently backed and turned to get back out of there and head west to Rogers. And for the next several miles, we climbed and dropped, twisted and turned along some of the nastiest hairpin curves east of the Rockies. My heart took an extra flip each time Butch said, "Wow! Look at that view!"--Number 1 because he's supposed to be driving, not ogling the scenery, and number 2 because I have a paralyzing fear of heights. Signs reading "Dangerous Intersection" and "Curve--15 mph" didn't help. But after 150 miles of that--or maybe more like 10--we reached a relative straightaway and got back up to dizzying speeds of 50-60 miles per hour.
Obviously, it was with relief that we reached Prairie Creek Campground on the shores of Beaver Lake. It is another Corps of Engineers facility and very nice, although I can't say as much for the Mother of All Speed Bumps at the entrance. That piece of engineering removed all of the dishes from the cupboard over the sink, flung them about the camper, and then shut the cupboard tight again. Fortunately we have only the finest plastic.
After setting up and showering, we headed further west, this time only with the truck, to visit Butch's classmates, Jim and Pat Kirby, who live along another section of the Arkansas Screamer. With roads like that, who needs theme parks?