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| Uncertain? | |
Springtime is
coming to North Texas. I should know – I’ve been wandering all over North Texas
and the bayous of Northern Louisiana all day. I wasn’t lost, you understand.
Just curious. I always know where I am, and can usually pinpoint my position to
the exact state. Besides, it’s not possible to be lost with a full tank of gas.
If there was a moment that I might have been temporarily at a loss, it’s
depicted here.
The daffodils are out; the grass is greening up – patches of
life emerging from the scrubby brown-ness of winter; virgin foliage still has
the unsullied pale green of youth. The soon-to-come carpets of bluebonnets will
be the final confirmation.
So where was I wandering? Or, more to the point, why?
MapQuest, on the internet, assured me that the town of Brian, Louisiana is
located slightly north of Shreveport, about 200 miles from Dallas. I had a mind
to persuade someone to take a photo of me in front of the Post Office. I’ve
done plenty of stupider things.
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| Bayou tapestry |
Anyway, as far
as I was able to determine, Brian LA doesn’t exist. I think a number of puzzled
Louisianans would agree with me, especially the very sympathetic lady who
answered the door of her house in the middle of nowhere (which was supposed to
be in the middle of Brian!). Not that it matters. I decided to make my
way back by a different route, and without the aid of a map – this always has a
tendency to make things more interesting. Take, for instance, this “bayou
tapestry” (I’m really sorry about that). (I don’t know what the birds
were, but they looked really mean.) Of course I was so busy taking pictures
that I only thought about the potential (non-human) residents of bayous that I
might have inadvertently disturbed after I was safely back in the car.
Louisiana is
very much a hunting and fishing state, and also has legalised gambling, so that
almost every gas station had a “casino” attached and was full of people in
heavy boots and camouflage stocking up on beer and chewing tobacco. I didn’t
venture into any of the casinos, but I have a sneaking suspicion that most of
them would just have been row upon row of slot machines.
The weather was not great, but it was still awe-inspiring to
drive by populations of the most beautiful of all the “dirty blondes” – the
Charolais – and “Toon Town Texotics”, with fields full of camels, llamas, and a
host of other breeds that I didn’t have time to recognise. Louisiana is a poor
state, and would be pretty if they’d clean up the litter. Still, “Worthy are
the simple – they're happy in their ways” (Runrig, of course).
The great shame about American back-roads is that they are
only used by locals. The interstate highway system is so good that most people
will pass through entire states without seeing much more than the chain
fast-food, gas and grocery stores that are by now so standardised and amorphous
that it’s almost impossible to tell where you are. Corporate America seems to
have convinced us that it’s a good thing to lack personality, except insomuch
as it distinguishes you from your competitors. In the same way, they managed to
persuade us that “fruit-on-the-bottom” yoghourt was for our benefit rather than
an effort to reduce their manufacturing costs; that sixteen varieties of
toothpaste are an absolute prerequisite for a civilized existence; and that we
need to change our mobile phones at least every year.
I apologize for ranting, but it can’t be just me. Can it?
(PS. Since I’m ranting anyway, I re-entered Texas on a
two-way road, with a half-shoulder on either side. That’s when I see, coming towards
me at what I’d guess was about 45mph, a car with its headlights steadily
flashing on and off, with a stream of cars backed up behind it; and on my
side of the road, an accompanying SUV, definitely not a patrol car, with a blue
light flashing on top. I was forced off the road, and that’s when I noticed
that it was a funeral cortege. Call me old-fashioned, but I think courtesy goes
both ways. If it had been driving at a sedate 25mph, I’d have had time to
figure out what was going on, and take appropriate action. If my brain had
worked quicker, I’d have stopped exactly where I was, held up the cortege, and
demanded to know what the rush was all about, since the guy was presumably dead
already. But that’s just because I’m bloody-minded.)
