Carving the hill country of Arkansas and Missouri.

They had ridden their sport-touring machines from all over the southwest to gather in Hot Springs, AR. It was a semi-annual tradition among friends, and I could see why. This is where the Ozark Mountains began their northward march to fill a quarter of the state before spilling over into Missouri, so it is the perfect staging area. But as a National Park, it is also a destination itself, with kilometres of hiking trails, mountain views, amazing geology, and of course, ancient thermal springs — all in the middle of town.

I had arrived mid-afternoon at the stately Arlington Resort Hotel & Spa where, after chatting with my new acquaintances, I decided to explore Bathhouse Row. Managed by the Park Service, this was a series of upscale spas built in the early 1900s when it was widely believed that the steamy hot water from local springs held the cure for what ailed you. Among the day’s socialites, it was also the place to be seen. 

Horse racing began about the same time, and today, Oaklawn is one of the premier thoroughbred racetracks in the country. Crowds clog the city annually for the $1.25-million Arkansas Derby, which is often a gateway to the Triple Crown.

GOOD RIDING

Perhaps the most well-known of the Ozark twisties is Highway 7, a National Forest Byway that led me from Hot Springs through Ouachita National Forest. When a sign appeared, reading “VERY CROOKED AND STEEP,” like most riders, I took it first as an attraction (“Come Ride the Coaster”), and only secondarily as a warning. 

I had pieced together a tour of the Ozarks from an Arkansas Motorcycle Guide (arkansas.com/motorcycling) that offered several suggested loops. By combining them, I could get the best of most routes and still make progress across the state. And so, at Havana, I turned north on AR-309 — Mount Magazine Scenic Byway — winding through Ozark National Forest up the highest mountain in the state (839 metres). Switchbacks led to the peak and, from a cliff, I drank in vistas that opened onto the Petit Jean River Valley and distant Blue Mountain Lake. 

After snaking down the other side, the route swept wide through farmland and, without a vehicle in sight, I opened the throttle on my Suzuki GSX-S1000 GX. In Devil’s Den State Park, the pavement grew narrower, and the shoulders fell away as I descended into the gorge. Hairpins were tight and eminently photo-worthy — if only I could pull over. You’ll have to take my word. 

Country road 265 soon brought me to Fayetteville, the beautiful home of Arkansas State University with its distinctive mascot: a charging Razorback hog. And when I blew through the tiny hamlet of Hogeye, I thought, “How strange to name a town after an animal body part.” But then I remembered Moose Jaw. “Mustn’t judge!”

MOTORCYCLE COUNTRY

Barely in time for dinner, I rolled into Eureka Springs, a town of hotels, restaurants, and trendy shops. Because…