I thought it wise to overindulge myself a bit in Hot Springs since it's probably the last bit of luxury I'm going to see for at a week or so until I get to Sherman, TX where I have a CouchSurfing host lined up.

There are two operational bathhouses on Bathhouse Row; all the others have been converted to museums. Yesterday I went to Quapaw Baths which is leased out to a private company and offers a typical modern-day spa experience. The other, Buckstaff Baths, is operated by Hot Springs National Park and strives to preserve the old style bathhouse experience from the 1920s, with all the original equipment. After seeing all this equipment, some of which looks like torture chamber devices, in the museum at nearby Fordyce Bath House, this seemed necessary to experience. You know, for educational purposes.

You don't make reservations or appointments at Buckstaff Baths. You just walk in, tell them what you want (in my case, the works) and they send you assembly line style from station to station. Here's the rundown.

• Locker room. The attendant tells me to strip down and wraps me in a sheet, toga style. She then hands me off to Sara, the bath attendant.
• Whirlpool bath. Sara helps me into a giant old-school porcelain bathtub with feet into which she has run hot mineral water pumped in from the springs. She then fires up the whirlpool, an ancient apparatus that looks somewhat like an outboard motor hitched to the inside of the tub. She then leaves me to soak for a good 15 minutes or so.
• Sitz bath. This one I didn't enjoy so much. It's a bathtub that you sit in, and it sprays out water onto your lower back which is supposedly helpful for lower back pain and rheumatism. That part was fine, but the rest of me that wasn't in the tub got a little cold.
• Steam cabinet. Here Sara sticks me in a metal box with sides that fold up so only my head is sticking out a hole in the top. The box then fills with steam. This was super relaxing, and much better than the typical steam room. I could have gone to sleep right there, and probably would have, had Sara not then led me over to the. . .
• Hot pack table. Now I am lain down on a porcelain table and steaming hot towels are thrown over me. Aaaaahhh.
• Needle shower. This is a torture-chamber looking apparatus that shoots hundreds of tiny jets of water at you from every direction, head to toe. NICE!

Last but not least, the massage. Usually I don't like it when a massage therapist talks to me, but in this case I welcomed the conversation with Robin, an older African-American lady, who called me sister, told me over and over how much she admired my bravery, and invoked legions of angels to protect me along the way. Her chatter also provided a necessary distraction from the excruciating pain as she rolled my poor stiffened muscles out like bread dough. Unlike the pampering aromatherapy massage I received yesterday at Quapaw Baths, this was tough love. It hurt, but in the end I marveled at how I could roll my shoulders around without the customary cacophony of creaks.

So after all this treatment I felt pretty darn good and surprisingly limber when I reluctantly tore myself away from Hot Springs and headed west out of town on Route 70. I had another perfect summery day, this time heading into the Ozark foothills with gorgeous views of the distant mountains. It occurred to me that I could, in theory, not see rain again for the rest of the trip. The forecast for northern Texas calls for clear skies for a solid week, and New Mexico, Arizona, and Southern California are not exactly known for excessive rainfall. I know it's a lot to hope for, but it could happen.

My only significant stops once I got on the road were at the Log Cabin Liquor Store, where I didn't buy anything but stopped to ponder whether I should after I saw their billboard informing me of "Dry Counties Ahead" (marketing genius!), and for snacks at a rest area picnic table where I chatted for a bit with Rick and Theresa, out on a motorcycle ride to enjoy Rick's last day of 2 weeks off from work. Unfortunately the time off was due to his having kidney failure caused by an adverse reaction to his diabetes medication, but he's okay now. "35% of people go home in a box after something like this, so he's lucky," said Theresa.

The sun was getting low as I headed toward the town of Kirby, so I went to turn on the taillight that I normally clip to my sleeping bag on the back of the bike, and it was gone. It must have fallen off at some point. I didn't feel great about continuing to Daisy State Park for 10 miles at dusk with no taillight, so I consulted the Campwhere application on my iPhone and found there were two closer campgrounds. I was about to head for the closest, Bear Creek, when I thought to check on their amenities. No showers! The other one, only a few extra miles away, did have showers. Whew! That was a close call. Thanks, Campwhere!

I was happy to arrive at Kirby Landing Recreational Area on the shores of Lake Greeson just as the sun was setting, the moon was rising, and stars were poking out one by one. Suddenly, food, showers, and setting up camp dropped down on my priority list right behind floating on my back in the lake to watch the sky slowly fade to black.