I have!
Years ago, I often drove from New Orleans to the upstate cities of Shreveport and Monroe. I remarked that there was a section of the route a bit past Port Allen that just gave me the creeps. It seems that nearly every time I made the trip northbound, the weather there would change and become unusual. The lighting would be different, the temperature would drop, and the wind would pick up. Strange.
This long section of Highway 71 below Alexandria was foreboding in and of itself, even on a good day: it was two-way blacktop with no shoulder on either side. If you ask me, it was a death-trap, as ditches full of murky water awaited anyone who was forced off the road here. If nobody saw you run off, your car would sink quickly beneath the green, alligator-infested ditches, and your body would never be found. Death was only one slight mistake — one slippery skid away.
On the other side of the ditches, the trees grew high and thick, and arched overhead, making almost a tunnel of branches over the highway. This might look picturesque and inviting at Oak Alley Plantation, but here these moss-laden arbors made my blood run cold!
Unfortunately, back then, no other road connected the Louisiana's largest cities, so stalwart drivers regularly took their lives in their hands and reluctantly pushed their vehicles along through that dismal area, and they all gave a sigh of relief and thanked their Living God that they made it through to the other side alive.
I enjoyed driving those long distances. Being a salesman, constantly on the road, it came with the territory, and my territory was Louisiana. When I took this route to north Louisiana — "Yankee Country," as I liked to jokingly call it, I preferred to leave New Orleans in the evening and make the trip by night. I had no rush-hours, made better time, and had fewer cars to contend with. If there were any drunks out there, weaving into oncoming traffic, I could see them coming and get out of the way.
Late at night, on the open road, it was just me, an all-night Country radio, and the big rigs blowing black smoke and illuminating the highway and the trees around them like a Christmas tree lights up a living room. At night I had time to think, and I also could turn off the radio, clear my mind and listen to the hum of my motor and feel the vibration of the wheels beneath my car. These trips were relaxing, for the most part.
This particular night, I had eaten a nice meal before leaving, had driven for just over an hour, and I had just passed over the Mississippi River Bridge at Bâton Rouge. The glow of the city lights became increasingly dimmer as I went around the interchange at Port Allen and headed west. The time for relaxing had come to an end. I soon left the safety of Highway 190 and turned onto highway 71 and began the dreaded drive north to Alexandria, and beyond.
As soon as I got onto that God-forsaken road, that familiar old malaise and fear came instantly back to me. I laughed at myself for being so silly, but years of passing this way proved my fears to be well-founded. As if on cue, the temperature dropped, and I caught a chill. I put on the car heater, cranked up the old radio and thought about that 10¢ cup of coffee I'd have once I reached the town of Bunkie. But first, I had to go through this passage, and by the looks of the angry sky overhead, it would be a rough one. It was amazing that, no matter how good the weather had been before, in this spot it was a brand-new game.
It was nighttime, and a darker night I have never seen. This ink-black mantle covering me then suddenly flashed vivid electric green, and white-blue pitchforks of wild lightning flew through the sky. Now and then the headlights of a car came into view, reassuring me that I was still near civilization, but then even that stopped. There were no lights of any kind anywhere on the road, which was far from even the smallest of villages. The wind began blowing almost like a hurricane. Tree branches reeled and swayed with the wind, silhouetted by the staccato of the electric display overhead. Then the rain began to fall - just what I needed!
I was completely alone.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up! My car was being buffeted by the wind, and my headlights shone through the nearly-horizontal rain, which was now rather heavy. I lowered my speed; better late than never. The storm, or whatever it was, raged on. The farther I went, the heavier the rain, wind, and lightning there was. It was as if someone — or something — was telling me I was to go no farther.
Sleep, fatigue, forebodings, superstitions, etc., can cause people to see strange things - play tricks with their eyes. The rain fell so hard that it seemed as though huge raindrops were falling to earth and actually BOUNCING on the asphalt below! I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, as I saw — well, I KNOW what I saw!
I looked through my rear-view mirror: there was not a car light in sight. I brought my vehicle to a dead stop, right on the highway.
There I was, the only car, by myself in the dead of night, looking at one of the strangest sights I ever saw: through my windshield I discovered the truth — it was not raindrops that were bouncing on the highway, it was FROGS!!
"How can this be?" I exclaimed aloud, to no-one there. I turned off my motor, and enjoyed the roar of the rain on the car roof, and watched as thousands, many thousands, of tiny frogs, danced and bounced and jumped in the rain, as if they were falling from the skies.
Very soon, the wind died down, the lightning distanced itself from that dismal swamp, and the rain abruptly ceased. Still no cars came. I had to satisfy my curiosity — this was just too much to just drive off and forget about. I got out a large flashlight and, together with my car headlights still burning, exited the car. What I saw was a sad, horrible sight: the road was filled with many thousands of writhing bodies of little frogs, so very many of which had been rolled over by motorists before me. From the ditches came even more little frogs, leaping and hopping all over the road. During the heavy rainstorm, it looked as if it were actually RAINING FROGS, when, in reality, the frogs were there all the while, doing what frogs do best - hop!
I could do nothing to help these unfortunate little creatures, so I got back into my car and drove away, realizing that I was slaughtering hundreds of them beneath the wheels of my car as I left.
I eventually left that "Ghost Alley" and gave thanks that all went well. Soon enough the lights of Bunkie came into view, and I walked into Starks Restaurant and got a hot cup of coffee for just a dime.
I would make several more trips through that spooky passageway, but I never saw frogs in such profusion, or in such uneasy of circumstances. That evening, over a cup of coffee, I thought of how many strange tales are concocted from just such events.
Then I threw away my empty cup, and finished my trip up to Shreveport.
