O’DAY’S TRAVEL WOES #108: A Long Walk In Arkansas

August, 1997: I made a return visit as a guest speaker at the Arkansas Broadcasters Association’s summer convention, this time held in Hot Springs.

Pat Willcox had scheduled both Air Personality Plus+ and, on the following day, How To Create Maximum Impact Radio Advertising.

During the morning of my first seminar day, I walked down the street to a nearby restaurant. (I felt like something other than breakfast food, which was the only kind available at the hotel.)

Before I could get out of the parking lot, Pat drove in, saw me, and insisted on driving me the two blocks or so. (Pat was the ABA’s Executive Director. Talk about service!)

The next day, after my second seminar, I decided to try a Mexican restaurant that Pat had recommended. I asked the Front Desk staffer how far it was from the hotel to The Hacienda.

“Not more than a mile-and-a-half,” she replied.

Not so bad, I figured. Sure, it was hot — very hot. And humid — very, very humid. But I figured I could use the exercise…and after a full Mexican meal, it probably would be a good idea to walk off some of those calories afterward.

It was on this day that I learned a very important Life Lesson: Do not put too much faith in a hotel employee’s ability to estimate distance.

After walking along the highway for what I estimated to be 1.5 miles and not yet spotting any of the landmarks I had been told to look for, I walked into a car dealership and asked how far it was to the Hacienda Restaurant.

“From here?” replied the employee. “Oh, about a mile-and-a-half.”

“No,” I explained, “you’re thinking of the distance to my hotel, which I started walking from about an hour ago.”

The employee and a customer both were sympathetic to my plight but agreed that my journey was only half-done.

Tired, hot, sticky, my shirt having absorbed twice its weight in perspiration, I staggered out the door and back onto the street.

I hadn’t gotten very far when I heard a car horn beep. Turning, I saw a woman in a four-wheel drive pull over to the side of the road behind me.

“You’ll never be able to get across the highway during this traffic,” she said.

It was the customer from the car dealership.

“Hop in, I’ll drive you there.”

Artist's Rendition (including the famous Arkansas coast)

This, of course, happens to me all the time. Wherever I travel, women drive right up to me and insist on chauffeuring me to my destination.

Being the middle of the afternoon, there weren’t many customers in the Hacienda. I asked my waiter (who appeared to be Mexican) what he thought was good to order, and he gave me the standard, “Oh, it is all very good” reply.

But this would be my one Mexican meal in Arkansas, and I wanted it to be a good one. So I pressed further:

“Okay. Let’s say your cousin is visiting, and he loves good Mexican food. What is the one dish on the menu that you would tell him to order?”

Obviously this man has respect for his cousin, because he gave it serious thought and then said, “The Shrimp Alambre.”

It was very good.

To my great disappointment, not a single Arkansas woman interrupted my 3-mile walk back to the hotel to offer me a ride.