A Year on the Road

Baton Rouge Round Two

Louisiana was proving to be a state of surprises and contrasts. Human-made refineries amid raw, natural wetlands; the humblest of homes just steps from mini-mansions; and, as we meandered its riverside roads, the undeniable elegance of antebellum plantations, timeless and serene and evoking a certain nostalgia even though neither one of us ever lived that life, but with the specter of their past impossible not to feel.

We’ve seen several plantations that still stand in Georgia, so we were eager to see how Louisiana’s compared. With that goal in mind, each time we toured within Baton Rouge and beyond its borders we looked for plantation homes. Some remain private residences, and some are open for tours or function as B&Bs.

Carter Plantation is a bit of an anomaly. It now sits in the middle of an upscale residential community, and while it would have been considered a relatively large home in the 1800s, it’s fairly small by today’s standards, and certainly in comparison to its immediate neighbors. But it boasts the status of being on the National Register of Historic Places, and is set apart from other plantations because it’s the first in the county to be owned by a free “person of color,” African-American Thomas Freeman. Freeman and his slaves (!) worked its 2,000 acres until 1838.

Built in the style of an English cottage in 1790, Butler Greenwood Plantation is also relatively small by Georgia standards, but it was a thriving agricultural concern back in the mid-1800s, when nearly 100 enslaved people worked the cotton, sugarcane, and indigo fields. It’s a private residence, largely unchanged since the 1850s.

Nottoway Plantation, on the other hand, is exactly the sort of plantation home that drips with the style of its time. You could easily imagine Scarlet O’Hara sitting on the porch with the Tarleton twins complaining about “war talk,” though frankly, my dear, Tara was nowhere near this grand.

Today, it’s the South’s “largest remaining antebellum mansion,” and it’s hard to wrap your head around the size of this place. At one time it held 176 people in enslavement, doing the brutal work of sugarcane production on the owner’s 7,000+ acres. Now, it’s a hotel that also does tours.

Oak Alley doesn’t shy away from its history of enslavement, and it includes an exhibit that tells the stories of the human beings forced into labor in the plantation’s sugarcane fields. Tours of the slave quarters and the Big House are offered, but we arrived too late to take one.

We passed several more over the course of our final week in the areas surrounding Baton Rouge, including the magnificent Whitney plantation, setting for scenes in the movies Django Unchained and 12 Years A Slave. Its history includes some of the most brutal aspects of slavery, but its modern face is turned toward telling that story through the voices and experiences of the enslaved. It is marked out as a designated “Site of Memory,” (in this instance, a location in which a significant point in history, held in collective memory, is contained) as well as being on the National Register of Historic Places.

*If Georgia’s fictional Twelve Oaks and Louisiana had a baby, it would be the Whitney.*

We didn’t discover the names of the following plantation homes along the scenic Great River Road, but they gave us a fairly clear idea of what neighboring homes of wealthy land-owners would have looked like, pre-Civil War.

Over the course of this trip we’ve been so appreciative of the places that look the uglier aspects of their past straight in the eye, call it what it is, and strive to educate toward an understanding of those events, unfiltered by bias.

Louisiana is, of course, far more than its past. Our tour of the downtown area turned up lots of interesting sights, including Louisiana’s Old State Capital, the WWII destroyer USS Kidd, Red Stick Market farmer’s market, and the fascinating Sing the River Sculpture, which reminded us of The Bean in Chicago.

Bluebonnet Swamp Nature Center made for another easy drive and gave us the chance for some fresh air in natural surroundings.

*You can take the kid out of the jungle, but…*

Susan still wasn’t up for much cooking, so we decided to grab lunch at Raising Cane’s Chicken Fingers, which started in Baton Rouge in 1996. We’re not big fast-food people, but we had to agree, these were some pretty terrific chicken fingers, and one order was enough to split (3 for Simon, 1 for Susan).

As our time in Baton Rouge wrapped up, we decided the only area we hadn’t really seen yet was to the north of the city, and a day-trip found us in Natchez, Mississippi, just across the Mississippi River. So often during our travels we’re led to something special, and this road trip was no exception.

We grabbed lunch at Pig Out Inn BBQ solely based on its funny name, splitting a scrummy chopped brisket sandwich with sides of potato salad and baked beans. It was all delicious, but those beans…Susan could easily have made a meal just of those (which would be a bad idea later that night in a 36-foot space, so she didn’t).

The unexpected highlight of the day, however, was the Natchez Powwow, which we stumbled upon as we walked along the riverside, celebrating culture through dance, music, food, and camaraderie. Everyone was welcome to join some of the dances, but we stayed off to the side, since we had Ruthie with us. We did check in advance to make sure photos were acceptable, and were told we were welcome to take photos and video.

Dances circled a tent in the center of the ring, where drummers and singers were located, and people moved along the dance route in whatever way moved them. Some shuffled, some danced alone, some danced shoulder-to-shoulder, and it was so beautiful we forgave ourselves for getting a bit misty-eyed.

Baton Rouge and its surrounding areas surprised and delighted us, and it’s certainly an area to which we’ll return. We are reminded again and again how blessed we are to experience the events and meet the people that make this country so diverse and compelling.

Striking A Balance With The Big “Red Stick”

In 1699, a French-Canadian expedition led by Pierre Le Moyne d’Iberville made its way along the Mississippi River, and came upon bloody cypress sticks driven into the ground, with fish and the heads of sacrificial bears attached at their pointy tops. These markers signified the Houma Indian and Bayou Goula tribes’ hunting borders, and spawned the name Baton Rouge, or “red stick,” which was the next destination in our Year on the Road journey.

The drive between Lafayette and Baton Rouge turned out to be an adventure in itself, and we were delighted by the scenery on both sides of the 18-mile-long Atchafalaya Basin Bridge. This was real Louisiana stuff; bayou all the way, with people fishing from boats right there along the split highway. Fantastic!

*A long, long bridge with a great view!*

*We missed getting the photo, but there are people fishing in small boats in that waterway.*

Our first week combined lots of rest for Susan, who was still testing Covid positive, with as much touring (and her fully masked up) as we could possibly do. Tiger’s Trail RV Park proved to be blissfully quiet, with lots of open space that made staying “home” scenic and comfortable.

*Isn’t this peaceful? Lots of space around us. That’s the casino in the background.*

We had earmarked several Scenic Byways, and because Tunica Trace Scenic Byway was the shortest, we made it our first drive. But this is us, so if you’ve been reading the blog from the start, you already know it won’t be as simple as getting in the car, ambling along joyfully, and ending with happy memories of a relaxing excursion.

We try to find a balance between research and allowing for discovery when we choose the places we’ll tour, so we knew we’d be on a designated Byway (Highway 66) through the Tunica Hills Wildlife Management Area, featuring rolling, forested hills. What we didn’t know was that Highway 66 isn’t paved, it’s only wide enough for one-and-a-half cars, and no one will come to your aid if you break down or blow a tire because there’s no cell phone service in the forest. Plus, there’s bees. Hundreds and hundreds of giant bees, who follow your car for the entire 20-mile trip.

*It’s like something straight out of a Bob Ross painting.*

*All we could think of was blowing a tire and having to change it with a thousand of these angry bees swarming around in a murder rage.*

Poor little Nippy lurched and pounded and battled her way through, and we were incredibly relieved when we finally reached the end of the Byway and hit solid pavement.

We were slightly less relieved when we came to the end of the pavement and were face-to-face with the notorious Louisiana State Penitentiary, also known as Angola Prison, home to what the locals call “the real bad boys.”

But we’re glad to have the story, since we lived. If not for having to watch the road every moment for massive potholes and downed trees, it would truly be one of the most wild and beautiful drives we’ve done so close to a major city.

We drove on to St. Francisville for a glimpse of The Myrtles antebellum plantation, whose current owners call it one of America’s most haunted houses. Up to ten people are said to have been murdered at this former slave-owning plantation, but documentation indicates it was really only one.

That one person isn’t the ghost most people agree haunts the place, though. Instead, Chloe, a former slave hung by her neck until dead for the poisoning of a former owner’s three children, still walks the grounds. Problem is, it seems none of the plantation’s records include a slave named Chloe, two of the children actually died from Yellow Fever, and the third lived a long-ish life. Even so, hauntings are fun when no one gets hurt.

*A caretaker named William* *Winter took a bullet on one of the house’s side porches, but doesn’t seem to spend any time in the house now that he’s enjoying the afterlife.*

Susan was still testing Covid positive, so we were finding a balance between touring and napping, and a quieter day was on the cards. Louisiana State University wasn’t far away, so we popped over to see the Indian Mounds and pose with a statue of the university’s mascot, Mike the Tiger.

What we didn’t realize was that Mike (at least, the seventh incarnation of the original Mike, who died in 1956) has his own habitat right there on campus grounds. We had thoughts about that particular brand of captivity, but it was still incredible to see such a glorious cat as he sunbathed, yawned, stretched, and found a nice rock to flop down on, to the delight of all onlookers.

We had a good, long drive around the campus’s lake area, where huge homes enjoyed one of LSU’s prettiest views. And that’s saying something. Of course, Michigan State University is the most beautiful campus in the country, but LSU is certainly right up there. Simply gorgeous, and those Live Oak trees…!

*One of our lasting memories of Louisiana, and especially Baton Rouge, will be these gorgeous Live Oak trees. They’re everywhere, and they’re just stunning.*

There were several Scenic Byways we hoped to explore, and Southern Swamp Byway was next on our list. Our first stop along the byway was Cajun Village, a small collection of restored Acadian dwellings made into boutique shops with a distinctly “bayou” flair.

Simon went into the Coffee House and came out with two hot drinks and a bag steaming with three fresh-made beignets, those crispy-soft, fried delights absolutely drowning in powdered sugar. And since he bought them, there was nothing to do but eat them. So we did.

Bayou Francois wasn’t far away, so we brushed the powdered sugar off our jeans (and our phones, and our seats, and the floor) and made the trek out into the wilderness. The bayou’s big appeal is fishing and kayaking, but those were off the cards for us. Even so, the drive to the bayou was punctuated by gator sightings, hundreds of birds, and an up-close view of an Exxon Mobile Pipeline plant surrounded by hundreds of acres of swampland.

*A rocky road runs through swampland on both sides.*

*Most of this isn’t solid ground. So many creatures live in there.*

*Giant gator alert! There were several biggies here, as well as a few smaller ones.*

*A stark contrast between natural wetlands and burn-off from Exxon Mobile’s plant.*

After a few days of touring, we needed a quiet day (and by “we” I mean “Susan”), so one of us slept much of the next day away and the other (Simon) went to see Dune 2 at a nearby movie theater (fully masked, of course, and with only three other people in the theater), then checked out the casino that supports Tiger’s Trail campground.

*The casino and hotel are quite elegant, and are situated right off the Mississippi River.*

At that point we had a decision to make. We had planned to move on to New Orleans after a week, but there was so much to do in Baton Rouge, and we felt we hadn’t done the area justice yet. True to the very best of Southern hospitality, the staff at Tiger’s Trail were absolutely brilliant in extending our stay, and their kindness was, without a doubt, the key to a better recovery for Susan and more time in a wonderful city for both of us.

The Bayous Beckon

Hello, Louisiana! Home to vast acres of rice fields and crawfish farms, and weird, sticky-uppy stalks that we discovered were sugar cane, one of the state’s primary crops. Hello, Covid, too, which put a major damper on our touring, with its ferocious exhaustion and coughing that had Susan bedridden for four days straight.

*These fields are everywhere. Some are rice fields, some are crawfish ponds, and some are both.*

The virus’s nasty symptoms hit the night before we moved from Beaumont, Texas to the peaceful oasis of Parkside RV Resort in Broussard, Louisiana, but at that point we thought it was a bad cold, or maybe allergies. We’d been so careful; didn’t dine in restaurants, our touring was all outside and just the two of us (plus Ruthie), so Covid wasn’t at the top of our minds. It was only two days later, when Susan said, “I’d better test to rule it out,” that we knew the awful truth.

During our pre-test time of innocence we took a little drive around Broussard, exploring the downtown area by car. It’s a cute city center, very compact and approachable, and we liked the small-town feel in a place we thought would be much, much bigger. It also offered a hint at the transition Lafayette seems to be going through.

*The historic area is going through a change, but certainly retains its small-town charm.*

Two features really stood out for us as we drove around: the Giant Live Oak trees and the above-ground cemeteries. We’d seen this sort of cemetery during a visit to New Orleans years ago, but they still stand out as curiosities, especially as so many of them seem to be in the back end of nowhere, or smack in the middle of the city.

*The Live Oaks are so dramatic, and incredibly beautiful.*

Susan had a little rally five days into it, so, with her fully masked up in an N95, we hit the road for the Bayou Teche National Byway to Morgan City. We had been wondering exactly what “bayou” meant, since we thought it meant a big, swampy waterway with cypress trees in and around it, but very back-woodsy, dark, and mysterious due to all the trees. The kind of place Huckleberry Finn would have been born and grown up, where ‘possum and squirrel were always on the menu.

Instead, it’s a French version of the Choctaw word “bayuk,” meaning (roughly) a creek or small river, which was what we were seeing every time we saw a marker for a bayou, including Bayou Teche (literally, river snake, or “snaking river”), which was once the original course of the mighty Mississippi River a few thousand years ago.

There may be those among you who have unexpectedly encountered the transfer of illegal goods from one car to another, as we have seen on occasion, but only in Louisiana would that transfer of goods involve crawfish and shrimp. And that’s exactly what we saw while waiting to gas up Fati at a Walmart. These two fellas negotiated the sale of crustation packages tucked in a cooler full of ice for quite some time, while holding up everyone in line behind them waiting to get gas.

The next day, Susan was free from the feeling of having been kicked in the face by a donkey, but still coughing and incredibly tired, so we opted for a drive along the Cajun Corridor Byway that runs between Delcambre and Kaplan, south of Lafayette.

*This is how Susan did most of our touring, when she wasn’t flat-out asleep in the rig.*

Simon’s appetite made up for Susan having none at all, so a visit to Suire’s Cajun Restaurant and Grocery Store for lunch was in order, being somewhat of a local institution. We knew before we even started the trip that Louisiana would be a non-starter for Susan, food-wise, due to a rather nasty shellfish allergy, so having no desire to eat was a blessing in disguise.

*Some of the best food we’ve had has come from some of the humblest places.*

Simon had no such restrictions, and went for the Boudin Plate, a homey assemblage of Boudin sausage, rice, gravy, a dinner roll, slaw, beans, and a brownie. Delicious perfection!

*The kind of food you scarf down, then sop up the tattered remains with a biscuit.*

We detoured further south for a drive along the White Lake Birding Trail after lunch, and while we couldn’t do any of the walking trails, the road through it rewarded us with wildlife sightings and reminded us of our beloved Apopka Wildlife Drive in Florida. We saw lots of gators, some deer, hundreds of birds, and a mammal that was either a muskrat, a beaver, or a woodchuck. Probably a beaver, possibly a woodchuck, but we’ll never know for sure.

Cooking dinner was out of the question, so we made a quick stop at Hebert’s Meats for pre-made Etouffee and sausages, which Simon could dine on for the next couple of days. Somehow, we only have one photo of the outside of the store, and none of the fine offerings within.

Susan’s rally was short-lived. The next morning her oximeter was showing some worrying numbers, so it was off to Urgent Care, just a quarter-mile from our campground. Two chest X-rays later (mercifully, both clear), we were sent home with a six-day course of steroids, an antibiotic for a brewing secondary infection, and a coupon from the doctor to help us afford a $500 inhaler.

While Susan slept the rest of the day away, Simon went back to St. Martinville to see the Evangeline Monument and the Acadian Museum. The monument is a plaque in front of a massive Live Oak tree, the fourth representative of the original tree made famous in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s tragic poem, Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie about the exile of Acadians from Nova Scotia in 1755.

When we set out on this year-long adventure, our perception of Louisiana was that it was a less prosperous state, but as we drove around we began to see a pattern. Big houses and mini-mansions were rising up right next door to the most humble of homes, mobile homes, and RVs being used as homes, both in the towns and perhaps especially in the more rural areas. Something was clearly happening (gentrification; it’s gentrification), and when we arrived in Baton Rouge a week later, our curiosity about this trend kicked into high gear.

Our week in Broussard and Lafayette was far too short, especially given the days “wasted” by sleep, but we thoroughly enjoyed what we did see. Louisiana’s southern coast had definitely impressed us so far, as did the Southern kindness and generosity we’d encountered, and we were eager to see more.

That Time We Didn’t Get Eaten

Simon’s problem is that he rarely sees the problematic side of anything. Susan’s problem is that she sees the problematic side of most things, but hates to squash Simon’s natural enthusiasm. It gets us into trouble sometimes, and our visit to Cattail Marsh in Beaumont, Texas was one of those times.

It all started so well. A lovely little boardwalk led out to viewings of interesting waterfowl, and we’d become exceptionally good at identifying birds, meaning, we could see them and say, “There’s a bird! There’s another bird!”

But we were up for a longer wander, and there were two gravel paths along the marsh-front to choose from. Our walk began with the following conversation:

Simon: Let’s head over to the far side and see what’s there.

Susan: You know it’s at least an hour to make the full circuit, probably more, right?

Simon: Nah, it’s not an hour.

Susan: Well…okay. It is, but, okay.

*That tree line in the background is the boundary of the reserve. Less than an hour, or more? You decide.*

One-quarter of the way around, it occurred to Simon it was at least an hour to make the full circuit, probably more, and it wasn’t easy to pull Ruthie in her wagon over the gravely path. What happened next was this:

Simon: Let’s take the short-cut through the middle.

Susan: You know that isn’t a walking path, right?

Simon: Sure it is! See? It’s flat and grassy.

Susan: It isn’t. It’s a maintenance road. But, okay.

Now, those among you who have ever been in a wetland in the South know what’s going to happen next. And sure enough, not quite half-way into it, we were met by a 10-foot-long alligator sunbathing on the bank. Even Ruthie could see the “problematic” situation we were in, so she sat quietly in her wagon as we slowly, non-threateningly walked past the gator, with the wagon between it and us.

There’s a great big gator in this photo, laying just in front of that small mound of reeds in the center of the photo. You probably can’t see it, just as we couldn’t really see it until we were nearly on it.

*Here. This actual blow-up of said gator will help.*

Long, “problematic” story made short, after several huge gators, lots of sweat, plenty of bugs, a horrible sewage smell, and more than an hour pulling that damned wagon over gravely ground we stumbled back to the car, where Simon grudgingly admitted we “probably shouldn’t have done that.”

The rest of our time in Beaumont was tame and enjoyable. We had taken the ferry over from Galveston, which in itself is a novel adventure, and were camped out at the wonderful Grand Pines of Texas, with a lovely pond, nature walk, and (unbelievably!) free laundry. Clean and quiet, it was the perfect base for Fati while we toured the area.

*Simon’s view. Susan was further up, in Nippy.*

There was a big Mural Fest going on, so we headed into downtown Beaumont for a look. Some of the murals had been created previously, but many were being worked on, and it was nice to see how many locals came out to support the artists.

*There were quite a few artists contributing to the mural count on four-sided blocks like this one.*

*In the same park as the four-sided blocks (and a bunch of vendors, bounce-houses, food trucks, etc), one big building was getting a make-over, with three massive paintings. This is one of them.*

Downtown Beaumont also boasts the World’s Largest Fire Hydrant, and even if we didn’t have a dog with us, that’s something we had to see. Honoring firefighters everywhere, the park includes a memorial to the heroes who lost their lives trying to save others during the horrendous September 11 tragedy.

Another local event we stumbled on was a cowgirl pageant at the Beaumont Botanical Gardens. Girls of all ages could sign up for the pageant, which isn’t based on anything particularly “cowgirly,” and certainly isn’t a typical “beauty contest,” but is meant to build self-confidence and, I think, offers some sort of scholarship to winners.

*Ruthie wishing she could join the cowgirl pageant. Instead, she did a butt-scoot on the grass right in front of these potential cowgirl queens. We’re so proud (no, we’re not).*

We also took a day-trip down to Port Arthur, aiming for the McFadden National Wildlife Refuge, which sounds like a big deal, and maybe it is at other, better times of year, but we only saw a small handful of standard-issue birds, and not a whole lot else.

On the way back we detoured off the main road, where massive amounts of construction were going on, having to do with some sort of refinery. Drawn in by the sight of a structure we couldn’t quite work out, we discovered the Sabine Pass Area Artificial Reefs program, where sunken structures were being turned into reefs.

*The main road went right through a processing plant.*

*Whatever this is, it’s becoming a reef.*

A day or two later, Big Thicket National Preserve offered the chance for a walk in the woods to a genuine cypress slough, with a paved path and boardwalks that would make pulling Ruthie in her wagon quite easy. And it did, for the first few minutes. Once we were committed to the journey, though, the path turned to off-roading.

*The slough reminded us a little bit of Florida.*

But we persisted, which was a good thing since it would be the last exercise we’d have for the next few weeks. Unbeknownst to either of us, and after four years of diligently avoiding it, Susan was brewing up a hefty case of Covid. Little did we know her face would really look like this a couple of days from now:

A Year On The Road – Month 6 in The Independent

The latest instalment of our exclusive series for The Independent newspaper in the UK is now online, highlighting our travels through Nevada and Southern California, including the Mojave National Preserve, Valley of Fire State Park, and Greater Palm Springs.

This section of our Year On The road adventure took us deep into desert territory – both the Mojave Desert of much of Nevada and the Sonoran Desert that runs from Mexico up into Arizona, including part of SoCal.

*Our view of the Hoover Dam from our travels around Las vegas*

We spent much of the month in Nevada, either from our base in North Las Vegas (the fab Hitchin’ Post RV park) or further south in Laughlin, where Don Laughlin’s Riverside Resort & RV Park provided the perfect base to explore along Route 66 and down into California, where Joshua Tree National Park was another highlight.

There were scenic wonders aplenty, and a chance to see why both one of the Star Trek movies and Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Total Recall were filmed here and, for as bright as it shines, we honestly felt the scenery around Las Vegas actually glittered brighter than the city itself.

Read all about it here: https://www.independent.co.uk/travel/north-america/usa/great-american-road-trip-nevada-southern-california-b2503940.html

We also want to offer our sincere thanks to both Travel Nevada and Greater Palm Springs for their help in ensuring we saw the best of their areas, as there was a LOT to see!

What We Learned During Our Tenth Month On The Road

Today marks ten months since we locked the door to our house in Florida and set off for a year-long adventure in an RV. Here’s what we learned during the past month:

When someone is trolling along the beach using a metal detector, all the RVers camping beachside lose their ever-lovin’ minds trying to figure out which alarm is going off in their rig, and shout, “What’s that beeping? I’ve never heard that beeping before!”

Oh, wait. No. Maybe that was only us.

“All hat and no cattle.” It’s a saying in Texas, and if it’s directed at you, it’s not a compliment. We don’t have the hats and would be gored to death in the first ten minutes if we tried to have the cattle, and when that became obvious, Texas stepped up. We continue to be amazed by the incredible kindness we’ve been shown, and we think we now understand what “Don’t Mess With Texas” is all about. Mess with one, you’re messin’ with ‘em all, and if one of them takes you into their fold, they’ve all got your back.

We now know how to diaper a dog in under 10 seconds. She now knows how to stand still for 10 seconds. And we shout and cheer about how beautiful she looks when she plays “dress up.” So far, she’s buyin’ it and is happy to wear her “fancy nappy.”

When you smash a mosquito on the inside of your windshield, don’t use hand sanitizer to wipe away its bloody carcass. You’ll only make it worse.

If you do use hand sanitizer and make it worse, tell yourself and everyone else you meant to create that big, nasty smear so you can revel continuously in the glory of your victory.

Louisiana! Home of the best crawfish, shrimp, and gumbo in the world! Big, steaming pots filled with boiling goodness all over the place! Happy families gathered on the front lawn around a table covered in a mountain of orangey-pink “mud bugs,” enjoying a gorgeous Sunday feast! But not for you. Because all of the restaurants are closed on Sunday, so you’re having a McDonald’s Kids Meal. At least you get a prize.

Covid sucks. I (Susan) am tempted to say it sucks more when you’re in a 36-foot space, but really, it sucks no matter where you are. That big pack of N95 masks we brought with us? Thank God for foresight, because they’re keeping Simon safer, and we’re grateful for that.

The end of Month Ten means there are just two more months left of your trip, and you have now entered some sort of freakish time warp in which days only last, like, 45 minutes, because surely we just posted our What We Learned During Our Ninth Month On The Road blog a week or so ago. What the actual hell…?

Galveston, Oh Galveston

We have never had to pay to enter a city before, so the $2 toll to get into Galveston was a first for us. Passing through the tollway looks straightforward when you’re in a car, but less so in Fati. Is the lane wide enough? Will we hit the top of the toll booth? Is that barrier curb on the right too close? Was taking the coastal road instead of the highway a bad idea? How much does RV paint cost if we get a massive scrape down one side? A million thoughts went through our brains, except for the one that did catch us out.

The issue we hadn’t factored in as we were approaching the tollbooth was that we had to put our two dollar bills under a rock in the booth’s sliding tray. There was no hand to reach up and meet Simon half-way, so this was my view while he tried to get the job done.

In the end, the toll booth attendant (who had done this before) came out of the booth to take our money. And yes, we did fit through that narrow lane without a scratch.

On our way to the campground, we passed massive homes along the Gulf side of the road, and it was obvious there was money in Galveston. Whether it was due to familiarity with the more city-like setting or just the glorious views of the Gulf of Mexico all along our right-hand side, we immediately felt comfortable, and took a real shine to our temporary island home.

Once settled at the lovely Dellanera RV Resort, so close to the water we only had a 30-second walk to the beach, we took advantage of the nice weather and had a stroll. Like Galveston, the RV park felt comfortable right from the start, and we were delighted to have a full week to enjoy its seaside amenities. We could easily understand why “Winter Texans” made Dellanera their season-long stay.

*The walkway in the distance connects our campground to the beach.*

*Galveston’s beaches go on for miles and miles and miles. We’re pretty sure you could walk around nearly the entire island using the beaches.*

Ruthie now has her own vehicle. She can still take her walks for as long as she’s comfortable, then we drop the tailgate on her wagon and she can cozy down on a blanket and have a ride while we get more exercise. It’s been a boon for us – lots more walking! – and she’s getting used to it, though the movement feels a little bit odd at first.

Galveston is the world’s ninth busiest cruise port, and there were two Carnival ships and one Royal Caribbean ship in port when we took a drive to the downtown area on our first full day.

We also aimed to visit the area’s three wildlife reserves, but that term means something slightly different here to what we’ve come to expect. Here, it’s wetlands along the sides of some road, or, in one case, ponds in the middle of a brand new, upscale housing development, where we saw Roseate Spoonbills, lots of interesting ducks, some Snow Geese, and some sort of goose bird we’d never seen before, which turned out to be Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks. Who knew?

The next day, Royal Caribbean’s mega-ship, Harmony of the Seas, was just heading out of port as we were touring around, so we made a bee-line to Fort San Jacinto Point, where we joined lots of other spectators who were there to wave her off.

The people fishing in the foreground and the giant tankers in the channel in the following photo gives you some idea of how absolutely enormous Harmony is. We’ve sailed on her sister ships, Oasis of the Seas and Allure of the Seas, each during their media previews prior to their maiden voyages. They’re whompin’ great ships, so enormous it feels more like you’re in a shopping mall than on a cruise ship. Harmony is even bigger, with capacity for 7,084 guests and a crew of 2,369.

Our next two days were taken up with work while we waited for delivery of a new motor for our tilt bed. We’re not going to go into this story – at all – other than to say we’d been sleeping with the head of our bed semi-upright for nearly two weeks, and we both felt like we’d been thrown from a high building.

*Mattress blocking the whole kitchen, but it’ll be back on the bed frame by lunchtime, right? Yeah…no.*

This little high-torque motor is the replacement for the rotten bastard of a motor under our great huge heavy bed frame that decided to stop communicating with the controllers that move the bed up and down. We appreciated the service it had given us, but couldn’t it go for just another 2.5 months? I mean, really!

*Cell phone shown here to give you an idea of size. How can something so small cause such a big problem?*

We expected the motor to take about half an hour to replace, and the mobile tech expected that, too. Again, we’ll say no more than the final result was, the entire bed foundation had to be removed, as did part of the frame. The single set screw that was supposed to be all that held the motor in, wasn’t. Some damned fool put another screw in while the rig was being build, under a metal box that can’t be reached without dismantling much of the frame. It took the poor technician nearly four hours to complete the job.

Some RVs have storage under the bed frame. Ours has a billion wires. And yes, that green thing on the floor on the right is soap. It’s supposed to help keep mice out, but probably only results in fragrant green mouse poop.

But we won’t talk about that. Because it’s awful and upsetting and we hated the world while it was going on. We hated the Lippert tech support people even more, when the first one said, “Yes, it’s just one set screw” and the second call resulted in, “I don’t know how you’ll reach the second screw. You’ll have to figure it out.”

But no more. It’s not something we’ll talk about. Because we’re not complainers.

Tonight, it’s “blowing a hooley,” (which is a British saying that sounds dirty but isn’t) and our rig is shaking with every massive gust of wind, but we’re going to be sleeping flat, so life is still worth living.

We don’t yet know what we’ll do with the last of our time in Galveston. We promised each other we’d get a really great steak while we’re here, which is a stupid idea after the expense of our repair but a great idea as a reward for all the heavy lifting we’d done and the massive amount of encouragement we gave our mobile tech when it all went to hell in a handbasket.

The Fire At Night

Our next port of call was Port Lavaca, nestled along the Gulf Coast’s Lavaca Bay. The area’s history picks up three threads we’ve been writing about: The Spanish holding of territory that later became Texas; Native Americans being driven from their lands (in this case, Comanche who survived a raid in what is now a town to the north, and came to the port area for refuge); and the names people use for bison, which, in Spanish, is La Vaca, even though la vaca actually means “the cow.” But we were mainly there for the scenery.

Most small county parks can’t accommodate big rigs, but Texas is no slouch, and the beautiful Lighthouse Beach RV Resort had no problem with 36-foot Fati. Our site looked out on the bay, and on a wonderful boardwalk over the water that was perfect for our evening strolls as the sun went down and the sky lit up like fire.

Fishing and birding are the big draws here, and it’s easy to slow right down to the point where a glass of wine and the view are all the excitement you need. Want more? Ramp it up with a walk along the pier and meet the fisherpersons, peer over the water through binoculars to see what’s flying and floating around, and marvel at the mad rush of the so-called “Formosa Five Hundred” that takes place along the State Highway 35 causeway during each shift change for Formosa Plastics Corporation, situated directly across Lavaca Bay from our campground, along with Alcoa and DuPont.

Now, those of you who’ve been following us from the beginning will likely have noticed we never drive Fati at night. Like, ever. It simply isn’t done. But circumstances dictated otherwise this time, and we found ourselves heading over the causeway as darkness fell.

*This level of visibility is why we try never to drive at night.*

Approaching and then passing Formosa, producers of resins and other chemically things, was like driving into the unsettling opening scene of the movie Blade Runner. A true dystopian setting right there in ironically named Port Comfort, minus the flying spacecraft.

The rest of the journey east ambled along dark roads through empty countryside, and ended with an overnight stay at a Walmart right off a busy road, with trains and their blaring whistles barreling past every half hour, all night long.

We were truly exhausted when we reached Oyster Creek the next day, and were somewhat dismayed to see our campground was just on the boundary of miles and miles of refineries.

But it was a peaceful little haven, mainly populated by refinery workers who put in such labor-intensive days that they were all asleep by 8 p.m. Silence reigned, even as the belching discharge from the refineries’ chimneys lit up the sky with fire, this time not of the natural variety.

*Those super-bright orange spots are fire blasting out of the chimneys.*

Everybody knows cars and machinery don’t run on daffodils and the laughter of unicorns. We all know there is a process of refinement. Seeing it in person when you haven’t grown up with it in your home town is both horrifying and fascinating. It’s like looking at a city comprised of the bare bones of enormous building complexes, but with no people, and we were filled with discomfort with the process and admiration for the people who work there.

Like so many things we’ve experienced during this trip, we were pulled in two directions, mentally. Years ago, seeing fish farming in Chilean Patagonia first-hand completely put us off from eating farm-raised fish, ever again. It was a simple decision. But not everything is that straightforward.

We had been told Surfside, a little town right on the water, was worth seeing, so at least that decision was straightforward. Surfside Beach was hit by Hurricane Nicholas in 2021, and many if not most of the homes there are new.

*Heading down a massive bridge, with Surfside and the Bay at the end of the road. Some of the dots in the water are tankers, some are oil rigs.*

All of them are high up on stilts, creating a hodge-podge neighborhood of houses that look like they were brought in and propped up on stilts wherever the moving truck happened to stop. There is none of the formal layout – or similarity in architecture – of the neighborhoods we’re used to, and we drove around pointing and commenting and being fascinated by the whole thing.

Freeport Channel seems to be the place where locals gather on balmy evenings to do some fishing and to watch the gigantic freighters that harbor there, presumably to fill up with whatever the refineries are pumping out.

Unexpected as it was, Oyster Bay made a good two-day base to decompress before we headed to Galveston, and when we learned the original Buc-ee’s was less than 10 minutes away, we headed over and grabbed a couple of bags of Buc-ee’s Nugg-ees, just because we could. We felt the circle from the beginning of our journey to the not-so-distant end of our adventure starting to close.

*How our relationship with Buc-ees started.*

Beads, Boats, And Brilliant Birding

If you’ve seen the movie, The Big Year, you know how passionate birders can be about their hobby. We’re casual birders at best, but we do enjoy seeing wildlife we can’t see in Florida. While much of Texas is known for its exceptional birding, it turns out our next destination, Port Aransas, offers some of the best in the state.

We arrived on Fat Tuesday and were delighted to hear there would be a Padre Gras golf cart parade that afternoon, the island’s answer to Mardi Gras. Campers were lining their chairs up along the campground’s main streets, and we joined them.

We were all set for the fun of clapping and cheering as each cart went by, but hadn’t thought about the paraders throwing beads and candy. Ruthie got to wear the beads for a while, then we gave them to our neighbor’s granddaughter. We doled out the six or eight pieces of candy over the following few evenings and called them “dessert.”

A fair bit of our five-day stay was spent wandering around wetlands and reserves with our binoculars. Many of the birds that live here or migrate here for winter are familiar to us; ibis, certain kinds of ducks, herons, egrets, and some cranes, but we were excited to see some new ones, including Roseate Spoonbills and the endangered Whooping Crane.

*There was a big flock of Spoonbills here, too, but they were just too far for our camera to capture.*

Florida has plenty of pelicans along its shores, but we don’t see them inland, so they’re still special to us. Here, they have both Brown and White Pelicans.

This little fellow wasn’t reacting to people passing by, and within a short time two women from a rescue center showed up and carefully took him away. We hope he’s feeling much better now!

Gators are always a bit special, but we’re pretty used to seeing them. In this instance, the Leonabelle Turnbull Birding Center’s resident gator, called Boots by the locals, is a great huge whompin’ example of the species, measuring in at 14 feet. He’s a grumpy 50-year-old who chased away his only potential buddy, Stumpy, who was missing a leg. Stumpy got relocated, then relocated again, and is now living in Beaumont, our destination a few weeks from now.

*You could make a lot of boots out of Boots…if he didn’t kill you first.*

Ship-watching is practically a sport hereabouts, and we joined the locals at Roberts Point Park, where cargo ships enter the channel to pick up oil from the refineries and then head back out to sea to make their deliveries.

There is a pier not far from the park that gives you a view of the ships that’s so close you can almost see the faces of their crew members. It’s also a great spot for fishing, and we watched a man feeding the small fish he caught to a couple of pelicans. His wife told us the pelicans sometimes attack the man, but it never seemed to occur to them that it was the natural result of hand-feeding a wild animal. We sort of hoped some of the bites hurt.

We had planned to take a trip out to San Jose Island (a.k.a. St. Jo’s), a private island whose owner lets people visit the beach, but the weather was turning and the primary draws are fishing and swimming, so we made the round-trip without getting off the little ferry.

*This is pretty much all there is to do on the island. Probably wonderful in summer, but not so much in winter when it’s cold and wet.*

Ruthie was not impressed. At ALL. The vibration of the ferry totally unnerved her, and we could hear her thanking all the blessed angels in heaven when her feet were back on terra firma. That dog can pull – hard! – when she wants to go back to the car.

*Ruthie looks calm here, but she was shaking and panting and having a real fit for herself. One of the passengers on our return trip helped by petting her head while I patted her rear.*

The island is all chopped up in this area, and while there are bridges, it sometimes requires less milage to take the free car ferry from Port Aransas to Aransas Pass, and that would be our route when it was time to move on to Port Lavaca. But first, we wanted to give it a try in Nippy to be sure we knew how to do it in Fati.

*Loading and unloading area. The whole set-up was super efficient, and surprisingly quick.*

*We were directed into that spot to the right of the pickup truck. Score!*

We got an up-front view for our crossing, and were astonished at how totally without movement the journey felt. It was only by being able to see the shore that we knew we were moving at all.

Our final two days in the area were so rainy and windy we ended up staying home. Happily, Port Aransas is small, so we felt we got the best out of it that a wet winter could give.

It’s All About The Sea In Corpus Christi

We have encountered countless Spanish, Native American, French, and German business names and locations during our journey, and, after a while, our brains automatically translated them into English, sometimes with humorous results. We were looking forward to visiting Body of Christ – Corpus Christi – an iconic port city along Texas’s Gulf Coast, named for the Roman Catholic Feast Day that was going on when the place was “discovered” by the Spanish in 1519.

We had two major attractions in mind, along with more fabulous Mexican food, and a heaping helping of seafood, at least for Simon.

“You like dessert, Jennifer, not coffee.”
My go-to line when Simon orders a sweet coffee drink. This time, though, it was a milkshake.

The city’s personality is defined by its beaches, its fishing, and its bridges, one of which can be seen for miles in every direction. As big as it is, though, an even bigger bridge is taking shape next to it, presumably to accommodate the ever-growing size of ocean-going vessels that make their way into and out of the port.

The skies were a bit grim to start with, but it was still pleasant enough for a walk (and a drive) along the beach. Ruthie was okay with the hard-packed sand, and happily trotted along when we made a trip out to Padre Island National Seashore.

*Happy girl! She loves the hard-packed beaches.*

The first attraction we wanted to visit was the huge aircraft carrier parked in Corpus Christi Bay. Ruthie couldn’t be left alone for an hour or more, so Susan waited with her in the car while Simon toured the ship. He’ll take over the blog for this part:

Walking up the ramp to the main deck entrance of the mighty U.S.S. Lexington is like walking back in history, to the turmoil of World War II and the life-or-death struggle in the Pacific theater, where aircraft carriers were the big dogs of most battles and the USA’s fleet helped to carry the day in some of the bloodiest exchanges of the War.

You feel that heritage almost immediately as you enter the gaping Hangar Deck, where the aircraft were stored when not on a mission. Amazingly, up to 60 planes could be stored here, but the area – which covers 40,000 square feet – is now given over to a variety of exhibits, video presentations, a Pearl Harbor memorial, several flight simulators, and a few vintage aircraft.

The Lexington has a long and illustrious history, from her commissioning in 1943 to service with the Seventh Fleet out of San Diego, when it was on call to serve as a major deterrent in places such as Formosa, Laos, and Cuba, before taking up training operations from 1962-1991, when she was decommissioned and eventually moved to Corpus Christi as a permanent museum and tribute to the many men and women who served in the carrier fleet.

All this history is available on a series of self-guided tours, and I did two of them, starting with the Lower Decks tour that takes visitors deep into the bowels of a ship that needed a crew of about 3,000 during the War (and 1,550 in later years). It includes a visit to the engine room, galley, medical and dental facilities and much more, including several memorials to other aircraft carriers and their crews.

The other must-do tour is the Flight Deck, the vast open space that is the carrier’s “airport,” covering two full acres. It is 910 feet long and 460 feet wide and had to be reconfigured for jet aircraft in the 1950s, but is an immense experience that includes more than a dozen different aircraft. You can also visit the captain’s bridge for an excellent overview of the Flight Deck.

There is a LOT to like about the whole experience and it would take you most of the day to take it all in. It remains a formidable figure on the Corpus Christi shoreline and presents an educational history trip through a grim period of the 20th century. The ship was actually hit and badly damaged by a Japanese Kamikaze plane in late 1944, killing 50 crewmen and injuring another 132, and there is a very heartfelt tribute to all the victims, which really brings home the full magnitude of the War’s horrors. Perhaps a bit much for young children, but a valuable lesson for older ones.

(Susan here again) With crummy weather heading in the next day, we drove out to the Texas State Aquarium for some time exploring what’s under Corpus Christi’s coastal waters. Obviously, we know SeaWorld in Orlando very well, with it’s big-scale experience, and this was on a much more intimate scale. Where the Lexington may have been beyond most youngsters, the aquarium is ideal for them and the grownups who love them.

We have a thing for themed environments when it comes to educational experiences, and the aquarium didn’t disappoint.

*The most peevish beings in the world. They are SO LOUD, and they squabble constantly, which is actually quite hilarious*

There was also a dolphin show, but we only arrived in time for the finale.

Our five days in Corpus Christi went by fast. We tried a few recommended restaurants, we spent a lot of time on the Island, and we were glad to have been there during the calm before the storm, when Spring Breakers and then the summer crowds would descend on this wonderful gem of a city.