The center of activity at 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning in Jasper, Arkansas, is the Ozark Caf. Coffee cups rattle in the caf's bacon-fried air while Billy Bell and his dad, Gene, hold court at a big checkered-cloth-covered table. The family resemblance is clear as the two sit with a group of weather-beaten locals swilling coffee and swapping the news of the day.
This has been going on at the Ozark since the place opened in 1909. The red walls of the caf are adorned with black and white photographs that chronicle local history, the images giving life to the words of locals who have made permanent impressions on the caf's red naugahyde and chrome chairs.
The men at the table range in age from early 30s to retirement-ready, and they live in this corner of the Ozarks because they love it. Both Gene and Billy have made sacrifices to stay in this part of the world, and their affection for the community is apparent when they talk about it.
One of the men at the table, John Hudson, is a bit of a local legend. John built his home around the cabin in which his father-a well-known doctor in the middle of the century-was born, thus transforming the abode into a living museum filled with memorabilia from his dad's career.
After breakfast, Billy and Gene take me on a quick walking tour of Jasper, which includes a visit to the smallest jail in the county.
"The cells here are known as the worst in the state," Gene says proudly. "You don't want to end up in the slammer in my town."
We go inside to check out the building, and Gene asks the deputy manning the front desk if he can show me one of the dank little cells.
"No tours today. We had a helluva Saturday night," the deputy says dryly, "and the house is full."
Serendipity granted me this ride with Billy and Gene. I was in the area with a couple of friends to join the Wudi Ride, an annual off-road motorcycle ride held in Arkansas each winter. Billy is not only an off-road rider, but a street rider, too, and when I said I was planning to ride the area on Sunday, he and Gene agreed to serve as guides and show me the sights.
Jasper is on one of the great motor-cycle roads in the Ozarks, Highway 7, which runs from Harrison, just south of the Missouri border, to Hot Springs in central Arkansas and down past El Dorado on the state's southern border with Louisiana. Highway 7 was Arkansas' first state-designated Scenic Byway, and the road curls through the Ouachita Mountains and north through the Ozark National Forest.
We head east out of Jasper on Highway 74, riding over to Highway 123, a twisty stretch of pavement winding from Mount Judea to Lurton. Billy tells me that riders come from as far as Australia just to ride this technical stretch of road. On the other hand, a Gold Wing rider I met at Turner Bend told me to "avoid 123 at all costs." To each his own!
We loop back north along Highway 7 and come to the Ozark "Grand Canyon," a deep, verdant valley much smaller than its Arizona counterpart but impressive nonetheless.
Gene and Billy have to return to Jasper that afternoon, and I decide to join them and take up John Hudson's invitation to see his home and collection of artifacts.
The place is outside of town, a beautiful farm set along an Arkansas bluff. John shows us how his immaculate, white, ranch-style house was fabricated around the one-room cabin built in 1826 that his father had grown up in. The original logs are preserved, as is the original porch, which is filled with old photographs of his father, along with collections of old medical equipment. John did most of the work on the house himself, from digging out the basement to laying down the floors. He also talks nonstop about his father's accomplishments, often with tears in his eyes.