Driving from Mississippi to Louisiana, I felt a sense of accomplishment.

This had been my first cross-country trip, and I'd already been through ten states since leaving California. Counting my home state of North Carolina, I had four more before I'd sleep in my bed again.

It felt like a million years ago that I watched the sunrise with the Zombies of The Tenderloin.

At the same time, it was as if that were yesterday.

With a heat index of 107, it seemed odd that we were zipped into 20-degree sleeping bags just a few days earlier.

And remember the day we blew a hose clamp on the transmission cooler line and were stuck on the side of the road with no cell reception in Redway, CA?

Wild.

Things that seem super-huge and devastating at the moment can become a distant memory fast.

New Orleans had been on my list since back in college, so it felt good to be headed in that direction, and I was still smiling about how we'd gotten the truck back on the road after the second breakdown in Arkansas.

Chris from Landers Toyota you're still my hero!

By the time we checked into the hotel, Julia and I were exhausted, so I picked up a pizza from a spot down the street we stayed in.

The next morning we headed to Cafe Dumonde, which, despite being a tourist trap, was a place I needed to see. What our waitress needed to do, apparently, was clip her fingernails. Because that's what she did - in a chair close enough that I could hear the sound of the clippers.

And I could see her nail trimmings on the floor.

Yes, I have pictures (so does everyone else in her section that morning), but I won't post them.

Fingernails notwithstanding, the beignets were good.

We spent the rest of the morning checking out the shops and galleries and waiting for the world-famous Central Grocery & Deli to finish making the muffalottas we enjoyed under a shade tree along the Mississippi.

Did Tom and Huck have muffalottas?

I wonder.

The WWII museum there in New Orleans is terrific, which I reckon is why Congress made our official WWII museum twenty years ago. It's enormous and stuffed with artifacts ranging from artillery shells and notebooks to a restored B-17 bomber hanging from the ceiling.

Now, let's talk about Bourbon St.

I made two trips.

The first was a quick after-supper walk with Julia. It had been a long day, and she was tired, so I walked her back to the hotel and headed back for more people-watching.

That's where the prostitutes come in.

Although I'd noticed them earlier, having Julia with me seemed a shield against their advances. But a dude walking by himself must look like a good target.

Because they were like flies on the 2nd trip.

"Hey, baby!"

"Are you all alone?"

"Need some company?"

"That's a nice shirt, sexy," one said as she touched my shoulder.

I'm neither a prude nor a germaphobe, but touching me was a bit much, so I hightailed it back to the hotel.

The next day we drove to Montgomery, AL. It was after dark when we checked into the Airbnb, but we still enjoyed a nice walk around town and a fantastic dinner at Central Restaurant.

I'd expected Montgomery to be somewhat podunk and redneck; I was wrong.

The downtown area, at least, is delightful.

The reason we were here was twofold: The Legacy Museum: From Enslavement to Mass Incarceration and The National Memorial for Peace and Justice.

The first was mind-boggling, and the second was somber.

Both were worth the trip.

On display in the museum's final room was a Kehinde Wiley painting, which seemed a fitting end to the trip since we'd started it with his exhibit in San Francisco three weeks earlier.

Thrilled with our adventure but saddened that it was ending, we loaded up for the 8-hour drive home.

It felt good to sleep in my bed.

But not as good as sleeping in my truck in Washington, Montanna, Wyoming, and South Dakota.