Day 8: Metamorphosis II
Monday, May 5, 2014
Copyright(c) 2014, Jim Beachy
It is slow going for the poor kids this morning after their late night, but they make it off to school on time with relatively little fuss. I think they’re too tired to fuss! I back the bike and trailer out of the garage and start loading our luggage.
Brenham, who isn’t yet in school, comes out to help. “I like those wheels,” he says about the chrome trailer wheels. “They’re spark-e-ly!” And then “I like your motorcycle boots. When I was a grown-up I had motorcycle boots.”
A little before 10:00 AM we say our goodbyes (the pain of parting never gets easier, just more familiar) and strike out westward. We plan to see Kristal’s parents in College Station, TX, and have decided to break up that trip of about 500 miles into two mostly 2-lane days.
Once again it’s a brilliant morning with temperatures in the high 70’s as we fuel up and head west on I-10. It’s a quiet morning as we grapple with the metamorphosis from grandparents into bikers. The metamorphosis is more difficult in this direction, I decide. Being a motorcycling couple is a wonderful thing, but being grandparents is priceless, a forever treasure. We hold I-10 to Baton Rouge amid the redolent sweet, heavy smell of some springtime blooming tree or shrub. At West Baton Rouge we exit the Interstate and stop at an information center to see if there’s anything in particular we should look for.
I do a quick Google search about Louisiana on my smartphone and learn that Baton Rouge is the nation’s most inland seaport, and that 25% of our nations waterborne exports are shipped through Louisiana’s seaports. I am also startled to learn that Louisiana has the nation’s longest seacoast (15,000 miles) because of all its sounds and coastal indentations. Who wouldn’t have thought it would be Alaska, or maybe Florida? Louisiana produces over one-quarter of the US production of natural gas, is second in the production of sugar cane and sweet potatoes, and third in rice production. It also ranks in the top 5 for cotton and pecan production.
We catch US 190 west as the alternative route to I-10. Mostly it’s 4-lane with a speed limit of 65 mph. At various times we see vast flooded fields of rice, or ride past stately groves of pecan trees, or fields of young soybeans. Wow, there is a lot of flat land down here! And yet there are miles and miles of cypress swamps, and in one section we travel probably 10 miles on a raised bridge-like structure that is flat as a table top and straight as a yardstick, with no shoulders at all on either side of the highway. From this unique vantage point, we can look down at the swamps and the logging operations.
We’ve ridden all morning until well after 1:00 PM and we are hungry. Having exhausted our supply of picnic lunch foodstuffs, we are (well, at least I am) bent on finding the type of local restaurant that isn’t likely to be on the GPS, and we scan for eating places as we roll slowly through several small towns. I’m looking for restaurants that might have names like Jimmy’s Cajun Dive, or The Mad Crawfish, or perhaps Billy’s Cowcatcher Grill. We’ve run hard alongside a railroad track for over a hundred miles, so something named after trains would seem to be in order.
At Krotz Springs, just after we cross the Atchafalaya River where huge barges and seagoing vessels ply their trade, we stop for fuel. The gas pump has no card reader, so I have to take my credit card inside for security while I pump gas. I haven’t removed my helmet or red-and-black mesh jacket. After fueling, I walk back inside and the same attendant says “Can I help you, sir?”
“Uh, yes, ma’am, I just filled up at pump #4.”
“Oh, you did? How did you do that without leaving a credit card?” She begins to punch buttons and looks confused, apparently mystified that the pump had actually delivered gasoline without her permission or knowledge.
“Ummm, I did leave a credit card.”
“You did? With me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Is it this one?”
“Yes.’
Really? I can only surmise that while I wasn’t looking, 30 other bikers, helmeted and attired just as I am, must have walked in unbeknownst to me and the attendant somehow got me confused with one of the others. Nevertheless, the bike is now full and our stomachs are empty; we briefly consider eating at the little diner attached to the gas station but decide to pass.
I look for opportunities to stop and take some photographs of the rice fields and other agricultural goings-on, but never found a place I felt comfortable pulling the big bike over, or where the berm was slanted in a way that would allow me to put down the kickstand.
So the search for a non-GPS restaurant continues through Opelousas and Eunice. We always miss the restaurant or it’s on the wrong side of the street or too difficult to find a parking space on the street. So we finally settle on… Burger King! It’s the first time in years that I’ve eaten in a Burger King, and then only because it happened to be on the correct side of the road. But it’s protein nevertheless.
At Ragley we turn north on US 171 and eventually arrive at Leesville, LA, home of Fort Polk Army Base. As we’re unloading, I survey with amusement the array of luggage we carry to our room every night. It’s a long way from a pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts packed for a road trip. We check in and I clean the bike, after which we walk about a half mile or more to a local steakhouse where the music is country, the peanuts are everywhere, and the steaks are exceptional.
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