Photo Friday: The Big Easy

The snow west of Texas had turned us around. Our road trip had begun on the East Coast and we had reached as far as Amarillo, but could go no further.

Our destination had been to reach the “Four Corners”. The only place in the U.S. where four states meet: Utah, Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico. Now our plans would change.

Pivoting, we turned southeast towards Dallas. It took us all day to make our way south from the Panhandle, and another day to get out of the state altogether.

It was dark as we raced along Route 10 headed for New Orleans. Marco was out in front with the GPS guiding us. In the pitch black, I saw nothing but dark shapes fly past against an inky sky. Had Bigfoot been standing by the side of the road selling lemonade, we’d never have known. I don’t like to ride at night. It’s too easy to be surprised by an issue in the roadway and there’s no landscape to marvel at. While the GPS was working, our cell phone service was spotty. We had been unable to reserve a hotel for the night. After an eternity, Marco pulled into a motel lot, an oasis in an ocean of darkness.

I can’t recall if it was a Red Roof Inn, or a Econo Lodge or something else. The sign was red and white and it had a bed. It was after 9, perhaps later than that. The office cast a pool of light into the parking lot. Next door, I could see people in the laundromat sitting and watching the big round doors of the commercial machines, hypnotized as their clothes and socks did back flips inside. The air was warm and humid.

Marco and I walked into the motel office. Behind the desk was a woman who commanded our attention. She was a “full sized”, woman. I estimated she had a good 200lb advantage on me, even if I had been carrying a full winter pack. She wore a very tight white T-shirt. It was clearly apparent that she was not wearing any “support” undergarment. On the T-shirt was a cartoon character, but I couldn’t identify it positively. It was a bit stretched, and I dared not direct my gaze there too long.

Her black kinky hair was pulled back in a bun. She smiled, and I saw one front tooth was gold. It reminded me of one of those square chewing gum “Chiclets” from my youth. It was about that big too.

She said “What can I do for you babies?” In a voice that was businesslike, but with a smooth sweet southern accent that made me smile.

I knew in that moment we had come in the right direction and couldn’t wait to visit New Orleans. Clearly, we were no longer in New England were temperatures and personalities were not as warm.

I looked over at Marco, but he had turned to stone, unable to respond. I stepped up and booked us a room. I took my unresponsive riding companion with me and turned in for the night. The following day we were in New Orleans.

Usually on this trip, Marco and I would call our travel agent, and she would try to locate a hotel near our destination when we were close. Sometimes she’d get cute. She loves good hotels and gave us an address for our next stay. As we turned into the entrance of the fabulous hotel, we were greeted by the doorman in top hat and tails.

I cursed her with a laugh under my breath. We dismounted the muddy, bug splattered motorcycles and told our greeter we’d park the bikes in the appropriate spots assigned shortly.

New Orleans was truly an experience. The food, music, history and architecture was amazing. I would come back to the city some years later. I was a bit older and more reserved, but the city does love a celebration and always seems to find a reason to have one.

Eventually Marco and I would turn the bikes around and head north up the East Coast for home.

If the fates had not scattered snow in our path towards New Mexico, we would never have come this way. Sometimes you’re detoured from the trail you have planned.

I don’t stress the forks in the road. Maybe we were never meant to go that way.