All along my route I enjoyed poetic names like Burnt Prairie or Ullin, Illinois; Portageville and Hayti, Missouri; and Luxora, Amanca, and Okilona, Arkansas. I was and still am curious about their origins. Portageville is built on a sweeping bend of a river. That could be a clue. They others remain mysteries at the moment. Research challenges to be acted upon at another time.
The earth in Arkansas becomes noticeably darker than in the tilled fields of Illinois and Missouri. Where some communities have heavily invested in the tubes, guy lines, angles, and wheels of pivot irrigation systems, Arkansas appeared differently. There the ground seemed impermeable. It may have been saturated with rain from prior storms. It may have been too sticky to percolate and let the water into where it would do the most good. I saw low-lying fields that could as easily have been small lakes or rice paddies. All one could see for acres and acres was the surface of the water covering the ground.
Two cities seemed bashful. I thought West Memphis, Arkansas would never appear over the horizon. I know the numbers went down on signs announcing remaining miles to travel, but they went down so slowly! It seemed time or distance had frozen since the last sign. Texarkana Arkansas/Texas also seemed reluctant to appear.
Finally, Texas. My first surprise was speed limits. The posted speed limit was 75 mph. This was on divided highways, then four-lane roads on which the median was an area of asphalt set off by yellow reflectors. It wasn’t interstates. Anybody leaving their driveway along a similarly posted stretch of road would need to get up to 75 mph nearly instantly. I wondered what it was like for teenagers to negotiate the turns of that road. It was foggy as I traveled. Parts of the road were soaked in a drenching rain. Still, the posted speed limits were 70-75 mph.
Houston, Texas sprawls. The Greater Houston Metropolitan Area was 50 miles of major roads. It’s not too bad at 3 a.m., but it’s no place to pull a trailer during rush hour.
My friends used to set up at an RV resort in Palacios, Texas. Rockport is 80 miles further south, nestled between Fulton and Aransas Pass. If you can read “Aransas” and not want to throw a k in there to make it look right, you’re not alone. While I am here, I’m making the Circle W RV Ranch my home.
The earth in Arkansas becomes noticeably darker than in the tilled fields of Illinois and Missouri. Where some communities have heavily invested in the tubes, guy lines, angles, and wheels of pivot irrigation systems, Arkansas appeared differently. There the ground seemed impermeable. It may have been saturated with rain from prior storms. It may have been too sticky to percolate and let the water into where it would do the most good. I saw low-lying fields that could as easily have been small lakes or rice paddies. All one could see for acres and acres was the surface of the water covering the ground.
Two cities seemed bashful. I thought West Memphis, Arkansas would never appear over the horizon. I know the numbers went down on signs announcing remaining miles to travel, but they went down so slowly! It seemed time or distance had frozen since the last sign. Texarkana Arkansas/Texas also seemed reluctant to appear.
Finally, Texas. My first surprise was speed limits. The posted speed limit was 75 mph. This was on divided highways, then four-lane roads on which the median was an area of asphalt set off by yellow reflectors. It wasn’t interstates. Anybody leaving their driveway along a similarly posted stretch of road would need to get up to 75 mph nearly instantly. I wondered what it was like for teenagers to negotiate the turns of that road. It was foggy as I traveled. Parts of the road were soaked in a drenching rain. Still, the posted speed limits were 70-75 mph.
Houston, Texas sprawls. The Greater Houston Metropolitan Area was 50 miles of major roads. It’s not too bad at 3 a.m., but it’s no place to pull a trailer during rush hour.
My friends used to set up at an RV resort in Palacios, Texas. Rockport is 80 miles further south, nestled between Fulton and Aransas Pass. If you can read “Aransas” and not want to throw a k in there to make it look right, you’re not alone. While I am here, I’m making the Circle W RV Ranch my home.
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