Driven: Arkansas 123

Where do you find the most challenging drive in the Ozarks? It's as easy as Arkansas 123.

Among the many entertaining routes that thread the Boston Mountains, Arkansas 123 stands apart. It's too sharp, narrow, and raw to be promoted in any state literature, so casual sightseers are shuffled towards designated Scenic Highways like 71, 23, 21, and 7. You have to go out of your way to find 123, which means everyone on the road is either local or there on purpose. While we know and love a gold standard like the Pig Trail, so does every over-the-hill diddler between Little Rock and Pig Trail Harley-Davidson in Rogers. Notoriety and slowpokes tend to spoil a good time. For now, 123 is a hidden gem.



The drive starts in earnest at Hagarville, where it leaves the Arkansas River Valley near Clarksville and climbs North into the Ozark Mountains. The highway builds intensity as it gains elevation, pausing to join with Highway 7 after about 25 miles. This Southern portion of AR-123 is an absolute driver's road. Steep scenery and engaging curves, but little traffic.



The Northern half of Arkansas 123 splits from 7 after a few miles. We might as well call this 13-mile stretch der Nordschleife, like the infamous race circuit of similar length near Nürburg, Germany. The Nürburgring was nicknamed the "Green Hell" by Formula 1 racing legend Jackie Stewart, and 123 is the closest approximation the Natural State can muster.

[Arkansas 123 on Google Maps]

My recent experience on the AR-123 Nordschleife left out the "green" part, but kept the "Hell." The Forest Service was performing a controlled burn in the region, filtering the sky to a sickly orange cast. An ice storm two months prior had savaged the landscape, leaving splintered trees as far as visibility allowed. The effect was like stealing into Mordor. With less dwarves.



For our purposes, Mount Doom is replaced by the town of Mount Judea, Arkansas. If that sounds a bit ancient and Biblical, you're right. The most exciting part of AR-123 is draped atop the crude terrain between Kent Mountain and Dick Knob (not making that up) just South of Mount Judea. Having only been paved for the last decade, the bit of road in question was never engineered for much flow, camber, or safety at highway speeds. What you get is a three-mile melee of blind curves and damning hairpins, intermittently bound by curbs and guardrails.



Obviously, there is zero room for error if you think you need to hurry. Get it wrong, and you'll pong between hard objects if you're lucky. Misjudge in some spots, and you'll only discover gravity and pain. Sure, this is only dangerous for fools, but the road doesn't exactly cater to tourists, either.



The attraction of Arkansas 123 is that it's just there, a rough carving through beautiful territory, waiting to be discovered and enjoyed. You're given creative license to figure out the rest.

Traffic: light
Driving challenge: for once, there is one
Purty mouth: fortunately, too isolated for anyone to notice
Ozarkbahn rating: hard to top

A Sign of Things to Come

Some of best signage I've seen in the last few months.


You'll likely pass this one backwards. And on fire.


"For Rent."


Happy truck drivers steer clear.


Don your mining caps.


A warning like this warms the heart (and the brakes).


You should know where.

Able to guess any? You'll see more related to each in the future.

Ozark parks: Lake Atalanta

As Spring warmth drives people into (arg, squint) natural light, our favorite Ozark parks do a thriving business. What about our no-so-favorite parks, the ones without the sheen and interest?



Lake Atalanta in Rogers is the model of forgettable green space and forgotten charm. Admittedly, I went there dozens of times without realizing it was named with the extra 'a' like the huntress of Greek mythology, rather than the capital of Georgia. If you need a little help remembering this place, Rogers historian James Hale penned a decent, if rosy, primer here:

[Remembering Rogers: The Lake Atalanta area yesterday and today]

In brief, Lake Atalanta is a small Depression-era construction that occupies a rocky valley near downtown Rogers. It's a city park catering to the basics: fishing, walking, picnics, and playgrounds. Into fitness? Pull up your leg warmers and try the eighties-fresh "Gamefield" exercise challenges that dot the road at intervals around the lake.



Once a happening spot for locals, the park has been struck with the same fortunes as the older side of Rogers. Compared to the sparkling Pinnacle Hills development to the West, the Eastern half of Rogers seems a little lackluster in places. Wealth and construction moved to cozy up with Wal*Mart headquarters in recent years, leaving behind a few shuttered businesses and a poorer, often browner population. To this end, crowing shut-ins seem to think contemporary Lake Atalanta has slid into an orgy of stabbings, drug use, non-English-talkin', and anonymous gay sex after dark. I haven't stuck around after hours to confirm, but a dry-county bore like Rogers can rarely report anything so, err, dramatic past sunset.



Lake Atalanta has gone downhill since its heyday, but has it become a derelict blight? Hardly. I went for a walk recently, and was surprised by the number of people drawn out by a warm weekday afternoon. The condition of the park is no worse than it was decades ago. In fact, it looks exactly the same as when I was six, a happy medium of shabby, but scenic mediocrity.

That's not a bad thing. Often the best hang-outs are those only locals know and care about. A quiet place to practice the quaint and mundane is a classless pleasure.



The Ozarks have a number of lakeside city parks that seem to escape the public conscious for lack of big-ticket attractions. Lake Leatherwood by Eureka Springs, Lake Fayetteville, and Lake Atalanta are a few that come to mind. They're appealing in their simplicity, and worth the attention.

Ozarkbahn ratings
Geese poop: omnipresent
Fishability: high
Eighties hair: feeling the burn

Stopover: Anderson, MO

There was a time when everyone knew Anderson, Missouri, as a ticket-slinging speed trap. Total Ozarkbahn heresy, a town to be avoided. A few years ago, a new and modern stretch of four-lane US71 routed the ticket fodder elsewhere, and the heat died down.

[Anderson, MO on Google Maps]



Is Anderson is owed a second look? Absolutely, and it's solid gold.

First of all, the liquor store on the corner as Missouri 76 curves towards downtown. It makes me believe in a place where high fives still rule and bikini posters are still allowed to tell you that it's always five o'clock somewhere.



Let's break this down. All the signage, without exception, appears to have been painted while drunk. And what is that? Stucco? There's a '73 Mustang Coupe on whitewalls parked out front, and a 3D gold Coors can on the wall. The name of the place is Al's Cigar Store (one assumes), but Al isn't one-dimensional. He has you covered with lottery tickets and beer that ain't no warm, pansy-strength 3%.



If that's not enough, right next door is a hipster shack of dreams. Feast upon the beautiful, non-ironic PBR signs from years ago. No telling what's inside, but my guess is that it's stacked to the ceiling with crisp, hard-workin' domestic swill.

Anderson's other hot spot is an explosion of roadside retro, an antique store across the street from a hot rod shop.



This place I like. My grandfather was an oil man with Esso, the brand that "put a tiger in your tank." And hey, there's the tiger. Robbie the Robot and the Jolly Green Giant, too.



Stay classy, Anderson. High five.