Finishing Texas and the crazy Louisianians

Texas did flatten out. Actually, after Houston the whole flavor of the state changed. It became flatter, I saw more trees and more industrial complexes along with a lot of areas torn up for reasons unknown to me. Mexican cantinas gave way to bbq joints, and long about Beaumont I began seeing French names and promises of tasty king crab cakes. When I saw a sign announcing a bayou, I didn't need the map to tell me I was nearing the border.

After my blog entry last night Nia emailed me to inform me that there are plenty of rude Texas drivers, and sure enough, there they were, hanging around Houston. But that was okay, because I'm from California and I can drive offensively with the best of them.

I made my way through Houston, a town where, much like the Bay Area, using your turn indicator is the signal for the person behind you to speed up, blocking lateral movement; I felt quite at home. But as I neared Louisiana the stakes got higher.

I crossed the Texas/Louisiana border, very conscious of the speed limit, and wanted to be careful, but people were flying by me at an alarming rate. Big rigs were moving into the left lane and tailgating me. If I sped up, they sped up. If I slowed down, they sped up and rode closer to my bumper. I couldn't always move to the right. I don't mind admitting - I was scared!

Nia - what the heck is up with your people? Louisianians are INSANE.

My plan had been to stay in Lafayette Parish, have a tasty Cajun dinner, and cruise around in the morning, checking it out, but there was so much traffic and everyone was driving so fast, cutting in and out of the lanes, tailgating, flashing lights - and don't misunderstand - I was doing 80-85 - the speed limit was 70 - that I was unable to see what hotels were available, forget trying to get off the highway. I was afraid that if I tried to exit someone would clip my bumper, you know, a final send-off of sorts.

So I drove through Lafayette, assuring Kobee that we would stop as soon as the traffic thinned out. I found another Super 8, surrounded by fast food, and I pulled in giving up my Cajun feasting dreams. I settled for something fried and a 24oz can of ... Busch. I stood in the store giggling at the beer selection - Bud, Miller, Busch and the ever-exotic Corona. The cashier was quite gracious, probably thinking I was a bit off. But the Busch has taken the edge off the freaked-out feeling I was left with after that harrowing drive.

And so here I sit, in another hotel, Kobee snoozing quietly next to me. Tomorrow is an easy day - just under 400 miles - New Orleans is about 1/2 an hour out of my way and so I'm thinking about going in the morning and checking it out. I'll see how I feel tomorrow ... ahhh ... the joys of having a choice ...