The Long Road to Baton Rouge

I posted on Facebook last night that my advice to anyone who wants to drive 18 hours solo is that they should reconsider doing so. After a good night’s sleep and a chance to stretch out all the kinks that worked their way into my body throughout the drive yesterday, I have to admit I don’t feel nearly as bad as I thought I would!

I have added a couple of things to my “things to keep in mind” list, though. First, an atlas. Always carry a detailed atlas - it can save your bacon. And, I will always adjust my timetable to add at least one hour to any timetable Google gives me on their directions. Their times are strictly road times, and don’t take into consideration stops for gasoline and “bio-breaks” - or, for that matter, getting lost.

I left my driveway at 4:00 a.m. yesterday. It was kind of surreal, leaving at that time in the morning. So peaceful - and there was nearly nobody out on the streets. I felt a special kind of kinship with those folks I saw, as if I was part of a secret “Up Earlier Than Anyone Else Club.”

As I eased into the driving groove, I found myself coming up being a semi truck on I-29, and I had to smile when I saw the picture on the back. It was a great way to start the trip.



Missouri’s miles flowed smoothly by. The day dawned cloudy, with periods of light misty showers. I was thankful I didn’t have to deal with the bright sunshine, although, as I entered Arkansas, the clouds started looking threatening.

Arkansas really surprised me. I’ve never heard anything good about Arkansas (come to think of it, I don’t really think I’ve heard ANYTHING about Arkansas), and if I were asked to draw a picture of someone from Arkansas, I would probably draw a toothless hillbilly leaning on a broken-down porch, rifle casually slung over one shoulder. Although I did see one billboard that seemed to be tailored for that kind of person (“Loose dentures? Missing teeth? We can help!”), the rest of Arkansas proved to be absolutely beautiful. The stony bluffs of Missouri turned into rocky outcroppings, and the terrain changed from hilly to downright mountainous. I’ll be the first to admit, having grown up in Colorado, that to me the Rocky Mountains were the only “real” mountains in the U.S. Arkansas taught me otherwise. Rather than soaring high about me, Arkansas’ mountain valleys drop away from the highway.



Wraiths of mist clung vertically to the hillsides, looking substantial enough to reach out and grasp. About eight hours into my drive, I saw signs directing folks to a big state park that I’m going to do some research into - when I get my Airstream, this could be a nice place to spend some time.

Not much further along, I ran into the remnants of Hurricane Hermine. The rain poured down faster than the windshield wipers could carry it away, and the highway turned into a red river. Traffic crawled along, and I was relieved to pull off into a rest stop and wait until the worst of the storm had passed. The next hour or so was spent dodging in and out of torrential downpours. The last band of rain ended abruptly, and I drove out of a wall of water onto dry pavement. Honestly, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw cars appearing out of the cloud.

Arkansas wore on and on. The terrain became flatter, Google’s directions more vague. Finally, as seems to be the case on any trip I attempt, I was lost. The two-lane highway Google directed me onto turned into an old two-lane highway, which then turned into an old two-lane highway in desperate need of repair, and then it dead-ended at a dirt road. Not exactly where I wanted to be at 4:00 in the afternoon, lost in the back woods of Arkansas.

I have no idea how long it took me to find my way out of that particular paper bag, but I will admit, after I found my way to the highway I needed to be on (with the help of my trusty atlas), I felt like Zena, Warrior Princess. Or, okay, maybe more like Boris in the James Bond film “Goldeneye” (“I am Inwinceable!”)




I was also surprised by all the logging trucks I saw. Tree farming is a big business in Arkansas.



Late in the afternoon, I finally arrived in Louisiana. The countryside is remarkably like Nebraska’s; fields of green, very agricultural. The sunset was spectacular, and I was so happy to be back on track.



The Fates weren’t done with me yet, though. If you know any of my history, you know I was in a terrible car crash when I was visiting a friend in Australia. This was years ago, but I retain a dislike of driving on two-lane highways, especially in the dark. Wouldn’t you know it, when darkness fell, road signs appeared advising of construction and turning what had been a four-lane highway with a nice wide median into two-lane traffic. My worst nightmare.

I arrived at the motel 18 hours, to the minute, from when I left my cozy familiar little house in Lincoln, Nebraska.

I’ve had a good night’s sleep, I’m feeling alert and well-rested, and after a shower, I’m going to be ready to take on the world - and go meet my little Joe Lee!