The Mad Monk: WAGON WHEEL WEDNESDAYS! ARKANSAS

In fourth grade, we all had to do reports on a state. We didn't really have much choice deciding the state. As I recall we wrote down our top four choices and they gave picked us a state. My top choice was Louisiana. For some completely mystical reason, I was a New Orleans Saints fan. I liked the Eagles too, but I may've liked the Saints more. So I wanted Louisiana. But I didn't get it. I got Arkansas. I don't even think Arkansas was on my list. Turned out to be a pretty good find though because right around the same time, Bill Clinton sprang onto the scene. In fact, my Mom went to see him at a fund raiser and got to meet him but she forgot my final report at home. I had drawn a stunning replica of Arkansas in red ink on yellow construction paper. A Bill Clinton signature on the front would've made the report my second most prized possession (after a rare hard cover edition of Stephen King's Danse Macabre that I actually managed to get him to sign... yes I liked Stephen King as a young boy).

It would be another twelve years or so before I actually visited Arkansas. And let me tell you... As I crossed the Tennessee border, I drove straight the hell through Arkansas' eastern most town West Memphis. Not sure if you know about the West Memphis Three or have seen the documentary Paradise Lost, but basically these three clearly innocent teenagers were thrown in jail for life for "killing" a few little kids. You watch this movie, it'll convince you. I'm not a Metallica fan by any stretch, but I don't think you should be falsely incarcerated for loving Metallica and dressing accordingly. So when I crossed the Mississippi and hit West Memphis, I kept moving. Not speeding, but moving. If they could do that to a couple metal heads, I didn't want to find out what they'd do to a shaggy haired Jew. I did notice that West Memphis had a very impressive Greyhound Dog track.

I drove for about two hours, through some surprisingly green field and the capital, Little Rock. Little Rock's a bigger city than you'd guess. It doesn't feel like New York or anything but it definitely feels more city, less town. I didn't actually do anything in Little Rock. I stayed at a hotel that had ducks walk through the lobby every morning at 11:00AM.

The next day I went to Hot Spring National Park. Pretty interesting place, but it shouldn't be a National Park. You see the National Park system has a hierarchy. When it comes to natural places, the most important is the National Park. Then there's the National Monument. Then the National Point of Interest. There are plenty of National Monuments that have later become National Parks (Death Valley, Black Canyon of the Gunnison, etc), so don't feel too bad for the National Monuments. As for man made places, there's the National Historical Park. These aren't "National Parks" per se. A National Park has the designation because of its natural beauty, whereas the Historical Park is important because of a historic reasons (achievements, battles, treaties, declarations, bah blah)

Which brings me back to Hot Springs. Hot Springs is a town built on... shockingly enough hot springs. You can bring up a bottle of water and fill it with delicious hot spring water for free. But the real draw of the park is Bath House row. Once upon a time, rich and famous Southerners descended on Hot Springs to unwind. Most of the bath houses are only viewable from the outside but a few are open for tours. Each house has (now empty) marble mineral baths and other fancy features. Cool... but isn't that historic? I realize that the bath houses are there because of a natural phenomenon but the place simply isn't beautiful enough to compete with any other National Park. It's not only the least beautiful National Park I've been to, but it offers as much natural beauty as a typical city park. Sure there are a few mountains, but they're a couple thousand feet high, nothing particularly impressive. But the Bath Houses! That's some history there.

I want to return and check out the Ozark mountains. Maybe see where The Band's brilliant drummer/mandolinist/singer/lone American Levon Helm was born.