Finding our rhythm

Good evening, campers! It’s Silver Cliche’ checking in with you. Tonight’s report comes from the French Quarter RV Resort in New Orleans, Louisiana.

I haven’t spent any time sharing thoughts on our return to the road.  Those of you who know us IRL know that we used to take two long trips a year. Typically a trip out west in the late spring and into the summer and a trip north in the fall. In 2017 that rhythm came to a halt when we took a stronger role in raising one of our grandsons who is disabled. I homeschooled him for a year. He lived with us for over a year after that. While we did some travel and took him along, the challenge of traveling with a disabled teenager meant shorter trips and no time for writing. He’s back in his mother’s care now, so this is our first long trip in four years. You may notice from my first few posts that planning and executing a trip like this is, evidently,not like riding a bike... it is a skill that’s lost without practice... more like pole vaulting than bike riding. You don’t like that analogy? Ok, smart guy... try pole vaulting and see if you can clear the bar. I rest my case.

So, today I felt like the rhythm is returning for me. Like a golf swing or playing the tambourine, it’s coming back. (Full disclosure: I never could hit a golf ball or play the tambourine... those were intentionally poor analogies I inserted to amuse myself.) We got up, hung out, had our coffee, breakfast, got cleaned up, got the rig set for travel and hit the road. The plan for the day was modest. 2 1/2 hours due west across I-10 from Mobile to New Orleans. Our destination is a return visit to the French Quarter RV Resort which is literally walking distance to its namesake. This place holds about 50 RVs in a single oval with parking pads on both the inside and outside of the loop. Each has water, power and a... eh hem... connection for the disposal of waste fluids of all types. It has landscaping, a pool, and a block wall topped with sharp spikes all the way around except for the robust security gates to admit and discharge RVs. It’s an oasis in a hostile environment. Our rig is tiny here. Our neighbors include a virtual armada of greyhound-bus sized Prevost motor homes. These beauties are mostly custom, one-of-a-kind cruisers similar to what touring headliners from Nashville or Los Angeles use to move between concert dates. If you commission one of these things and only spend a million and a half, the other Prevost owners think you are cutting corners and they look down on you. You see, we are hanging with the hoi polloi here in New Orleans. I’m pretty sure they wonder if we are here to clean their wheels. Like many things in New Orleans, this place is strange and wonderful while being timeless and extravagant. It’s a parody of itself.

The dogs are settling in, too. While I was up making breakfast (blueberry pancakes and sausage links), Zachary looked at my recliner and motioned as if to ask “Mind if I use that?”. I replied “Jump” which is his command to leap onto an object. He did. After a time he also decided to rest his head on the table between the recliners. He’s clearly finding his routine.

So... I-10... heading west. We’ve done this route before, so today I was tuning in to some of the subtleties that mark the transition from the “pine zone” of the southeast where we spent nearly a week into the soggy delta region. We passed Mobile, Bayou La Batre and Pascagoula. It felt to me like the signs for Bayou La Batre are oversized just remind travelers that there’s a little Forest Gump in each of us. Thanks, but I didn’t need reminding. As we moved deeper into Mississippi, the land became visibly soggier. Mrs. Cliche captured a few shots as we rolled along. Here’s one of the Southern Mississippi terrain:

And a shot of the GPS at about the same time:

No visitor to coastal Mississippi has ever been heard asking “Is there any water nearby?” It’s no wonder the thought of a hurricane landfall strikes fear along the northern reaches of the Gulf coast. They are flooded in the dry season.

Mississippi quickly gave way to Louisiana. In the RV community, Louisiana has the reputation for having the worst roads in the country. It’s not that their civil engineers are deficient or the recipe they were given for asphalt was in freakin’ French (although it probably was). The issue is that the ground water in the state of Louisiana is only about 3” below the ground. Roadbuilding here could best be likened to paving a soaking wet sponge. We have driven places in Louisiana where it appears that the standing water alongside the road is actually above the road surface. It’s an optical illusion, of course, but I had to check to see if the state flag included a depiction of a flooded roadside ditch. It doesn’t. It should. Here’s a typical roadside site:

We saw an atypical roadside site today... alligator roadkill. I’ve seen plenty of alligators along Florida roadsides. I’ve never seen one that was an unsuccessful pedestrian until today. Now I know how that show “Swamp People” keeps its cast alive... they film in Louisiana where the ‘gators are slower.

So, that’s a days work. I’ll share thoughts about the French Quarter tomorrow since we are here for two nights. I’m thinking there could be a rendezvous with a beignet in the morning. I hope it rains. The French Quarter always looks and smells better after a bath!

Later!