Bringing in the Shreves

Shreveport, Louisiana — 400.2 miles

I note with limited glee that I disregarded the route proffered by the New! Improved! Yahoo! Maps, and saved a whole half mile in so doing.

The magic number today was 115, as in "Will I get farther this year than I did last year?" And I admit to breathing a bit easier after the 115th mile. At that point, of course, it started to rain.

It had occurred to me that I'd never actually driven the Indian Nation Turnpike, so I gave it a spin. It's a nice little road, a bit over 100 miles, posted for 75 mph, and given that it's a toll road, the state maintenance on it is slightly less haphazard than on those crummy "free" roads. Indeed, two interchanges appear to be getting an upgrade this summer. Where the turnpike ends, US 271 kicks in, and almost immediately the sun came out. (Didn't last.)

First stop of any note was in Mount Pleasant, Texas, a pleasant (well, it is) little town where 271 crosses Interstate 30. I'd been there once before, mostly because I'd married a girl from there. (We all know how that worked out.) The north side, near a probably-artificial lake, has some really spiffy new homes; downtown is pretty much your standard small town in Texas with a lot of the age spots covered over. The chatter around the lunch counter was about half drawl, a quarter Spanish-accented, and a quarter actual Spanish, so that much hasn't changed.

Two bits of weirdness today. Just east of Longview I encountered an appliance-white Ford Crown Victoria with a ginormous antenna on the back and a Louisiana plate, doing a solid 74. Something official, I figured, and dropped back a hair. Suddenly it lurched over into the left lane, and as we rounded the curve I saw what was going on: a rest area disgorging half a dozen trucks at once. He knew. I got close enough to pull alongside and read the legend on the door: Halliburton. Not knowing which version of the death ray they had on hand, I did not further challenge them.

And as I was entering the hotel, a teenaged girl, teasing her little brother, released some spinning-top toy into the air. Gravity introduced itself, and the plastic whatever-it-was landed with a thump on top of my head. Children and parental units looked equally appalled; I said something to the effect that it couldn't hurt me where it landed.

Toll report: Indian Nation Turnpike, $4.75.
Gas mileage: 26.5 mpg.

Posted at 4:35 PM to World Tour '07