I left my beautiful island hangout yesterday. I planned to pull out around 9 AM but woke up to a torrential downpour.  I had not disconnected my utilities or hitched up to the van yet. I usually wait until I am ready to roll so that I have water, a bathroom, and so on up to the last minute. But, the rain poured. I drank coffee, organized a bit more and generally stalled. Time was fleeing, and I had to be out by noon for the next camper So, for the first time–and I have learned there will be a first time for everything–I had to do the drive away chores in the drenching rain. I did everything in stages and tried to dry off a bit between each stage. First, I unhooked water, sewer and electricity and stowed the wet and muddy hoses in the outside camper storage. Then, I ran inside and caught my breath. Next, I hitched up. Back and forth, back and forth, trying to get the hitch inline with the ball. Then, setting up the leveling bars and the anti-sway bar. I ran inside again, then back out, to set up the safety chains and pull out the wheel chocks. Tango remained in the van the entire time, which is his usual MO. He seems to think that his job is to wait patiently in the passenger seat while I do all the work. Finally, I peel off my rain gear and jump in the van. The time is 11:30 AM, and I pulled away a bit rattled.

The first 40 miles were easy and uneventful. I was on back roads that lead to I-10 west and never went more than 40 mph. On the freeway, though, the van and camper swayed if I drove faster than 50 mph. If a larger van or truck passed, it tried to suck me into it’s air stream. The situation was a bit unsettling. I was thinking it was my new van tires causing the problem, or maybe the tires needed air. I pulled over at a Love’s Truck Stop to air up. As soon as I jumped out, a seedy-looking guy with one tooth sticking straight out said, “M’am, let me do that for you”. I was a bit shocked, but heck, this guy offered to fill up my eight tires (four on camper, four on van), a job that I find tedious: pulling the air hose around and under, twisting and turning so I can manage the air gauge, all while fighting against the air compressor timer. Ya-hoo. Have at it. About 2 seconds too late I realized that this guy would be begging for money. It was just him and me on the far side of the van, away from a view inside the store, and he could have robbed me, not that I carry much money. Had I been on my game I would have shooed him away, but he was at it and I was delighted to have him do it, even if I had to pay.  I decided to walk around to the view side of the van and talk to him while he moved around the tires. As he worked, the guy told me his mother has just died after a ten-year battle with cancer. He was on his way to her service, may she rest in peace. “Guess she’s in a better place he said”. Me: “yep”.  Then the reveal: would I be able to give him some money? He needs gas so that he can get to his mom’s funeral in time. Whatever. I know a scam when I see one, but I was, truly, happy to pay him for doing my tires. Safety first, I thought as I jumped into the van, locked the door, and rolled the window down enough to give him $3.00. Done deal.Bye bye. 

By the way, the tire guy told me that the camper tires were down to 40 psi. Duh! The first thing I usually do when taking off after sitting awhile (2 months in this case) is to air up the camper tires. No wonder it swayed. My travel mojo is feeling shaky as I get back on the interstate. I continue to sway. I am going 45-50 mph and people are honking at me. Strange, I think, then pull off again. I walk around the van and camper, thinking. Sway, sway? OMG, the anti-sway bar is not adjusted.

Back on the interstate again and it’s all good. I am feeling rusty, and incompetent, though, and I don’t go over 55 mph. It takes forever to make any progress. I had planned to get through Baton Rouge before rush hour, but with the earlier delays, I hit the late afternoon traffic. Everything went south fast. I was trying to to avoid colliding with a speeding semi and I was not watching the signs. Suddenly, I was in the lane that merges into 110. I headed downtown now, and, as is true with older downtowns, the freeway narrowed and was filled with pot holes and bumps. Thud, bump, thud. Tango looks petrified and I am feeling a bit green. We are talking fast, rush hour traffic with semis and potholes.  I kept my cool, sort of, and decide I will look for a safe exit and turn around. Just then, the gas light comes on and I hear that “low on gas” bing. I was so preoccupied with the tire and sway bar incidents, I forgot to gas up.

I decided to take the next exit and get gas pronto. Except, I am now downtown, nowhere near a gas station. The first thing I see as I stop at the end of the off-ramp is a hooker. Now, I don’t mean to judge, but she did have on a thigh high skirt and stilettos so what else would she be doing under the interstate bypass? I drove on slowly to conserve gas, and realize that I am in a bad, bad neighborhood, with crummy houses, boarded up buildings,  and suspicious looking people everywhere. No gas station.

I could go on, but I will say that I found a gas station. I was the only white person there and people looked at me like I dropped in from space as I navigated my RV into a tight row so I could get gas. I just acted like I owned the place, gassed up and left. If anybody came near me with an attitude about me being a honky, I was prepared to shout, “He is not my President”.  I am feeling so guilty these days. Anyway, with a full tank, I found my way back to I-10. But first, I had to drive through the stinky refinery section, where smoke stacks belched no good pollutants into the atmosphere and my lungs. 

Downtown Baton Rouge, refineries in background

After traveling only 275 miles in 8 hours due to all the mishaps. I pulled over for the night. I woke up feeling like the previous day blew out the travel cobwebs and I was ready to roll once again. I took a moment to be thankful that I survived and set up a game plan for the day. I  timed everything to miss the Houston rush hour and got through there okay around lunch time. The Houston metro area is the 6th largest in the country! Approaching from the east, I counted 4 lanes in each direction on the highway. On the west side, I counted 5 lanes of traffic! People were moving fast but not like in Denver, at least at that time of day. Glad to get through there is one piece. If I do everything just right, Houston may be the last huge metropolis I drive through on my way back to northern Idaho. 

Houston freeway

 All is well. The travel mojo is back and I am settling into travel mode!