They call Arkansas “The Natural State,” but it could just as easily be called “The Biker State.” It’s hard to drive for more than half a mile without seeing a motorcycle of some sort at this time of year. A lot of bikers have moved here from other parts of the country, and if they haven’t permanently relocated, they’ve ridden from faraway places to visit.

It’s the terrain. The winding asphalt and slopes and curves and twists, and there are hilly roads that seem to go on forever. Everywhere you look, there are mountains and rivers and trees and little singing birdies. Of course, there’s a lot of road kill too, but if you keep your eyes straight ahead of you, you’ll get a much prettier picture.

In the western part of the state, there’s a biker-friendly little town called Mena, home of the mind-bogglingly beautiful Ouachita Mountains, and it was the destination for thousands of bikers this weekend. They covered the roads all along the way—some rode Goldwings as big as train cars, others travelled on crotch rockets so small and fast they were like mosquitoes buzzing down the highway. The bike of choice, of course, was Harley, and those beautiful babies were everywhere.

Motorcycles love Mena. For a town that covers less than seven square miles with a population of only 5,600, a lot of space is dedicated to those who prefer two wheels and Evo engines. There are at least five cycle dealerships in Mena, and two of them sell only H-D, including Big Bear Cycle, where you can buy a Harley or get one repaired, and eat a Big Bear Burger while you wait.

Restaurant and hotel owners are grateful for the business that bikers bring, and the parking lots were swarming with them over the weekend, though a lot opted to camp out. Mena is surrounded by the Ouachita National Forest, which is 1.8 million acres of gorgeous, and for many, sleeping under the stars beats a Motel 6 any day, even if Tom Bodett does leave the light on for them.

There were so many fascinating cyclists out enjoying the weekend, and I talked to a lot. It was difficult to keep from hyperventilating over the sheer numbers of them. I met one really great couple who were just passing through on their way home to Oklahoma, returning from a ride to the Grand Canyon. The man was sunburned to a crisp, and I’m sure he was grateful for the wind on his blistered arms. Other folks had come from Louisiana and Texas, North Carolina, Missouri and Wisconsin. There were Patriot Riders and gang members and motorcycle clubs and loners. There was a wonderful woman named Babs who once lived in Hawaii, but relocated to the mainland so she could ride roads like these. Her travelling companion was a little Chihuahua who wore a Harley tag, and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if there had been a tiny, puppy-sized helmet and leather jacket in one of Babs’ bags. One guy was riding a cycle with a car tire for a rear wheel. The bike had a 6-cylinder engine. “Man,” my traveling companion said enviously, “my car’s only 4-cyl.”

The most amazing part of this journey is the Talimena Scenic Byway, a 54-mile span of beauty that stretches from Arkansas to Oklahoma. As you wind your way up and across the curves and twists, you’re surrounded by mountain ranges that seem to go on forever. There are many places to stop and take it all in, and as the afternoon faded, a lot of people were doing just that. Here and there, at these little stopping points, I’d see a lone biker, sitting on his cycle, watching the sun set over those hills and lakes and forests. I didn’t chat with them—we were all too busy taking it all in.