Baton Rouge, Heading West
Trip Start
Apr 12, 1992
1
5
65
Trip End
Jun 15, 1992
Texarkana,
Arkansas,
United States
Friday, April 17, 1992
4-16-92
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Warm. Overcast
My friends and I said goodbye, and they went off to school. I followed US-190 across the Mississippi River. Air pollution from north Baton Rouge, the Industrial section was very dense.
Once across the Mississippi I took a turnoff to New Roads and False River through a flat flood plain, then crossed large fields and pastures to Livonia, then crossed the Atchafalaya River
92.061.View from the capitol building.Baton Rouge.
.Farther on, around Krotz Springs and up US-71, rice fields dominate the landscape. Growers use a unique system of irrigation canals that enable them to flood or drain fields at will. All along the road, from Le Beau to Le Moyen and Bunkie, local people used small bait nets to scoop the prized "mudbugs" (crawfish) out of the irrigation drainage ditches.
AM 1230 from Opelousas played a request. "Cowboys Ain't Supposed to Cry." Back when my very good friend, Howard Miller, was still my son-in-law and I saw him more frequently, we sometimes sat around drinking beer and inventing titles for country songs. If we could have connected with someone to write the rest of the song and put it to music we would have become millionaires. We tried to enlist our spouses to the cause. Didn't work.
On one occasion Howard had an assignment to write a feature story for the Huntsville Times. He and Susie went to Opryland in Nashville for the interview. While there he took Susie backstage and introduced her to Roy Acuff. Then, secretly, Howard and Roy conspired to arrange an invitation for Susie to play bass fiddle with a group who were having a little after-performance jam-session
92.065.Farewell to Yan and Jian Chou
. She let the opportunity slide simply because she has never learned to play bass, or anything else. Susie is a very talented artist. I know she could have faked it with that big fiddle for a couple numbers, long enough for someone with her artistic gifts to learn how to play. She had no gratitude for Howard's kind gesture.Road kills in Louisiana seemed to be predominately armadillos, not possums like in Mississippi. There must be something to learn here, some conclusion that can be drawn from this observation. I decided to cogitate on the subject. If I come up with any reasonable judgement, you'll get a report.
North of Alexandria a mean looking black cloud approached from the northwest. It was accompanied by lots of lightning static on the AM radio band. The terrain changed again, back to rolling hills and piney woods. The highway and red River began playing a game of tag. The river became my now-and-then companion for a couple days. Around Montgomery and Clarence the road re-entered flat lands, rice and soybean fields. I detoured across the Red River over to Natchitoches on the bank of the Cane River.
This interesting place is the oldest town in the Louisiana Purchase, dating from 1714. Four years before New Orleans was founded the French established a fort and trading center here. On Front Street, along the riverbank, and adjacent side streets, many old buildings and antebellum homes remain in use. The town retains much of the character and charm of an old riverboat landing. At some point I intend to research the history of the place. Judging from appearances the town has had a colorful past
92.067.Rice Fields near Krotz Springs.
. Maybe I can report some of it here. Most of the afternoon I spent afoot, wandering around streets, occupying a bench on the riverbank, and admiring the old buildings.Late afternoon I moved on toward Shreveport by way of Armistead, where I drove across the Red River for the third time before moving on through and the multitude of small towns guarding Shreveport. I called Helen from a pay phone.
She confirmed she would fly to Seattle on May 21. That left me about five weeks to spend en route before our meeting at Sea-Tac airport. As she put it, "You have five weeks to carouse around-drinkin' an' partyin'- but when I get there you're gonna shape up." She's mean enough to make it happen, but that's O.K. It's like the corny old redneck joke, "She's my wife and it's my firewood, so she can hit me with it all she wants.
Minutes later I passed through Hosston and Mira (Spanish:look for, sight), then Ida. Darkness settled in softly as I crossed into Arkansas. I became amused at the opportunities for crude jokes offered by the little town of Fouke. I think it would be impossible to establish a university in Fouke.Students would be garbed in sweatshirts lettered Fouke U
92.071.Near Bunkie, LA.
.When I reached Texarkana I decided to stay the night. I had no idea that an obscure Governor of the state, who was born a few miles to the east in Hope, Arkansas, would, in a few months become the next president of the United States. Nor did I know that less than a year later I would be returning along this same route from a tour of Mexico. On the subsequent trip curiosity would prompt me to stop in Hope long enough to visit Bill Clinton's boyhood home and school.
Today, in a limited way, I began to understand the mystics who disassociated themselves from the rest of the world in order to look inward and examine their own being. I cannot know where this line of thought will lead me. I only know that it fascinates me. As I ride along or sit quietly and observe whatever is around me my thoughts turn inward. For now they remain disjointed and unconnected, but I hope as time passes some order will be achieved. I am comfortable being alone. I relish the detachment, and, at the same time I am aware of how deeply I love and need Helen, and how pleasant it is to hear her voice, how much I look forward to returning home. Her presence is not intrusive. I need to dwell on this point more. Why do I sometimes welcome an escape from social interaction with everyone except Helen?
