Start – 4431.1 km
Finish – 4684.7
—————
253.6 km or 152.2 mi

In much the same way that I covered a lot of ground today, there’s a lot I’d like to cover topically. I left Gautier, Mississippi (west of Pascagoula) and pretty much blew through to Gulfport without much of an update. I did have more, however gripping it may or may not be.

I went to sleep last night at Shepard state park in Gautier at around 9pm, entirely beat from the day. And the sounds I fell asleep to in the campground could not have been more perfect: a hound dog howling from one campsite just over the sounds of bluegrass fiddle music coming from another. I actually busted out the video camera and walked down the lane to record the fiddle music and dog, but as I approached the campsite, I noticed a beatup pickup and a guy with the slumped shoulders of an ape (wearing a wifebeater and dirty ballcap no less), fooling around with cables. I just kept walking like I was going to the bathroom. You never know. Decent fellow, I’m sure. But he probably wouldn’t have taken kindly to me sitting there recording the lit-up campsite with bluegrass music playing.

Woke up around sunrise again this morning and the rabbit that had been playing around my site the night before was back foraging for food. Perhaps it was a different rabbit. They all look the same. Short. Brown. Fur. Rabbit ears. Hibbity-hobbiting. As I packed up the site, I went to go put on my helmet and noticed that it was covered in the fine sand that was in the cleared out area of the site. I suspected the rabbit, naturally. Rabbits are devious. Of course, all of my proof was circumstantial, but… it was the rabbit, I’m sure.

Spoke to the ranger as I was leaving the camp and he asked if I had hoped to avoid New Orleans on my route. Multiple people have asked if I was planning to do that. Not sure why. I had every intention of hitting New Orleans.

But let me back up to the night before as it somewhat set the mood for the day. As I was at the laundromat, an older woman (though not much older) was folding clothes there; ran the place. We began to talk over cigarettes as my clothes tumbled in the dryer. Katrina. Katrina redefined lives in this part of the country. You saw it on tv, you read about it online and in the papers. It’s still ever-present here along the gulf coast.

“My daughter came out better because of it,” she told me. A tornado had hit her daughter’s trailer home. Had flattened the walls out in the living room, the furniture within didn’t move an inch. The roof over the child’s bedroom was crushed, but items could still be retreived. The kitchen… there was no kitchen. Nothing there to identify that a kitchen was ever there. “Not a spoon, not a fork, I mean nothin’.”

The daughter and husband went to the church, left a note asking for help to get out of town, to go up north and try to start a new life near the husband’s family. The next day, an old woman came by from the congregation, asked them what they needed. New tires, money for gas to get there, and enough money for food. Done. The husband now works a job making twice what he had been making in Gautier, the daughter works in a hospital. They just put a down-payment down on a home with a fenced yard and two car garage. In 11 years, it’s paid for.

It was a nice story she told. Except for when she lamented that her “grandbabies were now all the way in Missouri” and not down the road in Gautier. Hadn’t seen them in two years. We talk about various facets of life here. “I never thought I’d be folding laundry 14 hours a day when I was a kid,” she said. She smokes another Doral, we sit and watch the cars go by on Gautier-Vancleeve Boulevard. My laundry has long since finished drying.
“I need to get going before the sun gets down,” I say. “Take care.”

As I left Gautier and started the drive toward Biloxi, I began to see the remnants of Katrina. I had seen them earlier, but they became more evident, the farther west you traveled. Empty lots where houses once stood were now vacant except for the foundations. Boats in impossible places, never moved. Buildings partially or entirely destroyed still and left to decay in their spot. All the way into New Orleans, this was the scene along Hwy 90. And all of this was in the midst of a beautifully scenic drive along the coast.

I stopped a lot along the way today to take pictures. After a while, I realized I just couldn’t photograph anymore destruction from a natural disaster that happened years ago. But the devastation is all around. And it’s still affecting lives.

Anyway.

Drove through Biloxi on Hwy 90. Through Gulfport on 90 and onward to New Orleans. There was a detour on 90 that took me through some small town that started with a P. Peachtree? No, that’s not it. Hold on. It’s google time!

Pearlington! Beatup Cadillacs with spinners. Pickup trucks. Children without shoes. It seemed as though every car in town had decided to boycott the car wash for the past few months.

And right about that time, I entered Louisiana. Bayous. Long and broken docks stretching out over water that’s now calm. Beautiful, to say the least. I wish I had been there at sundown, and not at 4:30 in the afternoon. I could’ve stayed on that road longer than I did. There was too much to see. And even there, maybe especially there, it was hard to not think about the destruction that swept through the region. RVs parked in empty home lots. Were they squatting? People pulled off the road, fishing. Of course, fishing has been the scene everywhere along this drive where there has been a body of water (even by small streams), only on these stretches of highway, you get the sense that lives depend more on the day’s catch.

Drove into New Orleans, was planning on staying the night with a family member, would call him after I came into town. Went down to Canal Street, traveled the length of Bourbon Street. I appeared to be some sort of novelty to a girl with a camera as she took my picture.

Guy on a scooter, no. 119. Triple-bonus: backpack, milk crate, video camera in hand.

Never was able to connect with my cousin so I stayed the night in a hotel in Metairie, Louisiana. Talked to him on the phone tonight after I checked in and we may meet up today.

Day 10 comes to a close.

Two other things:
1) I’ve been getting a lot of questions along the way about my itinerary. I really don’t have one. I haven’t had one from the beginning and I’m really enjoying NOT having one. That being said, I do have a rough plan: Get to LA.
Texas isn’t far now and I’ve been giving some thought to the state. I will most certainly be going through Houston. But I may go south. In fact, I’m certain I will go south before I come back north. I doubt I’ll go into Mexico, but I’ll come close, I’m sure.

2) I thought it might be of interest to know exactly what I’ve packed on this trip, as there is a certain economy to this life on the road. So here’s a list:

• Camera
• Video camera
• Laptop
• 500GB external harddrive
• Black camera bag full of lenses, cables, memory cards, card reader, cleaner, q-tips, etc
• 2-gallon can of gas
• 2 quarts of oil (two quarts already used)
• Tire-pressure gauge
• Small set of tools/tire repair kit for Scooter
• Heavy duty lock for Scooter (last night was actually the first time I’ve used it)
• Helmet
• Wallet, cellphone, cigarettes
• Camping/hiking backpack
• One-person tent
• Sleeping bag
• Three pairs of socks (down from four, as the sock monster claimed a solitary victim somewhere back in Florida)
• Five pair of underwear
• Seven or eight shirts, two long-sleeve
• One pair of jeans
• Four pairs of shorts
• Tennis shoes
• Toiletries, towel, wash cloth
• Pullover that perpetually smells like gasoline and oil (except on laundry day!)
• One bottle laundry detergent (doh!)
• Can of coins, map of Florida (can probably get rid of the map now)
• Lantern, hand-held fan
• Box of plastic spoons/forks/knives
• Three books, one journal
• Block of wood, and…
• Scooter

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

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