Our Cajun Interlude–September, 2012

Okay, let’s try this again.  Early this morning I wrote a detailed report on our visit to Louisiana, singing the praises of Cajun hospitality, the tastiness of their cuisine and the over-all courtesy of nearly every Louisianan we met.  Then, poof, the computer ate the whole thing.  Can’t find it anywhere. 

When last heard from, we were sweltering on the banks of the Mississippi in Vidalia just dawdling until it was time to begin our jaunt deep into Louisiana to attend the Cruisin’ Cajuns’ rally in Patterson.  Some parts of Louisiana are a little short on super-highways but we made it to U.S. 90 near Gray without incident.  However, once we turned and headed due west the skies opened up and we were treated to a torrential downpour which lasted about half an hour and delivered even more moisture to an already soggy situation.  Hurricane Isaac had, just a few weeks before, deluged the area and there had been insufficient time for things to dry out.  So when we reached the rally site, we were ushered into a spot that appeared to be a little on the soggy side.  The rear tires started to dig in when we attempted to adjust the placement on our site, so we decided to let well enough alone.  Nobody else seemed the least bit concerned about the situation so we followed their lead and postponed worrying about whether or not we could get out of our spot once we got in.

This being Cajun country, the first thing on the agenda was a meal.  Four couples banded together and headed back to Morgan City to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.  This struck us as a little odd but the reasoning behind the choice soon became apparent.  A steady supply of fresh seafood.  Rose showed us how to open crabs using the little pull-tabs they’re born with and how to behead a peel-and-eat shrimp. We played in our food for awhile and then switched to some Chinese dishes that required less effort (and fewer napkins) to eat.  But it was fun while it lasted.

The rally wasn’t scheduled to begin until mid-afternoon on Thursday so we took the opportunity to go back into Morgan City and tour Mr. Charlie, an off-shore oil rig on which rig workers are trained.  I took one look at the open metal stairs over the Atchafalaya River (and/or Bay) and vertigo kicked in with a vengeance.  Rose was kind enough to stay ashore with me while the others toured the rig.  Rose has a fair amount of experience with off-shore rigs and filled me in on how they are constructed and what life is like while working aboard.  Touring can make a person work up an appetite so we stopped at Rita Mae’s, a tiny restaurant in a tiny house on a residential street in Morgan City.  Howie and I split a shrimp po’ boy which was delicious and plenty filling.  Rita Mae stopped by the table to accept our kudos and to hand out souvenir pens.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent getting registered, then meeting and greeting an endless stream of ebullient chapter members.  There are no shrinking violets in that crowd and they put a lot of effort into having a good time.  Registering for a rally is hard work and we soon required sustenance – big bowls of chicken and sausage gumbo.  We worked off a few of the calories with the dancing which followed.  We’ve seldom attended a function where the dance floor has been kept so busy.  It seems everyone here can and will dance. 

Football was the theme of this rally and folks in Louisiana take football seriously.  LSU seems to take precedence over the NFL Saints but not by much.  The room was a sea of purple jerseys as we nipped into a supply of Cajun ice cream, a tasty concoction of vanilla ice cream and amaretto.  Goes down easy.  Chapter members did all the cooking and they are superb at it.  Dinner Friday evening was a tasty pork roast with all the trimmings.  Dancing to a live band followed.  “When the Saints Go Marching In” called for a pseudo conga line, waving of hankies and napkins and shouts of “Who dat?”.  We almost have a grip on what “who dat?” means and when you’re supposed to say it.  But not quite.

Did I mention that each day started off with a hearty breakfast?  No?  Well, you might have guess it.  Following Saturday’s breakfast, there was a chapter meeting.  As soon as that was gaveled closed, the Bloody Marys and screwdrivers were circulated, followed by a knock-out lunch that left us in dire need of exercise.  So we walked the short distance to the Wedell-Williams Air Museum.  After poking around a bit among the racing planes from the early days of barnstorming and checking out the collection of cypress logging equipment in the adjacent museum, we strolled home and had a much deserved nap.  And we needed our rest because there was more dancing that evening.  No big meal but plenty of snacks. 

Sunday was departure day and rain was predicted; we didn’t want to tempt fate and linger too long so we had a continental breakfast of coffee and enormous apple fritters (enormous, as in the size of a plate). Rose and John got their coach out without a problem but we had a little more trouble.  The rear tires churned up a fair amount of mud but the application of some gravel by the campground crew soon saw us on solid ground.  We heard later that quite a few coaches had to be hauled out with a large tractor.  Everyone seemed to take this in stride.  Hey, we’re stuck in the mud….no biggie. 

We proceeded to John and Rose’s home near Lafayette where we camped on their lawn for five more days of fun.  One day we made the trek to Avery Island for a quick tour of the Tabasco factory.  This was our second trip there and we really only needed to buy a supply of Sweet & Spicy for our Tabasco stash.  Few stores outside Louisiana carry it and we like it for scrambled eggs especially.  Naturally a bottle of the new Raspberry Chipotle made its way into our shopping cart as well.  We’d already had as much fun as a person should be allowed to have on any given day but on the way home we stopped at a Goodwill Outlet and discovered a treasure trove of bargains.  Everything at the Outlet is $2.00 and everything seemed to be new, including the computer bag Rose discovered.  I’m more than pleased with my $2 nylon jacket and Howie found another white shirt to add to his lawn bowling wardrobe.

Rose and I quickly fell into the habit of meeting for coffee on the patio, solving the world’s problems by 8:00 a.m. and planning our day.  One morning John and Rose set up their assembly line and made beignets.  What a treat it was to scarf down those little tidbits with a cup of coffee while enjoying good conversation and a pleasant breeze on the patio.  An entire batch of those tasty morsels disappeared; I even liked them cold at supper-time. 

One evening we drove to St. Martinville to meet two other Cruisin’ Cajun couples for dinner at their favorite local restaurant.  Howie jumped at the chance to order alligator for his entrée, bypassing his favorite frogs legs.  I tried a morsel; it was quite good and didn’t taste like chicken.  The restaurant is small and everybody seemed to know everybody else, the conversation was rapid-fire with that cadence unique to Cajun patois.  After only nine days in Cajun country, we were beginning to catch most of what was said.  A lot of laughing is involved in Cajun conversation.

We’d had such a good time that saying good-bye left us a little teary-eyed.  But the highway beckons and we had stops to make in Houston (where did all those people come from and where are they going in such a hurry?) and Bandera, cowboy capital of the entire universe.  Y’all stay tuned now, hear?

The Natchez Trace Parkway–September, 2012

The Natchez Trace Parkway is a national park without a wow factor – no big geological wonder, no significant historic moment – just a long skinny road that leads you from the hustle and bustle of the present to the slower and quieter past without you even being aware of what’s happening.  The Parkway is 444 miles long, starting in Natchez, Mississippi and ending just outside Nashville, Tennessee.  While the length is very precise, the width varies but averages a little over 400’ on either side of the road.  The present Parkway does not follow the exact path of the Old Trace(s) – for there were more than one.  First there was a trail followed by animals as they trekked about searching for food and water then local tribes of Choctaw and Chickasaw literally followed in their footsteps.  For a time, the Trace served as a one-way route for boatmen who’d taken their wares downstream to Natchez, sold everything including the boats and then walked or ridden back home in the north, utilizing the segments of the trail worn by earlier travelers.  In time, there was a need to move mail along the route and post riders made the trail even more distinct.

As a National Park, the Trace is closed to commercial traffic and there is a maximum speed limit of 50 mph, even less in some segments.  The road is well-maintained but it is only two lanes wide, there are no shoulders and plenty of gentle curves and small hills.  We found that radio reception is skimpy, CB chatter from truckers on unseen highways which run beside the Trace was scant and there is very little traffic except near the larger cities.  Trees make up the majority of what might be called scenery.  They hug the road in some areas, making for long tree tunnels and stand back a reasonable distance in others.  Farm fields, pastures and meadows are sometimes visible.  Rarely can you glimpse a house or barn.  There are plenty of roads with access to the Trace and those lead to cities and towns, again unseen from the Trace.  You are never far from civilization but you just can’t be sure.

A trip down the Trace is not to be rushed.  You’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and you might as well enjoy the trip.  It’s best to stop frequently, take the time to read the signage at various spots, breathe deeply and enjoy the quiet solitude.  There are things to watch out for, of course; poison ivy, ticks and chiggers, a variety of poisonous snakes.  We spotted several groups of white-tailed deer, a goodly number of flocks of wild turkeys, squirrels and one snake who’d picked a bad time to cross the road.  The Trace has it’s mysterious side and one of the most significant sagas of the early Trace involved Meriwether Lewis.  In 1809, he was shot at Grinder’s Stand (Milepost 385.9) and died of his wounds.  It has never been determined if he was murdered or if he committed suicide; it’s ironic that he survived the enormous hardships of the Lewis and Clark Expedition and then died in a relatively civilized place like the Trace. 

Speaking of mysteries, Nevada Barr has used The Trace as settings for two of her Anna Pigeon novels, “Deep South” and “Hunting Season”.  I read “Deep South” just before we traveled The Trace the first time and some of the shadowy areas seemed very sinister.  For this trip, sunshine predominated.

This being our second visit to the Trace we didn’t take the time to do a lot of sightseeing.  And we didn’t take many photos.  We thought about including archived photos from the earlier trip but decided that wasn’t quite kosher.  But we did make several stops along the route, the first being in Hohenwald, Tennessee.  Our campground was an interesting (odd, actually) combination of KOA and membership park.  The instructions on how to locate the campground included a warning about a low bridge just at the exit from the Parkway but we couldn’t quite figure out what we were supposed to do about it.  However, as soon as we reached the bridge, it became obvious; there’s a dirt path several feet lower than the road which allows taller rigs to slip (but just barely) under the bridge.  It is not a graceful transition and resulted in a lot of funny noises coming from the coach as she crept over the rough edges.  Once inside the campground, we found a huge flat area but with nary a sign of any RVs.  The campsites were at the top of a hill reached by a road that needed some serious repairs.  It was fine for an over-night but we were left wondering why they weren’t utilizing all that nice flat area at the bottom of the hill for their campsites.

Our next stop was Trace State Park just outside Tupelo.  It’s a gem in the Mississippi State Park system and we had a premium lakeside spot.  We had the place practically to ourselves and spent the evening watching guys in boats drowning worms.  The next morning I took my morning coffee down to the water’s edge to watch a great blue heron practice his tai chi.  And then we spent the day in Tupelo addressing the issue of a '”seek service soon” light that had appeared on the Saturn’s dashboard.  Sometimes you just get lucky.  The diagnostics showed nothing wrong, there was no charge for the non-diagnosis, the light went away and we bought a new gas cap as the service attendant suggested.  

As we were preparing to leave on Saturday morning, we spotted a deer walking along the shoreline.  She popped into the lake and began to swim across.  Although there was a fair amount of boat traffic, she didn’t seem the least upset about it and continued on her way.  I didn’t know deer would enter the water voluntarily much less swim.

On the advice of some folks we met back in Monticello, we made reservations at Timberline on the Ross Barnett Reservoir just outside Jackson, Mississippi.  We’d thoroughly explored Jackson on a previous trip to Mississippi so we took this two-day opportunity to just kick back and relax.  After exiting The Trace at Natchez, we crossed the Mississippi and spent two days at a riverside campground in Vidalia, Louisiana.  It was our second stop at this park and we won’t be doing that again.  Not only were the daily rates excessive but there was an additional $5.00 a day for 50 amp service although we can live just fine on 30 amps.  Because of the size of the rig we were not allowed to opt out on the 50 amps.  So for that price they should at least keep the lawns mowed.

So that ends our tracing of The Trace.  Now it’s on to a round robin of eating and dancing here in Cajun Country.

Three Rallies In A Row–August & September, 2012

It was not a strenuous drive to Monticello, Indiana and we had the benefit of mostly clear skies and fairly cool temperatures. The GPS was having one of her dumber moments and she refused to accept the address I was trying to give her – no matches found, she claimed.  We tried some trickery but in downtown Monticello we missed the turn that would take us to White Oaks RV Resort and found ourselves on a dead-end street.  Luckily there was room to make a wide U-turn and head back to the highway from which we’d strayed.  To further complicate matters, the coordinates used in the Resorts of Distinction catalog were seriously incorrect and we soon found ourselves heading due north with nowhere to make a U-turn.  Buffalo, Indiana was not on our itinerary!

Eventually we found our way to the campground and got settled in.  Having the benefit of full hook-ups and 50 amp service, we got to work immediately on long-neglected household chores.  There’s not much down-time during rallies and so everything needs to be tended to prior to kick-off.   We were parked amid several coaches sporting FMCA “goose-eggs”; they weren’t attending the Full Timers Rally but were just killing time before moving to Indianapolis for the “big” rally.  One high-spirited couple, John and Rose, decided to attend the Full Timers Rally and by the time the rally started they’d also decided to become members of our merry little chapter.  What fun folks!  As you’ll soon see, they impacted our post-rally travel schedule a fair amount.

Monticello is a small city near Lakes Freeman and Shafer, a pair of man-made lakes created by damming the Tippecanoe River.  White Oaks Resort turned out to be a fine spot for a small chapter rally such as ours.  There was a nice lawn by the water’s edge where we could play our outdoor games – corn hole and snakes ‘n ladders – and a clubhouse for indoor games like dominos.  Some of us take these games very seriously; we may be white-haired and wrinkled but the competitive fires still burn.  Or was that last night’s chili?  One of the evenings was set aside for dinner at the upscale (for Monticello) Sportsman’s Inn followed by a cruise on Lake Freeman aboard the Madam Carroll, a party boat if ever there was one.  We greybeards grabbed chairs on the open top deck and prepared for our cruise.  The enclosed lower deck housed the on-board rock band and representatives of The Younger Set.  Those who ventured below found the music loud and the room very smoky; some of the smoke might even have come from Marlboros.  A number of smaller watercraft hugged Madam Carroll’s sides like so many pilot fish, probably to enjoy the music blaring out the open windows without paying to be on board.  Lakeside homes dot the shoreline, everything from mini-mansions to cottages, and many of the homes are rigged to blink their lights when the Madam makes her stately way down to the dam and back.

The most looked-forward-to event of the Full Timer’s rally is the final dinner when the Sheriff hands out his fines for all high crimes and misdemeanors committed during the rally.  Citations run from being without a name tag or ratting on someone who isn’t wearing a name tag to more “serious” crimes.  The 25 cent fines pile up and, in this case, went to a local charity selected by the two Wagonmasters.  I got dinged for having a bad hair day.  It’s a good thing the Sheriff is only in office four days a year or I’d be well-nigh broke!

No sooner had the rally been gaveled to a close, Cousin Gloria and her husband Jerry and their traveling companions, Trudy and Bob, checked in and set up camp nearby.  They’d been in Wisconsin to attend Cousin Judy and Dave’s 50th wedding anniversary and were wandering around a bit before returning to Iowa.  Trudy was feeling poorly one day so Bob stayed home with her and the rest of us went off to Delphi to visit the Wabash and Erie Canal Museum.  Staffed by volunteers, an experiment was underway to see how many visitors would show up on a weekday, they are usually only open on weekends. They had a dozen or so visitors by the time we checked in mid-morning.The mayor, Randy Strasser,  even stopped to chat and filled us in on some of the town’s plans to keep moving forward during these hard times.  

Jerry is a retired fireman and really wanted to buy this wonderful wooden fire truck but in the long run decided he didn’t have any place to put it, either in their 5th wheel or in their condo in Des Moines.  After checking out what the museum had to offer, we stopped for prime rib sandwiches at the Oakdale, a restaurant boasting a dam-side location.  After filling up the two lakes, the Tippecanoe is but a trickle at this point.

The next day, Howie’s brother Rick and his wife Linda traveled down from Cedar Lake to spend the day visiting.  The RV lifestyle fosters these mini reunions and it is always great fun to catch up with folks here, there and everywhere. We all went back to the Oakdale for lunch so nobody would need to do kitchen chores.  Imagine that!  Eating out two days in a row.

We decided to move to the Indiana State Fairgrounds two days before the FMCA Reunion kicked off.  As soon as it was announced that the rally would be in Indianapolis in August, we made the decision to reserve an electric hook-up so we could at least run the air conditioner and perhaps ward off heat stroke. Things got off to a poor start when the seminar I most wanted to attend occurred during an enormous early-morning downpour which flooded some of the tunnels to the infield where we were parked.  At least we didn’t lose our power as some folks did, nor did we end up with waterfront sites.  One of the big draws at these rallies is a display of new coaches.  Everyone is always excited to see what’s new and nothing ever is – same old same old, not even different colors.  You have to wonder who the coach builders are designing for:  why would you need a residential-size four-door refrigerator when you have only a two-burner stove and one square foot of counter space?  You might be able to  freeze the fatted calf but you can’t defrost and cook him.

With completion of the FMCA rally, we made a quick hop up the road to the 3T’s Rally at a full-service campground in Anderson.  Howie had worked one summer in Anderson back in the dark ages and claims that absolutely nothing looked the least bit familiar.  The main purpose of the 3T’s group is to recover from four or five days of boondocking at the FMCA rally, to take long hot showers without worrying about the grey tank exploding, get the laundry and ironing done, restock the larder and, of course, visit with those folks you haven’t seen since this time last year.  Eating is also a major item on the agenda. 

Hurricane Isaac may have been down-graded to a Category I by the time it made landfall but he traveled north, then east, trailing one rainstorm after another.  We had some very heavy rains but thankfully not much in the way of thunder, lightning or high winds.  Other areas weren’t so fortunate and several tornados were spawned along the storm’s route.

We had already planned to head southwest along the Natchez Trace Parkway as we begin our journey back to Arizona.  So it didn’t take much to convince us to make a little side trip to attend the Cruisin’ Cajuns rally in Patterson, Louisiana in mid-September.  Our new friends Rose and John insisted we’d have a wonderful time and it took only one glimpse of the rally menu to convince us that the trip would be worthwhile.  So we sent off our check and we’re on our way…laissez les bons temps rouler!