War Whoop Road

War Whoop Road, or actually, Warloop Road is a place which shall live on in the memory of all those who have given-in to backseat drivers. Or, it will live on at least until I’m told to take this video down “if I know what’s good for me”. Picture this scene:  You’re driving along, knowing you’ll have to head south about 18 miles before connecting with the only road heading back north again. Then, you hear it.   A suggestion to turn the car around, and go the other way, down a dirt road that surely must connect with the highway, because it seems to be pointing in the right direction. Why go south when you can go north on this dirt road instead?

The link here to the first video sets up the story, and the second video shows you what happened next on Warloop Road itself. 

The road shows up on the g.p.s. as a major time saver, shaving almost 40 miles off our trip home from a hike in the Ozark National Forest. But, that shouldn't be the only factor in deciding whether or not to take a route. Should it?  How about considering whether or not you have a chainsaw in the trunk to remove trees that have fallen across the dirt road? How about considering that it’s the first weekend of deer hunting season in Arkansas and you’re not wearing blaze orange? How about it’s getting dark and if we get stuck, AAA isn’t coming to the rescue, and you’ll have to hike over to that farmhouse/meth operation to ask for someone to tow you out with a tractor?  How about considering that it may be time to turn around when the road starts out like dirt, then turns to loose gravel with mud holes, then washed-out gravel as the walls on both sides begin to narrow, then broken rock with small saplings growing up in the middle of the “road”, then larger and larger boulders in the road, then completely impassable unless you’re on a dirtbike. 

Speaking of dirt bikes, I googled Warloop Road, and there’s a video of some guys on dirt bikes going down this very same road. Take a look at minute 4:08, just as they make a banking turn to the left. That’s where I was finally able to convince the backseat driver that it was a bad idea, and even though the g.p.s. said we only had 2.3miles to go, we weren’t going to be able to go forward another inch. I put it in reverse headed up a bit, turned the wheels and rammed the rear end into the embankment, cut the wheels all the way and was able to turn the car around and begin the un-nerving climb out.  Did I mention we did this all in a Honda?  No, not the SUV, the car.

Since the Warloop incident, I’ve done some research on the area and found several references to the condition of this road, but this one pretty much sums it up “WarLoop Rd is littered with various mud pits and washout, with plenty of rocks to deflect any and all round wheels”, and this one ,“thankfully this road ends at a small service station where you might be able to get your ATV repaired”, and my favorite “take this road if you have a good friend with a tractor and a long length of chain”.

That’s about all I can say about Warloop Road.

We had a much better experience the following week on a hike in the same region. Jack got in a good nap during the hike.

We hiked up a peak in the Boston Mountains for about a mile, then traversed a rocky area on the way to what I think was called Fern Gulley. It was very erie walking through this tight gulley with lots of growth on the trees and weird bird noises.  After a while, even the bird noises stopped, and  Jacqui got spooked by all the signs (poop) of animals (probably wild hogs and bears). There was a notice at the trail head about black bears in the area. Good thing we brought that little bell.  Next time I'm bringin' the Ruger.

The farmer’s market season is ending on the Fayetteville square, so we took one last trip and listened to some old-timey banjo music.  I should have let Jack bring his harmonica and spoons.

As Thanksgiving approached we prepared to celebrate the expulsion of the Dutch (Jacqui’s people) from England (after being thrown out of the Netherlands), and their subsequent arrival on our shores. We get out our pox blankets and whiskey and buy all the fixins for a big meal. Some of us still want to play baseball.

November is also time for the big Alpaaca show here in town. Did you know that Alpaaca are herd animals and very social.  So, if your neighborhood association allows it, and if you want one, you need another for a pal. Other fun facts: The fur is sheared once a year and the gestation period is 11months. Huh? Who knew? Maybe this event will be a new family tradition.

As for Thanksgiving traditions, we had a great meal and plenty of adult beverages. Our friend Chad joined us, and Jacqui made an incredible cranberry glaze for the bird along with the usual sides and a great corn casserole that I may want to request each year. I instituted a few of my family traditions, some of which were embraced (pimento stuffed olives, kosher dills, cracking whole walnuts), and some of which were not (jellied cranberry sauce from a can).

 We like to celebrate traditions here. It’s one of Jacqui’s traditions to go out on the first weekend after Thanksgiving and get the Xmas tree. So, we went out and I believe we might have been the first people to get their tree this year. I think everyone else just hangs stuff on the ones out by the stil.

 As we took all the decorations out of their boxes, we were reminded of the many good memories that went along with each of them. There’s the paper cake I cut out of a magazine and hung on my first Chicago Xmass tree (because those were lean years and I had no lights or ornaments). Here’s Jack playing with the “Matt-Johnson-High-Kick-Santa” from one of our white elephant parties. He doesn’t care why it’s called that. He thinks it’s just fun to try to say it. There are all the “Chicago Tribe” ornaments from that first post-divorce Xmas party. There’s the creepy Christ/Mary hologram manger that I picked up at one of the Wicker Park art fairs. Good times.  

It’s also the traditional time of year to read from the “Chronicle of 1620”, as recorded by N. Morton, keeper of records at Plymouth Colony, in what later became Massachusetts.  It’s one of the first records of how our first settlers (the dutch - see one above) felt about living in their new and strange land.

…Being now passed the vast ocean, and a sea of troubles before them in expectations, they had now no friends to welcome them, no inns to entertain them…If they looked behind them, this mighty ocean which they had passed was now as a main bar to separate them from all the civil parts of the world. 

Sitting here in Arkansas, I sometimes feel just like an early Pilgrim.

I think that’s about it for now.  We hope you had a good Thanksgiving, and hope to pass along more about our View Of Life In The South next month.