Little Rock is the first capitol building I see after Columbia, and I hate to say it, but it kind of kicks Columbia's ass. It pretty much looks like the White House.
The memorials also look pretty great, like this one for Medal of Honor recipients who were either born in or enlisted in service in Arkansas.
And this one, which I believe was for Vietnam vets.
I also find what appears to be a secret staircase headed to the dome of the building: this capitol has it's own version of a batcave! Columbia can't compete with that...
After Little Rock, which was slightly sketchy, but no more so than the average big city, I head to Hot Springs National Park. It's important to note here that, going into Hot Springs, I already felt the chances of bad things happening were going up. The National Park Service has a website where all National Parks can post important information about their park, like the different trails, what to bring in preparation, and what dangers to watch out for, and it's those dangers that makes Hot Springs National Park different from all the other National Parks I've researched. Most National Parks will say something along the lines of, “Watch out for black bears,” or, “Have lots of water or you may get heat stroke.” Not Hot Springs. Hot Springs says this:
“As in all communities and parks, crimes against property and visitors may occur and you must use good judgment to protect your property and yourself. Hot Springs National Park encourages you to lock your vehicle and ensure property is locked in the trunk of your vehicle or hidden from view; hold or carry personal possessions securely; avoid dark and isolated areas; and, walk, run, and hike in pairs or groups.“
I never read to worry about these things on the other park sites...how smart are the black bears here?
Following my GPS, I'm told the park Visitors Center is on my right...I'm in the middle of a city. I can't even take the time to look right because there's so much traffic around me. Hell, I can't even see trees from where I'm at. I have no idea where the park is. Giving up an attempt at the Visitors Center, signs tell me there's a tower near the top of a mountain the city is built around. Finding a road to the tower, I find the mountain and finally get to see a little nature.
Most everything is frozen solid due to the weather. I continue up the road and find the tower. Entering, I'm greeted by a very nice worker who let's me know the top level is closed due to weather, but the one below it is not, so I go up there. My view as I go up the tower elevator continues to express the temperature:
The level of the tower I reach has a panoramic view of the land along with lots of facts about how the city of Hot Springs came to be known for...well, it's hot springs. It's also up here I learn Hot Springs' past.
When the hot springs were found, they were believed to have healing powers: as hydrotherapy was cultivated, many people's ailments were cured by the waters. Because of this, bathhouses using the spring water began popping up on what became known as Bathhouse Row. There was a lot of reading in the tower, so I don't know exactly how it happened, but the story of Hot Springs history suddenly shifts from bathhouses popping up to crime becoming prevalent. Gambling, prostitution, and bootlegging became regular events in Hot Springs. Al Capone would come down if the FBI was closing in on his hangouts in Chicago and New York because, I forget whether it was the governor of Arkansas or the Mayor of Hot Springs, would tip him off if the FBI decided to move in on him there. When the National Park was made, gangsters like Capone couldn't go in because the Park Rangers, being federally recognized authorities, were able to arrest them on that property. At one point, a Park Ranger found bootleggers on park property and was prepared to testify against them in court for it, but before that day came, he was shot from behind while climbing one of the park mountains: it was the first time a Park Ranger was killed in the line of duty. Suddenly the sketchy image of Hot Springs National Park is complete: crime isn't new here, it's a tradition.
As bad as the history is, it's very intriguing, so I come down the mountain and continue to look for either the Visitor's Center or a trail to walk on. I forget my camera but figure it's probably best not to have theft worthy belongings in this park anyway, so all these pictures were taken on my phone.
I find what appears to be a really warm fountain. I'm not even sure if it's connected to a hot spring. It looks like it's connected to a hot spring, but where the water collects at the bottom is clearly man made and full of pennies from people making wishes that aren't that important to them if they aren't willing to throw in at least a quarter. From this fountain I find “trails”:
Following one of the trails, I think I find the Visitors Center. It ends up being a museum. It's an unaltered bathhouse from back in the day when Bathhouse Row was still around. I wasn't completely sure what all happened in bathhouses so I learned some interesting things.
I wasn't sure how a bathhouse differed from a regular shower, but when I saw the men's shower room I realized why someone would go here: it's hard to fit a statue that impressive in your home bathroom. And all marble seating? This was showering with style. I sat down and thought to myself, “Many a great men's asses have sat upon this seat.” There's also a nice stained glass ceiling.
But the museum taught me about more than just taking fancy showers. Bathhouses included gyms, steam seats, rental rooms, and things that I'm still not completely sure what they are, but all for the purpose of building a healthier, yet more relaxed, body. A bathhouse was basically where a spa meets a gym.
After leaving the museum, I finally find the Visitors Center...after I found the Park Headquarters...which I found after walking into a building I thought was the Park Headquarters and they said, “No, it's across the street.” Anyway, I bought a National Park pass and the employees explained to me that no, the snow outside was not normal Arkansas weather, and that it just happened to be 20 below the average temperature for this time of year.
The only thing left to do to get the full Hot Springs experience is take an actual bath. There are two Bathhouses left in Hot Springs: 1 is a more modern day spa, and the other sticks to the olden ways of bathhousing. I choose that one since I'm trying to do this for the experience rather than the actual relaxation. They have strange hours though so I have to kill some time. This involves going to Superior Bathhouse Brewery for lunch, a restaurant the Visitors Center told me about. There's hardly anyone in the place but it gives me a good chance to talk to one of the employees.
“Is there anywhere on this street I can get a haircut?”
“Actually, I think one of our workers girlfriend does hair near here.”
She talks an employee, I overhear the name “Sarah”, and I'm told to go to “Plenty Mystic” down the street. After overshooting the place by a hundred yards of walking in the snow, I use my GPS to find it: I am officially dependent on a robot to get me everywhere.
Walking into Plenty Mystic I ask for Sarah. She and another hairdresser are in the back. Having to be around anyone for any amount of time, they usually find out I'm traveling. I tell them I'm going to Crater of Diamonds Park next, a diamond mine where people are allowed to dig for and keep anything they find. The other head dresser suddenly says:
“They took us there on a field trip in 5th grade! Oh my gosh, you know what they do? They put glitter in the dirt so you think you're finding something even if you aren't!”
“Way to ruin it for him!”
“No! I mean, there are diamonds out there, and I bet you're gonna find the biggest one!”
I'm not sure whether to feel dis- or en- couraged, but they're both nice ladies and I get a good haircut. They also said they wanted to be in my blog:
Except for that lady getting her hair cut. She explicitly didn't want to be in my blog. Interesting note, I thought about completely shaving my head at the start of this trip so I would have to get as few haircuts as possible to save money. Having since discovered how cold winter can get, I'm glad I didn't.
Being open again, I return to the bathhouse I intend on using: Buckstaff Bath House. I don't take any pictures because, being a bathhouse, pictures aren't allowed inside. Even after going to the museum, I'm not sure what to expect from a fully operational bathhouse, but I know it'll probably involve me getting fully naked and feeling awkward. Sure enough, I must be psychic.
The first part of the bathhouse experience is getting naked behind a curtain, storing your things in a locker, and wrapping yourself in a sheet. After this, you're taken to what equates to an old fashioned jacuzzi. It's filled with warm spring water and has a machine making bubbles in it. This is where I meet “Ricky”. I say “Ricky” in quotes, because that's how his name is written on the sign telling you his name. Ricky is what's known as a bath attendant. He prepares the bath and then pretty much guides you through the whole process of being bathhoused. Upon meeting, he tells me to throw the sheet over the wall and step into the bath. It's at this point me and Ricky share a special bond: we've both seen me naked. Ricky ask if I'd like something to drink. He is of course talking about some of the fresh spring water coming out of the faucet. Responding in the affirmative, Ricky grabs two small plastic cups and fills them both up. I grab the first one but am hesitant about the second: is that one for me or for him? Are we cheersing here? How awkward is this gonna be that you've gotta drink for it?
But I correctly grab the second cup, and Ricky leaves me be for a while, only coming back once to add some more water. It is a relaxing experience just for the fast that I can stretch my legs further out in the tub than I've been able to in my car the past 4 days. After a certain amount of time though, Ricky returns...to give me a bath. I imagine Ricky doesn't get a lot of young customers because it's at this point I think, “If I was the type who didn't mind lying so much, I would never tell anyone about this ever.” Luckily, it's not as awkward as one would expect. This is a professional bathhouse, and the cleaning is a few quick arms, legs, back, and chest swipes, nothing more than that. After the cleaning, I'm given a towel and asked to step out to follow Ricky to...some device. I don't recall what it was called, but basically, it's an ass-tub. It's a plaster or ceramic bowl that you sit in and can be filled with just enough water to cover your genitals while your arms and legs hang out. Imagine trying to sitting on a trash can full of water naked and suddenly the lid collapses. That's what you're doing.
It's operated by whoever is sitting in it though, so Ricky shows me the controls before leaving me be. A particular, what I would call flaw, what others may call joy, of the contraption is where the drain is. In the event you want to drain some water to add some more hot or cold, the plug is right where the sun doesn't shine and when it lifts up, you feel it. When showing me this part, Ricky suggest leaning over first, and I tend to agree with him.
From this point on it's all pretty straight forward. Ricky tells me to go into a steam room and count to 120 before coming back out. Then I have hot towels wrapped around my shoulders to resolve joint pain, and finally, I take my own private shower which at the end of the day is what I really wanted most considering I still hadn't taken one on my whole trip. Ricky suggest going to the cooling room before leaving. It's a room where you can cool down at a comfortable temperature rather than having to deal with that right out of the shower shock you might get at home. After a few minutes there, I go back to my locker to get my things and finally declare Hot Springs National Park off my list: it's been a very interesting place. On my way out of the bathhouse I see Ricky; he's leaving work. He was very soft spoken in the bathhouse, but now he gives me a big, “Hey!”, like we're old college buddies: I think it's more comfortable for both of us when I have my clothes on.
Leaving Hot Springs, I'm supposed to head to Crater of Diamonds but decide against it. Not because a hairdresser told me I'd get glitter, but because by the time I'd get there it would just be closing, and it's one of those places, like Biltmore, I don't feel the need to stay over night for. Instead, I head straight for Dallas. I post this on Facebook and get the best news I've had the entire trip: my friend and ex-coworker Kevin has a sister in Denton (just north of Dallas) and after talking to her, she wouldn't mind if I stayed the night: it'll be the first time my body has slept flat in a week.
It's 4 hours to Dallas, and in that time I start to reflect on my trip through Arkansas. It's the first state that I've completely gone through: Tennessee and North Carolina still have spots I need to hit later in the trip. But Arkansas is completely done now and I'll never have to come back again...and I'll miss it. Every step I took into Arkansas I was sure I'd get stabbed, beaten, or robbed, but everything I did was enjoyable, and more importantly, all the people were awesome. The employees at the Mexican restaurant, the worker at Hot Springs tower, the Visitor Center guys, the hairdresser girls, and Ricky and the other bathhouse employees. There was one really suspicious guy behind a bush in the park, but I didn't take the time to meet him. And so, I leave with a new appreciation for Arkansas: the state that seems really sketchy but is secretly pretty awesome: it reminds me of myself.
Almost to Dallas now, I'm getting excited about the bed I'll have to sleep in. As soon as I exit the interstate though, something goes wrong...
It had to go wrong...
It had to go wrong because my dad said something like this would go wrong. And the universe will not allow my dad to be wrong about something like this, not even once. Of all the things to happen it just had to be this...
Son. Of. A. …
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