Well, I spent 10 days in the Texas Hill Country. Nice place. Great weather, fantastic roads and countryside, nice people and tasty BBQ. I always strive to keep an even balance between miles on the bike and miles in the camper, in part to try and keep the combined gas mileage at a number that won't make Ralph Nader upset. This trip has been no exception. I logged 2600 miles in the camper getting to the Hill Country. And as I leave the Hill Country, I've logged 2900 miles on the bike, 2200 of that in the Hill Country.

One cool thing happening here is gas prices. It runs around $1.25 to $1.30 in and around Austin. The lowest price I have paid so far is $1.07! It is kind of reminiscent of prices a long, long time ago, like maybe 3 or 4 years.

I discovered that the population of the city of Austin is 600,000 and the population of the metro area is around 1.5 million. The little city is all grown up.

On Sunday I departed south for the Gulf of Mexico. Drove south through San Antonio and on towards Corpus Crispi. I could smell the gulf water from about 20 miles away. Then I could smell the oil refineries. Corpus Cripsi is smack dab on the Gulf, and is almost literally surrounded by refineries processing the oil coming from the offshore oil rigs in the gulf.

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All right, I have now definitely and officially hit truly HUMID weather! Jeez! I mean it is sweltering. The temperature and humidity are evenly matched in the high nineties. There is no escaping these conditions. I had forgotten what it was like where I grew up in the Northeast when it gets like this.

It is so hot and humid, I swear I could break an egg into a cup, leave it outside, and in 5 minutes have a perfectly poached egg!

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There are moments in the last couple days when I regret having opted to do without that rooftop air conditioner for the camper. I still don't really regret it, since I would use it seldom if at all Northwest. But it would come in handy some evenings here in the steamy, sultry Southeast. I have definitely used the truck air conditioner more in the last couple days than in the entire 4 years I've had the rig! I don't need it on the open road, but when I am in town or stopping for gas or whatever, up go the windows and on goes the air!

Going through Houston was an ordeal. BIG city, with lots of road construction, even on a Sunday. Not much fun. I made it to Lake Charles, Louisiana Sunday evening. I found a really nice State Park named Sam Houston Jones SP. Very wooded and nicely laid out. And quiet.

Took a ride on the bike from Lake Charles down to the Gulf. This is definitely Bayou country! Flat as a pancake. When they invented the word "flat", they came here to determine the definition. And it is very wet. There's puddles and ponds and bayous and inlets and lakes and streams, well, you get the idea.

Moved on the next morning to Baton Rouge and the mighty Mississippi River. Found a campsite and hopped on the bike. Took a GREAT ride down along the Big Muddy. I followed the river wherever I could. You can't see it most of the time because of the high levees. But there are little access roads all long it so you can go up and look down at the river.

And I do mean look DOWN. It's amazing to think about is how far the water is below the top of the levees, and yet the river regularly overflows these levees. It is astounding to contemplate the sheer amount of water it would take to do that.

And lots of barges! Some consist only a couple barges, but there were a number that had 6 or 8 barges tied together, controlled by a single tug. It must take a lot of experience and skill to guide these through the fast-moving water.

I took a ferry across the river. It was a side-loader, since it has to dock in line with the river current. It was interesting to watch the ferry approach. It was pointed directly at the shore I was on, but was going sideways in the current as fast as it was moving forwards. What a river!

I ran across a Cajun restaurant in the backwaters south of Baton Rouge. It's called the Cabin, named so because it was a slave cabin for the Monroe sugar cane plantation. The cabin and the sugar cane remain, though most fortunately the use for the cabin has changed completely.

The food was scrumptious. Blackened red fish, spicy but not so much that your eyes water. Amazingly tasty red beans and rice. Cole slaw and moist, warm corn bread. A very good meal!

Did I mention that it is astoundingly hot and humid???

Here's a standing offer: I would gladly trade a full dozen fresh-from-the-oven Krispy Kreme donuts for some halfway decent Teriaki. The little I've found has been so substandard most Northwesterners would ask for the cook to be fired. Or fried. I hope I find some soon, or I'll have to have someone FedEx me a Nikko's #22.

I spent Wednesday taking care of business. Took the bike in to the Baton Rouge Harley dealer and used one of my tried and true tricks. See, during the summer at most every Harley dealer the service departments are booked up for days to weeks in advance. For all those "fair weather riders". So I go in and tell them I'm just passing through from Seattle and need some service. Their eyes bug out slightly at the thought of me riding so far.

Oh, did I mention I conveniently stashed the truck a few blocks away? This usually gets me in the door, and it did this time as well.

While the Harley doctor was attending to his duties, I got the truck serviced and did some shopping. The mundane stuff. I bought a high volume fan. Doubt it will help much, but I'll try anything to cope with the humidity.

By the way, that morning I discovered once again that there are two types of people - Those who can give good directions and those who cannot. For instance, Mel back in Texas gave me concise, accurate, easy to follow directions from deep in the Hill Country all the way down to a BBQ joint in San Antone. Her directions were a piece of cake to follow.

However, I called the Harley dealer to get directions and encountered one of those "other" types of folks. I was near I-12, which runs East-West (or West-East, depending on your point of view). Since I was outside Baton Rouge, I simply needed to know whether to head east or west. Pretty simple, right?

Well, the person on the phone said, "Oh, it's really easy to find". I should have know at that point I was in trouble. She insisted I had to go SOUTH towards "Nawlins". After clarifying that she indeed was referring to New Orleans, I pointed out that I-12 does not go south, and that even-numbered highways go east-west. I should have known better. Never use logic in situations like this! After going back and forth a bit making no significant progress towards enlightenment, she wound up the conversation uttering the dreaded words: "You can't miss it!" Darn, I was really hoping she wasn't going to say that! Of course by this time I knew that fate had dictated that I was going to have to drive around a bit to find it, and I was not disappointed.

While waiting for my bike to be completed, I struck up a conversation with a guy waiting for his bike. Sammy LaBois is his name. A most friendly and easy-going guy. Talked a lot about riding down here in the heat. He rides every day, and puts on even more miles than I do. Regarding coping with the humid heat, he said, "After you work up the first good sweat in the morning, the rest just doesn't really matter that much!" OK...

I talked with him for quite a while. Then they brought his bike out - A Harley Davidson Police Special with "Ascension Parish Sheriff" emblazoned on the sides. The service guys called him "Officer LaBois". Ah, now this explained why he could put in so many miles on his bike! He said, "How could you describe a better job in this world? My employer buys me a new Harley every two years and pays me to ride it all day long! This is my idea of heaven". He's got something there. But I still think I'll search for a different profession that allows me to do something similar.

I did ask Sammy (I refrained from calling him Officer LaBois) how he liked the other aspects of being a Police Officer (no, I didn't say Cop). Sammy, like every other Police Officer I have talked to, said that most of it was meaningful, challenging and fulfilling. But they all say (so did Sammy) that domestic disputes rank as the number one most-hated call. They are put in between the disputing folks, and are reviled by them all as meddling in what they consider to be a private matter. Emotions are high, and nerves are frazzled. There are rarely winners in these situations, except that the usually terrible situation stops.

BTW: I saw a bumper sticker today: "American by birth - Biker by choice"

I have finally encountered mosquitoes. Or I guess they have encountered me. They're pretty thick at the Fontainbleau State Park. Otherwise it is a wonderful park nestled not far from the shore of Lake Pontchartrain, within spitting distance of "Nawlins". When I asked some of the locals at the campground if there is a bug repellant that worked well, they insisted the absolute best thing was the cheapest cigar you can find, of which they had a ready supply. Though I took one to be polite, I trusted the screens of my camper a lot more. Besides, the stoagies smelled like they were made from the waste sludge at the Hanford nuclear power plant. No wonder they were purported to ward off the bugs. And all your friends, if they have functioning noses.

Today I went over the long (20 miles) causeway over Lake Pontchartrain that leads to New Orleans. What a town! I cruised around for a while in the French Quarter, taking in the sights and having a lot of people on the sidewalks shout or wave at me. People are not bashful in New Orleans! Lot's of fun!

I parked the bike and walked around. The people wandering around were the most cosmopolitan group of folks I have mingled with in a long time. I think I heard every major language in a couple hours. I had a great meal, picking a restaurant somewhat at random (it had a great jazz band playing). Tried the New Orleans sampler - Jambalaya, red beans & rice, crawfish pie, and gumbo. Now, I knew in advance that the gumbo has okra ("snot from the ground" as described in the movie My Cousin Vinnie) in it. That alone is enough to warrant making it illegal to serve in public. But I closed my eyes, and it was darned good. I just had to shut my conscious mind down while partaking in it.

Did I mention that it is hot as Hades on a rainy, wet day in Hell? I think the store keepers here have a great selling tactic. It is called air conditioning. Many folks, myself included, step into the shops just to have a few minutes of blissful escape from the moist heat out on the sidewalks.

The music in New Orleans is plentiful and wonderful. As you stroll around, you hear music from the stores, live music in bars and restaurants, and a whole lot of live music on the streets. Jazz certainly is foremost, but I ran across some excellent Cajun music as well. The rich ambiance is palpable and intoxicating. And most memorable.

Nawlins has one great similarity to Las Vegas casinos. If you've ever been to one of the major gambling Mecca's you notice that while it is easy to get in, they do not assist much at all in your getting out. The traffic flow is designed to keep you inside the casino, dropping more money. In New Orleans is is the same. Easy to find the major attractions. But the signage to find your way out of the city is woefully inadequate. I went around and around trying to find my way back to the freeway.

I'll be moving on into Mississippi, Alabama and Florida over the next few days. I'll keep you updated!