So. We leave the Branson area shortly before noon and head south toward Eureka Springs. We had heard it was a fun town to visit and as we approach, Butch said, "How about we stop in Eureka Springs for a little lunch?" Excellent idea. I'm picturing an exotic sandwich in a quaint little sidewalk cafe or some yummy homemade soup in a atmospheric old pub. Now, don't get me wrong. They may have those things there. But you won't find out if you go through town pulling a thirty-foot trailer.
This picture doesn't really do it justice but you can see the line of approaching traffic, and also how much parking there is. There was a line like that behind us too. It soon became obvious that there was no RV parking in town and we needed to get out of Dodge as quickly as possible. Finally a few miles out of town, we found a twenty-first century convenience store.
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?
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?
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