The International Writers Magazine: Branson Arkansas:

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Planes, Trains, but please….no more automobiles • Jay Caauwe Tuesday..   05:00 found J&K leaving as planned for 'The Natural State ' Arkansas. We had been invited to spend the week at K's aunts house and by the way, could we drive back my mother-in-law, who had been vacationing there for the month. Hurricane Gustav had forced its last stormy remnants northward, allowing us to drive the entire 10 hour car trip in varying states of gale winds and torrential rain.

We arrived in Mountain Home Arkansas shortly after supper to a heroes welcome as the effects of a month long visit was evident on the faces of both sisters. The view from K's aunts house is quite grand....geodesic dome home high upon a bluff overlooking the lake.  The view is best taken in when standing as I soon found out. I had grab a well deserved icy refreshing beverage and sat down in a deck chair that promptly broke, sending me backwards and denting the woodstoves sheet metal chimney with my head. Icy refreshing beverage pours the length of my torso, temporarily sanitizing the scrapes and cuts in my arms from splinters on the wood deck.
 
Wednesday..  J and K's brother-in-law go to local marina to rent a big honkin 24ft bass tracker with 115 HP Merc...complete with live wells, trolling motor, fish finder and depth gauge. Two hours into this junket and near the Missouri / Arkansas border, boat fails to maintain operational order after fuel line was cut while messing with the trim at full throttle. A call to the marina sends a rescue party out to survey the entire 46,000 acre lake system looking for a bass boat. Every boat is either a bass boat or pontoon on the waterway. The 90 minute rescue time and trip back to marina resulted in severe dehydration due to consuming the entire beer supply.

Thursday..  Hot Damn, we're going to Branson. Without a doubt in my mind, Branson is the capital of tacky...so bad that the Japanese don't even go there. I knew to expect things like the Mickey Gilley Theatre and Ripley's Believe or Not, but Bert Convy Presents the Abe Vigoda Dancers...well that's a little too much. Every visiting Okie up from Tulsa wears the requisite black tank top with blue denim shorts, brown belt and officially sanctioned Indian reservation sandals with calf high white socks. And every little kid visiting with the grand folks wore one of those gray athletic ' property of ' shirts...only theirs said 'Property of Jesus'. Day was somewhat salvaged after returning to Arkansas by evening and taking in a fine trout dinner at a nearby trout fishery. Driving from the restaurant, I spied an armadillo and in my curious excitability to view the beast up close...ran it over.  I can still hear what sounded like light bulbs breaking when the vehicle flattened him.
 
 Friday.. Big family day...in a classic example of forgetfulness and remiss, the marina has agreed to rent me another boat. This time a 22 ft party barge pontoon with plenty of room for all the crew and supplies. One hour into an all day rental, J drives over a shoal and damages the prop. A boat that formerly cruised along at 40 MPH, now sputs along at a non- threatening 13. Better to enjoy the 96 degree heat and 100% humidity. However..... At full throttle the engine tended to burn a little oil, what with a bent prop. This resulted in an on board warning alarm to sound. The sound was much akin to slowly letting air out of a balloon with all the squeaking and squonking only amplified as if being broadcast thru a police bull horn. I dove under the driving console, randomly pulling wires to silence the errant gauge...to no avail. We limped back to port 2 hours past our due time where all marina employees were awaiting. After surveying and paying for the damage, I agreed with the marinas suggestion to never again rent a boat from them if I ever returned to Arkansas. Trying to make amends with a sun baked, irritable family, I offered to buy supper at the nearby all-you -can eat Friday Nite Catfish Fry. When time to settle the bill arrived, I was informed that they don't take credit or debit cards. The 7 dollars in my wallet would cover my end, and by now K was giving me the all too familiar ' Why didn't I leave him at home’ look.  
 
Saturday.. GOING HOME. Now mind you, the ride down, while wet, was roomy and comfortable. The return trip, however required packing 4 weeks of my mother-in-laws belongings, including such necessities as houseplants that she needed to bring so they could be watered, 3 super sized Samsonites, cosmetic luggage, shoe luggage, special riding pillows etc. I crammed this and more into the trunk and back seat of a Dodge Neon, and off we went. Or so I thought. 20 miles across into the Missouri border and still well up into the Ozarks, the left front tire exploded. I had just completed emptying contents of trunk, and was tempted to push the car down the mountainside, when Clovis Petty from Clovis Petty’s auto and septic tank service drove by. We put on donut sized tire, that today’s auto manufacturers so graciously equip cars with these days, and limped back to Petty’s to purchase not 1 but 2 tires as Clovis did not have same size as the offending blowout. 2 hours later and underway once again, I soon became aware that the entire north bound trip would be an endless series of bathroom breaks and leg stretching every 89 miles for my dear mother-in-law. Arrive in Chicago 10:30 PM after leaving Ark. at 8 AM. I pulled the car into the garage, not bothering to unpack until the next day. Why? Because I beat a path to the wall calendar to delete the “Leaving for Omaha " planned driving trip scheduled for next month.

© Caauwe, Jay September 2008
Caauwe@cboe.com

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