AR Part 3

Tuesday, November 16, 1999: Dardanelle, AR

I've spent the past few days in Russellville and Dardanelle, Arkansas. I met a guy named Bob the other day that offered to let me stay at his house. I gratefully accepted Bob's gift of couch space, the use of his shower, and a safe place to keep my pack so that I can spend a day or two without it on my shoulders. Just the gift of a safe place to leave my pack for a couple days is always a meaningful gift to me and a luxury that I haven't enjoyed since Eureka Springs.

Bob had to spend most of the days working, but his friend Mark took me on a couple tours of the area, introduced me to some of his friends, and fed me some of Arkansas' finest freshly-killed deer meat. I had my very first taste of what deer ribs taste like when they are cooked in the oven for a few hours while soaking in two pots of extra-strong coffee. You don't get a chance to experience fine Arkansas cuisine of that sort everyday, and certainly not if you are driving across the state. Mark said that the coffee tenderized the meat, and when I asked him for a knife, he explained that I had no business asking him for a knife because the meat just "falls right off the bone." He was right, but like I said, it was the first time that I had sat down to a plate of deer ribs cooked in extra-strong coffee.

Mark also provided me with an important safety tip the other day. When I told him how much I enjoyed walking out on the back roads where I rarely encounter a car and can be alone with God and my thoughts, he explained that this time of year is marijuana harvest season on many of the back roads in Arkansas, and it would be much safer to stay on the main routes. Actually, he said, "Man, walking those back roads in Arkansas this time of year is like walking down a back alley in Chicago." I heard his warning, and I've decided that I will try to stay on the main routes in the future.

Wednesday, November 17, 1999: near Centerville, AR

I said goodbye to my friends in Dardanelle and started walking out of town on Highway 7 towards Hot Springs. On my way out of town, I passed yet another Tyson chicken plant (poultry must be a huge part of the Arkansas economy), and then I saw The Police Outfitters Pawn and Supply. I have been looking for a new can of pepper spray for quite some time, but I haven't been able to find one. They don't seem to carry them at Wal-Mart anymore.

As expected, The Police Outfitters Pawn and Supply had much, much more than just a little can of pepper spray. They had a complete line of personal security items, including hand guns, knives, taser/stun guns, tear gas, and a "law enforcement strength" can of pepper spray about the size of a can of Lysol. None of those things are very practical to carry because of the weight and also because of the frequency that police officers stop to talk with me, so I just bought one of those tiny cans of pepper spray that fits on a key chain. The taser gun did catch my eye though (probably just because I have never seen one sold in a store), but the owner of the store said that it only gives one good shock before it needs to be plugged into a wall socket and charged up again. That's no good.

I walked about eight miles to Centerville. Not much goes on in Centerville, and since it was about 5:00 pm anyway, I walked another mile and up to a farm house to ask about a place to camp for the night. A nice old lady came to the door, and as I was explaining to her that I was walking across America, just needed a place to set up my tent for the night and would be gone in the morning, a deep voice came from inside the house saying, "No." It certainly wasn't the nice old lady's voice, so I would assume it was her grouchy old husband who wasn't interested in doing me any favors this evening. She politely said that she didn't think that it would be a good idea and with a certain nervousness of not knowing what to say, she went on to add some ridiculous excuse about their land being too rocky for me to find a place to camp on it. I said, "okay," and walked on past their land which looked as soft as a baby's bottom to me. I am trying to not let it bother me, but it does.

I walked another half mile to another farm house and explained to a man named Randy the familiar story of how I am walking across America and need a place to camp tonight where I won't be shot by deer hunters in the morning. He said, "Well, I don't see how you could hurt anything." You know, I don't see how I could possibly hurt anything here either.

Thursday, November 18, 1999: near Foursch Jct.

Today I walked about five miles to a town called Ola, enjoyed a half pound burger at a local cafe, and walked another eleven miles south of Ola. I've been trying to remember any time on my entire walk when I have asked someone for permission to camp on their land and they have just said, "No." I honestly think that yesterday is the very first time that it has happened. They have come close, but if they just talk with me a little while before they say "No," they usually say, "Okay," or "I don't see why that would be a problem," or something to that effect.

I try to tell myself that the people in Arkansas are just more klannish, suspicious of outsiders, or maybe just more cautious than the peolple I have come across in other states, but I think that it is more than that. I can feel a definite amount of contempt for me that is radiating from some of the people in these small Arkansas towns. I felt it in Gravette, Mt. Judea, Lurton, Dover, Centerville, and today I felt it in Ola. It is that contempt prior to investigation with no intention of investigating anything that really gets to me--that mentality that says, "I don't know what he's doing, and I don't care what he's doing, but I know that I don't like it." I have seen it written on many of the looks that I have been getting lately.

I don't want to bash on the state of Arkansas. I have met some really nice people here, too. I just miss the friendly vibes that I received from so many of the people back in Oklahoma. There are friendly vibes in Arkansas. I watch them being exchanged between the locals all the time, but it appears that many of the locals in this state aren't much interested in me or what I am doing. Carrying my pack through small towns has always provided me with an opportunity to meet so many people that I would never get a chance to meet without it. People used to say something like, "Where you headed?" I would tell them, and we would talk. It has always been one of things that I have enjoyed most about my trip, but it doesn't seem to happen as much as it used to.

My human nature wans to have contempt for these klanish folks of Arkansas and feel like they are cheating me out of part of my trip. But then God tells me that I should not be concerned with myself and what experiences the people in Arkansas have to offer me, but rather, I should be concerned about what I can give to them, and He tells me to love them. So, I walk, I live, I learn, and I always have the opportunity to grow closer to God no matter where I am. God is good. I will continue to walk through Arkansas and offer the folks my peace, but when the folks want nothing to do with me and my peace, I will pack it up and move on down the road.

There was a guy named Burke who stopped and asked me if I needed ride, but that was the only notable human interaction that I experienced today. Burke lived in Hot Springs, but drove to Russellville three times a week to stock convenience stores with beef jerky, Famous Amos cookies and various other forms of junk food. He had seen me walking near Ola on his way up to Russellville this morning. He told me on his way back home this afternoon, he thought to himself, "Man, I should see if this guy needs a ride or something." We talked for awhile, he invited me to stay with him in Hot Springs, and he gave me a large amount of out-dated Famous Amos cookies. He also gave me a healthy amount of hope that there will be more friendly encounters with the people of Arkansas when I reach Hot Springs.