Vinita, Oklahoma

 

Ever since I left Fayetteville Monday morning people have been asking, “Do you know there is a winter storm warning?  We could have six inches or more of snow starting Tuesday.” It transported me to Madagascar when I had people warning me a typhoon was on the way.  That waylaid me for a couple of days. With luck this storm will dump its load Tuesday night while I’m safe in a motel and I can continue riding the next day.  

I had been tracking the weather and knew the snow wasn’t going to arrive until Tuesday night, so when I set out from Fayetteville I had two days to reach the safety of a motel.  There was a cluster in Vinita, 150 miles away on my route, just across the border into Oklahoma on Interstate 44, many catering to those following Historic Route 66.

I managed eighty miles through hilly northwest Arkansas on Monday, so I was well within range of reaching Vinita before the rain was to commence late in the afternoon provided the storm wasn’t preceded by strong contrary winds.  The sky was cloudy all day and didn’t darken too much while the winds continued to prevail from the south, giving me a second day of absolutely divine sixty degree temperatures, tempting me to exchange my leggings for shorts.  I was soaking up all the enjoyment I could of this most pleasant cycling, knowing I was in for wintry conditions that could have me battling to stay upright.  I was assured the roads would be salted, but one never knows if the road crews can keep up with the snow and ice and how competent drivers would be encountering such conditions only on occasion in these parts.

The first two motels I stopped at in Vinita were all booked, mostly with long-term residents.  At the second, attached to an RV park, the clerk told me there was one last motel half a mile down the road.  A grizzled older guy, who was purchasing a soft drink and chips at the office, told me he had a futon in his RV I could crash on if that motel was full, as long as I promised not to rob him. He didn’t seem to be joking on either counts.   I assured him I had no spare space on my bike for anything, so he needn’t worry, and I greatly appreciated his generosity.

I was half-hoping I’d have to take up the offer of this authentic Okie, but in my state of fatigue it would make for a long evening in cramped quarters having to be sociable.  It would be a night to remember, but also a night to endure.  Plus he said he had to go to work early, so I may have had to vacate the premises even if it were nasty outside.  For better or worse I got the last room in the last motel.  I checked in and the “No Vacancy” sign was turned on.   It too was largely filled with people living there.  The proprietor was accustomed to cyclists and even walkers doing 66.  “We had a 24-year old Chinese girl all on her own riding the route a couple years ago,” she said.  “Her English wasn’t very good.  I’ve worried about her ever since.  I gave her my phone number if she needed help, but she never called.”

I crossed into Oklahoma from Missouri having had to ride up through a corner of the state from Arkansas, making it a rare three-state day.  Both borders, from Arkansas into Missouri and Missouri into Oklahoma were bounded by liquor stores on the Missouri side.  Oklahoma may have high taxes on alcohol, but it has legalized cannabis, as towns large and small have had outlets of this burgeoning industry.  Arkansas too.

There were a couple in the touristy town of Eureka Springs, fifty miles northeast of Fayetteville.  This old town of steep winding streets and no traffic lights, crammed with Victorian-style homes built of local stone, would have been worth a visit even if it didn’t have a Carnegie Library.  The entire city of 2,160 residents, down from 3,228 when it’s Carnegie was built over a century ago, has been enrolled on the National Register of Historic Places.  

It is similar to Galena, quaint, but maybe a little less tacky, or so it seemed this time of year when it wasn’t overrrun by tourists with bulging waist lines and knobby knees..  Stores catering to tourists (Magic City Crystals, Aura Photo, Fleece ‘N Flax, Fains Herbary For Better Living) go on for blocks and blocks on its two main streets.  Among the many lodges and B&Bs were small cafes such as Silly Chili and drinking establishments such as Rowdy Beaver, which called itself a “Husband Day Care Center.”  

The library was a long ways down Spring Street built into the side of a cliff.  When I had yet to come to it I asked a bearded fellow who looked like a local if I was headed in the right direction for the library.  He confirmed I was and added, “It’s my favorite place in town.  There’s not many libraries that have a fire place.  You can’t miss it.”  One was greeted by the fireplace, rather than the circulation desk, which was off to the side, when one entered the library. And above it was the traditional Carnegie portrait, always a welcome site.

There was no space for an addition to the library, but there was an annex in a separate old building next door.  A plaque said it was one of four Carnegies in the state and one of two still functioning as libraries.  There was no “Carnegie” on the building, just “Free Public Library.”  An elevator supplemented the steep steps up to its entrance.  I couldn’t linger as long as I would have liked, needing to get as close as I could to Vinita and it’s motels before the winter storm set in, as it has as I write this.

I passed up some fine forest camping in the last hour of daylight riding right up to dark having to settle for a steep forested lot between two mini-mansions with barking dogs who could hear me pushing my bike down the ravine to some flat ground.  I had come upon a long stretch of new homes of Walmart executives twenty miles north of Bentonville, it’s world headquarters.  No one was out and about in the cold, so I had an uninterrupted sleep up until my predawn alarm insuring an early start.