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  • So, after a quick stop at the Flying J convenience store for a Crimson Tide backscratcher, we were ready to head for the Big Easy. Naturally, we had to gas up first, so I pulled the RV over to the gas station and decided to use the handy dandy RV lanes, complete with gas, dump station, water and air all in one place. Great!

    Then I heard the noise. It was something like...metal being dragged across concrete. Well, actually that's exactly what it was. But if you have never done such a stupid thing as this, you may liken it to a duck being strangled (with a broken harmonica in it's beak). So, it turns out the RV lanes at Flying J are protected by a large concrete cylinder (about a foot and a half across) -- you know to keep people who aren't used to driving something that big from running over the gas pump. I stopped abruptly and uttered a word I shall not repeat here. Not even on the road yet, and good lord what have I done?

    Dan and I hopped out to assess the damage. I had backed up slightly to free the RV from the post, so there was about 4 inches of light between them and the damage seemed to consist of a lot of scrapes along the molding around the rear tire, and around the water heater exhaust and around the power chord compartment. Relieved that at least I hadn't just punctured the black water tank, now I had to figure out how to get this vehicle out of this unsatisfactory position. My mind wished there were such things as giants, so that I could conjure one up to pick up the RV and place it safely out of harm's way. No such luck. So, Dan stood by the rear and I got back in the driver's seat (despite my deep desire to relinquish the reins immediately and forever). Inch by inch, we maneuvered this huge rectangle back out of the lane and out of any further danger. WHEW!

    Now I made a VERY wide turn into the RV lane and we managed to gas up and even get some water in our tanks without any further mishap. Boy was I relieved to be back on the interstate! And now we were sailing south. We passed Mobile, drove on beyond Biloxi and Bay St. Louis, and cruised into LOOOSiana. Before you know it we were gazing north east at big ole' Lake Pontchartrain as we crossed it's smallish end. Just a little further! All the time, I have in my head that we need to feed the kids lunch before we grab the campground's 3:45 shuttle to the French Quarter. Looks like we should have a few minutes to spare. So, we followed our trusty GPS off of 1-10 onto Chef Menteur Hwy. and onto France Road -- a very industrial area along the canal that connects the Lake with the Mississippi.

    Pontchartrain Landing RV Park did not disappoint. We checked in and were escorted to our site by Mr. Ed (not the horse). And there I backed that big boy into our designated space. Out went the slides. Hooked up the power, water, sewer. Cooked up some Mac and Cheese (fancy!) and Dan took the doggy for a well deserved romp in the dog park.

    Forty five minutes later we were ready to laissez les bontemps roulez (or some such).
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