For lunch we stopped in Hannibal, Missouri, right beside the Mississipi. The sign outside the bank said it was 101 degrees. We crossed into a cool bar and said "Give us a cold beer". Has it ever been more welcome.
A few hours and miles later we were on an ordinary two lane road, I was following Ian. We were cruising at about 75, working our way through the traffic. We had just got clear of a group of cars when there was a technicolour explosion in my rear mirror. I've seen it in the movies - now I knew what it was like in real life. The police car caught me up, waved me over, then went on to pull up Ian & John. I pulled slowly up behind them on the hard shoulder, and another car pulled up behind me !
A suitably mean looking officer, khaki shirt, dark shades and gun, let me know in no uncertain terms that he had taken exception to one of my overtaking manoeuvres. With much apologising I passed him my EEC standard DVLC driving licence (valid for 12 months in the USA). He took it out of its plastic wallet, opened it right out, studied one side, turned it over. With a completely blank face he studied the other side. Very carefully he folded it back up, replaced it in its wallet, handed it back to me and said "Don't do it again". He then asked the direction we were heading, and said that they would radio ahead to ensure that we were expected.
Talking it over later, apparently the car had been in the queue that we were overtaking, with no external indications that it was a police car whatsoever. But there was no mistaking that light show ! I believe the lights were behind the grill and hanging from the roof inside, shining forward through the windscreen.
We didn't go a great deal Further that day, stopping at a campsite at Lake of the Ozarks, on the northern edge of the Ozark mountains. Between doing our laundry and swimming in the pool we phoned a hotel in New Orleans recommended in the "Let's to USA" guidebook and booked ourselves in.
Because I wanted to spend a little time having a look round the Ozarks we separated the next day, to meet up again in New Orleans. I had arranged to stay for two nights in Hot Spring, Arkansas and reckoned that I had an easy journey of about 250 miles to get there, so I wasn't in a great hurry to depart. Not For the last time, I was wrong,
400 miles later I was at my destination, but what miles some of them were ! Until now I had hardly encountered a bend worthy of the name, in about 2,000 miles, but now I found route 76, a checkerboard patchwork surface, but a superb biking road.
Then as day turned to evening I picked up route 7 to Hot Springs. What a road ! 50 miles of swooping, dipping, left, rising, right, bending up curving down smooth surfaced woodland heaven, with hardly another vehicle to be seen. And bend after bend labelled with speed markers to give me the right gear - 20 far second, 30 for 3rd etc. Glorious !!
The next day I relaxed and played the tourist in this small spa town. I took a guided walk to an old Indian mine, looked at the decorated buildings on Bathhouse Row, was given a 7UP in a friendly sandwich bar, walked up and down a hill and even washed the bike and cleaned the plugs
Thursday, back onto the interstate and head for NO. It began to look like the south, The poverty of some of the roadside habitation was astonishing. Memories are a shining red fire engine, straight out of the fifties (forties ?) and a town hall - a wooden shack with a Coca Cola sign declaring its status.
At one point the road ran alongside a railway line, with a great train pulled by two large diesels. It was hardly moving. When I realised its length I wish I had checked it properly. I swear it was at least half a mile long, and I reckon a fair bit more than that. It just went on and on and on.
At the last fuel stop en route the (white) man behind the counter was telling me of the problems of living where blacks are in the majority when a black man rushed in. "Hey man, you got a phone ?" he exclaimed "they stole ma' car". Apparently he was showing it to a potential purchaser when the man drove off. The second police car pulled in just as I pulled out.
Approaching New Orleans you drive over an astonishing elevated section, perhaps 14 miles long, over lake and swamp, semi-tropical vegetation spreading out below. As I crossed I was heading towards some rather black clouds. I stopped, put on the oversuit and half a mile later rode into a wall of water. The road surface had disappeared completely, except for an occasional island in the centre of the left hand line. My directions, taped to the tank, turned to pulp and vanished..
When I round the hotel, right in the French
quarter (and with a garage) Ian and John were already in residence.
It had not rained there.