GULF COAST TOUR
March – May 2014
The first day out was not looked forward upon with any enthusiasm at all. I knew it would be a long day as my goal was as last year, the rest stop at Boron just past the dust blown town of Mojave. After a miserably pathetic hamburger at Foster's Freeze along Interstate 5 redemption was had with a very nice large chicken salad at Carl's Jr. in Mojave. Carelessly I backed into a spot at Carl's missing a lamp post on the passenger side by mere inches. I would have done some serious damage had I hit it which would of course have ruined the trip, for I’d be looking at the damage everyday for sure. I most definitely would be more aware for the rest of the trip. The following day we made it to Quartzite, Arizona where most of the snowbirds had already migrated back north leaving the desert pretty much to ourselves.
It was a pleasant morning with no real hurry to get on the road. After cleaning half the windshield (the driver’s side) and taking Sinbad for a walk we pulled away from Quartzite heading east towards Phoenix. Cruising along listening to classical music I heard a tick-tick ticking sound and turned off the music. The sound stopped for a few miles then it started up again. All gauges read normal and I was at a loss as to what the sound could be. A rest stop soon appeared so I pulled in to take a look in the engine compartment. I stopped midway around the rest area to select a good spot to pull in to, then pressed on the accelerator and went nowhere−not good. I rolled back to the curb and shut off the engine. I walked around the front and a dark fluid dribbled to the pavement−very much not good. Looking underneath I immediately saw that the serpentine belt had frayed and a long strip of nylon cord had flap flapped around cutting into the transmission fluid line whereupon all the transmission fluid had leaked out. We were not going anywhere today.
I walked around the rest stop looking for some sign for roadside assistance or at least a number to call but nothing was to be had. Save for the rest stop, we could not be in anymore a remote part of the desert than we were. What to do out here in the middle of nowhere dozens of miles away from any place? I then remembered seeing the words Roadside Assistance on my Progressive Insurance card and dug it out of the glove box. I called the number. The nice lady was very helpful in locating a Dodge dealer in nearby (relatively speaking) Avondale just outside of east Phoenix and contacted a tow truck service to come get us. I even received updated phone calls advising me of the progress of the tow truck which was all very reassuring. Two hours after breaking down Bob the tow truck driver arrived, loaded us upon the flatbed and we were on our way riding and relaxing in the motor home enjoying the scenery. At the dealership we were offloaded onto the outside lift, underneath a shade canopy where would be our camp complete with electricity and internet service. What more could I ask for under the circumstances? Not much.
The next day the transmission fluid line was to arrive at eleven A.M. but it proved to be the wrong part. I then learned that it was the only one in the immediate area to be had and they weren't sure it was correct to begin with when they ordered it. It seems the parts lists from Mercedes are really difficult to make any sense of. Another fluid line would be a two-day delivery anyway which they hoped it would be the correct one, and so we spent another night on the lift, under the shade canopy with free internet and the annoying rap music from the car detailers nearby.
Day three of being broke down with the weekend looming and I was losing hope. That was all swept away when Mark came rolling his tool cart in front of him at eight A.M. The new and correct fluid line had arrived, was fitted into place, the new belt was wrapped around all the pulleys not without a lot of cussing on Mark’s part, fresh fluid poured in and we were on our way just past ten-thirty A.M. They even power washed all the transmission fluid from underneath which I was very happy about. I was filled with mixed emotions: glad we were moving once again, apprehensive if all would be okay, and sad about the news of a friend passing away from cancer. We back-tracked a few miles on the interstate then turned south for Gila Bend where I stopped at the post office for stamps, Carl's Jr. for a celebratory lunch trying rid to myself of a irritating headache and then a quick squirt at the car wash to remove the last of the transmission fluid from underneath. On to Casa Grande for a stop at Safeway then out to their fairgrounds for camp. On the way I caught a glimpse of a sign: Pinal County Fair March 19 - 23. What are the chances of us hitting this camp right at fair time? One out of fifty-two I suppose. It was now well past tea time and what to do? Picacho Peak State Park where we've stayed twice before was seventeen miles further so I pressed my good fortune a bit more and hoped we could get in at the start of a weekend. My luck still held as several spots were available. The first order of business was my first shower since leaving home.
On into New Mexico next to stay at Pancho Villa State Park in Columbus near the Mexican border. It was a nice little flat place in the desert from which Pancho Villa and his boys (well they're not sure if Pancho was with them at the time) crossed over the border on March 9, 1916, raided the town creating much mayhem and leaving a few of the citizens and soldiers dead, but many more of themselves, like close to a hundred of the banditos lying in the desert dirt after the smoke had cleared. In the morning I was torn as whether to go or stay. My heart didn't seem to be in this trip and I was in a general funk. I visited the museum, watched their twenty minute video about the attack then wandered back to the RV at a loss at what to do. I pulled on out of town taking the deserted two lane border road east towards El Paso, Texas. It was a nice drive and my spirits gradually lifted. I made a stop to view the border fence, take a few pictures, collect some stickers in my socks and continued on to Texas. In El Paso I picked up a Subway sandwich and ate it at a rest stop well away from town. A few miles further brought us to Sierra Blanca, a derelict little town that had a small run-down RV park for fifteen dollars complete with interstate highway noise and dog barking. There we spent the night.
The next day took us to Marathon where we stayed at the Marathon Motel and RV Park and took advantage of a nice hot shower. In the morning I filled the water tank and dumped both waste water tanks before pulling out. The wind was out of the east and we were constantly beating headlong into it. Once again I was in need of milk just as I was at the dealership back in Avondale. The only store in Marathon had two-percent and full on high octane milk. Non-fat milk was non-existent or very difficult to find. I stopped in Langtry to try again for some milk at a little market/cafe which had no milk at all. Langtry was the home of Judge Roy Bean. I had it marked as one of my stopping points and would have blew it off had it not been for my quest for milk. I stopped anyway and visited the nice tourist information center yet didn't even make the effort to go see Bean's saloon the Jersey Lillie. No one was around and I had the place all to myself. I turned back to see the saloon wondering all the while what was wrong with me? I just was not thinking straight or at least very clearly. I was thinking too much about the breakdown and the slight dribble of transmission fluid I had spotted from the transmission pan. That was on my mind constantly as to how to fix this leak with thousands of miles ahead of us.
Twenty miles down the road was Seminole Canyon State Park and the decision was made to stop early in the day there. Well “early” still worked out to be after four P.M. before we were parked and settled. The park looked promising as a place to stay a bit longer and maybe do some hiking. I messed around underneath the vehicle some trying to locate where the dribble was coming from and after a few times crawling underneath I decided to forget about it and just try to enjoy the trip. I'd stop and have the fluid level checked before heading back for home as I felt the loss of fluid was very little. The aggravating thing was with all of the other cars I have owned I could check the transmission fluid level myself. With this inline five-cylinder Mercedes diesel engine I was unable.
Another thing on my mind was the issue with Sirius radio being on all winter and then going off just as we started on the trip. I took the time to contact them as I had a good phone signal there at Seminole Canyon. I talked with James in the Dominican Republic and explained how I called in October to have it turned off and don't think it ever was. Now it was off and I'd lost my credit. James said that is what has happened. He gave me back the lost five months, turned on the radio and we're in business again. Still, I enjoyed listening to my opera I had loaded into the iPad which was great for driving though the vast flatlands of west Texas.
It was nice to take a day off and spend it in Seminole Canyon Park. I was up early (still functioning on Pacific Time standards) and took a three mile hike along the Canyon Rim Trail. The wind continued to blow and with no sunshine to be had yet it wasn't really too cold. Back at camp I took the bicycle down, rode to the ranger's office to pay for another night and then beat on into the wind back to camp. After cleaning house and putting away all the hiking gear I took a nice hot shower. It was a chili bean day for a late lunch then lay back and read my book while the wind gently rocked the motor home.
We pulled out the next morning much refreshed and in a better state of mind. After a stop in Del Rio, Texas for food, fuel and another Subway sandwich we continued on to the dusty town of Carrizo Springs staying at Brush Country RV Park when the Walmart parking lot didn't look so inviting. This area was littered with RV parks but they were all long-term situations for which I believe are mostly oil workers. Here where we stayed while the Mexicans gathered after work would get a little barbeque going, turn on some nice genuine Mexican music and enjoy each other’s company. A bit later one pulled out his guitar and sang, but not all that well.
The next day I was aiming for Corpus Christi and the Gulf of Mexico itself. It turned out to be not without more issues plus not as close as I thought. The main issue was that the cruise control ceased to work and I dreaded the thought of doing the rest of the trip without it. I reviewed fuse layouts while driving and could not find one for the cruise control. Finally I stopped to replace the fuse panel below the driver's seat and wondered if stopping and starting the motor might “reboot” the system. Glory be, it did and the cruise control worked once again! Oh happy day! Two hundred miles later brought us to Mustang Island and the Gulf itself, which wasn't visible due to fog. In getting a campsite I was first informed that they were full up. The lady did finally find one (they always seem to do) which I was ever so grateful for. After a cup of tea I took a walk down by the shoreline, snapped a couple of photos, picked up a few shells and walked back to read and rest for the remainder of the day.
We drove up the coast to Port Lavaca Lighthouse Beach and Bird Sanctuary staying near an estuary with no birds except the ever increasingly annoying Laughing Gulls. The bathrooms were nasty but we were forewarned about that from the hyperactive check-in lady. “They get used a lot by the beach goers.” The bathrooms near the campground are better she advised. The next day we continued further along the shoreline north to Winnie where we stayed at the fairgrounds parked on the grass under a large shade tree. It was quite peaceful and quiet there until a guy came to set up his drum kit on the cement stage of the pavilion we were next to. He was soon joined by a guitarist. I was preparing to move out when they started up. Fortunately the music wasn't all that bad or loud, so with ear plugs firmly in place we endured a couple hours of ‘practice’ and then they were done, leaving us to our solitude once again.
We left early having never paid for the night for I could not figure out how I was supposed to. We stopped at the Market Basket food store, ate breakfast in the parking lot and then headed the twenty miles to Port Arthur. There at the Port Gulf Museum was a small alcove set aside for Janis Joplin, as Port Arthur was her home town. I had difficulty in finding the museum and my search led us through devastated portions of the city from hurricanes Rita and Ike. Even without hurricanes, Port Arthur was a dismal looking town and it is no wonder that Janis couldn't leave there fast enough. The hurricane proof museum was very nice covering all aspects of the history in the area with an entire wing set aside for all the music entertainers who were from the surrounding area. Janis's corner was small without much to see but then her life was so short, perhaps there wasn't that much to work with. I ate lunch in the parking lot and then pulled out for Louisiana where we found a really nice campsite next to a swamp in Sam Houston Jones State Park.
It was peaceful and quiet at the park so we stayed for two nights. It cost twenty-four dollars for the first night, six of that was a registration fee. If you stayed additional days they were then only eighteen dollars. I rode the bicycle around exploring trails that first day. While exploring the park I swung by to pay for the second night. It was now April 1st and their summer rates had gone into effect–twenty-two dollars. Damn! There were alligators in the waterway as signs stated NO SWIMMING: ALLIGATORS. I never saw one.
The day we left I took Louisiana 82 which went as far south as one could go to the Gulf Coast then paralleled the coast for seventy some-odd miles. There were a lot of newer homes perched high on pilings and some ground level homes deserted from the latest hurricanes to have swept the area, either Rita or Ike or maybe Katrina. I found it interesting to see and wondered all along the drive just how that must have been to lose everything in a few hours to a hurricane. But the residents came back, rebuilt their homes and carried on. We called it a day in Charenton where we stayed at the Cypress Bayou Casino. With a free dump of the tanks and free camp for the night, the least I could do was buy a dinner from them. I had a catfish sandwich which was very good. I ate the whole thing and it was still with me in the morning so I began the next day with no breakfast.
After a stop down the road for that delayed breakfast I agonized on whether to go into the city of New Orleans or not. Trying to negotiate the streets with a small house, and if there would be a place for me to park it or not weighed on my mind. Then I thought even I succeeded and were walking the streets of the French Quarter, finding it very touristy, I'd probably be asking myself What am I doing here? Once I neared the city itself I was battling strong side winds and I just kept on going. With New Orleans fading away in my rear view mirrors I felt no loss and knew I had made the right choice. Undoubtedly when I return home people will ask if I ‘saw’ New Orleans. Well I saw New Orleans, as much of it as I cared to.
We stopped in Slidell, Louisiana for fuel and then took Route 443 south six and one half miles to the site where actress Jayne Mansfield lost her life in an automobile accident on June 29, 1967. What a lonely place to die this was and not even a simple marker to signify the loss−so sad. Not much further we crossed into Mississippi and stayed at Buccaneer State Park along the coast. The park was very nice, much more like a vacation resort than an RV park with excellent facilities of which I availed myself to a refreshing shower.
A new day dawned and I was looking forward to a slow meandering drive along the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. There are only seventy-some miles of road and then we would be in Alabama which had even less coastline road at sixty-seven miles. So I planned on taking it real slow, stopping often. I thought I would get the day off to a clean start and took the time for another shower before leaving. I had made a note to check the oil in the RV and did so, adding some. The oil reading was to the lowest line on the dip stick and it took a whole quart. I checked the level again and was surprised that it brought it only halfway up. Hmm...maybe that container wasn't full I thought, but couldn't remember if I had to snap the cap off or not when I opened it. So I put in another quart and was shocked to see it took the entire second quart also! I must keep more aware of checking the oil I thought to myself. Whew, that was not good.
I pulled out from the park and turned east putzing along slow which was no problem as there were no other cars on the beachfront road, plus the speed limit was twenty-five mph for most of the distance. As I was admiring the new construction of fancy near mansion-like homes after hurricane Katrina a warning buzzer went off. What now?! All the readings went blank in the odometer and clock display on the dash and all that was visible now was an oil can symbol and the letters HI. Oh no! The oil cap on the motor has a sticker that states: TOO MUCH OIL CAN DAMAGE THE ENGINE. How can this be? I thought maybe this happened since I was going so slowly. I turned off the motor, and then restarted and everything was fine. The dash display reappeared. I drove a little faster. The buzzer went off again! There really must be too much oil in the motor. How can I get it out? I was really nervous and scared not to mention being upset with the possibility of another mechanical catastrophe right on the heels of the previous one.
We were in the small little beach town of Waveland and I turned up a side-street heading away from the beach, my mind thinking at full problem-solving capacity. I was looking for a secluded vacant lot. I drove real slow going inland about a mile, crossed some railroad tracks and found a small lot across from a community park. It was in a depressed neighborhood–on the other side of the tracks−and no one was around until I climbed out. Just then a black guy and a poor white trash girl showed up. They stayed across the road and talked, disinterested in me. I needed a container for my plan was to undo the oil drain plug very carefully and let the oil dribble out. In one of the park trash cans I found a Styrofoam tray with lid from some Chinese take-out. I scraped out the remains of the chow mien and figured this will have to do. I changed my clothes into my flannel lined Levis and a t-shirt and crawled underneath using the new rug I had just found at our last camp, one someone had forgotten and left behind. The oil was hot−like hundred eighty degrees hot. I had to be very careful with this. I loosened the plug gently and got it to dribble without removing the plug all the way. This was going fairly well as I had a vinyl glove on my hand yet my fingers were getting hot holding the plug in place. I filled the divided compartment side of the take-out container and thought that would do it. Fortunately I had saved the second empty oil bottle from earlier. I planned to carefully pour the oil into it with the help of my funnel. Of course once the oil hit the funnel it fell over spilling oil everywhere. I quickly set down the now flimsy Styrofoam container (they are not designed to hold hot motor oil) and picked up the bottle without leaving too much of an oil spill on Mississippi soil. I finished pouring the oil in the bottle and checked the level. Still too high. I had to drain more oil out. Back under I crawled and this time I lost control of the drian plug and oil sprayed out with force getting my arm thoroughly drenched with hot black oil. Well, so much for keeping clean. I went to pour this oil into the bottle but now I had more than a quart and oil overflowed the bottle onto the ground adding to the already existing spill. I capped the bottle and placed it in a nearby trashcan with the thought No dumping of toxic waste allowed running through my mind. I checked the oil level again. STILL TOO HIGH! I can't believe this! As I drained out yet more oil into the Chinese take-out I was thinking as to how I could have misread the dipstick so badly back in camp. I was on level ground. Now I had a tray full of oil with nothing to pour it into. I checked the level on the dip stick. It was okay. I carefully laid the oil-filled take-out container into the trashcan and silently apologized to the Mississippi environment. Now to clean myself up.
I was hot, a Mississippi humid hot. I was sweaty, sticky and oily. My entire morning bath was wasted. I dug my tub of hand cleaner out of the tool compartment and discovered it was all dried up. Unbelievable! Can’t anything go right? I added some water to it and kind of, sort of, got it working well enough to clean off my arm and hands. By now the couple across the road had concluded their business and left. While cleaning up I had the bright idea to drive the short distance back to the campground and take another shower. It was early and I had nothing else to do and nowhere to be so why not? Check-out time was at two P.M. and it was just ten A.M. Fortunately, I still had my camping tag with me. I drove the few miles back to Buccaneer State Park, flashed my tag, she lifted the gate and waved at me as I passed by. It was the same lady who checked me in and she remembered me probably thinking I had just gone out for a pleasant early morning sunrise viewing. Right, a pleasant morning. I stopped at the first restroom I came to and took my second shower of the morning. I felt much better and the oil problem was solved. A lesson learned, a very big lesson. [I later read the owner’s manual and discovered to only check the oil when it is hot]
We continued on our tour of the coastline as I planned and tried to get the morning’s fiasco out of my mind. I was just thankful the engine wasn't damaged, that I was able to get the oil out and that I was able to get myself cleaned up once again. We stopped at Pass Christian–yep that is the name of a town–and I sat along the breakwater wall lining the beach just to relax and take in the scene. I ate a sandwich while gazing out over the calm gulf waters. In the next town of Gulfport I came upon a serious head-on collision with injuries. Things can always be worse I thought and my oil episode became a whole lot of nothing upon that sight.
Approaching Biloxi I saw a Walmart and swung in to get a few items. Yes! They carry bags of salad, bananas and small quarts of non-fat milk. Only thing was the entire milk shelf was empty except for a few bottles way in the back on the top shelf. I had to step up on the ledge to reach way in and BANG! I cracked my head against the top of the door casing. While little birdies flew around my head I waited for blood to begin running down my forehead. I didn't even want to know and just left my hat in place without checking for blood loss. Back at the RV my head looked okay. Thankfully my heavily padded hat protected my thin-skinned fat head. I drove on and saw another single car accident coming out from one of the luxurious hotel casino complexes of Biloxi. The car was ruined. Hopefully the person wasn't too bad off. Again, I was thankful for my small misfortunes.
The plan now was for another state park in Mississippi before leaving the state. If the park proved to be full due to the weekend, there was an Elks Lodge or a Walmart I could pick from. Driving along I passed the sign for Gulf Island National Seashore which showed a camping symbol. I kept going thinking it was the high-priced state campground I had researched the day before on the iPad. A mile further on it sunk in–that was a brown sign. That meant a National Park. That was something I could use my old person card for. I pulled a U-turn and stopped to check the iPad. The place wasn't even listed on my RV Parks app. This was NOT the park I thought was the high-priced state park.
I drove back the mile and a half, turned in, drove along the beautiful tree-lined park road for quite a ways, made the turn for CAMPGROUND when up ahead I saw people stopped along a short bridge with cameras in hand. As I slowly passed...ALLIGATOR! I pulled over, grabbed my camera, walked back where the lady with her southern drawl tells me “Thar's a gator over thar”. I told her I saw all the people and then what they were looking at. “I drove all the way from California to see an alligator. Now I can turn around and go home.” She laughed. I took my pictures and continued on to the campground. There were spots available. Relief! I took spot #1 by the check-in station as I saw no sense going to look for another, maybe better site, for they were all great. The fee was twenty-two dollars a night, half off that with my senior discount. I was thinking I just may stay through the weekend. My luck had turned.
I saw that the big fancy diesel pusher motor home next to us had some slight damage to the front end. He bumped into something shattering the fiberglass fender and it looked nasty. I thought back to my first stop at that Carl’s Jr. on the very first day where I almost hit the light post while backing into a parking slot. Yep, things could be worse. It was then I noticed I had just backed in within mere inches of the ladder hitting the tree behind me. Yikes! I still hadn’t learned to be more careful. I must be more aware I told myself. Then off to the side at the base of a tree I saw what looked like a broken tombstone. What a find! I gently turned over the small semi-circle stone with my foot and then went to knock off the leaves stuck to the backside with my flip-flop. It was then I saw why the leaves were stuck in place...dog shit! It seemed maybe my luck hadn't quite turned for the better after all.
That evening was all thunder and lightning but no rain. Poor Sinbad will never adjust to the sound of thunder. It is not only the sound but he can feel it also. He took shelter in the closet for most of the time. In the morning after no great hurry I took off on the bicycle to explore around, see the visitor center, watch their movie and hike a few short trails. On the way back I checked the gator hole but there was no alligator. I took a few pictures of a blue heron then stood there messing around with the iPhone checking the weather. It was suppose to rain, especially so tomorrow, Sunday. I thought about staying on through the weekend since I was getting such a good rate. Of course driving in the rain the RV would get a good washing which it badly needed. I looked up from the phone and thought that looks like a tire in the water. It was no tire but the alligator again. He had surfaced up on my side of the channel. I took some more pictures although not as good as the day before when he was clear of the water up on shore. I later learned that he is twelve feet long and there is another alligator nearby that measures out at eight feet long.
I was talking with the two ladies in the check-in station and asked about all the new construction I had been seeing, many with FOR SALE signs, even on empty lots. I learned that after hurricane Katrina roared through the area the insurance companies jacked up the insurance premiums through the stratosphere. Many people could not pay the high insurance premium or simply refused to saying it isn't worth it. Also a new building code requires all new construction to be on high cement pilings which was another added cost. I suspected the new construction was a payoff from insurance companies so you had to rebuild whether you wanted to or not. I guess you just couldn't take the money and run.
One of ranger ladies said that she would evacuate for every hurricane warning that was issued and nothing ever happened. It got to be such a bother that she ignored the one for Katrina right up to Sunday then decided they better go. It hit Monday. I asked “Where do people go?” They go inland and rent a hotel room or stay with family. I think she had family over in Texas and would go there. She also told me how their neighbor, like them, grew frustrated with all the false alarms. The man decided to stay at the house while he sent his wife away. “Never again!” he said. It was so terrifying that he would never again stay back with his home.
I learned too that a lot of the people who died during hurricane Katrina were elderly people who refused to leave their pets behind. Of course their pets are like their children to them. There was no place they could go and take their pet with them. Since then laws have been made that motels and hotels cannot refuse evacuation victims if they have a pet with them. Also board and care places for animals have been constructed. It was all interesting in a lifestyle so vastly different from my own in northern California.
What better thing to do for a Sunday drive than cross the bottom tip of the state of Alabama–all sixty-seven miles of it. Even though all the forecasts called for thunder showers, barely a drop fell. It was a pleasant drive all along where I picked up a crayfish poboy sandwich and ate it next to the coast just before we crossed the bridge over into Florida. We made camp at the Fort Pickens portion of the Gulf Island National Seashore near Gulf Breeze. Checking in we were forewarned that with a big storm coming in, the five mile long road into the campground may get flooded over and if it looks like this might happen, we will be told to evacuate to avoid being trapped. Well, I was planning on staying just the one night anyway. A check of the weather forecast looked like I'd get The Little House on the Highway washed, finally.
In the morning it seemed to be just another overcast day and a little breezy. I was planning an early start at around eight A.M. and was outside unplugging from the electrical box when the ranger lady came by. The evacuation order was in effect. How exciting! I talked with one couple who were staying since they paid for the week and had all they needed with them, so they were set. The campground would not get flooded, just that five mile long road into the camping area. I stopped along the way on the drive out and walked out to the beach. The surf was no big deal compared to our surf on the Pacific coast. It looked like a calm day to me. Still, I could see what the effect would be for some portions of the road as the ebb tide was only thirty feet away. It could get blown up and over depositing a lot of sand which would make the road impassable until they cleared the sand away.
Once we were back into town and on Highway 98 the rain began and it rained heavy and hard. The evacuation order was justified. It was so loud that although I could see lightning flashes all around I could not hear the thunder. Plus it was dark, like driving in a well lit city at nighttime. Poor Sinbad was down in his thunder hole, the foot well on the passenger side. At some point he moved out and into the closet. This went on for a half hour or so and then, just as if we drove through an invisible wall, it suddenly stopped−the most strangest thing.
We stopped at Mexico Beach–another imaginative name−for lunch and decided to just make for the nearest State Park which