Lawrie and I were able to start an exercise regime of running and doing shoulder-loaded squats and more. The park was also where we taught him how to ride a motorbike. Because Bessie was the smallest and easiest to ride it was decided that she would be Lawrie’s to ride, at least until we reached Panama. He took to it pretty well, although it was just around a flat, semi-empty park. A good start though. He’d hone his skills on the road, just as Roly and I had done a decade earlier. You can only gain experience from experience.
We’d not wanted to waste our meagre funds on doing touristy things in New Orleans but we did have to have one night in the French Quarter, exploring Bourbon St and making a pilgrimage to Preservation Hall, the home of traditional New Orleans jazz. I’d promised a blues and jazz lover from the rugby club that I would search it out and go. We enjoyed walking down the main thoroughfares, amazed
34
Tilbury Plus
Relaxing in Fontainebleau State Park near Lake Ponchatrain
35
no one said it would be easy
at how many ‘name' entertainers were available for us to go and watch. Being used to just infrequent visits from famous artists back home, it seemed quite surreal. In awe we stood outside the glittering lights of a semi-seedy place advertising Clarence ‘Frogman' Henry, a legendary blues singer from the 1950s. Later, in a back-street, we found the low-profile Preservation Hall, and enjoyed a wonderful night. The main singer for the evening was an elderly black woman who was partially-paralysed as a result of a stroke. Her voice was a whisper and she could only play the piano with one hand but the emotion she inspired that night was wonderful. It would have been nice to spend some money and let our hair down a bit but we knew that would have to wait, and we had to make do vicariously.
In due time Penelope and Samantha were also extricated from the docks and relocated out to the park. Again this took a bit of to-ing and fro-ing to get three riders on to three bikes as the park was way too far out for buses or taxis. It might be nearly Christmas, but we were finally ready to go. After a heavy frost on 24th December, we left our State park and hit the road, a bit late but happy that the wheels were turning. Almost the first surprise … and learning, was that Baton Rouge was the first town west of New Orleans. The words of Kris Kristofferson’s song ‘Me and Bobby McGee’ opens with -
‘Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train
When I was feeling nearly faded as my jeans Bobby thumbed a diesel down, just before it rained And rode us all the way to New Orleans’
Because the US is humungous, I had always pictured this ride being days long, as that ‘all the way to New Orleans’ is so evocative. Maybe ‘just down the way to New Orleans’ didn’t fit but I couldn’t help but be disappointed. The driver would have barely got into top gear before hauling up and saying “Here you are then, I hope the rest of your life goes well!”
We made an easy 130 miles before camping out, pretty pleased with ourselves. I don’t know why but our tent was a single-skin one with negligible water resistance which was demonstrated to us immediately we put it up, as a torrential rain commenced which lasted for nigh-on 24 hours. This resulted in everything we owned being absolutely sodden, so when the deluge finally eased on Christmas afternoon we relocated to the Sam Houston State Park not much further along our way to Texas. We did this because we knew that toilet blocks in the State Parks usually had heaters. Luckily this was true of Sam Houston and this became our new
36
Tilbury Plus
Watery sunshine livened up Christmas Day in Sam Houston State Park
37
no one said it would be easy
New Year’s Eve 1976 saw us all under plastic enduring a wet and cold night.
38
Tilbury Plus
home. In a letter home we contrasted our misery with the other holidaymakers who we knew were feasting on turkey, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie etc., in their warm and dry caravans. I note our Christmas Dinner as being Stodge Special of rice, split peas, and egg noodles. I indicate things are on the up as we’ve been loaned a sleeping bag and that coffee and ham and eggs have been promised by another camper for the morning. After the final evening ablution by the other campers, we finally settle down on the concrete floor, the three of us in the one sleeping bag, pretty happy that things will get better. We are in the dry, have a heater blasting away and tomorrow’s forecast is for a much better day.
We are seen as a bit of a novelty and treated very kindly and generously the next day by the other campers. It was sunny and whilst not warm, photos show us looking pretty happy and amused by the tame squirrels. Clearly, we have to get better at handling the conditions when they aren't benign. To this end, we procure from a hardware store, a roll of sturdy clear plastic. This is a bit of a pain to carry but while we are still in cold and potentially wet winter conditions of the ‘deep south', it is worth the effort. The roads across to Houston were dull, and straight with the ride being non-eventful. The Astrodome was a major attraction that as sports’ buffs Lawrie and I couldn’t ride by. Our timing was good as there was a Yule-season game playing that night. Grid-iron was a complete mystery to me but Lawrie had followed it in his time in the US and knew the rules and most of the nuances. We hadn’t been watching for all that long when all the players stopped and just stood around. Nobody seemed to be injured, but nothing was happening.
“What’s going on now?” I ask.
“Oh, it is a live telecast, so this is an ad break! It’s one of the reasons soccer hasn’t taken off in the US … they won’t stop for ads, so get no live games on TV!”
We had one more night’s camping beyond Houston before Mexico. This was New Year’s Eve and it was spent in a farmer’s field, sober with not even a bottle of Mad Dog to engender some revelry. We could see it was about to rain so settled early, tent-less but completely under our roll of clear plastic. It was so big that we were able to lay it out, then lie down and pull it right over the top of us, tucking it in over the lower layer. It certainly wasn’t glamping, but our spirits were high just laughing at the ridiculousness of our situation … all recalling previous New Years' glories. It had been on New Year's Eve 1971, that with much fanfare, I had sailed from Auckland. Many hundreds of streamers connected us passengers on the SS Australis,
39
no one said it would be easy
to our loved ones on the wharf below. A band played and fireworks soared, tears flowed and the excitement in the air was palpable. Six years later was providing such a contrast that we couldn't help but giggle. Life's a funny old thing. Set your sight's low enough and you'll always be successful and contented.
We’d also come to the realisation that the earlier period of just hanging around and living, had depleted our kitty alarmingly, so had now decided on a regime of extreme parsimoniousness. To this end, our main meal was changed from ‘Super Stodge' to ‘Basic Regular