The Turning Point

  Birmingham was the turning point.  I left on Friday heading West.  I rode down to Tuscaloosa, home of the Other Football Team in Alabama.  I was hoping to see some hulking big football players, or maybe the cheerleading squad, but none were in sight.  So I picked up Highway 82, and headed West.  I looked carefully at the weather maps, and they showed an arc of storms in Texas, more than a state (Arkansas) away. I felt good, and rode on.  

  The BMW at 65 sounds like it is literally purring.  It is so quiet and effortless, the rider has little to do, aside from a steering input here and there.  It is really a joy to ride.  It can still get away from me at slow speeds, so you know where I will be practicing.  No, not the Federal Building parking garage.

  As I crossed into Arkansas, I entered what appears to be the southeastern fringe of the U.S energy belt.  Oil and gas infrastructure everywhere.  They were better maintained than the roadways . . .  I also entered bayou country.  Swampy land, sloughs, bayous, creeks, cricks, streams, rivers.  I had the feeling that if I spit, the water level in Lake Pontchartrain would rise.

  I found a campground in Arkansas, still a distance from that line of storms.  I could see that they had benefitted from some recent rains, with debris scalloped and shaped by run-off, but they had gravel pads for the tents.  Here is a photo:

  I pitched my tent, including the rain fly, and in a surfeit of caution, put all my gear in the tent with me or under the rainfly.  At about  8:30, some rain spattered about, so I crawled now somewhat less spacious tent.  Thankfully, I had done laundry in Birmingham, so I did not have to contend with smelly socks.  About 9:30, as I was dozing, some other nearby campers returned from their day of fishing on a nearby river/bayou/lake/swamp.  They were a little noisy, and their lights kept sweeping my tent.  Those lights kept on flickering, and then I realized - lightning.

  Soon I heard faint rumblings of thunder.  The storms were coming, and they arrived about an hour later in all of God's glory.  Lightning, thunder, rain right smack over me.  Since I was inside the tent, and dry there, that's where I stayed.  The storms slowly moved off, and by mid-nigt, all that was left was the rain, which continued while I slept.

  In the morning, all was still dry in the tent.  As I broke camp, even the ground under the tent was dry. The only wet things were the rain fly, and the seat on the motorcycle.  So I put the rain fly in a water-proof (not water-resistant) bag, and rode west on Ol' 82.