Up at the crack of dawn today we were on the road out of San Antonio, TX, at 6:30 a.m. under partially cloudy skies with temperatures in the mid-seventies. Traffic was light as we left town bound for Beaumont, TX via Houston on Interstate 10.
Bill lamented that his XM receiver was not working. He would have to remove and reinstall the battery to reboot it to get his tunes playing again. No problem, I just started singing every country western song containing the word Texas that I could recall over the CB radio, Waltz Across Texas, I'm Going to Houston, All My Ex's Live in Texas, well you get the idea. He threatened to turn his radio off if I didn't stop singing. Apparently, he has no appreciation for good country music.
Some 200 miles, two gas stops and twenty degrees hotter, we approached Beaumont, TX. Lane received a telephone call over his bluetooth connected telephone in his helmet (Isn't technology cool?) that Tim and Sylvia had just arrived at Cowboy Harley-Davidson in Beaumont from San Marcos, TX. We pulled into the parking lot twenty minutes later just in time to see Bob getting off his motorcycle from Houston. Our timing could not have been better coming from three different locations across Texas.
After the obligatory hugs and handshakes, we all departed together for Louisiana, heading south toward Port Arthur, TX, and Highway 82 to New Iberia, LA, some 250 miles away via the gulf coast. Unfortunately Highway 82 never materialized as we reached the end of a very depressed and nearly abandoned old downtown Port Arthur. The area had been hit hard by repeated hurricanes over the years. There were no highway signs where the map said Highway 82 should be. Fortunately, we did locate a very nice Seafarers Retreat where a very friendly chap directed to us the highway only a few blocks away.
Now on the right track, we traversed an enormous bridge toward Jackson Bayou along the gulf coast where the shrimp boats we plying their trade among distant oil rigs and small groups of famalies were frolicking on the sandy beaches. Our beach trek took us past a raging wild fire smoke cloud and through watery sloughs reportedly teeming with alligators--we didn't see any. Homes, shacks and mobile homes are built or hoisted ten feet above ground level to allow hurricane floods to pass beneath them. Must be tough putting the wheels back on those mobile homes that high in the air.
Without much warning our road suddenly came to a screeching halt with a detour sign directing us onto a gravel path. We were suddenly in line to board a ferry to take us across the ocean inlet to reconnect with the highway. Cool, a motorcycle ride and an ocean cruise, albeit a very short, one all in the same day. When the captain blew the horn we land lubbers nearly jumped out of our skin. The good news was that there was no charge for the crossing thanks to the State of Louisiana Department of Transportation.
As we motored on searching for a lunch spot and finding none, we finally stopped at a small convenience store in South Cameron, LA, for a snack and hydration. The temperature and humidity had increased significantly. Seeing seven soiled and sweaty Californians on six motorcycles (try saying that three times in rapid succession) walk into the store the lady proprietor exclaimed with some disbelief, "Are you lost? We assured her that we were not, just thirsty.
An hour later we pulled into New Iberia, LA, checked into the Ramada Hotel and were soaking in the hotel pool and enjoying a cold beer twenty minutes later. After showering we all walked next door to Ruby Tuesdays and enjoyed a nice supper, then retired for the evening. Tomorrow, we tour the Tabasco factory on Avery Island and head for New Orleans, LA.
I learned a new word today, "All-a-ya-alls." Meaning all of you. It's all right here in the diaries my friends, and mostly true.
Until next time.
John and the usual suspects.
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