One of the more important things that is easy to forget when highpointing some of the more simple states is that you are still climbing mountains, and therefore are still subject to weather. As obvious as this sounds, I seem to be good at forgetting it from time to time. It is more than likely a combination of excitement and desperation to get out of the vehicle after driving for eternity.
Such was the case upon my climbing of Magazine Mountain, the highpoint of Arkansas. Driving up to the base of the mountain is a pretty dang fun drive actually. The Ozarks are a beautiful area, and the roads are a sports car drivers dream. Switchbacks, followed by rolling hills, followed by the occasional straight-away where everyone seems to floor it so no one passes them; these same people then slow down to 27 mph as soon as you get back to the normal tight turns.
Unfortunately for me, I was driving arguably the most un-sporty vehicle made. A vehicle so bad at turning, that the term, “roll-over” was coined to describe what happened to it. A Jeep. I did my best to not die, and raced my way up the mountain, gaining about 2500 feet of elevation in the last 3 miles to the summit. I was so surprised that I my Jeep wasn’t at the bottom of some ravine that I quickly started to walk to the peak, only to realize a quarter mile later that it was 41, rather than the 63 I had dressed for at the bottom of the mountain.
Naturally, I did the smart thing and decided that it would warm up in no time. This never works, does it? The summit was so foggy that visibility was about 200 feet, and it was pretty dang cold. I signed the register, took some video, and ran back to the, um… safety?, of my Jeep. I lived, but learned an important lesson: Never go outside again. Or, maybe wear enough cloths. Or, never go outside again. Next week, I will post a video from the summit. It is pretty scarry looking, so you should check it out.
Such was the case upon my climbing of Magazine Mountain, the highpoint of Arkansas. Driving up to the base of the mountain is a pretty dang fun drive actually. The Ozarks are a beautiful area, and the roads are a sports car drivers dream. Switchbacks, followed by rolling hills, followed by the occasional straight-away where everyone seems to floor it so no one passes them; these same people then slow down to 27 mph as soon as you get back to the normal tight turns.
Unfortunately for me, I was driving arguably the most un-sporty vehicle made. A vehicle so bad at turning, that the term, “roll-over” was coined to describe what happened to it. A Jeep. I did my best to not die, and raced my way up the mountain, gaining about 2500 feet of elevation in the last 3 miles to the summit. I was so surprised that I my Jeep wasn’t at the bottom of some ravine that I quickly started to walk to the peak, only to realize a quarter mile later that it was 41, rather than the 63 I had dressed for at the bottom of the mountain.
Naturally, I did the smart thing and decided that it would warm up in no time. This never works, does it? The summit was so foggy that visibility was about 200 feet, and it was pretty dang cold. I signed the register, took some video, and ran back to the, um… safety?, of my Jeep. I lived, but learned an important lesson: Never go outside again. Or, maybe wear enough cloths. Or, never go outside again. Next week, I will post a video from the summit. It is pretty scarry looking, so you should check it out.
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