By JOHN Ogden Jr

10

July HeartBeat

THE RIDE, THE RANCH, AND THE LEGEND OF THE JEROD SHORTCUT good ride has a

Now About That Ride... It starts out easy— north on AR-21, then weaving onto Co Rd 5440, a road that cuts like a gravel ribbon through the forest. You ' ll twist and dip along the ridge until you reach Oark, where the legendary Oark General Store sits like a postcard from 1890. It ' s more than a pit stop— it ' s a destination. And for this tale, it’ s where the real story begins. I’ ll tell it as it was told to me.

This particular ride wasn’ t just any Sunday spin. It was a gathering— a ride organized for CMA National Evangelists( who were all on their touring bikes)— a time for building brotherhood, sharing testimony, and breathing deep the Ozark air. The plan? Good roads, good food, and great fellowship.

But then … the shortcut happened.

The Legend of the Jerod Shortcut The ride leader— whose name is best left to the fog of legend— spotted a line on the map. It was shorter, he said.“ Faster,” he promised.“ Trust me,” he added. And so, they followed him, peeling off pavement and into the backwoods.

At first, it was just gravel. Then the gravel thinned. Then the road narrowed. Then came the curves, the climbs, the loose shale, and finally... the music.

Someone swears it was banjo music, distant but unmistakable. But as the twang faded into the trees, another sound rose up— loud, deep, and wrong. It sounded like trees being snapped like twigs, then escalated into something that shook the chest before it touched the ears. Something... prehistoric was tearing through those trees.

One rider muttered through the comms,“ Tell me that’ s a fourwheeler.”

Another replied,“ That’ s not a four-wheeler. That’ s a T-Rex.”

And for a breathless moment, no one was sure if they’ d taken a wrong turn or ridden full throttle into Jurassic Park. The canopy shook. Birds scattered. Steve later swore he saw trees move.

Someone cracked,“ If a raptor jumps out, I’ m feeding Jerod to it first.”

As they crested the blind hill,

the forest dropped away into a raw, open wound— a clearing torn from the earth, slick with mud. Towering machines crouched in the muck, engines growling like restless beasts. At the edge of the treeline, men stood motionless— chainsaws idling, beards trailing down their chests— watching, waiting, like something out of a dream you don’ t wake up from. One rider claimed he heard their thoughts:“ No one will ever know where these bikers disappeared to.”

That’ s when the group hit the throttle.

The shortcut became the great escape.

Helmets bobbed, bikes fishtailed, prayers were whispered into headsets. And somehow— miraculously— they all made it out. Dusty, shaky, and forever changed.

That path would later become known as The Jerod Shortcut— a tale passed down around campfires, whispered during bike nights, and repeated every time someone asks, " What’ s the wildest road you’ ve ever taken?"

Is It True? Well, that depends on who you ask. Some say it’ s exaggerated. Others say it’ s been toned down. But one thing’ s certain— the road is real. And the story? Well, that lives on in every Evangelist who survived it.