Mosquito Apocalypse

 

February 6–9, 2026

We started the morning with a peaceful sunrise walk on the beach. I found all kinds of weird sea debris and did what any modern explorer does: pointed my phone at it and let Google Lens identify it. Although I did not love some of the answers. For example, that long rubbery thing with shells stuck to it? Not seaweed. Not driftwood. A worm. Apparently the ocean just has worms lying around like that.

I am basically a marine biologist now.

Did you know there’s a protected live coral reef sitting out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico thanks to a bizarre geological hiccup? I didn’t either. But somewhere along the way I learned about the Flower Garden Banks National Marine Sanctuary, where coral reefs somehow thrive hundreds of miles from the tropical places you’d expect them. Something about ancient salt domes pushing the seafloor up into sunlight where coral can survive. It sounds like a scientific accident that worked out beautifully.

This trip is slowly turning into an accidental homeschool science curriculum, and honestly I love it. One minute you’re identifying mystery beach debris with your phone, the next minute you’re deep into reef geology and ocean worms before breakfast.

After our morning walk, we did the responsible adult thing and worked. For a while. Until we looked at each other mid–giant work project and said, “You know what? The sun is out. Get out the spandex. We're going biking.”

We rode the seawall in Galveston, which boasts the longest continuous sidewalk in the United States—10.3 miles of concrete glory, certified by Guinness World Records. It was built after the horrific Galveston hurricane of 1900, when 8,000 people died. We rode the entire thing from start to finish just so we can say that we've rode the longest continuous sidewalk in the United States. 

Big RVs were lined up all along the seawall. I assumed it was for the Mardi Gras parades the next day, but I needed confirmation. So I stopped to interrogate four ladies drinking beer and sitting in folding chairs on the sidewalk.

Were they saving spots? Oh honey. They were saving spots.

Their group had:

• A massive RV

• A U-Haul packed with a cooker and enough food to feed a small nation;

• Separate port-a-potties for men and women (the women’s reportedly had a chandelier); and 

• Hotel rooms across the street so they didn’t actually have to sleep in the RV or accidentally drive drunk.

This was more than tailgating.

Best part? They invited me to their party.

George had biked ahead and eventually had to circle back to retrieve me. When he rolled up, he joked to the ladies that I have a chronic condition where I talk to strangers and he has to come track me down like a misplaced toddler at Costco.

To be fair, there was that one time at a campground, after dark, when I wandered into a large gathering of actual bikers (not cyclists) and he couldn’t find me for a solid stretch of time. He was fully convinced I had been murdered. When we were finally reconnected, he was so mad he refused to talk to me for an hour. 

Minor detail. Totally unrelated. Clearly an overreaction.

The sassy sidewalk queens informed George that my talking had secured me a Mardi Gras party invitation. And they might generously allow him to tag along.

We are absolutely going.

While chatting with the ladies, I was hyper-aware of my hairy legs. With our water issues, shaving is simply not happening. At one point I considered committing fully to the bit and speaking in a European accent so the legs would seem like a natural byproduct of my culture, but my accent skills are not strong enough to sell it.

George has been working with the RV dealer, the RV manufacturer, and watched approximately 47 YouTube videos with technicians named “Brad” to diagnose the problem. He is now at least 62% certified in RV Plumbing. Turns out at least part of the issue was that the shower handle had been installed upside down. George fixed that and while he was at it, feeling bold and mechanically inclined, he removed the mixing valve entirely. And guess what? We have hot water! Progress. 

But the pressure? It goes from “kinked garden hose” to “sad hamster tears” in 30 seconds. To get enough water, you use it for 30 seconds, then when the sad hampster tears start to run, you turn it off and wait for the pressure to build again. Then you repeat that cycle until the bare essentials have been washed.

Unfortunatley, RV showers are already a military operation--Wet. Off. Lather. On. Rinse. Off. Shampoo. On. Rinse. Off--so it's not too different. 

We packed up and left the state park early the next mornign to secure parking near the parade route. We’re 45 feet long with the car and camper, so parallel parking is less “maneuver” and more “strategic naval operation.” You have to find a spot where noone can park you in.

News outlets said the street closures would start at 59th. We parked just past 61st to be safe. At 8:30 a.m., traffic officials swooped in and barricaded the street directly in front of us. Not where the news said. Of course.

But—accidental jackpot—we were now in the golden no-parking-for-anyone-else zone and didn't have to worry about getting parked in.

 

We walked ¾ of a mile to the party and detoured for matching Mardi Gras shirts. Because if you’re going to crash a party, you have to do it coordinated.

 

The people were lovely. There was indeed a chandelier in the women’s Port-a-potty, which is a level of elegance I did not previously know was possible in portable sanitation. There was also plenty of traditional Mardi Gras food: sausage on a stick, sliders, chips, and Jell-O shots—which we declined like the responsible Mormon adults we apparently are.

I asked a lady if “sausage on a stick” had a festive Mardi Gras name.

The lady paused thoughtfully and then said, “Sausage on a stick.”

Fair.

Instead of candy, people in the parade throw beads. We collected an impressive amount. In New Orleans, I understand beads come with… negotiations. But this was a family-friendly Mardi Gras so I kept my girls under wraps. 

 

Though we were having a great time, meeting lots of people, and enjoying the food, we only stayed for the first parade--yes, there is more than one parade--then said our goodbyes to all the slightly drunk partiers in our large group and headed to our next destination, Sea Rim State Park. 

To get to Sea Rim, we had to take a ferry (which is just casually part of the highway system here). We set up camp. Made dinner. Killed approximately 20 mosquitoes and went to bed.

We were camping near a bayou, which apparently translates to: “Mosquito breeding headquarters.” Fun Fact: we were also near the Port Arthur Refinery—the largest oil refinery in the country. It’s changed hands so many times I couldn't actually figure out its name. Motiva? Maybe. Amcor? Possibly. Big and industrial? Definitely. The place was crawling with security at every conceivable entrance. I assume they’re worried about terrorist threats…though based on the mosquito population, I feel like they already have a pretty effective perimeter defense.

The next morning I turned on the bathroom light and it looked like a mosquito rave. There were about fifty of them. I spent 10 minutes in battle before getting ready for church using our under-pressured shower.  

After church, we drove to Beaumont, TX and visited a small art museum featuring pointed houses made out of cloth diaper meant to honor the pink collar work of mothing and domesticity… but honestly it just left us confused and amazed that someone spends there time like this. Clearly we lack the proper appreciation and are not art aficionados.

We also visited the much more straightforward and informative Spindletop-Gladys City Boomtown Museum and learned all about the Lucas Gusher that put Beaumont on the map.

Back at camp, in mosquito-ville, we took a walk on a boardwalk through the marsh, searching for alligators. Saw none. But when we returned to the camper, we had to kill 30 more mosquitoes just from opening the door.

George upgraded his kill tactics: vacuum the suckers with the handheld. Amazing innovation.

We went to bed fairly confident we had killed all of the mosquites in the camper. But when we opened our eyes the next morning, there were roughly 100 mosquitoes on the ceiling and walls. One hundred. Just hanging there. Like they’d held a strategic planning meeting overnight and decided to launch Phase Two.

We vacuumed them up. Felt victorious. Sat down to work subconsciously scratching. 

Fifteen minutes later? Twenty more.

We had absolutely no idea where they were getting in. There were no visible gaps. No open windows.

So we began our new morning routine: emails, vacuum mosquitoes, repeat. Off and on for several hours while dressed like desert nomads—long sleeves, long pants, socks, hoods—every inch of skin covered despite being parked near a beach. We were taking no chances.

By noon we'd had enough and packed up to head toward Louisiana and hopefully leave the mosquitoes behind. One the way, we stopped at the Museum of the Gulf Coast. I learned the coastline used to extend 50 miles farther out. Meaning there are archaeological sites offshore and artifacts sometimes wash up. So now when I’m beachcombing for shells, I’m also scanning for arrowheads and pottery shards, like a very underqualified archaeologist.

I also learned Texas has way too many venomous snakes. Three kinds of rattlesnakes, Cottonmouths, Copperheads, and Coral snakes. George is terrified of snakes, so this information did not help with my quest to do some hiking along with our biking. 

Finally, we crossed into Louisiana—one of the last three states George hadn’t visited.

When we started off that morning, we had installed a sway bar on the camper since our new rig is bigger and we'd been feeling the sway. When we opened the camper after driving, everything inside had staged a rebellion and was flung helter skelter. Apparently “more stable” equals “shake your belongings into submission.” According to google this is normal. Quote: "While your stuff is falling, the sway bar is preventing a much more dangerous issue (excessive body roll/rollover risk). The goal is to secure your cargo to match the new, more stable, but stiffer ride." So I guess we have our work cut out for us trying to figure out how to secure our stuff.

We took the scenic backroads in Louisiana. The interesting thing was that every building was on tall stilts—churches, libraries, entire high schools. Flooding is clearly not a hypothetical situation here. Not the cemeteries, though. Those folks are already dead so its okay if they wash away.

Toward the end of our drive, we took our second ferry of the trip, which crossed a small river, and then camped right on the beach near Creole, Louisiana.

No mosquitoes.
Just gentle waves.