When you’re camped out in the middle of a wild desolate landscape, without a cell signal and a silence so deafening that its roar squeezes your brain like a vise, it’s tempting to believe that you’ve fallen off the radar. You look around for miles and see nothing but desert landscape, imagining that there are no rules, laws or entities that have power over you.
Let’s go to Luckenbach Texas with Waylon and Willie and the boys
This successful life we’re livin’ got us feuding
Like the Hatfield and McCoys
Between Hank Williams pain songs, Newberry’s train songs
And blue eyes cryin’ in the rain, out in Luckenbach Texas
Ain’t nobody feelin’ no pain …
Traveling down the East Coast and into Florida, we found it best to stay on the Interstates, which was a switch. We hate interstates, preferring the Blue Highways and backroads of America instead. But once we left Florida, it was like the skies and the roads opened up simultaneously, and we could breathe again. The backroads were once again our domain.
We moved past New Orleans, to check out Acadiana, the Cajun area of Louisiana. Thanks to the suggestion of fellow RVers on RV.net, we traveled along down rural Highway 82 from Lafayette to Texas, along a scenic route through farming territory and wildlife reserves.
We traveled through small towns like Abbeville, saw the effects of Hurrican Rita, and ended up spending the night at one of our fine Passport America campgrounds, Audobon Acres. The campground is just four RV sites with full hookups, on property owned by Joe Tessier, a native of the area whose Cajun family has resided there for generations.
We’ve been hearing a lot of good music lately. So much that I’ve added a new Musicamericana Video Playlist featuring samplings of the local music scenes we’ve soaked up along our way.
But I promised Sonja I would post this movie from our dinner at Artz Rib House in Austin where they hooked up with us for some good food and good fun.
One of the best parts about going on the road is having your eyes opened up to the realities that exist beyond your own little corner of the world. So when it came to New Orleans, it was one thing for me to hear secondhand reports about the state of affairs in the city from the comforts of my home. But to walk through the rubble that remains, to talk to those who are trying to piece their community back together, was another thing altogether. This is why we travel.
I started out this trip behaving like a spoiled little West Coast snot, like a character out of that famous New Yorker drawing that shows a map of the U.S., with the Left Coast and the East Coast, and nothing in the middle. How wrong that is, and what an ignorant turd I was for falling for it.
The middle of this country has the nicest, most down to earth people we’ve met, and some of the most creative. And since arriving in the South, we’ve witnessed more talent, and met more artistic individuals here than anywhere else. Maybe it’s because they’re at arm’s reach here, whereas on the coasts, the artists and musicians I’ve met have gigantic egos, stick to their own kind and don’t make an effort to blend in with the masses, unless it’s to try to make a buck.
Friday, we pointed ourselves westward, right into New Orleans (NOLA), where we’ve met up with an old friend from Humboldt, Mr. Gordon Soderberg. As one of the founding members of the Redwood Technology Consortium, Gordon is one of the reasons why we fled San Francisco in ‘98 and moved up to the sticks. He was a geek like us, and we figured if he could make a living in the trees, so could we. In 2005, Gordon left Humboldt to join the Veterans For Peace wagon train that was supporting Cindy Sheehan, and found himself in NOLA two days after Katrina, to help with the rescue, cleanup, and now, grassroots rebuilding efforts (because the government hasn’t done crap. More later).
When we arrived in Fort Lauderdale, we felt like we’d just fallen off a turnip truck. The traffic is insane, the wealthy blatantly flaunt their money, and the price of real estate skyrockets. People in general are rude and aggressive, and it’s every man and woman for themselves. And as with most of Florida, it isn’t dog friendly.
We asked our friend Gene if it would be alright if we left Jerry in the truck with the windows cracked, while we met him for dinner at the Blue Moon Fish Company. He rattled off something about four cops and one pro athlete being killed in the immediate area in the last year, and said “you decide.”
There’s a lot of talk here about how “Old Florida” is disappearing. Kitschy roadside attractions are being paved over for gated homes along golf courses, and old timey family diners are being squeezed out by Chick Fil A and Olive Garden. It’s like this in a lot of the country, as Americans allow national chains to destroy the very things that make our hometowns unique.
We get a kick out of finding new, divey places to check out. In the last couple of weeks, we’ve found two great places that are sadly, a dying breed: Archie’s Seabreeze on Hutchinson Island, and Mrs. B’s in Vero Beach, off I-95.
We didn’t find them on our own; our online friend Chelsea told us about Archies, and the locals we met at Earl’s told us about Mrs. Bs.
When you’re camped out in the middle of a wild desolate landscape, without a cell signal and a silence so deafening that its roar squeezes your brain like a vise, it’s tempting to believe that you’ve fallen off the radar. You look around for miles and see nothing but desert landscape, imagining that there are no rules, laws or entities that have power over you.
Entries (RSS)