I woke up early in the morning in Galveston, TX, to cool sea breezes that rapidly became inconsequential in the heat. I packed up my tent, showered, and changed in the one set of toilets/showers established for all of the campers, tents or RVs alike (why are campground showers always so grungy?), and drove around the island. The state park is on the western most end of the island. (Please read the previous blog entry for more info about where I am.) I got coffee and a slice of zucchini bread from a coffee shop in the historic district, which is really just a lot of high end shops and galleries. It was a disappointment. I had hoped to see something related to its period of piracy under Jean Lafitte or even its part in the Texas revolution, or its sordid history in slave dealing. But I didn’t see much related to Galveston's deep past. Supposedly there is a reproduction of Lafitte's house, but I couldn't find it and didn't want to spend too much time looking. Much of the island was destroyed by a hurricane in 1900, so there isn’t much of the remains of its history left. Parking is extremely difficult to find there and involves some kind of payment by phone that I didn’t want to deal with, so I drove around the harbor, which is where many large cruise ships dock. Cruise ships have become an important industry for the island. I then wandered in the Patty-wagon back to the main road that runs parallel to the beaches.
The houses are interesting. The newer houses rest on high stilts, but there are many older houses that are not. There is the Historic Pleasure Pier, an amusement park located on a wooden fishing pier that stretches into the ocean. It’s the kind that seems to be a requisite for any beach town in America wanting to attract tourists. It includes a small roller coaster. It was closed and quiet at that hour in the morning. I drove past, and headed to the eastern end of the island to see those beaches, which are larger and more preserved than the small public access beaches up and down the bulk of the island. Most of the beaches of Galveston aren’t really much of a beach. They are small strips of coarse sand (almost no sand during high tide) that this week were buried under large piles of saragassum seaweed (which is really an algae). The piles of this dark red, almost black, short seaweed looked like black dunes from a distance. They have an odd odor - like fish mixed with trash. The city has been using bulldozers to remove the large piles, but the effort seemed almost wasted. The seaweed/algae keeps washing back up with each tide.
Finally, I drove to the eastern end of the island and parked in the line for the free ferry to the next island. The ferry goes to Port Bonita, which is where the cars disembark to drive along the Bolivar peninsula. It is a fairly undeveloped island/peninsula with long stretches of empty estuary, grassland with cows or horses grazing on it, beaches, and more grassland with oil wells bobbing up and down. There are some houses and even small communities with stores, bait and tackle shops, small restaurants (mostly fish) and houses, almost all built on high stilts. Eventually the island becomes a peninsula with a highway that stretches across it back to the mainland, where the road connects to the major arteries, such as I-10, which is where I ended up, driving onward toward Louisiana.
I was close to the border, driving by Orange, TX, when I noticed the icon/light to check the engine was on in my dashboard. I panicked and got off at the next exit and drove to a nearby gas station. There were no mechanics there; it was strictly a place to sell gas, junk food, sodas, and other junk that tourists and truckers might get suckered into buying. A nice guy, who had been standing in line to pay for something when I asked about a mechanic, offered to look at my van. He looked at the icon/light and said that it was probably no big deal, but suggested that I go to an AutoZone to have someone connect the car to a computer and read the code to find out what precisely the problem was. He told me where to find the nearest AutoZone. I did find it, mostly by accident and good luck, and someone did connect up the computer and read the code. The fuel gauge isn’t working right. The clerk there assured me that it was no big deal as long as I kept track of how much gas I had put in the tank so I don’t run out of gas in the middle of nowhere-deep-south. He gave me the name and number of a garage/mechanic whom he recommended to fix it, but no one answered after I rang and rang the number. When I went back in to ask if someone could recommend someone else, another guy there said that mechanic was on vacation in North Dakota. He phoned someone else who came to talk to me and supposedly show me how to get to his garage. However, it turned out that the guy was the brother of the AutoZone guy. He fixes cars at his house. It felt weird, so I apologetically told him I had decided to wait and try to go for a while without fixing it. I drove on, leaving Texas behind, finally.
Louisiana is very different. There are many more trees, and they are larger and more lush. At one point, between Lafayette and Baton Rouge, the interstate becomes a long string of bridges over rivers, lakes, swamps, rice fields, and more rivers. The trees stick out of some of the rivers and lakes like tiny islands onto themselves, many of them, scattered across the water. I don’t know if that is normal or a result of flooding.
I drove on to the next large town, which was Lafayette, Louisiana. I tracked down a Dodge Chevrolet dealer in hopes such a place would do a professional job fixing the van. However, the dealership had so much of a backlog of business it would have been Thursday before they could get to my van. I left, discouraged, and drove to just outside of Baton Rouge. I was exhausted and hungry, so I stopped there to get a cheap motel room .and catch up on my blog entries here.
Every joint and muscle in my body hurts. Traveling with fibromyalgia and osteo-arthritis is extremely difficult and grows more difficult each day. I am in constant pain, especially in my left leg, hips and back. At this point, I just want to go home. I should have done this southern part of the route first and gone back via the Midwest. It is both extremely hot and humid here now. I think I’m going to head to New Orleans, and then start making better time towards home. Trying to work with my very old laptop is becoming painful, too. It is horribly slow and not compatible with too many browsers and software now. That's why I stopped putting up photos in other sections of this website.
The houses are interesting. The newer houses rest on high stilts, but there are many older houses that are not. There is the Historic Pleasure Pier, an amusement park located on a wooden fishing pier that stretches into the ocean. It’s the kind that seems to be a requisite for any beach town in America wanting to attract tourists. It includes a small roller coaster. It was closed and quiet at that hour in the morning. I drove past, and headed to the eastern end of the island to see those beaches, which are larger and more preserved than the small public access beaches up and down the bulk of the island. Most of the beaches of Galveston aren’t really much of a beach. They are small strips of coarse sand (almost no sand during high tide) that this week were buried under large piles of saragassum seaweed (which is really an algae). The piles of this dark red, almost black, short seaweed looked like black dunes from a distance. They have an odd odor - like fish mixed with trash. The city has been using bulldozers to remove the large piles, but the effort seemed almost wasted. The seaweed/algae keeps washing back up with each tide.
Finally, I drove to the eastern end of the island and parked in the line for the free ferry to the next island. The ferry goes to Port Bonita, which is where the cars disembark to drive along the Bolivar peninsula. It is a fairly undeveloped island/peninsula with long stretches of empty estuary, grassland with cows or horses grazing on it, beaches, and more grassland with oil wells bobbing up and down. There are some houses and even small communities with stores, bait and tackle shops, small restaurants (mostly fish) and houses, almost all built on high stilts. Eventually the island becomes a peninsula with a highway that stretches across it back to the mainland, where the road connects to the major arteries, such as I-10, which is where I ended up, driving onward toward Louisiana.
I was close to the border, driving by Orange, TX, when I noticed the icon/light to check the engine was on in my dashboard. I panicked and got off at the next exit and drove to a nearby gas station. There were no mechanics there; it was strictly a place to sell gas, junk food, sodas, and other junk that tourists and truckers might get suckered into buying. A nice guy, who had been standing in line to pay for something when I asked about a mechanic, offered to look at my van. He looked at the icon/light and said that it was probably no big deal, but suggested that I go to an AutoZone to have someone connect the car to a computer and read the code to find out what precisely the problem was. He told me where to find the nearest AutoZone. I did find it, mostly by accident and good luck, and someone did connect up the computer and read the code. The fuel gauge isn’t working right. The clerk there assured me that it was no big deal as long as I kept track of how much gas I had put in the tank so I don’t run out of gas in the middle of nowhere-deep-south. He gave me the name and number of a garage/mechanic whom he recommended to fix it, but no one answered after I rang and rang the number. When I went back in to ask if someone could recommend someone else, another guy there said that mechanic was on vacation in North Dakota. He phoned someone else who came to talk to me and supposedly show me how to get to his garage. However, it turned out that the guy was the brother of the AutoZone guy. He fixes cars at his house. It felt weird, so I apologetically told him I had decided to wait and try to go for a while without fixing it. I drove on, leaving Texas behind, finally.
Louisiana is very different. There are many more trees, and they are larger and more lush. At one point, between Lafayette and Baton Rouge, the interstate becomes a long string of bridges over rivers, lakes, swamps, rice fields, and more rivers. The trees stick out of some of the rivers and lakes like tiny islands onto themselves, many of them, scattered across the water. I don’t know if that is normal or a result of flooding.
I drove on to the next large town, which was Lafayette, Louisiana. I tracked down a Dodge Chevrolet dealer in hopes such a place would do a professional job fixing the van. However, the dealership had so much of a backlog of business it would have been Thursday before they could get to my van. I left, discouraged, and drove to just outside of Baton Rouge. I was exhausted and hungry, so I stopped there to get a cheap motel room .and catch up on my blog entries here.
Every joint and muscle in my body hurts. Traveling with fibromyalgia and osteo-arthritis is extremely difficult and grows more difficult each day. I am in constant pain, especially in my left leg, hips and back. At this point, I just want to go home. I should have done this southern part of the route first and gone back via the Midwest. It is both extremely hot and humid here now. I think I’m going to head to New Orleans, and then start making better time towards home. Trying to work with my very old laptop is becoming painful, too. It is horribly slow and not compatible with too many browsers and software now. That's why I stopped putting up photos in other sections of this website.