Sylamore Creek

Yesterday Sue and I took a little hike North Sylamore Creek Trail in the Ozark National Forest. This is undoubtedly one of the best hiking routes in Arkansas. We took only a leisurely amble up the trail for about 1.6 miles from the Gunner Pool access point, but that gave us lovely views from the top of two high bluffs as well as sections through lush green forest and other sections right along the creek itself.

Topo Map of the Sylamore Creek Trail from Gunner Pool to Barkshed

 When we got back to the car, I wanted to do a bit more exploring so we drove down to the Blanchard Caverns area and hiked up the short, paved path to the Blanchard Springs Waterfall. The images below are of the Blanchard Springs hike.

While I was exploring the rocky area around the outlet, I found a huge flat boulder with the inscription "Half-Mile Cave Registry Shelter"--from which I conclude that there was once some sort of log book there to record who crawled into the cave from lowest point. Access from that area is now prohibited, but the guided cave tours descending into the cave by elevator from above are spectacular. The "wild caving" is a day-long adventure that is not to be missed by those with a tolerance for mud, mild danger, darkness, tight spots, and spelunking splendor.

Back at the cabin it was time for my first swim of the year. The lake warmed up early this year so it would have been possible for me to start swimming by mid-April. The water temperature yesterday was a balmy 72 degrees--just right! I swam out to the crib to visit with the various bass in residence. Last year at this date the lake was very high and my crib was perhaps thirty feet down in deep darkness. This year the level is normal. The gravelly beach is just right for sitting in the sun. There is even a big open area where I will be able to set up my 8-inch telescope if we get clear skies at the time of the next new moon.

Clavicle Reduction and Fixation

Some adventures are far more fun than others. Since the day before
Thanksgiving, my latest adventure has been to see how many miles I could
ride, how many push-ups I could endure, and how many of the stresses and
strains of ordinary living I could tolerate--all with a broken
collarbone. (X-rays taken five weeks after the injury showed only mended bone, and I was told to begin rehabilitation toward normal activity.)

It is not that I have relished this adventure. Oh, no. I have gone in to
see my primary care doctor three times to complain that the collarbone
"just isn't healing right" or "doesn't feel normal." But I was
instructed to give it more time and more rehab. (In fairness I must
also confess that the x-rays of the clavicle taken at the time look
normal to me.)

X-ray Failing to Show Fracture

So I waited -- and complained -- until I was finally able
to obtain a referral to an orthopedic surgeon specializing in sports
medicine.

By that point--four months into my adventure -- I had discovered the
perfect set of shoulder gyrations that would allow any physician with
relatively uncalloused fingertips to feel the fractured ends of my
clavicle shifting and grating beneath the surface of my skinny cyclist's
torso. Dr. Guinn was suitably impressed -- so much so that when the
first set of x-rays made by his staff proved inconclusive, he sent me
back to be zapped again from multiple angles. It seems to be an odd
feature of modern medicine that even if one's fingers can plainly feel a
broken bone, the certainty of a diagnosis still depends upon the x-rays.

X-ray Showing Fracture

In the x-ray above, the site of the fracture is fairly clear even though somewhat obscured by images of the ribs. Look at the right end of the thin yellow line. . . . Snap.

Now you may be wondering how I was able to ride my bike at all or work my way back to doing 5 sets of 12 push-ups (down from 9 sets of 30 push-ups before the injury). Frankly I wondered that too and was thus inclined to question my own impression that the bone was still broken. It turns out, however, that about 15% of clavicle fractures result in nonunion, and it also turns out that significant number of distal clavicle fractures are virtually asymptomatic. Evidently, I hit the lottery of virtually asymptomatic nonunion.

This past Friday was the day of the "clavicle reduction and fixation" at
the Outpatient Surgery Center in Jonesboro. While waiting for the knife,
I was able to overhear some of the idle chit-chat among the several
nurses and technicians arranging the various scalpels, drills, and
screwdrivers associated with my procedure. One of them was apparently
new and asked what range of procedures they handled in the facility. I
already knew from chatter in the waiting room that colonoscopies and
ingrown toenails were in the mix, but I was a little awed to hear that
"the one we are about to do is probably one of the most complex."

I came out of the surgery with a six-inch incision, a stainless-steel
plate, and enough screws to hang a solid-core door. No more whisking
through the airport metal detectors for me!

Post-Surgical X-ray

Crystal Bridges Museum

The entrance to the museum

A display model of the entire structure

Notice the suspension cable going to its anchor on the right

The copper roof of the restaurant is reflected by the crystal waters

A View from the Crystal Springs Trail

One of the galleries

Right now the copper roofs of the various structures that make up the beautiful new Crystal Bridges Museum blaze like burnished gold in the winter sunlight. In a few years, however, they will be coated with the patina of age, becoming blackish-brown or teal in color. When the spring rains soak the surrounding hillsides and temporarily stain the crystal ponds, I suspect that the greenish roofs may vaguely resemble three turtles sipping from a mud hole. . . . And since the museum has been designed from the start to fit unobtrusively into its surroundings, I think the architect Moshe Safdie and the founder Alice Walton will be well pleased. By blending with the most earthy aspects of its American setting, this structure will only distinguish itself all the more as an architectural masterpiece and an American museum of the very first rank. 

The best source of information on the Crystal Bridges Museum is, of course, the official museum web site.

A fascinating interview with museum founder Alice Walton is available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ca8FLZlu08

Finally, an informative article about the Walton family and its various endeavors is available at http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune_archive/2004/11/15/8191093/index.htm

I am not an art critic so the various snapshots I took as experiments in cell phone photography are presented below without comment except for my brief descriptive captions.

A distinctly unusual family portrait

An angry-looking child

10 Indians

Boating women

 

Not Too Tough!

I suppose I have always prided myself on being tough enough. I bike more than four thousand miles a year and have earned a local reputation for crushing other cyclists on the big climbs. And I'm trying not to be just a skinny cyclist. A couple of years ago I worked up to doing 98 consecutive push-ups without pausing; more recently I have been in the habit of doing nine repetitions of thirty high-quality push-ups. So I should be tough enough. . . .

But I'm not. I got my first glimpse of an inner wimp when I went in for my annual physical in October. The doctor ordered up an array of routine blood tests, and the med tech and I chatted amiably while watching a half-dozen little vials fill with the precious red stuff. The last test tube seemed to fill slowly, but it filled; and as the needle was finally extracted, my vision went from gray to black. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by a half-dozen frantic people propping me in my chair and trying to get my attention. I didn't know who these people were. I couldn't even remember where I was. I felt rather like a political prisoner undergoing a harsh interrogation, but I gradually came to my senses, was transferred onto a gurney, was given IV fluids, and was eventually send home with the genial exhortation (suitable for an elderly 62-year-old) to take it easy for the rest of the day.

OK, so needles can make me faint. That's my body betraying me, but the conscious mind is where toughness resides. The grit to storm up Matney Mountain, standing on the pedals all the way. The ability to push a two-hour time trial at record pace, culminating with that brutal little climb up Cemetery Hill. Those are my marks of toughness. I like to think that steady training over a period of at least two decades has made me a solid cyclist.

Not so fast! Far from being a competent cyclist, I may not even be an adequate one. On the day before Thanksgiving Sue and I went for a little bike ride along the beach in Destin, Florida. We were noodling along -- looking at the water, the beach bungalows, and the

I crashed at the "point" near the end of the parking lot.

GPS Map and Graphs

tourists. The bike path took us across a parking lot and then up onto a multi-use sidewalk. A tiny little lip at the transition between concrete and asphalt--something a six-year-old on pink coaster bike had just handled with ease--flipped me over my handlebars and onto the concrete, where I landed hard on my right shoulder and smacked my head to the ground hard enough to dent the plastic and leave me completed dazed. I rather quickly suspected that I had broken my clavicle, but I couldn't remember (and still can't remember) exactly what caused me to lose control.

The graphs from my Garmin GPS show the exact location and speed (9 mph) at which I hit the deck, but not the cause. My guess is that I hit the lip at an angle where the two sections of pavement joined. My front wheel probably twisted enough either to make me grab the brakes too hard or to lose my grip altogether. Unfortunately, I can't be sure of this hypothesis so there is no way to learn from my mistake. I fell. That's all there is to say.

The bones I seem to break (clavicle this year; ribs in 1998) are the ones where the doc just writes a script for pain pills, pats you on the head, and tells you to come back in six weeks. The broken collarbone has been a bit uncomfortable and limiting, but yesterday (a full week after the injury) I was able to get back on my road bike for the first time (on the indoor trainer). As I was changing clothes after my workout, I took this snapshot of the current state of gruesome bruising.

Not too shabby! I may not be brave enough to face a hypodermic needle or coordinated enough to handle an urban bike path, but I do bruise up nicely!

Buffalo Point -- Indian Rockhouse Trail

About a week ago Sue and I made the two-hour drive over to Buffalo Point on the Buffalo National River. This is one of the most develop parks along the river with wonderful camping sites, several rustic cabins, and a spectacular little snack shop on a high bluff  overlooking the entire river valley.

Perhaps the biggest attraction in the park is the Indian Rockhouse Trail--a 3 1/4 mile loop that descends about 500 feet into the valley and then heads upstream along Panther Creek, past a variety of attractions to the Indian Rockhouse Cave. We took the loop in a counterclockwise direction. The first labelled attraction comes about 1/4 mile in: the "Sinkhole Icebox." Sink holes are fairly common in these limestone mountains, and this one is fairly typical. It is much larger than -- but not nearly as deep and impressive as -- the sinkhole on the Gunner Pool segment of the Sylamore Creek Trail. Perhaps another half-mile along there is a nice waterfall. There was a mere trickle of water flowing when we were there, but I'm sure it is impressive in the spring. The high flat ledge towering above and the rocky bluffs were somewhat similar to the even more striking waterfalls in the Leatherwood Wilderness Area of the Ozark National Forest.

Then the trail heads upstream along Panther Creek for about 3/4 of a mile. There are a number of unusual features of the streambed. At one point you can see the remains of an abandoned Zinc Mine. A little further along there is the "Small Cave," which is really quite large and liveable. There is a natural skylight on one end and ample sleeping space for back-to-nature types. One spot further upstream is called the "Natural Bathtub" for reasons that are obvious. Another spot ("Sculptured Bedrock") is a miniature version of the impressive bedrock sluices of the Lost River Gorge in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

At the half-way point in the hike we reached the Indian Rockhouse Cave itself. Apparently there is evidence that Indians resided in this cave and one can easily understand why they would do so. The cave itself is very spacious with a tiny stream providing a source of pure water at one end and plenty of room for campfires and even teepees beneath the towering roof of the cave. I climbed through a hole at the upper end of the cave and was able to make my way to a path allowing the adventurous to hike along the ledge that forms the rim of the cave opening.

Apparently, there is a side trail that leads up a steeper hillside to a third cave ("Bat Cave"), but we failed to notice it, so that bit of adventure awaits us on some subsequent hike in this lovely area. 

Small Cave "skylight"

Small Cave Entrance

Tower within Indian Rockhouse Cave

Interior of Indian Rockhouse Cave

Looking Out from Depths of Indian Rockhouse Cave

The Hiking Trail in Autumn

The View from the Snack Shop