Rain. On and off all day. And with it, some warmth.
At the state park during the night a whole frat colony materialized from who knows where and made a lot of noise. They took about three hours to erect a tent… It was hard not to laugh. I was grateful when I heard the rain.
Bailed in the morning but heavier rain forced me to shelter at the fast food row on the way back to US 90. Even had some pie.
It was almost noon when I hit 90 again, and I scored a monster piece of glass on the rear tire. Patched it and noticed just how thin the rear was. Really needs a change.
The rain was coming down again when suddenly the shoulder disappeared. Dammit, Louisiana! You suck! My goal had been to take 109 up to the Deweyville crossing, but with the rain and truck traffic, I had to fall back to 27.
And a slow leak with a pump-up every hour.When I patched the tube I noticed that the hole was right next to a floppy seam. Should’ve sanded it down.
It was a damp ride into DeQuincy. Things had dried a bit as I rolled through the desolate downtown section. Spooky town. Then the usual fare of dollar generals, family dollars, etc. And out into one of the most uninterrupted stretches of pine country I’d seen yet, alongside a railroad track for company.
Asked about motels in Stark and was told that there was one in Mauriceville. Had an offer for a ride from the most obsessively nice woman. I would’ve declined even in the middle of a hurricane. No way I’m missing out on my one golden moment:
Crossed the Sabine and kissed that sweet Texas dirt! Homecoming at last.
It was Louisiana’s parting gift that there was not, in fact, a motel in Mauriceville, leaving me in the dark and backtracking once again.
Rode to Orange in the dark, but even though I was beat, it was a comfortable ride. Misdirected again, but I finally ended up at hotel row and picked out a cheap one.
In all, it was a heck of a roundabout to bypass the I10 bottleneck over the border. If I were any one else, I’d have just ridden I10 and taken my chances, but knowing my luck I’d be ticketed.
Ate at a nearby cajun joint but didn’t want to drop $18 on a buffet. What the hell. Who charges that much for a buffet. I love cajun but not the seafood, and the two are almost inseperable; hence the high price. But this was Texas-side, and I saw chicken fried steak on the list. Woo hoo! It was pretty darn good. And Shiner Bock to boot. On an honest wood plank table varnished and gouged with initials, with a sign reading “Manager’s Special: Bucket of Imports 5 for $12″. Just one for me, but it felt like home again. My spirit was revived.
