Late Covid American Sojourn: Day 14
We crossed the Mississippi in a hard rain. I squinted through the windshield, at first not realizing we were on the bridge over the mighty river, obscured by the sheets of gray water falling all around us. A car sat stalled in the right lane — oh, to be stuck on a bridge in the rain over the Mississippi — and we maneuvered around it, flashers on, moving forward.
On the other side, we entered Louisiana. The rain let up, but only momentarily. Again it pounded hard on the windshield, like someone was dumping buckets on us from above. I gripped the wheel tight, kept our speed to about 55. Andrea wanted me to pull off until the storm blew over in the next hour. But I wanted to push on, to drive out of it. On the horizon, ragged gray fingers suggested the end of the storm clouds; beyond them, a bright white.
We kept going, across the Old Pearl River, spanning bridges over vast estuaries: Big Branch Marsh, Bayou Sauvage, and south along I-10, across Lake Pontchartrain toward New Orleans.
We’d decided not to stop in New Orleans — Covid’s not exactly the best time for a visit — but, as Andrea pointed out, “the 10 basically goes right past the French Quarter.” So, what could we do? We planned to land with Yam and family in Austin, so here, we could pick up some things for them.
This would be the quickest visit to the French Quarter in recorded history. We spun off the freeway and parked in front of the Café du Monde. A three-piece street band was playing “Walking to New Orleans.” We bought some T-shirts. Yam had requested I bring an alligator from Florida, so I got him a gator car magnet. Wyatt picked up little saxophone tchotchke. We got some Cajun spices and a gumbo serving bowl. And then, the Austin dinner hour in our minds, we got right back on the road, in such a hurry that we didn’t even think to bring New Orleans beignets for dessert. I spent the next couple of hours in beignet regrée. (No, I don’t think that’s a word.) Basically we had just rushed, in less than half an hour, through a tiny portion of the French Quarter, this on Andrea and Wyatt’s first time in New Orleans. But our job here is to bring Wyatt home and survive the journey without getting Covid. So far, so good. New Orleans, we’ll see you again.
Outside New Orleans, 1–10 turned into a parking lot. For an hour, it was like we were back in LA on a Friday afternoon, or leaving a packed stadium after a football game. Finally the traffic eased, but construction continued for what seemed a hundred miles, the temporary concrete barriers raised on either side of the uneven double lanes, creating a tense, narrow channel for us to navigate. Then, the corridor between Lafayette and Lake Charles, the fossil fuel bowels of America, all steel tubing, stacks and giant oil tank farms, stretching to the horizon.
Finally we exited on Texas Highway 71, and rose northwest through open, rolling land. Texas Hill Country. Next stop, Austin. Distanced or not, the sight of Yam, Jenny, Theo and Finn was a huge comfort after a long day on the road. Wyatt walked the dogs with the boys. Andrea and I rested our weary bones on cushioned chairs, sitting in the yard with Yam and Jenny, resting and telling stories, in easy conversation.
Today, a short trip into Texas Hill Country, so we can set up for Wyatt’s school, and my classes and faculty meetings. Then it’s three days of long hauls before we land again back home in LA.
Photo:We crossed the Mississippi in a hard rain. I squinted through the windshield, at first not realizing we were on the bridge over the mighty river, obscured by the sheets of gray water falling all around us. A car sat stalled in the right lane — oh, to be stuck on a bridge in the rain over the Mississippi — and we maneuvered around it, flashers on, moving forward.
On the other side, we entered Louisiana. The rain let up, but only momentarily. Again it pounded hard on the windshield, like someone was dumping buckets on us from above. I gripped the wheel tight, kept our speed to about 55. Andrea wanted me to pull off until the storm blew over in the next hour. But I wanted to push on, to drive out of it. On the horizon, ragged gray fingers suggested the end of the storm clouds; beyond them, a bright white.
We kept going, across the Old Pearl River, spanning bridges over vast estuaries: Big Branch Marsh, Bayou Sauvage, and south along I-10, across Lake Pontchartrain toward New Orleans.
We’d decided not to stop in New Orleans — Covid’s not exactly the best time for a visit — but, as Andrea pointed out, “the 10 basically goes right past the French Quarter.” So, what could we do? We planned to land with Yam and family in Austin, so here, we could pick up some things for them.
This would be the quickest visit to the French Quarter in recorded history. We spun off the freeway and parked in front of the Café du Monde. A three-piece street band was playing “Walking to New Orleans.” We bought some T-shirts. Yam had requested I bring an alligator from Florida, so I got him a gator car magnet. Wyatt picked up little saxophone tchotchke. We got some Cajun spices and a gumbo serving bowl. And then, the Austin dinner hour in our minds, we got right back on the road, in such a hurry that we didn’t even think to bring New Orleans beignets for dessert. I spent the next couple of hours in beignet regrée. (No, I don’t think that’s a word.) Basically we had just rushed, in less than half an hour, through a tiny portion of the French Quarter, this on Andrea and Wyatt’s first time in New Orleans. But our job here is to bring Wyatt home and survive the journey without getting Covid. So far, so good. New Orleans, we’ll see you again.
Outside New Orleans, 1–10 turned into a parking lot. For an hour, it was like we were back in LA on a Friday afternoon, or leaving a packed stadium after a football game. Finally the traffic eased, but construction continued for what seemed a hundred miles, the temporary concrete barriers raised on either side of the uneven double lanes, creating a tense, narrow channel for us to navigate. Then, the corridor between Lafayette and Lake Charles, the fossil fuel bowels of America, all steel tubing, stacks and giant oil tank farms, stretching to the horizon.
Finally we exited on Texas Highway 71, and rose northwest through open, rolling land. Texas Hill Country. Next stop, Austin. Distanced or not, the sight of Yam, Jenny, Theo and Finn was a huge comfort after a long day on the road. Wyatt walked the dogs with the boys. Andrea and I rested our weary bones on cushioned chairs, sitting in the yard with Yam and Jenny, resting and telling stories, in easy conversation.
Today, a short trip into Texas Hill Country, so we can set up for Wyatt’s school, and my classes and faculty meetings. Then it’s three days of long hauls before we land again back home in LA.
Late Covid American Sojourn: Day 13
Late Covid American Sojourn: Day 15
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