Trip to New Orleans, Pt. 1
Ain't it funny, as the song says, how time slips away? I have not updated this journal in quite some time, and have not posted anything of any real significance in even longer. So, what excuse have I for this lapse? Well, none, to be frank.
We had intended to leave on Saturday, but a very large storm dumped almost two feet of snow on the Chicagoland area on Friday, and I could not get my car off the street in front of the house. Sunday, after the streets had been cleared, we packed up our stuff, and drove to Merrillville to get four new tires put on the Volvo. The tires, and the reservation at the hostel in N'awlins, were both provided through the generosity of my sister Christine and brother-in-law Tim. This trip would not have happened at all were it not for them. Kelly and I both feel deeply grateful to them both.
We got a late start on Sunday, and were only in so. central Illinois by the time the sun set. Heading south on US Highway 45, we were approaching Mattoon, and Kelly mentioned how close we were to Charleston. The wag that I am, I said, "Now, wouldn't it be nice if your boyfriend had arranged a one-week-late surprise birthday party for you with your old college chums at EIU?" or words to that effect. To which Kelly responded, with great surprise and anticipation, "Did you?!" But, of course, after a beat, I admitted that I had not, in fact, done so. Not smart enough to think up something like that, I said. All that aside, we did actually go to Charleston, and spent some quality time with elendriel_212, rabidconduit, spookywriter, alison720, & Les (who does not seem to have a journal, as far as I can tell). We stayed the night at Brent's house (to whom I extend my sincere thanks), and left again first thing the next morning.
The drive through southern Illinois was beautiful, and we were both very happy we had decided to take the US highways instead of the interstates. The first problem we encountered, however, came when we crossed the very swollen Ohio River into Paducah, Kentucky. The big steel girder bridge, I would guess, was built in the '30s, and was very narrow, and was metal grid the whole way across, no pavement whatsoever. I could feel the rear of the Volvo swaying back and forth, and I had semis passing me going the other direction---it was nerve-wracking. Paducah was nice, though, and we found a park where we could eat lunch, the temperature was moderate, and we relaxed awhile. Then, we filled up the tank, got the car washed to clean off all the dirt and salt from up north, and got back on the highway. From there, everything went smoothly until we reached Memphis, when, to put it succinctly, everything went to hell. The problem with driving the US highways, of course, is that they go right through some of these cities, and if you are not careful, you can miss a turn, get off the highway, and end up lost---quite possibly, as happened here, in a part of town you really do not want to be in. We ended up turned around, driving through a very sketchy neighborhood, and unable to figure out where we needed to be. But, we did not panic, and finally got back to where we started, saw the sign for Highway 61, and headed off---unfortunately, unbeknownst to us, we were heading north, crossing a bridge on which we saw a sign which read "Welcome to Arkansas!" We exited as quickly as we could, on an exit ramp that led directly into a chemical plant! I made a u-turn, and took the next road, right where a sign seemed to be implying the direction to Memphis, but this road actually seemed to lead down under the bridge, where we encountered hobos living in old travel trailers. I made another u-turn, and finally found the entrance ramp to the bridge, drove back into Memphis, and before too long, we were out of that city, and out of Tennessee. I actually am interested in exploring Memphis, but that little adventure almost convinced me I'd almost rather never see the city again.
Now, we had only the entire length of Mississippi between us and New Orleans, it was dark, I was tired and frustrated, and the car was starting to make strange noises in the front passenger side wheel well. We reached Clarksdale---after driving through a gaunlet of brightly-lit billboards for the casinos outside of Tunica---and never a sadder or more telling sight have I seen than those casinos out to the west of the highway, along the river, these multi-coloured oases of greed amidst the pitch-black Mississippi landscape, with no connection to any place of human habitation, just exit ramps off the highway, and billboards promising the end of all one's troubles and the promise of a great new start with all that money one was sure to win---as Blake said, "The Whore & Gambler, by the State/Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate." We checked into a hotel in Clarksdale, considering perhaps turning back the next morning.
End part one.