Louisiana Saturday

I was getting a little stir crazy in New Orleans. I needed open spaces, windows down, country music up, and a long drive to clear my head. Nothing's wrong, but the past few weeks have been exhausting. Between work and work things, GED graduation, two fun months of visitors almost every weekend, a stress fractured foot, all the things that are here there, and all the things that are neither here nor there, I just needed a break. And not the kind of break where I drive to Mississippi and sit on the beach. No, the kind of break where I'm out in the country and there's wind and fresh air and lots of country music radio stations.

I almost took off on my own and hopped on the interstate for a long drive, which I do sometimes when I need to drive. I'm too afraid to explore the back roads of Louisiana by myself. More uncertain than afraid, I guess. I really wouldn't know what to do if I ran over a gator or something.

So I called my friend Nick, and we decided to head to Denham Springs, Louisiana in search for some nice  bottles for our limoncello that we're making. Nick is my friend because a.) he drives a pick-up truck, b.) he likes country music, c.) he doesn't mind driving with the windows down, and c.) because he says things like, "Well, this might take a little longer, but I want to avoid the interstate." All of these are things I am down with, but those were just the words I needed to say.

As we crossed Lake Ponchatrain on the Causeway (a bridge that is 23 miles long that goes from New Orleans to the north shore of the lake, )  there were clouds a-brewing west of us, bolts of lighting shooting down. As I have no sense of direction in this state, I didn't know that very shortly we would be turning into those clouds.

It started raining when we hit the short of interstate we had to take I didn't mind that it was raining because I wasn't driving. I didn't mind that it was pouring because I wasn't driving. I started to mind when the rain was coming down sideways. Buckets, cats and dogs, or downpour does not describe this rain. I would say that monsoon is applicable. Instead of white outs with snow, the rain came down so heavily that it was literally impossible to see anything. And of course,  being the good backseat driver that I am, I asked Nick if he wanted to pull over at Robert, LA, the next exit. No. Being the man that he is, he politely refused. We weren't fifty feet past the exit when lighting struck a tree  next to us, and the most thunderous clap of thunder I have ever heard shook his truck. Nick kept driving. I could only sit there with my hands folded, and we did not talk while we tried to regain our composure. When we drove out of the storm, Nick said, "See, I knew it would blow over. . . . . . . . . But I might have a streak in my drawers."

The venture to the antique was completely foiled after we exited for Denham Springs. I should have known we weren't going to make it when we came to a T stop and Nick said, "I can't remember which way to downtown." We went right, mostly because there was a sign offering karate classes, and the first two were free. When we hit Walker, Nick said, "Well, we're not in Denham Springs any more." "Do you want to turn around?" "Nope." And so began our one hour to an antique store turned into an eight hour Sunday drive on Saturday afternoon.

Yes, eight hours. The windows were down, the music was up, and I kept my fractured foot elevated out the window of the car. At every intersection or junction, we took turns deciding which way to go. We saw some great barbecue places (you know it's good if there's a restaurant in the middle of nowhere with a giant inflatable pig in a chef's hat in the yard.) We tried to get to the river, and to a Civil War battlefield, but it closed right as we got there. By five o'clock, we'd made it all the way to St. Francisville, Louisiana. Which now that I think about isn't much of a feat, but considering that we made it anywhere at all, I'm pretty proud of that.

We had dinner at a WASP-y version of a Mexican restaurant. The view was amazing. It was in a valley next to the river. It was beautiful and quiet. It was so quiet that we didn't even talk while we ate, just let the bees buzz and the birds chirp.

The drive back was even more beautiful. I will suggest Louisiana State Highway 16 to anyone who loves scenic drives as much as I do. The only problem is the serious lack of bathrooms. If you ever find yourself in Amite, LA, do not even bother asking if the gas stations have bathrooms because they don't. And if they did, you would probably not like them. But the good thing is that the clientèle outside the gas stations are friendly enough to offer to sell you weed and painkillers. Because really they are just thinking of you - especially when they see the giant walking cast on your leg. I never thought I'd say it, but thank God for Piggly Wiggly.

Eight hours later, after successfully avoiding the interstates for as much as possible, I am home again. And I feel just right. Well, maybe a little sore in the backside from so much sitting. And I do not want to try to comb my hair out. And I'm still limoncello bottle-less. And I did have to pee at a Piggly Wiggly....Louisiana Saturday afternoons turn into Louisiana Saturday nights.