Saying Goodby

July 4th was not so much a holiday for me as it was the day after the 3 month anniversary of Buffalo's passing. And it was the day I decided to spread his ashes. I got up early, had coffee at the cabin, and cried a bit while getting dressed. As I figured, the Ozark Cafe was closed for the holiday. That was ok, because I really didn't feel like eating and wanted to get up to the over look before the tourists hit. The morning was cool and crisp, about 60 degrees, and it felt good on my face as I rolled the throttle open and climbed the twisties out of town. There was a low laying mist in the valleys below and the morning was just beautiful, promising another Ozark picturesque day, the kind my Buffalo loved. And I thought it was perfect for us.

It only took me about 15 minutes to get to the Buffalo Valley scenic over look. It took me longer than that to get the urn off the bike. And then I sat and talked to my Buffalo and told him I had promised I would do this and that I wanted him to be some place that he loved. And with the wind at my back, I opened the urn and let his ashes glide over the valley on a gust of wind. And then I sat down on the deck a bawled like a baby for about ten minutes. Another ten minutes getting the urn back on the bike, and I was flying down route 7. And with each turn, my head cleared and my heart soared and my spirit rose to the occassion. And I decided today was a celebration of Bill and I would ride with him in my heart.

In the town of Dover, I stopped at Dewayne's coffee shop (cash or checks only, no credit cards) for breakfast. The walls and shelves were adorned with John Wayne Memorabilia. The clientele was a mix of locals the waitress called by name and obvious tourists (their tattoos gave them away, and they were not bikers). I finished up breakfast, ran down to route 40 and headed west to get off on a little two lane black top that turned out to be another one of those roads that Buffalo would have asked "How did you know that would be that good?" It wasn't marked as scenic but turned

out to have some hair pin turns that were a challenge on two wheels and had gouges in the asphalt from four wheels or trailers, I can only assume.

And I spent the entire morning and early afternoon winding my way through the Ozarks, eventually finding myself on Arkansas' famous "Pig Trail." A canopy of greenery creates a tunnel of light and shadows as I twist my way north on the well known and popular route 23 and I smile, remembering Buffalo's exuberance the first time we rode it and his push to go back and ride it again on our second visit to the state. Numerous other two wheelers were sharing the experience that day and I waved to all of them, waving for both of us. 

And so I will leave the feeling of the wind in my face and the mix of both joy and sorry in my heart with the words above and the photos below. This day may not bring me to peace in my journey, but it has given me a place from which to start.

 

THIS PHOTO SAYS IT ALL ABOUT THE ROADS IN THE OZARKS. THEY ALL HAVE THESE SIGNS!