Month: March 2016

We left Jeff Busby campsite with the intention of tenting at the last site on the Trace, but weather started cold and damp, and only got worse. Low temperatures were combined with icy cold, and very strong winds. Soon one of us was shivering, whimpering, pathetic, and somewhat hypothermic (OK, it was me 😉 ). Luckily Ann recalled Santa Steve mentioning there was a motel in the tiny village of Collinwood, so we steered our way off the Trace in search of a warm, dry bed.

We first stopped at the village’s Welcome Centre, and were greeted with a warm building, and nice hot coffee. The manager confirmed there was a motel in town, and even called the owners to see if one of the two rooms (yes, the motel has two rooms) was open. Luckily they had an opening, so we arranged to meet the owner.

The motel is owned by the people who run the village hardware store. They live upstairs, and had converted a lower storefront into two motel rooms. We were warmly greeted by Linda, the owner, and were invited in to what looked more like a basement guest-room than a standard motel. It was also adorned with various religious images, including a stack of Christian magazines. But she was sweet, and the room was warm and inviting. We happily moved in for the night.

Unfortunately the village’s only restaurant was closed for the night, so we wondered down to the gas station/convenience store for supper. It was then that my worst fears were confirmed: We were in a DRY town. Booze, which can normally be bought everywhere, was no where to be seen. Damn… At least the pizza was good.

The rain and wind stopped overnight and we woke to a cool but fairly nice day. Overnight we had spent much time looking at weather maps and forecasts. A massive late winter storm was heading our way, promising to deliver high winds, cold temperatures, and lots of rain, freezing rain and snow. Our preferred route back to Canada up through the Thousand Islands/Cornwall was now closed off. Even Niagara looked bad, so we decided to head to Windsor via Detroit.

In addition to this huge weather system, which was expected to pummel the whole region for days, we also had a looming deadline in the form of our travel healthcare insurance. It was due to expire on the 25th — just days away. So with only one route open to us, and time ticking away, we had no choice but to plan for some long riding days.

Yuck …

We pulled out early and headed north. We had to say goodbye to the Trace, but we still managed to find some fun secondary highways on our way to our next stop at Vincennes, Indiana. We found a cheap motel, talked with Donna (always great), ate some leftover pizza, and headed to bed. The next day we were up early and hit the road once again.

This day was another windy and cold driving day. After many hours (too many) we arrived at Huntington, Indiana. It was difficult, but we were now within a hard day’s drive to Windsor. We deserved a just reward:

Our final day in the USA would turn out to be the hardest of our entire trip. Getting up and off early once again, we headed towards Detroit and Windsor. As usual, we were avoiding the bigger cities, so Ann (her lead day) charted a route around Fort Wayne and Toledo. We left in relatively benign conditions, but by early afternoon the approaching storm was really starting to be felt.

Temperatures dropped from 15ºC to 11, then 9 and finally 6ºC. The wind whipped up to a frenzy, and rain was threatening. But we had to get across the border today. We knew we’d have to hunker down for days to let the full storm pass, and if we didn’t reach Canada today we’d be in the US past our healthcare deadline. So press on we did.

Ann managed to navigate us all the way through to downtown Detroit, with only one small tumble of her bike to add a bit of excitement to the day. But here’s where the best laid plans fell apart.

There are two ways to cross from Detroit over to Windsor. The most common route is the massive, and very busy Ambassador Bridge. This toll bridge is the busiest international border crossing in North America. It climbs 150 feet above the Detroit River, and is thick with speeding cars and hundreds of transport trucks. Needless to say, we did not want to go this way.

The second crossing option is the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel, which actually goes under the Detroit River. I had taken this crossing some years ago when driving a rental car back from looking at a potential boat. I knew it was much smaller and friendlier than the Bridge, so this was the crossing for us. The only hard part was finding the access point, which is right in the middle of downtown Detroit. But with Ann’s impeccable navigation, we made it.

Getting to the tunnel was a relief — which quickly turned to horror. Coming up to the toll gate we found a big ugly sign that said MOTORCYCLES PROHIBITED. What the F&@%@!!! We were turned around and sent back into the now drizzling streets of downtown Detroit.

Our only way across was now the Bridge … but we didn’t even know how to get there. And the temperatures were falling fast. And the rain was starting. And we were both kinda frazzled…

Well, as you can guess. We found our way back onto the highway (again, thanks to Ann’s navigational skills), found the bridge entrance, paid our toll (which was cut in 1/2 by a friendly toll operator who only charged us for one vehicle), and drove across this crazy bridge. We were hemmed in by massive transports and whizzing cars who obviously crossed the bridge all the time. But we finally got to Canada Customs, and prepared for the ordeal.

We’d been gone since November, with a brief return over X-mas. In that time we’d accumulated exactly one sleeping pad (to replace Ann’s dead one) and a roadrunner trinket from Mexico. Normally people would be bringing back piles of crap after such an extended trip. This was going to be interesting…

Ann went first. She stopped, turned off her bike, started talking to the guard, rolled the bike back and forth, talked some more… at this point I thought she was going to be dragged off to the back room. But then she started up her bike, smiled back at me, and drove off. I moved up.

“Hi there,” says I. “I’m with her.”

“Yes, I know,” says the obviously bored guard. “Anything to declare? Did you buy anything?”

“Hmm, me? No. Well, I did buy a lot of booze along the way, but I drank it all,” says I, trying to be funny.

“So, do you have any alcohol with you or not?” he says.

“Errrr, no sir.”

“OK, then go on.”

What? Wait?!? I had my whole story rehersed. I was ready to tell him about our grand journey, about all the neat places we’d been. About how beautiful the USA is.

…nuthin’.

I found Ann waiting on the other side. We did a quick map check to find our hotel, then headed off for a much needed dinner:

 

That night and the following day the storm hit as predicted, with cold temperatures and rain that was on the verge of freezing.

    

Fortunately for us, this most southerly corner of Ontario only got heavy rain, but slightly further north and east (exactly where we want to go) the rain turned to heavy freezing rain. Reports of over 100,000 homes losing power in the Toronto area have come in. Roads are impassible, especially for our little bikes. But the storm is moving east, so hopefully things will dry out enough so we can carry on tomorrow.

In the meantime, the hotel has a nice small pub with local IPA on tap, so I’m happy!

Ahhh, the Trace … finally.

We left our little motel room in Natchez and headed into the Natchez Trace Parkway; a 700+ km roadway that follows the historic path used by Natives, pioneers, settlers and boatmen (Kaintucks) returning home after floating downstream with trade goods. The route passes through three states (Mississippi, Alabama and Tennessee). It is enveloped by lovely thick forests, crossing over steams, rivers and marshes, and has plenty of historic sites to explore. Best of all though, it does so at the entirely civil highway speed limit of 50 mph. Perfect…

Our first destination along the Trace was Rocky Springs campground. Oh, did I mention the campgrounds are free along the Trace. Perfect… Anyway, along the way there we stopped at a few of the early historic sites, including a ceremonial temple mound built by Native Americans around 1200, a restored (somewhat) plantation house that acted as an inn for travellers, and traces of the original Trace.

 

We set up camp at Rocky Springs and settled in for a few days of much needed nothingness. No travels, no storms, and no alligators! (Actually, I miss the cute little ‘gators.).

As has been our luck all along, we found a wonderful campsite which backed onto a small ravine.It was a great spot to set up, read a book, and just hang out for a while. Which was all I could manage anyway, because temperatures hit 31ºC those first two days!!! Holy Schmolly that’s hot! The record temperature for Natchez for those days was around 30ºC, so once again we are running into very odd weather.

By the second day it had cooled down into the upper 20s, so we did some exploring of the area, walking up parts of the original Trace to visit the remains of a once-bustling town. The only things that were left of this former town are a couple of safes (too heavy to move I guess), some old cisterns, and a church complete with a graveyard that would make Dracula proud.

 

 

Our bad luck with weather has been mirrored with our good luck meeting wonderful fellow travellers along the way, and this carried on at Rocky Springs as we got to know our neighbours who happened to be from Quebec. One couple (Gilles & Marielle) were travelling with three cats; one was a “coon cat” with an amputated paw, the second a kitten rescue cat, and the third was a black cat who they just let roam the campsite. Turns out these folks were also former sailors who had cruised on their boat (Bayfield 36) for seven years. They even sailed out the St. Lawrence to Halifax and beyond, so we got a few tips and learned about their continuing travels.

Marcel & Annette were our other near-neighbours. Also from Quebec, they came over to learn about these two crazy kanucks who are riding around the continent on two little motorcycles. As is becoming usual, they took pity on us, delivering hot coffee and (later), wine and home-made turkey soup! Later, while stopped in Tupelo for lunch, we were offered a house for the night from a woman in the next booth. We seem to engender this kind of motherly reaction from people … maybe we really are crazy 😉 .

After three days of rest we pulled up stakes and headed down the Trace to our next campsite: Jeff Busby. Along the way we stopped at the town of Canton (off the Trace). This is apparently where some of the scenes in Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? was filmed, so Ann got all goofy and giddy and, well, she was not to be denied. So, we had a wonderful lunch and saw stuff that could have been in the movie … maybe.

Our next stop after getting back on the Trace was the Cypress Swamp. When we got there the trail had been closed due to all the flooding, but Ann, being the rebel that she is, and speaking in her new-found southern accent, said: “No horse eatin’, Judas Iscariot Hogwallop, no nuthin’ coppers, is gonna keep me from seein’ swampy trees!!” * So she burst through the barricades and once again led us on a nefarious excursion.

*Quote slightly edited for artistic purposes 😉

   

We pulled into our next campsite just as the clouds began to thicken. Rainy weather was predicted to settle on us for the following day or so, and we just managed to get the tent up before the clouds opened up. We got the tarp up before things got too wet, so had a nice, dry (ish) campsite for the next couple of rainy days.

In between bouts of rain we managed to get in a couple of small walks, including a mountain climb up to one of Mississippi’s highest points! OK, it was only 603 feet, but still…

 

       

While at Jeff Busby (who apparently was some American Congressperson who got the campsite named after him for simply doing his job 😉 ), we met fellow biker Steve (aka Motorcycle Santa), and reconnected with Marcel & Annette who fed us, warmed us, and shared great stories of their travels. One evening we got invited into a party featuring more Quebecers. We talked and sang into the night. What a Wonderful Life!

After three nights of soggy, cool weather we decided it was time to head north once again. With the weather turning damper and colder, and with our healthcare deadline rapidly approaching, we decided it was time to get serious about getting back to Canada. We packed up and headed along the Trace, likely looking for a motel so we could plan our route north.

CNN: Louisiana flooding: Nearly 5,000 homes damaged

FOX: Widespread flooding from severe storms plagues Louisiana, Mississippi

Jackson Newspaper: Flood waters collapse southern Mississippi roads

Yup, a little water never hurt anyone, but this wasn’t a little water…

Our entire journey has been either wetter and colder, or hotter and dryer, than normal. Well, now we’re getting hotter and wetter … much wetter. We’ve driven into a flood zone!!!

We had left Brazos Park on our way to the start of the Natchez Trace in Natchez Mississippi. But to get there we had to travel over 700 km (partly to avoid driving through Houston … I’d had enough of that insanity already 🙂 ). We knew this meant a few motel nights, but what we didn’t count on was the weather.

I guess we should have clued in given the steady stream of traffic travelling in the opposite direction, but it was my lead day, and I wasn’t going to let these little annoying hints deter me from getting away from Houston and making some distance. So we made our detour around the big city, and stopped for the first night in Huntsville TX.

The motel was typically nondescript, but the nearby Mexican restaurant served an excellent margarita, so Ann was happy (very, very happy 😉 ). The next morning we awoke to questionable weather forecasts, but still a burning desire to get further east. So off we went, INTO THE MAW.

Actually, we were having a wonderful ride. The storm clouds that had been threatening all day never did open up on us, even though we drove through areas that had been drenched with rain not 1/2 hour earlier. But our luck ran out on highway 63 when we ran straight into a road block just before a bridge over the Sabine River near Burkville.

“No, No… you can’t go this way,” says one of the two highway workers in a thick Louisiana accent. “Why,” says I? “Bridge is awash just up ahead. You gotta go this way…” At that he rattles off a long string of directions and highway numbers. When I look up rather desperately he pauses and asks: “You know where all that is?” “Nope,” says I rather feebly. “I don’t know where any of that is … I hardly know where I am now!”

He shakes his head as if he’s looking at a poor, soon-to-be-drowned kitten. And then he takes out a written list of the directions and highway numbers. I study it while other cars are flying past us, heading down the detour. I finally nod and say I’ve got it … but I don’t really got it.

Oh hell … I’ve never let my lack of grasping all the details ever stop me from doing silly things in the past, and damn if I’m going to start being wise now 😉 So off we head, with me in the lead once again.

As we drive along the detour in search of a non-washed out bridge, we pass increasing signs of the seriousness of the flood; fields inundated, houses and buildings with water over the windows ledges, water lapping at the edges of smaller bridges, and the Toledo Bend spillway that was a torrential flow of broiling frothy whitewater.

Suffice it to say that due to my near-symbiotic and deep connection with Mother Nature, I managed to lead us through the disaster zone, and safely to our next motel in Leesville, Louisiana. We found a warm bed at what, for us, is an upscale motel (Super 8), and settled in for a couple of nights so we could let the storm move on, and the waters start to drain. We even did a little laundry, and of course drank a few IPAs at the local steakhouse.

By the third day we decided to press on towards Natchez. Although the rains have stopped, the rivers are still cresting. It’s going to keep going up for another day or so, but nothing appears to be blocking our path now, so on we go.

We crossed the Red River and the mighty Mississippi and are now in Mississippi. Tonight is hopefully our last motel night for a while. We’re tucked into another fancy motel (Days Inn) which proudly boasts about its GENUINE SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY. And it sure feels true. They not only offer a warm breakfast feature “the best darn grits around!” But we were also invited to a hot dinner meal of beans, rice, corn bread and collard greens. Yum!

 

 

Tomorrow we head into the Natchez Trace. Hope we can find non-soggy ground to pitch our tent.

We pulled out of Port Lavaca after being well fed, well cleaned up, and after having caught up with some funny family folk (get ya next time D). Our destination was Brazos Bend State Park, which promised to fulfill two burning needs: alligators and therm-a-rests.

Fellow Padre Island camper (and Ontarian) Dan had told us the gaters were so easy to see at Brazos that you had to step around them on the paths . I figured this was a bit of an exaggeration, (foreshadow!), but it sounded good . And Brazos is pretty close to Houston, which had a couple of REI stores (a store like MEC). Ann’s sleeping pad was approaching beach ball stage, so this was becoming critical. Brazos was the perfect next stop for us.

Approaching the park, we stopped at a little grocery store to stock up on all the essentials. We’d heard about some serious weather coming in, and as luck would have it, there was a TV on in the shop tuned to the Weather Channel. They were talking about the coming 3-day storm, showing pretty graphics with big winds, lots of rain, and scary lightning icons all over our location. They reassuringly told us our area only had a TOR-CON rating of 4 out of 10. TOR-CON measures the chance of tornadoes. A “4” is, well, 40% chance of tornadoes within the area. I’ve always wanted to see a tornado … from a safe location, so BRING IT ON!!

We bought an extra bottle of wine in preparation for the maelstrom. But we also decided to rent one of the park’s screened-in shelters. If we were going to get stuck in heavy rain and winds (and tornadoes 😉 ) for days, at least we’d have a place bigger than our tent to stretch out. This turned out to be a great plan.

We got ourselves set up at site/shelter #7 a full day before the big storm was to hit. The next day we headed into Houston to get Ann’s new sleeping pad.  Houston is a very large and busy city. It’s also encircled and criss-crossed with toll highways, some of which are only usable by those with transponders. This made getting to where we wanted to go rather difficult. As usual, we wanted to avoid the fast roads anyway, but this meant our 1-hr journey turned into an all-day odyssey. And the near-gale force winds (a precursor to the big storm) didn’t help. But we prevailed, and Ann is now the happy owner of a fancy new Therm-a-rest.

               

With mission #1 accomplished we hunkered down for the coming storm. Our shelter was screened in, with a nice solid roof, and a small porch. It had power and water, but was not really proof against blowing rain. And unfortunately the only table was located outside (and a friendly sign warned us against bringing it inside the shelter). But with a little ingenuity I was able to use our tarp to protect the porch, and some fellow campers took pity on us (people seem to do this quite regularly 😉 ) and brought us their extra plastic sheets so we could cover the side screens. In the end we had a shelter that was dry and somewhat cosy.

And a good thing too! Man did it blow! … and rain! … and set the sky ablaze with lighting and thunder!! The storm raged for two full days, but we stayed warm and mostly dry. And with the luxury of having power, we even decided to fire up the computer and watch some good ol’ Corner Gas.

The storm didn’t produce any tornadoes (at least not near us), but it did dump tons of rain on us, particularly the second night. Although we were camped on high ground, I was a bit worried we’d float away. The next morning we were still on mushy, wet, but mostly solid ground. However, all around the campsite was new ponds of pooled water and new creeks running everywhere. What a soaker!

   

The storm system lingered and stalled over much of Texas, but it did offer us a few hours of respite through the second day and into the third. We ventured out to explore our surrounds, and to see the various critters than make Brazos kinda famous.

OK, first there is the bird life. All sorts of interesting and weird ones live here. No wonder it attracts the weirdest of all critters: the Birder, in droves.

And the forest itself looks like a set design from a classic southern movie, with lush growth and big trees all hung heavy in spanish moss.

 

 

      

Then there are the odd-ball animals like the opossum  and the armadillo . But the king of them all … the one that we drove all this way to see … the one which made us face a TOR-CON 4 storm … well this one needs no introduction.

Its smiling face tells it all:

As does ours:

           

The day before we had made a visit to the Nature Centre in the park. There we learned a bit about the various animals in the area, including the smiling alligators. We even got to pet a baby alligator, and visit a mom with 29 little ones all hanging around. They’re so little, and so cute. All of which left us feeling pretty brave about visiting the main area the following day.

 

This bravery quickly departed once we saw our first Big Guy. He was just sitting on the edge of the path — smiling, as if tempting us to walk past. We had already turned around to go back when a couple of locals strolled past us, and without a pause, walked past Big Ugly. After that it became easy, and we started to seem them all over the place.

   

With mission #2 accomplished, the storm abated, and the pending plague of Spring Breakers all set to descend on all State Parks (indeed, everywhere interesting outside of college/university towns), we pulled up stakes and headed on. We’re slowly making our way northish now, with our immediate goal to reach Natchez and the start of the Natchez Trace. This 400+ mile route is a national park that will take us all the way north to Nashville. Tonight (and possibly tomorrow) will be motel nights. Oh well… at least the water is warm.

BTW, after much Denial, Anger, Bargaining and Depression, Ann finally Accepted the loss of her long-loved therm-a-rest. So, after gutting it like a pig (to see its innards so we could see why it failed), she made a final blessing to the camping equipment gods, and sent her old sleeping pad to the great dumpster in the sky. So sad…

Ya’ll … everyone talks like this. It’s the authentic southern accent we all know and love. And it’s real! So real that Ann is now speaking like a Texan. She’s taking on the accent! Not only that, she’s excited by bayous and gaters, and I swear she was even openly musing about getting a pink-handled gun. Calling all Canadians … she may need a deprogramming session when we get back up north 😉

Anywhoo… We left Cotulla and drove the rest of the way down to Corpus Christi and Padre Island. We finally said goodbye to the deserts that have been our home for the past months, and headed to the Gulf. As a parting gift I saw one final saguaro, and we also caught sight of signs for some local cultural activities.

Our route took us through parts of Corpus, and unfortunately this meant we had to run on the Interstates … at 80 MPH!! But we made it, and pulled up to our new home at Malaquite Beach on Padre Island. This is the furthest south we’ve yet been, and likely the furthest we’ll go on this journey. All roads point north from here.

Malaquite campground is very popular and busy, and like most of the sites we’ve been, is geared towards motorhomes and RVs. Tenters are definitely the odd-ball “campers.” Luckily though, they reserve specific sites for us second-class campers, so despite the campground being perpetually busy and usually full, we were able to find a site without any problems.

At 70 miles long, Padre Island National Seashore beach is apparently the longest stretch of undeveloped barrier island in the world. There are a couple of organized campgrounds, but you can also set up anywhere on the beach for free. Unfortunately we found the sand too soft for our small bikes, so we pitched our tent  in at the main organized site and settled into life on the wet and windy coast.

Part of the wonder of this journey has been experiencing the various weathers and climates across the continent. These past few weeks we’ve gone from dry desert to humid, windy and HOT here on the Gulf coast. In Big Bend Park the temperatures were warm and dry during the day, but often around freezing overnight. Most nights here on the Gulf stayed in the mid-teens, with daytime temperatures reaching 30ºC sometimes!

And did I mention wind …? It was windy almost all the time. We often feared for our little tent, which is not really designed for high winds. One day it was so windy (blowin’ a gale!) that Ann had to cook under our table just so our little stove would stay lit. And being on a dune, we soon learned to live with sand getting everywhere (“Be one with the sand”). The floor was sandy, my sheet and sleeping bag were sandy, my clothes in my case were sandy. Heck, one morning I had to dump the sand out of my shoes.

NOTE: I was gallant of course, and took the windy/sandy side. My side was wayyyy worse than Ann's ;-)

Padre Island is an environmental treasure along the coast. It’s not only the longest undeveloped stretch of beach on the Gulf, but it is also home to an incredible amount of bird, dune, and sea life. The squadrons of brown pelicans were often overhead, along with the laughing gulls, herons, long-billed curlew, various terns and the ever-present grackle. It’s a birders’ Mecca; something that Dan, a fellow camper from Ontario, explained to us.

   

Along with the birds we also caught sight of many small dune lizards , as well as the skittish ghost crab . The dunes are also home to various snakes, including rattle snakes. Ann caught sight of one, but doesn’t think it was a rattler. Of course we learned later that it is unwise to hang out in the dunes, mainly due to the rattlers. Oops 😉

  

Unfortunately for Padre Island, it also seems to be the foci of many Gulf currents. This, along with the massive human developments all around, including offshore oil rigs , means the beach is often caked in human garbage . We went for a short walk one day and Ann filled a garbage bag in no time. . Despite this, it was a stunningly beautiful place to spend close to two weeks at.

Of course, the other great thing about travelling is all the wonderful people we are meeting. During our 11 day stay at Padre Island we got to know some great folks, including another Mike who was down from Phoenix camping in his fancy teepee tent. He shared his company and his beer with us, and we taught him that it’s not a woollen hat, it’s a toque! He also owns a motorcycle, and hearing about our crazy journey seemed to inspire him to try a trip on his own two-wheeler.

There was also a fellow Ontarian named Kathy who took pity on us, er…, I mean invited us for a lovely warm breakfast over at her trailer. And then there was our RV neighbours: Joe and Jody and their wonderful Golden Retriever Bella, who not only let us use their generator to charge our storage battery, but became fast-friends of the lasting kind.

Like us, they were first-timers at Padre Island, and also like us, they were embraced by the many campers who spend months at a time here, some returning year after year. The whole group took pity on us, er… I mean began inviting us to the various group events, and even started to give us food (fresh fish, Texas grapefruit and a full fish-fry). What great people!

Jody and Joe invited us over to their palatial wheeled home for two delicious dinners, which also included copious amounts of libations. On our final day at Padre they invited us to go with them on a drive down the beach in their four-wheeler. We readily agreed, and spent the whole afternoon driving and exploring the semi-wild beach some 20 miles south of the campground.

   

   

Gonna miss you guys!

 

BTW, we’ve had great luck so far with our bikes and camping equipment, some of which is going on two decades old. Ann’s had a few minor issues with her bike, and the stove is suffering from first dry air, and now salty moist air . But sadly one piece of equipment has given up the ghost: Ann’s sleeping pad. Her much-used therm-a-rest started to delaminate a few weeks ago, and is rapidly turning itself into a beach ball. We’re going to have to get her a new one, probably at an REI store (similar to our MEC).

 

Our time at Padre finally came to an end with the looming threat of the plague called Spring Breakers. So we packed up and headed off to spend a few nights in a cheap motel. Laundry and a warm shower was on the agenda, so we found a place in Port Lavaca, which is NE of Padre. It was a two hour drive along the shore, which included a short ferry ride, all the way to our three day Motel 6 home.

The motel is right next to a great bar/restaurant that serves local seafood and good beer. We’ve been indulging ourselves with fresh oysters, good IPA, and a warm, dry bed.

One thing that has been on my “hope to see” list is alligator. We’d decided to head for a state park near Houston just to see these critters. But there is a bayou right next to our motel in back of the restaurant. We were walking there yesterday and Ann kinda sputters and spittles, and points down to the water. OUR FIRST GATER!

  

Tomorrow we plan to head towards Brazos Bend State Park so we can see more alligators, and also get back into our tent. State parks are expensive here in Texas, but are still cheaper than most motels. More than that though, I really miss not sleeping outdoors. We’ve also got a big storm coming our way, with heavy rains and big winds predicted. We’ll likely hunker down at the Park till Thursday or Friday.

All roads now lead north, but we’ll be watching the weather to make sure we avoid any of the white stuff. We’re planning to take the Natchez Trace, which is a historic route through Mississippi all the way to Nashville Tennessee. But that is days away. In the meantime, there’s still more Texan IPA to explore, or as they call it here: TPA.