A Fool's Progress: Cajun Flyby

The next morning Coonass greeted me with coffee as I dragged my gear out to the bike. Curious thing...after sitting in a dry, often air-conditioned garage, the bike started fine when cold....but after sitting out all night in the humidity...it once again was a grouch. Once warm though it starts fine....obviously something to do with the moisture...not like home is dry or anything.

Having bid my au revoirs to Coonass, I headed back along a chunk of the route I had taken the day before. But this time I turned off onto highway 22. This is probably one of the few curvy roads I have experienced since leaving Tennessee. I had to chuckle at how the louisiana road was marked at corners to speeds half what they would be back home and they marked the slightest bend with a warning...apparently turns are uncommon and worth noting.

The highway did take me through some beautiful delta lands with dark, cool, noisy swamps populated with fishing cabins. And the cabins were a trip...often they are only reachable by boat and a 2000 square foot manse on stilts of concrete will be placed right next to a rusted roof grey wood shack tettering on the edge of the water. Having one of those shacks would be a wonderful retreat were it isolated enough. Oil lanterns, fresh fish and loud frogs. Heaven. 22 was only about 50 miles long or so, but it was some of the prettiest riding. I stopped to check out a bayou and nearly set my sidestand on a turtle. That would have been some bad juju. He wasnt big enough for eating...sure moved fast toward the water though...he was gone before I could get my camera. The roads are right down at water level. And I mean right on it. The shoulder is like two feet wide and only about 6 inches above the water line. A good beer piss would cause the road to be submerged. The sides of the road
appeared to have neatly trimmed grass but was actually a carpet of "sensitive plants" those tiny palm trees that close up when you touch them. I wanted to make a plant angel...but figgered I would end up bit by something I'd rather not be bit by.

I hooked back up with the interstate and screwed on the gas as I had miles to go and Houston was still a long ways off.

The highway took me through a vast swamp which is the true Cajun home...vast waterways and swamp greass dotted by cypress trees standing solo in the water like small islands. I headed down a side dirt road for a mile or so just to get the feel of it, but the washboard threratened to dislodge things in me and the bike. Not to mention my tires were way over pressured for offroad so I turned back.

Just on the other side of the Texas line, I met Elliott aspiring poet and soon to be single dad. A very enthusiastic fellow...big smiles despite some hard personal times that I could sense but that he didnt elaborate beyond introducing his sleepy daughter and noting he was separated from her mom. He honored me by giving me one of his poems to carry.

Not long after I crossed into Texas, my bike and I covered in a thick paste of Love Bug guts. I dont remember if I mentioned these. They are smallish black ant like flies that mate about now and they do so by attaching to eachother at the butt and flying about. They seem to like bright colors and hot motors...my guzzi being a motorcycle and red was a powerful attractor..like a porch light is to moths. As I got pelted by them, I thought it was raining as each wet glopb hit my face. I even got them in my ears despite the helmet covering them. But it was far too hot to put down the face sheild. To get the idea...turn your oven up to about 200 degrees and then stick youor head inside while spraying the hot elements with a garden hose. So the bugs leave a thick gooey paste that will not come off. I saw dozens of people futily smearing the mess around on windshields at gas stations. My guess is that the best way to get it off is with a lot of hot water and a long soak. Even the truckers
just let the mess be, not using the washers on the truck.

As usual, I stopped in at the tourist center typically found at the first exit into a new state...good place for a pee, head dousing in cold water and a free map that usually costs 5t bucks at a gas station.

While there I spotted a newish BMW RT...great clipper ship of the highways and byways. As I returned to my bike, an elderly woman in a BMW T-shirt approached me with a grin and struck up a conversation. Thus I met Adely. I guessed her at somewhere in her late 60s maybe 70s. She was rolling on her own on that big RT. Now not only was Adely well into her goldern years, but she couldnt have topped 5' by much. Thats a lot of bike for many grown men. Turns out, it is a new bike "To me it is" she says. Seems she was rear ended in Florida, totalling her 2002 RT and bought this one (1999 RT)to keep on rolling. And she was at the Boise BMW rally not 6 weeks before. I was very impressed by her spirit and open smile. She told me some dude in traffic told her she should be at home in the kitchen. She snapped back that he shouold be at home learning manners from his mother. Adely, here's to ya...you go girl, dont let them stop you.

Not long after, as I approached Houston, things started to turn...the low clouds that had threatenec all day began to spit some and occasionally burst wide open. Seeems folks around here dont bother ti turn on lights when the road disappears in a zero visibility rain...that makes lane changes and spotting the guy in front to gauge distance difficult indeed. I clenched up pretty tight on the seat.

When I hit Houston proper, the skies opened up for real. And I had to get to the other side nearest the bike shop because I didnt want to deal with monday morning traffic. AND most of the route was a contruction zone. AND people in Houston drive like complete assholes...all of that southern charm, gentility, hospuitality and grace go right out the window in a contest to see who can pretend he has the biggest dick. If cars are used as subsitutes for small dicks...Houston is land of dwarfism in the pants.

Now let me be clear on this...I am okay with agressive fast driving if it is the culteral norm. But these assclowns were not just fast and aggressive...they actually go out of thier way to fuck with eachother (and yours truly)

When the rain made visibility near impossible and I had these assholes alla round I took a break by ducking off under a low underpass. Mistake. I was there not 5 minutes when I saw the water level rising where I was sitting. So I had to man up and head out. A few miles later I found the motel and ducked inside. Safe. For tonight.

I cannot put Texas behind me soon enough for my tastes.