Oark is a place that exists mostly because motorcyclists love it. A handful of buildings stand at a crossroads in the Ozark National Forest, and the general store is the centre of everything. On a good weekend there are dozens of bikes parked outside, and riders from three or four states are comparing notes on the roads they have just ridden. Highways 21, 215, and 103 meet here, and all three are good, which is why people come.
The land is hill country, steep and densely forested, with creeks running through hollows and sandstone bluffs showing through the oaks and hickories. The Ozark Highlands Scenic Byway threads through the middle of it, and the roads are some of the best in the central United States for a rider who likes endless curves. The corners are mostly open and well-surfaced, though the hills hide tighter bends and the occasional damp patch under trees. Leaves fall thick in autumn and can make the road slippery, so ride the colours with a gentle hand.
The store is a genuine old general store, and it has the feel of one: wooden floors, shelves of odd goods, and a lunch counter that serves burgers and pies to a hungry crowd. It is the kind of place where the food is good because people have been coming for it for a long time, not because anyone decided to make it so. Expect a wait on busy weekends, and expect to enjoy it. There is nothing much else here, apart from a few houses and the road itself.
Do not expect fuel in Oark. Clarksville, about twenty-six kilometres south, is the nearest bigger town with stations and supplies, and it is wise to fill up there before heading up into the hills. Coal Hill and other small towns are farther off. Spring brings dogwoods and redbuds, autumn brings the famous colour, and summer is warm and green but humid. Winter ice and fallen trees can close roads for days, and deer are a real hazard at dusk and dawn, so keep your speed sensible after the light fades.