We race toward the setting sun, darting from curve to curve along Arkansas' Route 14. A glance at the odometer verifies that the miles have really piled up since our departure from North Carolina. But the welcome climb into the foothills of the Ozark Mountains is reenergizing a couple of bottom-sides made weary by the Natural State's vertically-challenged eastern reaches.

When we landed this assignment, I couldn't have told you why taking a trip across America on the "worst" possible roads sounded so appealing. Maybe it's because off-road riding doesn't even exist back home, in densely populated Germany. Or perhaps it's because we've learned on other trips that we more often meet the authentic characters of this world on country lanes and remote dirt roads than we do in hectic cities where so many are preoccupied and too few can spare the time to talk.

The light slanting through the slit in the blackout curtains seems to indicate the day has dawned bright and sunny. Slowly, like a tortoise, my dream-fogged head extrudes from the dark shell of the motel room at the door and swivels in the outside world. Yes, it's a beautiful morning to begin a tour. A familiar grin tugs on the corners of my mouth and suddenly I'm ready for that first cup of bad coffee.

Farm tractors churning earth on either side of I-40 west of Memphis have created finely powdered clouds the prairie gusts tumble over the featureless landscape. Target: Gold Wing. Thanks to the conspiratorial workings of Mother Nature and John Deere, the grit slowly building on my sunscreen-slathered face has inspired images of a new super hero - Sandpaper Man!

My destination, Eureka Springs, an authentic nineteenth-century resort tucked away in the Ozarks, is 992 miles away. While on my way and passing through the Smokies, it was 37 degrees and sleeting. The next afternoon in Arkansas, it was 92 and bright. Quite a contrast, and it set the tone for the next few days.