The town of Rockport is up the coast from Corpus Christi about a half hour or so.  This was also an area that I planned a return stay in for a particular reason.  If all goes according to plan I’ll be writing about that tomorrow night.  I didn’t return to the same campground as last year because it was eh, and there really wasn’t any place to ride in that area.

Goose Island State Park is in a great area to ride and has very nice, secluded campsites.

 

 

As opposed to last year’s parking lot style camping in Mustang Island State Park.  I remember having so much anticipation about where this park was situated, and then pulling in and, WHAT!!???  But I digress.

The tiny (and I mean tiny) community of Lamar is adjacent to Goose Island SP and both are on Aransas Bay and off the highway that follows the coast in this area.  The two provided a great day of riding.

On a local map I saw a spot marked and identified only as “Big Tree”.

I know I’ve written this before, but I have to repeat it, a photo can’t do this tree justice.  It was inspiring to be by it.  This little park is dedicated to only one thing; the care and preservation of this tree.  It is over a thousand years old.  At the base, the trunk is 11 ft. across.  When this tree was 500 years old, this coastal area of what would become Texas, was being explored and mapped by the first European to come to this area, a Spanish explorer named Alfonso Alvarez de Pineda.  When this tree was 850 years old, the original town of Lamar, which couldn’t have been much of threat to anyone, was burned to the ground by Union troops near the end of the Civil War.  The night they drove old Dixie down indeed.

Having survived the centuries it is now lovingly taken care of by the Lamar Women’s Auxiliary.  Whose motto by the way is; Don’t Mess with Texas, or, The Lamar Women’s Auxiliary.  🙂

I am well and hope you all are too.

Even laundry day can be turned into exploration. If you’re ever in the area and need to do laundry, I can highly recommend Washateria in Jamaica Beach on Galveston Island. You can recognize a good laundromat right away because it doesn’t have “Out of Order” signs on half of its machines. It also has liberal signage explaining how many quarters each machine takes and how long you can expect each to run. These are necessary, user friendly characteristics. zzzzzzzzzzzzz

So ends the lesson on laundromats.

The Gulf today looks angry. It’s overcast and very humid, almost to the point of misting. The wind gusts are occasionally strong enough to knock you off your step. The surf is about as inviting as a snake bite.

 

Speaking of which, I continue to see many signs warning me about snakes, gators, and other unfriendly types, but have yet to actually see one.  Did you like that segue?  I sure did.

 

 

 

The road along the gulf is lined with parking that is pay by phone. That’s a new one on me, but I guess it follows the logical progression of our technology age and smart phones.   And they have an amusement park on a pier which looked like it didn’t even bother to open in this weather.

On the way down to Galveston from the succulent environs of Houston, (this is not the tasty dish version of succulent, but the man this place sucks, how does anybody live here, version).  Ok, wait a minute, I distracted myself.

Along the highway on the way down here I saw two billboards claiming “Salsa’s” as having the best margaritas in Texas. In my wanderings I happen to drive right past Salsa’s and decided to test that claim (a couple of times). Yes, I really did just happen upon it and then remembered the billboards. The boast was well founded and luckily I was close to the park ‘cause they definitely turned the rest of the afternoon into a great nap day. 😉

Silent Stories, Galveston Island style. I had to take this photo from quite a ways away, not wanting to wander through the weeds. (see above sign).

 

 

 

I didn’t really spend any time in town, but I liked Galveston Island a lot.  The campground, not so much, thus no usual picture of my campsite.

 

If you are looking to stay in the New Orleans area for a visit, and you are not the type that likes to stay right downtown, I would urge you to consider the Covington/Mandeville area on the north side of Lake Pontchartrain.  It has a nice small town feel to it with loads of parks, hiking and biking trails, and a good mix of hotels and restaurants.  Downtown New Orleans is a twenty minute shot across the causeway.  It’ll cost you $3 inbound but nothing to come back across.

Fountain bleu is a nice place to camp and is situated right by a 30 mile bike trail.  Oh, and this bike trail features a stop at the Old Rail Brewing Co.

 

I just love the moss ladened trees of the southeast.  You just can’t get a feel from pictures how immense some of them are.

Almost every night I was here I would take a late ride over to the  Day Use and Pavilion area on the lake shore.  These meadows would absolutely fill up with deer at night.  A couple of times one almost crashed right into me.

I’ll be heading into Texas next.  First Galveston, then Corpus Christi, and then a trip along the Rio Grande up into west Texas.

I am well and hope you all are too.

 

I pretty much had one thing in mind when I planned a stay in the New Orleans area again this year. The desire to explore the highway that follows the Mississippi down to the end had lingered that long. Last year some dangerous weather chased me off the highway into an Econo-Lodge, so I ended up with a day less in the New Orleans area than I’d planned.

I’ve learned that a lot of people think the Mississippi ends at New Orleans. In truth it continues SE out of N.O. for about 70 miles to Venice, LA.  There the road ends and the river dissipates into ever more watery bayous, and then the gulf. On the map it shows one more town out on the bayou, Pilottown, but the road doesn’t go there.

This blog would be incomplete without some mention of reality vs. expectations. And I should add that my exploration down this road was not a disappointment because of un-met expectations. I didn’t know what I would find in spite of certain images parked in my head.

If you are an Allman Brothers fan you probably remember an early album that had a picture of Duane standing on the shore in a bayou somewhere wetting a line. In my head, along this road, I had myself pictured having a Duane Allman moment. (Pause here to note that there was no better slide guitar player.  Another who left us too young.)

In my head I had all of these little towns out on the very end of the mighty river pictured as sleepy little fishing towns. Ah, once again, you are mistaken Grasshopper. With a nod to a small few who actually make their living fishing down here, the reality is that this entire 70 miles of Mississippi are dedicated entirely to one thing; the movement of goods into and out of the US. The towns, populated with all manner of temporary housing, are filled with workers that feed that beast. And everything is huge. Huge cranes, huge barges and tugs, huge refinery and oil processing plants, and gigantic oil derricks under construction. What seems like miles of shipping container yards. There’s a company down here that makes one product; gigantic floatation units for working out on the bayou and gulf. Perched at the end of the US waterway is one of the most intensely industrial regions I have ever been in. In hindsight, when I think about it, it makes perfect sense. And of course there is the aftermath evidence of Katrina and Rita.

A cemetery that had to be completely re-done after Katrina.

 

 

 

 

What do you do when a hurricane comes roaring up the peninsula and buries your high school under tons of mud, sand, and debris?  You build an entire high school on stilts and move it right next to the highway for better evacuation.

 

What do you do when Katrina wrecks your motel and there isn’t enough FEMA and insurance money to make it inhabitable again?  You walk away.

 

About halfway down to the end of the line there is a small ferry that can handle about six vehicles at a time.

 

And as I said, there are some fishing communities down here.

 

 

This is what it looks like at the end of the line.

And he makes sure visiting Yankees don’t feel too welcome. 🙂

My time in Destin was very enjoyable again this year. Mostly due to the opportunity to spend time with my friends Cherrie and Gary, who once again took good care of me. They graciously fed me and gave me a couple of nights in a regular bed. And I got to watch the Super Bowl. The second night I stayed with them was fortuitous because that night we had a driving rainstorm blow through. I discovered the next morning that my camper keeps the gentle to normal rain out, but if it’s coming down in buckets with 30 mph wind gusts, not so much.

I also had an opportunity to meet some new friends from Plymouth, MN who drove over for a visit from a place they were staying elsewhere in Florida. We all went over to the Naval Air Museum in Pensacola one day, which I didn’t mind visiting for a second time one bit. I blogged about the Museum last year.

Same faces, different church.

On one of the days, Cherrie and Gary and I went to morning mass, and for the second time in two years I ran into my friends Donna and Tom Mahowald. After Tom retired, they moved to northern MN, so I see them only rarely. Last year, I ran into them over in Gulf Shores, AL after a Sunday Mass. It’s such a treat to see friends from home while out on the road.

So I left Destin with heartfelt thanks to Cherrie and Gary. You guys are the best. And my favorite Republicans. 🙂

I know, I know, ……… you’re all thinking, “now why don’t he write.”

Today I received texts from two different people wanting to know if I’m alright.  It’s nice to be loved.  I was informed that it’s been six days since I last posted.  Time flies when you’re having fun.

Since leaving Destin I’ve been in low net access.  This is particularly cumbersome when trying to get pictures loaded onto my site.  A further truth is that I really didn’t spend any time looking for better band width.  So I thought I better at least post a quick note ’cause I was touched that a couple of my friends were “worried” about me.

Tomorrow I’m going find a place to upload some stuff and get serious about catching up.

I am well and hope y’all are too. 🙂

 

You could subtitle this; What I like about being on the road. Catchy.

I’ve spent some time in the first week thinking about this in a more analytical way. Driven, I think, by feeling a much less dramatic sense of anticipation this year before departure. Then boom, I was gone, and a strong and immediate kinship to all of the tasks and activities of the first days took over. The first hours began in the dark with heavy snow flurries, and ended some 18 hours later down in Alabama. I stopped mostly because I knew I should, rather than feeling like I needed to. I was dialed in. The next morning, into the stargate. (see, Alabama Sunrise)

The desire to explore is the heart of this boys’ wandering. Doesn’t matter if it’s driving, biking, hiking, riding the Metro in DC, taking the bus from Irving Park to Wrigley, a van trip with friends across Massachusetts, going to a new spot in Mexico with my kids, seeing and learning more about Guatemala every time I go, going up the north shore for what seems like the 500^th time; The list of treasures built up from exploring and experiencing could go on and on. And there’s always more. Exploring keeps all of our senses working.

I like living outside. When you’re on a camping trip, regardless of your choice of shelter, that’s what you are doing, living outside. I believe the feeling of living outside is what makes campers. It’s just different than say, hiking or biking all day and then having a shower and dinner and sleeping in hotel bed. I suppose that sounds more obvious than it really feels, ‘cause the differences are not that far apart. Anyway, I just like living outside. Maybe that doesn’t really need much ‘splainin’.

I also like it that life is “simpled down” when I’m on the road. I know that really isn’t a phrase but it seems descriptive enough. It’s like Tiny House Nation on wheels. Creating a self contained environment that you can live in while moving from place to place is challenged by the fact that you can only carry just so much stuff. Having a smaller pile of necessities is liberating. When you embrace this you are simpled down.

This wouldn’t be something that’s true of everyone, maybe not even most, but when I’m on the road I go nearly media barren. I’m around TVs for short bursts but pay them almost no mind. I’ve yet to turn on the radio in the truck. The risk of some naivete with current events seems no price at all for kicking talking heads and mindless “content” out of my life for a while. Ok fine, be that way.

People might be the ultimate riches of travel. Campgrounds are insanely friendly places. There’s a very purposeful engagement by total strangers that makes campgrounds different. You feel it and experience it but can’t necessarily describe it that well. The result is just affirming and up lifting.                                                                                                          And anyone who has followed my blog knows that campgrounds are not the only places you find characters. The road is liberally sprinkled with characters that are the seasoning of each day.

Each day hands me some mixture of fear and faith. I try to balance my sense of adventure with common sense. Exploring by nature has unknowns lurking. I believe we all have some version of fear of the unknown. If it’s too strong, then maybe we don’t even go down a road. I mean that in both the literal and the figurative sense. I like it that traveling challenges that for most of us. I also like it that my faith is that God has my well being at heart and wants to watch over me and keep me safe. He also hopes I don’t do something stupid. 🙂

I’ve been thinking about starting to tell people I’m a writer.  smirk      It completes the visage. (pronounced like mirage).  Didn’t think I’d pull that one out did ya?                                                                                                           And, …….., it means ya don’t have to explain the pipe.  I crack myself up sometimes.

 

 

Gulf Shores State Park was a good choice for my first stop.  I like it here and it had the best chance of being warm.  And it has been.  The weather has been great and it was a comfortable, familiar spot to start this trip.  (See wormhole from previous post)  Tomorrow I’m moving over to Henderson State Park on the Florida Gulf Coast in Destin.  I’ll spend time visiting with friends Cherie and Gary again this year.  After that I’ll start slowly working my way west ’til I get to Tucson in mid March.  That’s about the mid point of this year’s loop.

I wanted to say a word about the changes (new stuff) here at Gulf Shores SP.  They have not been sitting on their hands since I was here last year.  Their are numerous new sections of trails, including elevated boardwalk sections out over the marshes like the one pictured here.  These were some aggressive projects.  A new campsite loop was added over along one of the intercostal waterways.  The trails, new and old, are dotted with new swings and benches in little rest areas.  These seem mostly donated in memory of someone or given as a gift to the trail system by a group or organization.  It’s just a great environment.  Everywhere are people in wheelchairs, motorized or non, and on personal motorized devices.  This entire trail system is 100% accessible.  The entire park is surrounded by parking areas with entry points into the trails.  People can move into and out of the park trail system without fee.  I’d go out on a limb here and say it has to be one of the largest of it’s kind anywhere.

This campground wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but in my mind this State Park is a real gem.

 

To be clear, this did not just occur to me. No aha moment here. I like to look at my stuff. Even camped amongst luxury liners on wheels.

Here’s me looking at my stuff from across the way. The empty campsite was a sunny spot in the late afternoon. We also like to putz with our stuff.

This is nowhere more evident than in a campground or RV Park. The stuff varies from region to region. You might stay in a campground where most of the occupants have travel trailers that are called Toy Haulers. You could be surrounded by ATVs and motocross bikes, and serenity would be at some other campground.

Here at Gulf State Park, when not coming or going somewhere in their vehicles, people move around on foot or on bicycles. All of the trails, paved or otherwise, are non motorized. People have special baskets and carts because they take their little dogs for both walks and bike rides. But I digress about equipment.

As I move around the campground there are always men out cleaning something, or putzing with stuff.  Sometimes they’re just standing there having a cigarette or a beer and just looking at their stuff. We like to look at our stuff. We spend quality time examining our stuff. I like to watch my neighbors in this ritual when they wouldn’t think anyone was paying attention. While watching these little movies, the Mrs. sometimes comes out of the motor home or trailer and wonders over. I imagine the exchange like this; “What ya doin’ out here, hon?”

There can only be one truthful answer. The one that explains everything. “I’m looking at my stuff.”