Mustang Island. The name evokes images of wild horses running free over the dunes and beach. Nope.

To be fair, I didn’t expect to see wild Mustangs roaming the island, but when I got here yesterday I felt like I landed somewhere in the lunar module. Some would say this is what they really picture RV camping to be like. This campground is a parking lot with picnic tables and everyone is right next to each other. Last night I listened to the neighbor couple from Quebec argue in French. I heard every word, I just didn’t understand it.

This morning I’m really trying to embrace the beauty of it but I’m having a hard time. I feel a little trapped because there is no place to ride and the highway, which is less than a hundred yards from me, is heavily traveled with not much shoulder. Oh, and did I mention that everybody in Texas drives 70? Everywhere.

I was told once that the term links golf courses comes from the fact that the Scottish built golf courses on the land that links the sea with the farmland. They built them there because it wasn’t good for anything else. I guess they hadn’t heard of RV camping.

So anyway, back to trapped; I guess I’ll just have to spend my time walking the beach. 🙂

I took this picture of one of the manmade jetties because down in between those massive rocks is where the real interesting stuff is.  I tried some pictures but you really can’t see what I’m shooting.  You can see definite evidence of passed oil spills which is disheartening.

Almost all of my internet time is spent uploading pictures and the text of what I’ve started for posts, as well as editing and adding to the posts.  I wish I could take more time responding to some of the comments but wifi time is used to it’s fullest for keeping up with this and other things.  Thank you all so much for your interest and your expressions.  I’m really kinda overwhelmed by it all.

Peace to your days.

I thought this was interesting.  This is the first rest stop/welcome center that you come to in Texas on I-10.

This morning I woke up with my eyes cast west to Texas. I felt like I had three choices. One was to go back through the heart of New Orleans to Highway 23 that follows the Mississippi all the way down until you can’t drive anymore. It ends at a town called Venice. There is one town on the map farther down called Pilottown that I presume you can only get to by boat.   This choice would require a complete backtrack because all the roads into the bayou just end. On the map it appears there’s nothing down there but swamp and the river. The choice both intrigued and intimidated me, and I’m not intimidated by much of anything. Well, women maybe. 🙂

The second choice was to skirt New Orleans, drop down to highway 90 and make my way west through the Atchafalaya basin. This choice drew me because it is the setting for the stories of one of my favorite authors, James Lee Burke.

Or, I could do both and find a place to camp for one night somewhere in Louisiana. In the end I chose door number two with some regret. I spent the day being jostled by poor roads and streets probably still trying to recover from Katrina. I was hoping the route would bring the books a little more to life for me but I can’t say that really was the case. That’s not to say the area does not have any uniqueness. Burke’s novels arc their way through the old south of sugar cane plantations, nasty dives out on dirt roads, and the back streets of Lafayette and New Iberia. It is the Louisiana of old money, cajuns, crackers, gre gre and all that Creole lore.  It’s also the Louisiana of Evangeline, the epic poem that lifted Henry Longfellow to prominence in American poetry.  The story stretches from Nova Scotia to the Louisiana bayou.  From some English class way back when I can still remember those opening lines in the Prologue;

This is the forest primeval.  The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, bearded with moss, and with garments green, indistinct in the twilight, ….  

I spent some time in New Iberia. It is a town where you can see stately antebellum homes and barely more than a golf shot away are houses and shacks where the poor live, black and white alike. These houses have no foundations and most are not level. The corners are propped up with whatever is available. Pieces of railroad ties, concrete blocks, rock piles. It is a contrast that sticks in your head.

Earlier I wrote “with some regret” about my choice. I think having the opportunity to do and experience this trip precludes me from feeling such things, so I think I just won’t.  Never mind.

I am well and hope you all are too.

Week 4 contained an afternoon of dangerous weather that chased me off the highway and in to yet another motel. But it ended in grand fashion.

This morning I drove into New Orleans, a trip of about 45 miles, and spent most of the day on the bike in downtown and the French Quarter.

It’s hard to know what to shoot pictures of in New Orleans. So much of what you see many people have shot and therefore many people have seen. For me the day had three things I want to share.

The first was Café du Monde for beignets and café au lait. This iconic landmark is seemingly a part of every story about New Orleans that’s ever been written or movie that’s ever been made. It sits between the Quarter and the river, kiddy corner from Jackson Square and the people watching rivals any state fair, airport, or Vegas Strip.

Every afternoon they close off Royal Street and make it pedestrian. That brings out the street musicians. The “shows” are high energy and interactive and the musicianship overall is outstanding.

Lastly, every city has it’s own movie playing every day. You have to allow yourself to be in it. I was able to cover a lot of ground on my bike. From street musicians, to homeless camps, to riverboats, and pigeons, my day was like riding around in a movie with a thousand stages.

By the way, the Superdome makes the old Metrodome look like a doll house.

This has been my least favorite campground thus far. The sites are very close together, a lot of them don’t have fire pits, and it’s just not as well kept as my previous sites. And then there are the trains.

This is the view from my campsite, and lest it be deceivingly pastoral, there is a train track right over beyond those trees. A very active train track. An all night long train track.

The area however does fascinate me because I view everything through the lens of the one/two punch of Katrina and Rita from 10 years ago. Here’s two examples of how they do things now.

You can spot piles of construction debris and I saw a trailer home on it’s side and pushed into a trapezoid, all of which looks as though it has been that way since 2005. I don’t for minute mean that to sound critical, but only to underscore that the effects of those two storms on this area will remain for a long time. Being in areas that spent weeks, and in some cases months underwater, is hard for me to get my head around.

The people who remained or returned are truly a resilient bunch.

You can see her from a pretty long way off.  Traveling west you cross a long bridge that spans first a very large marshland and then the bay.  The end of the bridge literally disappears into downtown Mobile.  Looking to your left you think you’re looking out on the Gulf, but you are actually looking into Mobile Bay.

Off to your left front lies her ladyship, nestled at the edge of the bay next to a large park.  She’s now at rest and deservedly so.  In the park are old gun placements and even a sub in dry dock and a B52.  But they fail to steal the thunder from the star of this show.

I suppose by today’s standards she’s not very big, but she is still a menacing piece of business, a proud part of history, and the namesake of a proud state.  Roll Tide!

I feel a kinship.  She’s gray, been through the wars, patched and fixed a bunch along the way, and now at peace. 🙂

I can’t say enough about how enjoyable my stay with my friends Cherie and Gary has been.  And it was made all the more enjoyable by a visit on the weekend from Gary’s cousin Bob and his wife Wanda.  We had the best time visiting, eating, walking, having some margaritas and laughing a lot.  Here we are enjoying said margaritas on the Riverwalk along the marina in Destin.

Gary and I played some golf on a couple of days.  My golf can best be described as flashes of brilliance surrounded by mountains of mediocrity.  But it didn’t matter because we were on the golf course, in shorts and T shirts, the sun was shining, and oh, the government was giving us money.  I received my very first social security payment last week.  Hoo, hoo, hoo!  🙂

So this is one of the things that I’ve been thinking about the last couple of days.  Once again the very first line of the daily entry in Jesus Calling brought a smiling response.

“My Peace is like a shaft of golden light shining on you continuously.”

It immediately reminded me of something that I wrote in an earlier post about chasing the sunlight around the campsite to stay in the warmth.  This all got me to thinking about, do we feel like we are basking in the light or is there something about our lives that makes us feel like we are chasing the light around.  It occurred to me that this question is one that we can apply to so many of the things we question or think about.  I’m not trying to be deep here.  In fact I’m trying to think in very basic terms.

In our relationships, in our work life, where we live, how we live, so many things.  Am I where I need to be or is there a change I need to make?  Things that make me go hmmmm……..

I am well and I hope you all are too.

I am now visiting my good friends Cherie and Gary Zitzlsperger.  I’ve come from the woods and landed in the lap of the beach life.  Yesterday we visited theNaval Air Museum Pensacola.  This place has something of interest for even the most indifferent person to being here, and for people interested in history it’s like the west wing of heaven. (That’s Cherie and I out front.)

This is Gary and I looking through the cockpit of an A6 Intruder.  The A6 was an all weather workhorse aircraft in Viet Nam.

The famous Blue Angels are based here in the winter months.  These aircraft are probably two versions ago in their history.

And here’s me sitting in the cockpit section of one.

This picture has a lot of reflections because it’s encased in plexiglass.  It’s a about a 12 foot long scale model of the USS Enterprise in full flight operations mode.  The detail was unbelievable.  This display was of particular interest to me because my nephew Scott was stationed on the Enterprise for part of his time in the Navy.

The other exhibit I want to mention was a section dedicated to the Viet Nam era POWs.  It had the pajamas we have seen on videos and newsreels.  And there were sketches that some of the POWs had made and smuggled out.  And other art they have created since their return.  Remember the bracelets with the names?  There were hundreds that people wore and then donated to this exhibit.  There were the items they used to secretly communicate.  My eyes were welled with tears the whole time because I have always been in awe of what these men endured.

Many thanks to my friends Cherie and Gary for bringing me here.  I loved it.

Access to the internet has been largely a constant hunt for signals, so I have struggled to get time to respond individually to comments.

I wanted to devote a post specifically to my feelings of gratitude.  I had no idea that this blogging thing would be such a meaningful part of this journey.

I’ve enjoyed the thinking and anticipation of it and then expressing myself in writing.  But the single biggest reason has been the comments, compliments, and reactions I’ve gotten from many of you who have followed along, both on the site itself and “in the background” through emails, texts, and phone calls.  (Yes, you can call me, I’m not on Pluto.)

That part has been unexpectedly gratifying and I thank you so much. I love you all.

PS  More later about my day yesterday.