2025 Upper Midwest

🌪️ We’ve landed in Blowing Springs, AR — where the trails never end, the mud is plentiful, and the adventures are slippery!

🎾 Beth wasted no time and zipped off to the pickleball courts with Suzanne, paddle in hand and sass in spirit. Meanwhile, Don—undeterred by the soggy state of the world—geared up, declared “Muddy trails are just… trails with texture!” and pedaled off like a man on a mission.

Don swung by the pickleball courts to say a quick hello to Frank and Suzanne—because apparently, it’s some kind of unspoken biker–pickleballer code: if you’re passing by, you acknowledge the tribe. A nod, a wave, maybe a fist bump with a little tire mud on it—then he vanished back into the wild, like Bigfoot on a mountain bike… slightly soggy, mildly majestic, and definitely on a mission.

🚴‍♂️ Somewhere along the route, he stumbled upon a bike in a tree. Yes, in a tree. Not leaning, just hanging. He paused just long enough to ponder whether this was Arkansas trail art or a cautionary tale.

🛑 Further down, he found a trail pitstop that was actually cool and then—surprise!—a lake appeared! Because why not? It’s Bentonville —expect the unexpected.

💦 Don came back grinning from ear to ear, covered head to toe in mud, looking like a swamp creature who’d just won a mountain biking lottery. The rule was simple: no RV entry without a full rinse-off. So out came the hose, and in true Blowing Springs style, the cleanup turned into its own mini adventure.

Moral of the story?
🚵 Mud washes off. Memories don’t.
🎾 And if you’re not careful, your bike might end up in a tree.Leia mais