On March 11, 2026 we hitched up at Bayou Segnette State Park and pointed the truck west toward Texas. Our destination for the day was Lake Livingston State Park, a pleasant forested park about seventy miles north of Houston that sits along the edge of one of the largest reservoirs in the state.
Unfortunately, the area where we were headed was expected to have severe thunderstorms and perhaps even tornados. We worked our way west, but selected a strategic lunch break and rest before heading through the approaching storm front. Once back on the road we carefully wove our way through the front and avoided any significant wind, hail, or other damaging elements.
By mid-afternoon we rolled into Site 25 and backed the trailer neatly into place. The site was only a short stroll from the lake, though a stand of tall East Texas pines and hardwoods prevented any direct water view. That’s fairly typical here—Lake Livingston State Park is more of a wooded lakeside retreat than an open shoreline campground.
In our previous post we mentioned the odd behavior of our trailer’s wireless stabilizer remote. At Bayou Segnette the thing worked only intermittently, which had me scratching my head. Behind our Louisiana campsite stood a large communications tower with what appeared to be several vertical antennas mounted near the top. Once we arrived in Texas and tried the remote again—no tower in sight—the stabilizers worked perfectly. Evidently the radio signal from the tower was strong enough to swamp our little remote control. It’s not every day you get an impromptu lesson in radio-frequency interference while setting up a camper.
After getting settled I spent some time catching up on blog posts while Linda wandered down to the lakeshore for a short walk. The wind was kicking up whitecaps across the lake, and the normally calm water looked more like a small inland sea. We briefly considered launching the kayaks but decided that discretion was the better part of valor.
Instead we had a relaxed evening. Dinner, a little television, and then—unexpectedly—one of those small delights that travel occasionally hands you: fireflies. We’ve seen fireflies many times over the years, but rarely like this. Normally they blink low to the ground in grassy areas. Here they were drifting through the trees ten or fifteen feet above us, tiny floating lanterns scattered through the dark branches. They flashed with surprising intensity, each pulse bright enough to catch the eye from across the campsite. Watching them flicker in the warm Texas night made me feel briefly like a delighted eight-year-old again.
The next morning greeted us with temperatures in the mid-40s and a cool 57°F inside the trailer. After weeks of warm Gulf Coast weather it felt downright refreshing. We set our chairs out in the sun and warmed up, and spent an easy hour or two mapping out our next stops on the long road west toward the deserts of Texas and beyond.
During this peaceful planning session we had an encounter with what can only be described as two highly motivated squirrels. A small piece of popcorn “accidentally” hit the ground and instantly triggered what appeared to be a squirrel rapid-response unit. Two gray missiles launched from a nearby tree, landed on the ground, and vacuumed up the popcorn with impressive efficiency. Having discovered a potential food source, they decided to negotiate further.
One squirrel climbed onto the picnic table and leaned over the edge like a tiny acrobat preparing for a jump. The other hovered nearby, clearly evaluating the tactical situation. I prudently moved my chair a few feet away from what appeared to be the squirrel launch platform. Peace returned for perhaps thirty seconds. Then something grabbed my arm.
My startled reaction sent a splash of water flying from my bottle and the would-be bandit retreated at once. Apparently the squirrel had concluded that if humans weren’t dropping snacks voluntarily, it might be time to escalate the operation. They were harmless of course, just extremely optimistic. Still, we preferred not to encourage them to set up permanent residence under the trailer. We resisted the urge to bribe them with additional snacks—at least officially.
Later that afternoon we pulled the bikes off the rack and explored the park’s dirt trails. Lake Livingston has several multi-use paths winding through the forest, and they’re perfect for relaxed riding. The route we took covered about 7.7 miles, weaving through tall pines, skirting small ponds, and splashing through a few leftover puddles from recent thunderstorms. There were occasional roots and low branches to dodge, but overall the trails were in great condition and a lot of fun.
Back at camp we washed the bikes, packed away the gear, and headed into town for dinner at the Wet Deck Bar & Grill. Despite the name, the deck was perfectly dry. The restaurant sits right on the lake and has a small boat dock where boaters can tie up and come ashore for food and drinks—something that always gives lakeside restaurants a lively atmosphere. We grabbed a table out back and watched the sun sink slowly into the water while finishing dinner. It’s hard to beat a Texas lake sunset.
Afterward came the less glamorous but necessary chore of travel life: grocery resupply. An hour later we rolled back into camp with the fridge restocked and the cupboards once again prepared for the miles ahead.
The fireflies did not make an appearance that evening—perhaps the cold front temporarily extinguished their lanterns. Given the warming forecast, I suspect they’ll be back soon enough, blinking quietly through the trees as if someone scattered a handful of stars among the branches.
The next morning, we efficiently prepared to leave and pulled out anout 9:30 am for the six hour drive to our next destination.
| Nights | Total Nights | Miles | Total Miles |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2 | 375 | 353 | 32902 |