I have tried to make navigation on the site easier, so this will be one extended page with multiple days on it, please push the play button to play a bit of musely, thanks
I can be contacted at nigesmith40@gmail.com
STAGE TWO OF JOURNEY, MEMPHIS TO NEW ORLEANS
Dos etapas del viaje, Memphis a Nueva Orleans
UPDATE ON ROAD TRIP TO RHODE ISLAND
Meeting my friend Leon from Nelson, NZ we hired a car and took in the following towns and cities.
Leon is 82 and such a great guy, we met on a tour in Turkey last year with Lea.
He came up to Memphis on the “City of New Orleans”, the train made famous by Don Mclean.
This song has been inspirational to me, it is about heading south on the “city” from Illinois Central. Trains with no names have been such an emotional and inspiring part of the journey. I look foward to experiencing the emotion associated with this train when sighted on my journey south.
Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.
Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
We started at Memphis, and took in Bardstown, KY, Nashville, Lexington, race horse central, Maysville, OH, London, Urbana, Findlay, Toledo, Detroit, MI, then Canada, Leamington, St Thomas, Simcoe, Port Dover, Niagara and the falls, ON Buffalo, NY, Oneida, Albany, NY state capital, Bennington, VT, Brattleboro, water damage from Irene, Keene, NH, Salem, MA, Cape Cod, Hyannis, Provincetown, New Bedford, Newport, RI, for a week, Nantucket, Bristol, Mystic, CT, North Bergen, NJ, New York, NY, Newark, Perth Amboy, Seaside Park, Toms River, Deepwater, DE, Elkton MD, Centreville, great sand crabs, Washington DC, Appalachian highway through Virginia, Jackson and US40 back to Memphis.
Leon flies home from DC.
The road trip took in back roads, diners and cheap but totally adequate motels, 5900k’s were covered.
Without a GPS navigation would have been a nightmare on approach to cities, especially New York. I had one delivered from home and downloaded US maps. The only problem with the program is it always looks for the shortest route and that is freeways. Overcoming this we set the goto for short distances on the back roads.
A $7.00 road atlas from Walmart was also invaluable.
Having packed my cooker we enjoyed coffee at our liesure and porridge in the mornings when breakfast was not provided. New season corn from roadside stalls was also enjoyed.Neither of us had enjoyed such sweet corn for many years.
The highlight of the trip was catching up with old friends Hamish and Peter in Rhode Island where we spent a great week in Petes house. Hamish and I had not caught up for 40 years, we all made the most of it, needing every other night off. Hame gave us a locals look at Newport, the towns best clam chowder was also experienced.
Hamish and Sue fed us like kings, one evening, entertaining us with a great voice and his guitar reciting some classic Fell house numbers. He has been entertaining Newport locals and visitors for the last 30 years at bars and parties. Both with a band and solo.
Locals recommended Nantucket over Marthas Vineyard, this I can’t comment on as we only went to Nantucket and thoroughly enjoyed it.
The infamous Boston traffic was our worst experience of slow vehicular movement , even eclipsing NY.
Bridges are like flies on a dead sheep around this eastern part of the US. Almost all bridges crossed made the Sydney harbour bridge look like an access way to a rural property. Though none of the them were as inspiring or majestic as Sydneys lady.
If visiting NY consider staying at the Days Inn, North Bergen,NJ,. At $150/night and a $2.50 bus trip to times square you cant go wrong.A great breakfast was supplied in the modern multistory motel.There is a book available from Subway that has discount vouchers for motels all over this north eastern area.It saved us a fortune.
Though some of our Indian specials left the discount vouchers wanting when on a budget.
A few days into the trip Leon was having trouble coping with my multi- tasking while driving. Tasks included extended observations, animated conversation, programming the GPS, eating, taking photos, finding songs on the ipod, reaching into the back seat, drinking and making phones calls which he banned. I cooperated in this department.
It was decided to stop at Toys R Us and purchase a plastic suction cup steering wheel and associated foot pedals for the passenger side so Leon could have some control when neeeded!! He drove as necessary.
On the way back a meal was immensely enjoyed at The Dixie Castle in Jackson, just the best pork tenderloin and vegetables with coffee, $5.25. The place was full of local characters. One, on being asked was he enjoying his meal, commented, “If I was enjoying it any more I would need to hire help”. Everyone had a good laugh.
Arriving back in Memphis on the 4th of October. Gear was picked up that had been delivered to a bike shop here. This included tryes and small outside pouches for my panniers.
The bike had been stored at a storage place, $30/mth.
Having had a great time for the last 4 weeks, the time, both chronologically and climatically required further passage on the river road to Venice in Louisiana. Then on across to Houston.
The weather in DC was 5℃ and snow was encountered on the way back through Virginia. Good old Memphis today is 29℃.
Dos etapas del viaje, Memphis a Nueva Orleans
UPDATE ON ROAD TRIP TO RHODE ISLAND
Meeting my friend Leon from Nelson, NZ we hired a car and took in the following towns and cities.
Leon is 82 and such a great guy, we met on a tour in Turkey last year with Lea.
He came up to Memphis on the “City of New Orleans”, the train made famous by Don Mclean.
This song has been inspirational to me, it is about heading south on the “city” from Illinois Central. Trains with no names have been such an emotional and inspiring part of the journey. I look foward to experiencing the emotion associated with this train when sighted on my journey south.
Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.
Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
We started at Memphis, and took in Bardstown, KY, Nashville, Lexington, race horse central, Maysville, OH, London, Urbana, Findlay, Toledo, Detroit, MI, then Canada, Leamington, St Thomas, Simcoe, Port Dover, Niagara and the falls, ON Buffalo, NY, Oneida, Albany, NY state capital, Bennington, VT, Brattleboro, water damage from Irene, Keene, NH, Salem, MA, Cape Cod, Hyannis, Provincetown, New Bedford, Newport, RI, for a week, Nantucket, Bristol, Mystic, CT, North Bergen, NJ, New York, NY, Newark, Perth Amboy, Seaside Park, Toms River, Deepwater, DE, Elkton MD, Centreville, great sand crabs, Washington DC, Appalachian highway through Virginia, Jackson and US40 back to Memphis.
Leon flies home from DC.
The road trip took in back roads, diners and cheap but totally adequate motels, 5900k’s were covered.
Without a GPS navigation would have been a nightmare on approach to cities, especially New York. I had one delivered from home and downloaded US maps. The only problem with the program is it always looks for the shortest route and that is freeways. Overcoming this we set the goto for short distances on the back roads.
A $7.00 road atlas from Walmart was also invaluable.
Having packed my cooker we enjoyed coffee at our liesure and porridge in the mornings when breakfast was not provided. New season corn from roadside stalls was also enjoyed.Neither of us had enjoyed such sweet corn for many years.
The highlight of the trip was catching up with old friends Hamish and Peter in Rhode Island where we spent a great week in Petes house. Hamish and I had not caught up for 40 years, we all made the most of it, needing every other night off. Hame gave us a locals look at Newport, the towns best clam chowder was also experienced.
Hamish and Sue fed us like kings, one evening, entertaining us with a great voice and his guitar reciting some classic Fell house numbers. He has been entertaining Newport locals and visitors for the last 30 years at bars and parties. Both with a band and solo.
Locals recommended Nantucket over Marthas Vineyard, this I can’t comment on as we only went to Nantucket and thoroughly enjoyed it.
The infamous Boston traffic was our worst experience of slow vehicular movement , even eclipsing NY.
Bridges are like flies on a dead sheep around this eastern part of the US. Almost all bridges crossed made the Sydney harbour bridge look like an access way to a rural property. Though none of the them were as inspiring or majestic as Sydneys lady.
If visiting NY consider staying at the Days Inn, North Bergen,NJ,. At $150/night and a $2.50 bus trip to times square you cant go wrong.A great breakfast was supplied in the modern multistory motel.There is a book available from Subway that has discount vouchers for motels all over this north eastern area.It saved us a fortune.
Though some of our Indian specials left the discount vouchers wanting when on a budget.
A few days into the trip Leon was having trouble coping with my multi- tasking while driving. Tasks included extended observations, animated conversation, programming the GPS, eating, taking photos, finding songs on the ipod, reaching into the back seat, drinking and making phones calls which he banned. I cooperated in this department.
It was decided to stop at Toys R Us and purchase a plastic suction cup steering wheel and associated foot pedals for the passenger side so Leon could have some control when neeeded!! He drove as necessary.
On the way back a meal was immensely enjoyed at The Dixie Castle in Jackson, just the best pork tenderloin and vegetables with coffee, $5.25. The place was full of local characters. One, on being asked was he enjoying his meal, commented, “If I was enjoying it any more I would need to hire help”. Everyone had a good laugh.
Arriving back in Memphis on the 4th of October. Gear was picked up that had been delivered to a bike shop here. This included tryes and small outside pouches for my panniers.
The bike had been stored at a storage place, $30/mth.
Having had a great time for the last 4 weeks, the time, both chronologically and climatically required further passage on the river road to Venice in Louisiana. Then on across to Houston.
The weather in DC was 5℃ and snow was encountered on the way back through Virginia. Good old Memphis today is 29℃.
We viewed the falls from the Canada side, recommended
Steptoe and Son
Welcome to NY, just short of George Washington Bridge, authorities more or less let it burn out before traffic could proceed, the owner was cooking sausages on a bbq in the back seat!!
Early snow Appalachian parkway, Virginia
|
Cape Cod
Very old mates, one literally dare I say
Special guys seen everywhere in the cities, this one calls Central Park home
A special travelling companion
|
Wednesday 5th Memphis to Marianna
5/10/2011
Memphis, TN to 50 k south of Marianna, AR
28℃, no wind and clear, perfect conditions.
D122, T6.38, Av18.36, Total 5576
The night was spent sleeping in the storage facility, it was warm but lights were on all night, with a Memphis radio station playing rock music, all the classics, Zepplin etc This was sorted by setting up the air bed so I was sleeping with my upper body in the compartment and the roller door pulled all the way down,. The 5x5 foot compartment was not big enough for myself and the bike.
It was luxury compared to the back seat of the Milan in a car park on US40 though a tad modest compared to the motel in DC.
Getting up at 0500 I headed to the nearest Smacks and had a brew.
Time there was spent with a vietnam vet who told me about his money making business.
Conversation then began with a really interesting African American (AA), who was learning Spanish, we mucked around swapping words and talking about some similarities between their race and our Aboriginals. His ancestors were slaves. He was proud of his heritage. Teaching at the local college filled in his days.
I had to bail early from the storage facility as I had climbed over the gate after closing. I figured asking and being turned down counted out sleeping there. I made a heap of noise and whistled prior to scaling the gate, the presence of dogs would have been a disaster once over the fence, the coast was clear.
Posting a bit of gear to Houston, I returned the car, 28 days for $1058, good value comes to mind.
Kent from the hire place kindly came and got me.I revealed my having kipped at the facility, as they probably would have spotted me on the surveillance cameras. He was cool about it.
The most striking thing about Memphis is the African American men in the prime of their lives just hanging about in groups around certain parts of town. There plight is of concern. Especially when a bilion dollars a week is being spent trying to make two distant nations change how to go about their lives. Such futility.
It felt good to be on the road again, new rear tyre on a true rim, two new outer bags on the front panniers and a very comfortable pair of sandals, more on that later.
Most importantly the chiggers were now gone, however small skin discoloration spots testifies to their past presence. One would like to think these will fade with time.
Leaving Memphis meant crossing the old bridge on I55, a very busy road. Crossing on the pedestrian crossing the carriage surface shook uncomfortably each time a truck passed, which was almost constant. That “bill” per week must be having some impact on infrastructure maintenance here, or the lack thereof, the rail bridge running parallel with the road bridge had trees growing through the pylons and vines working their way to the track.
Radio adds are pushing payday loans, interest free car loans and how to get a grand put in your account within 1 hour. All these promoted by organizations that are taking advantage of those who can least afford it. Maybe the next credit crash will involve consumer goods and cash loans.
Lawyers relentlessly advertise advice on marriage issues, work injury and any event that could see some stray cash be milked from an insurance company or a couples savings.
The Arkansas state line was crossed once over the bridge.
Now being in the delta, the road was flat, smooth and a pleasure to be on. West Memphis was a main thoroughfare lined with shops and chain stores.
Leaving West Memphis, the Great River Road took me through fileds of cotton, soya beans and newly planted winter wheat. The cotton and Soya harvest is in full swing.
The state line between AR and MI was drawn up when the river was free. It followed the MR. Due to levee construction and other restricting infrastructure ox bow lakes have now formed where once the river meandered. Horseshoe Lake was passed, some extensive homes were passed situated on its shores.
Halloween is on October 31. Carving pumpkins are for sale everywhere.Seven billion dollars is being spent on the celebration this year. All this money in times of delinquent loans and poverty for many.One commentator put it down to escapism from the harsh reality some folks face on a daily basis.
A great display celebrating the occasion was seen on the road whilst passing the lake.
Getting low on water, two guys were seen in a front yard. Pulling in and having a yarn, they invited me inside, where they so kindly gave me iced water and a great brew of slightly sweetened iced tea from their fridge. This is a huge drink of choice here, especially among older people.
We chatted for sometime, a tree had flattened their last house and they were working on this new one Glen the dad offered me some of his home preserved pickles. I gladly accepted and in return will email him my dads pickled walnut recipe which he was keen to try.
His two sons were with us, both nice guys. On my deparure they gestured me to join hands and Glen prayed aloud for my safe passage. This was a totally new experience for me. One that prior to this trip would have seemed so foreign and uncomfortable.
They were Baptists, this was their way of wishing me all the best. I parted their company with warm thoughts. My engaging in this act of good will was my way of showing respect for their exceptional kindness. For me this engagement was not about religion, more about the fostering of goodwill.
The day was coming to an end and thoughts moved to a campsite for the night. Coming around a bend a sign read Bobs Landing, accessed by a gravel road. Stopping at a modest, to say the least home, a woman, who was very cautious spoke through the screen. Four miles east would see me over the levee and on the river bank.
Reaching the levee and stopping on its road a view of old trailers and an appearance of neglect appeared below me. I rode down to a dwelling and knocked on the door, a woman who looked like she had endured a hard live for some 50 years and answered. My request was in no uncertain terms declined.
She said the land upstream was posted ( signage that indicates private property). Down stream made sense anyway. The levee had a well managed road, though surfaced with loose sharp aggregate up to 30mm in diameter.
Riding enjoying the space and lack of traffic, all the while the noise of harvesters could be heard.
Just on dark a track off the levee some three miles from where I had stopped took one lakeside. A great camp under trees. My stopping here was not a first.
It was nice to be back in the palace. The airbed is more comfortable than I thought.
Sleep was assisted with the sound of frogs and crickets
Memphis, TN to 50 k south of Marianna, AR
28℃, no wind and clear, perfect conditions.
D122, T6.38, Av18.36, Total 5576
The night was spent sleeping in the storage facility, it was warm but lights were on all night, with a Memphis radio station playing rock music, all the classics, Zepplin etc This was sorted by setting up the air bed so I was sleeping with my upper body in the compartment and the roller door pulled all the way down,. The 5x5 foot compartment was not big enough for myself and the bike.
It was luxury compared to the back seat of the Milan in a car park on US40 though a tad modest compared to the motel in DC.
Getting up at 0500 I headed to the nearest Smacks and had a brew.
Time there was spent with a vietnam vet who told me about his money making business.
Conversation then began with a really interesting African American (AA), who was learning Spanish, we mucked around swapping words and talking about some similarities between their race and our Aboriginals. His ancestors were slaves. He was proud of his heritage. Teaching at the local college filled in his days.
I had to bail early from the storage facility as I had climbed over the gate after closing. I figured asking and being turned down counted out sleeping there. I made a heap of noise and whistled prior to scaling the gate, the presence of dogs would have been a disaster once over the fence, the coast was clear.
Posting a bit of gear to Houston, I returned the car, 28 days for $1058, good value comes to mind.
Kent from the hire place kindly came and got me.I revealed my having kipped at the facility, as they probably would have spotted me on the surveillance cameras. He was cool about it.
The most striking thing about Memphis is the African American men in the prime of their lives just hanging about in groups around certain parts of town. There plight is of concern. Especially when a bilion dollars a week is being spent trying to make two distant nations change how to go about their lives. Such futility.
It felt good to be on the road again, new rear tyre on a true rim, two new outer bags on the front panniers and a very comfortable pair of sandals, more on that later.
Most importantly the chiggers were now gone, however small skin discoloration spots testifies to their past presence. One would like to think these will fade with time.
Leaving Memphis meant crossing the old bridge on I55, a very busy road. Crossing on the pedestrian crossing the carriage surface shook uncomfortably each time a truck passed, which was almost constant. That “bill” per week must be having some impact on infrastructure maintenance here, or the lack thereof, the rail bridge running parallel with the road bridge had trees growing through the pylons and vines working their way to the track.
Radio adds are pushing payday loans, interest free car loans and how to get a grand put in your account within 1 hour. All these promoted by organizations that are taking advantage of those who can least afford it. Maybe the next credit crash will involve consumer goods and cash loans.
Lawyers relentlessly advertise advice on marriage issues, work injury and any event that could see some stray cash be milked from an insurance company or a couples savings.
The Arkansas state line was crossed once over the bridge.
Now being in the delta, the road was flat, smooth and a pleasure to be on. West Memphis was a main thoroughfare lined with shops and chain stores.
Leaving West Memphis, the Great River Road took me through fileds of cotton, soya beans and newly planted winter wheat. The cotton and Soya harvest is in full swing.
The state line between AR and MI was drawn up when the river was free. It followed the MR. Due to levee construction and other restricting infrastructure ox bow lakes have now formed where once the river meandered. Horseshoe Lake was passed, some extensive homes were passed situated on its shores.
Halloween is on October 31. Carving pumpkins are for sale everywhere.Seven billion dollars is being spent on the celebration this year. All this money in times of delinquent loans and poverty for many.One commentator put it down to escapism from the harsh reality some folks face on a daily basis.
A great display celebrating the occasion was seen on the road whilst passing the lake.
Getting low on water, two guys were seen in a front yard. Pulling in and having a yarn, they invited me inside, where they so kindly gave me iced water and a great brew of slightly sweetened iced tea from their fridge. This is a huge drink of choice here, especially among older people.
We chatted for sometime, a tree had flattened their last house and they were working on this new one Glen the dad offered me some of his home preserved pickles. I gladly accepted and in return will email him my dads pickled walnut recipe which he was keen to try.
His two sons were with us, both nice guys. On my deparure they gestured me to join hands and Glen prayed aloud for my safe passage. This was a totally new experience for me. One that prior to this trip would have seemed so foreign and uncomfortable.
They were Baptists, this was their way of wishing me all the best. I parted their company with warm thoughts. My engaging in this act of good will was my way of showing respect for their exceptional kindness. For me this engagement was not about religion, more about the fostering of goodwill.
The day was coming to an end and thoughts moved to a campsite for the night. Coming around a bend a sign read Bobs Landing, accessed by a gravel road. Stopping at a modest, to say the least home, a woman, who was very cautious spoke through the screen. Four miles east would see me over the levee and on the river bank.
Reaching the levee and stopping on its road a view of old trailers and an appearance of neglect appeared below me. I rode down to a dwelling and knocked on the door, a woman who looked like she had endured a hard live for some 50 years and answered. My request was in no uncertain terms declined.
She said the land upstream was posted ( signage that indicates private property). Down stream made sense anyway. The levee had a well managed road, though surfaced with loose sharp aggregate up to 30mm in diameter.
Riding enjoying the space and lack of traffic, all the while the noise of harvesters could be heard.
Just on dark a track off the levee some three miles from where I had stopped took one lakeside. A great camp under trees. My stopping here was not a first.
It was nice to be back in the palace. The airbed is more comfortable than I thought.
Sleep was assisted with the sound of frogs and crickets
Crossing the MR into Arkansas
Bald Cypruss Horseshoe lake
Riding all day in these is possible with minimal foot slide
|
Haloween is on the way
Levee camping north of Marianna
Early morning at camp
|
7/10/2011 North of Marianna to Bear Creek Lake State Park
D67, T3.52, Av 17.45 Total 5644 fine and calm at least 29℃
Waking up to the sound of fish surface feeding and birds doing likewise just below the division of air and water a feeling of freedom overcame me. This was scenario was one of the true pleasures of this journey so far, half expecting ol’ Huck Finn to drift on by. That this was an oxbow lake didn’t steal the moment.
A donkey came wandering past letting me know of his presence with an almightly noise that donkeys make , he was on the move with a group of cattle feeding on the levee wall.
Back up on the levee, I figured the road, that most importantly going south would have to provide access to Marianna at some point.
It was dusty, the loose gravel caused me to loose it on one occasion, whilst just hanging in there numerous times.
My water was exhausted and thirst was becoming an issue. Moments later a dust trail was approaching. A guy in a pickup pulled up, asking if he had any water he said grab some ice and a few cans of cold coke. Not drinking CC did not have any effect on my affirmative reply. It was mothers milk. We chatted for awhile, he was repairing gyprock from the flood at a fishing club house nearby.
I had renewed energy .
Paddocks to the west were huge and flat, most were now devoid of their summer crop and were tilled.
The levee walls were covered in a well managed grass sward. Cattle and horses were grazing the levee to its east, riding by groups would come racing out of the trees up over the levee ahead then stop to look, the horses would canter alongside for a bit. Stopping to feed them some trail mix to no avail led me to think as to whether or not they were broken in.
Water again was low, another ram shackle conglomerate of trailers below the levee came into view, pulling in here a guy a bit older than me can up in a pickup. “What can I doose far you”? I asked for water. He topped me up from a hose. Yarning was not on the cards here, I moved on.
I later learnt these people see very few strangers, let alone a middle aged man with an odd accent on a bloody pushbike.
Up ahead was a significant structure which turned out to be the W.G. Huxtable Pumping Plant which pumps water from the St Francis River Basin when the MR is in flood.
Stopping to look and see if they had water. The head engineer came out and said come and have a browse. He showed me slides of the recent flood and gave me a guided tour of the facility.
Just a few stats:
· 10 opposed piston diesels,4000hp each
· Each drives a 120 inch variable pitch propellor pump
· Pumps 9.1 million gals/min with all engines on.
· Recognized as the largest stormwater pumping plant in the world
· Diesel bought in by barge up the MR
Very impressive, calling in for 2 litres of water hardly required firing up the gear.
Leaving the levee about 4 miles after the pump station, pleased to be back on the blacktop, a further 6 miles saw me reach Marianna. A small town about 1350 people.
Eating at Emmies diner and chatting to the owner she gladly let me park the bike at the table. Talk about service.
From here a few supplies and fruit were bought at the local supermarket.
A group of guys in their 60’s were sitting all together on a long chair outside the supermarket laughing and gesturing each other, one had a hat on from the seventies covering blond hair.Stopping to say hi, they asked me if I was from the UK, in no uncertain terms I jokingly said don’t mix me up with the poms. Anything or anyone that passed by was a new topic for humorous but not degrading conversation.
These guys, obviously life long mates, for me was a part of the tapestry of life that is going to unfold as the road heads south.
I had directions to Bear Creek Camp ground, some 8 miles east of town;. Some hills were encountered on the way. Childish examples when thinking back to Colorado.
Arriving at the campground the ranger was just leaving, pulling up to his pickup window enquiring about the facility. He asked me a few questions. He was a great guy, we talked for an hour about many things including music, directions and life in general.
The park had just been done up, Bear Creek Lake had a shore line like a drunks trail walking home. This allowed most camp sites to be on the shore with having privacy. The new shower was brilliant, my first since DC, smell I did not! Having not shaved in that time. Refreshed perfectly describes feelings on exit from the ablutions building.
Anyway John was telling me that the blues found its way up to Chicago on Highway 61. After the great flood of ’27 most AA who were peasant farmers and didn’t own land, had nothing so they just packed up and headed north, many stopping in Memphis, they took the blues with them.
He also mentioned that the Arkansas Blues festival was on this weekend in Helena. My stop on Saturday.
Hunting for a decent map of the state John had a free copy on hand and an aerial of Lee county. This was needed as gravel trtiary roads were going to be followed to avoid back tracking through Marianna.
The new pads the parks had constructed were so compacted the aluminium tent pegs would not penetrate to a point that afforded anchorage so the palace was set up on nearby natural terrain.
Tea was baked beans and a brew. Spruced up, sleep was idyllic.
D67, T3.52, Av 17.45 Total 5644 fine and calm at least 29℃
Waking up to the sound of fish surface feeding and birds doing likewise just below the division of air and water a feeling of freedom overcame me. This was scenario was one of the true pleasures of this journey so far, half expecting ol’ Huck Finn to drift on by. That this was an oxbow lake didn’t steal the moment.
A donkey came wandering past letting me know of his presence with an almightly noise that donkeys make , he was on the move with a group of cattle feeding on the levee wall.
Back up on the levee, I figured the road, that most importantly going south would have to provide access to Marianna at some point.
It was dusty, the loose gravel caused me to loose it on one occasion, whilst just hanging in there numerous times.
My water was exhausted and thirst was becoming an issue. Moments later a dust trail was approaching. A guy in a pickup pulled up, asking if he had any water he said grab some ice and a few cans of cold coke. Not drinking CC did not have any effect on my affirmative reply. It was mothers milk. We chatted for awhile, he was repairing gyprock from the flood at a fishing club house nearby.
I had renewed energy .
Paddocks to the west were huge and flat, most were now devoid of their summer crop and were tilled.
The levee walls were covered in a well managed grass sward. Cattle and horses were grazing the levee to its east, riding by groups would come racing out of the trees up over the levee ahead then stop to look, the horses would canter alongside for a bit. Stopping to feed them some trail mix to no avail led me to think as to whether or not they were broken in.
Water again was low, another ram shackle conglomerate of trailers below the levee came into view, pulling in here a guy a bit older than me can up in a pickup. “What can I doose far you”? I asked for water. He topped me up from a hose. Yarning was not on the cards here, I moved on.
I later learnt these people see very few strangers, let alone a middle aged man with an odd accent on a bloody pushbike.
Up ahead was a significant structure which turned out to be the W.G. Huxtable Pumping Plant which pumps water from the St Francis River Basin when the MR is in flood.
Stopping to look and see if they had water. The head engineer came out and said come and have a browse. He showed me slides of the recent flood and gave me a guided tour of the facility.
Just a few stats:
· 10 opposed piston diesels,4000hp each
· Each drives a 120 inch variable pitch propellor pump
· Pumps 9.1 million gals/min with all engines on.
· Recognized as the largest stormwater pumping plant in the world
· Diesel bought in by barge up the MR
Very impressive, calling in for 2 litres of water hardly required firing up the gear.
Leaving the levee about 4 miles after the pump station, pleased to be back on the blacktop, a further 6 miles saw me reach Marianna. A small town about 1350 people.
Eating at Emmies diner and chatting to the owner she gladly let me park the bike at the table. Talk about service.
From here a few supplies and fruit were bought at the local supermarket.
A group of guys in their 60’s were sitting all together on a long chair outside the supermarket laughing and gesturing each other, one had a hat on from the seventies covering blond hair.Stopping to say hi, they asked me if I was from the UK, in no uncertain terms I jokingly said don’t mix me up with the poms. Anything or anyone that passed by was a new topic for humorous but not degrading conversation.
These guys, obviously life long mates, for me was a part of the tapestry of life that is going to unfold as the road heads south.
I had directions to Bear Creek Camp ground, some 8 miles east of town;. Some hills were encountered on the way. Childish examples when thinking back to Colorado.
Arriving at the campground the ranger was just leaving, pulling up to his pickup window enquiring about the facility. He asked me a few questions. He was a great guy, we talked for an hour about many things including music, directions and life in general.
The park had just been done up, Bear Creek Lake had a shore line like a drunks trail walking home. This allowed most camp sites to be on the shore with having privacy. The new shower was brilliant, my first since DC, smell I did not! Having not shaved in that time. Refreshed perfectly describes feelings on exit from the ablutions building.
Anyway John was telling me that the blues found its way up to Chicago on Highway 61. After the great flood of ’27 most AA who were peasant farmers and didn’t own land, had nothing so they just packed up and headed north, many stopping in Memphis, they took the blues with them.
He also mentioned that the Arkansas Blues festival was on this weekend in Helena. My stop on Saturday.
Hunting for a decent map of the state John had a free copy on hand and an aerial of Lee county. This was needed as gravel trtiary roads were going to be followed to avoid back tracking through Marianna.
The new pads the parks had constructed were so compacted the aluminium tent pegs would not penetrate to a point that afforded anchorage so the palace was set up on nearby natural terrain.
Tea was baked beans and a brew. Spruced up, sleep was idyllic.
A stand comes in so handy at times, Levee riding, Arkansas
Levee Roamers
Bear Creek Lake
|
The old airstreams are now back on the road, new!
Huxtable pump station
Trophy hunters, Bear creek lake
|
Friday 8/10/2011
Bear Creek Lake to The Louisiana Purchase.
D67, T3.52, Av17.45, 5644 fine 28
Breakfast was pasta, salmon and peas with Glens pickled chillies liberally applied. The milk of the mother.
Leaving the park at 1000hrs, a yarn was enjoyed with a couple of guys fishing, catching Crappie Bream cross, small but nice they assured me. “ Weese ain’t goin’ nowheres” was their reply to my “sppose you are here for the day. Such laid back cool guys, older than me. “Travel safe” was their parting comment. A farewell so often heard.
The trip took me over gravel roads with associated t intersections and four ways. Cotton fields were more often than not at the roads edge.
Passing one wooden house on the edge of a cotton field, a small girl was out the front, three neat dogs came to greet me, the little girl, so cute, was also inquisitive. Her mum cautioned her from the veranda. This scene evoked a backwards movement of time, to days when her mum and dad would have been in the fields. It was an excellent cotton crop, the field was brilliant white, such a contrast to those who used to pick it.
Arriving in Marvell near 0100hrs, hunger alleviation needed to be attended to in a big way. The local servo was a focal point. Four large fried wings and two Mountain Dews were consumed at a rapid rate.
This was a great place, befriending Luther and a few other guys and girls we laughed and stirred each other. Commenting that you could spend all day here watching the comings and goings, everyone kind of knew each other. Once accepted it is so relaxing just letting your next thought flow and laughing with these people. Their mannerisms are so laid back. Their sense of humour so spontaneous.
I grabbed a phone book, knowing it would be hard to find a motel in Helena because of the Arkansas blues festival. Two “fully booked” replies greeted both initial phone calls. Luther gave me a card of a place he knew, they had a room located in West Helena. Thanking him and saying good bye to everyone. I headed west for the Louisiana Purchase, a national historic landmark.
Briefly:
Spain had ceeded the Louisiana territory to France in 1801. President Jefferson hearing Napoleon would close the Mississippi toAmerican trade sent an envoy to France telling them to back off.
In 1802 Nappy was due to occupy New Orleans with troops. Another envoy was sent to France to say the US would form an alliance with Britian should they annexe Louisiana.
With French occupation a threat, the US offered to buy the port of New Orleans and West Florida for 9 mill.
On April 1903 Nappy suddenly announced he would cede the entire territory to the US. April 30 saw a binding treaty for 830,000 square miles for 15 mill signed.
This shaped the destiny of the US ending Nappys dreams of a French empire and confirmed Spains fear of Americas westward movement.
About 7 miles out from Marvell, my stomach was brewing, a wooded creek sufficed for an emergency stop. I was a tad desperate, not even having time to park the bike properly, just laying it on the roadside. To make matters worse my toilet paper had parted company on the gravel earlier in the day.Paper towels were hastily removed from the wok. Back up on the road it had been one of those episodes where one doesn’t feel much better after the event.
Riding on about 4 miles. Bloody hell I had to get off the road! At a bend I pulled in, dumped the bike and before my shorts were down all hell broke loose. I was in it up to my waist, pretty much in sight of traffic. To make matters worse, blackberry was the dominant vegetation under foot.
I delicately removed my shorts and tidied up using my handlebar towel, bagged the offending attire and thankfully had my towel outside the panniers. I tucked this around my waist, put my sandals on, tied the bag so as to hang well out of the way and got the hell out of there.
A good tail wind sucked me along the highway as it did the odour from the bag. At times like this I wished I had a vessel that could handle gravel rash, put the soiled gear in it and drag it as far behind as possible. This reminds me of a pair of some socks that spent the passage from Lord Howe to Coffs trailing some distance behind the boat, not one fish was interested!
I couldn’t use my water, as I knew none was at the Purchase.
Keeping a good eye out for water of any kind, a swamp came up on my right side. The edge was deep mud. I had to sort this dilemma at any cost. Luckily a sheet of plywood was found in the grass on the roadside, this got me close enough to the water to perform some very undesirable laundry duties. Without the plywood, a secondary shit fight would most certainly have ocurred.
This done, I put the wet shorts on, put the seat cover in its place. Every soiled item of clothing was hand washed with soap in the swamp water at camp that evening.
I recall this event to let you know it’s not all peaches and cream on the road. The fried chicken was the culprit it is felt, maybe old fat or eaten to quickly. This kind of activity on an upset stomach causes an explosive brew, believe me. In hindsight the first stop was only the icing on the cake.
For those who maybe touring or just going on a long ride. These tips may help in this situation:
· Keep toilet paper accessable
· Keep a towel handy.
· Act before it’s to late
· Keep spare plastic bags handy
· A tapered plug of some sort may help in an urban area. (Try a chandlery)
Arriving at the historic site, a boardwalk led visitors to a stone laid at the point which the purchase was surveyed from. It is in a headwater swamp as compared to a backwater swamp. It responds to fluctuating water levels of flooding and drying, whereas backwater swamps seldom flood deeply, yet rarely dry up.
The dominant trees present are: Swamp Cottonwood, Swamp Chestnut, Water Tupelo, Bald Cypruss and Button Bush.
Reptiles present are, but not limited to:Cotton mouth snake, Diamond back water snake, Snapping turtle and the American Alligator.
Riding to the end of the boardwalk to view the site was ok, no one else was about. The mozzys were horrendous.
John the ranger had said camping was not permitted at the site, however it was nearing dark. Finding access down a gated vehicle track in the swamp.(Bikes are such an asset in the circumstances) The palace was set up.
Bearing in mind that the odd alligator coud be about ,the empty salmon can from tea was taken well away from the camp. Snapping turtles were everywhere. The mozzies were that thick, Deet was used sparingly just to make things half bearable.
Caution was taken to not let even one in the palace, sleep was needed. During the night some big splashes were heard in the swamp, “big turtles” I convinced myself. Human intervention was unlikely as automatic gates isolated the site at 2100hrs.
Otherwise it was an uneventful nights rest.
It was kind of special to be camped here due to my French heritage from my mothers side of the family.
Bear Creek Lake to The Louisiana Purchase.
D67, T3.52, Av17.45, 5644 fine 28
Breakfast was pasta, salmon and peas with Glens pickled chillies liberally applied. The milk of the mother.
Leaving the park at 1000hrs, a yarn was enjoyed with a couple of guys fishing, catching Crappie Bream cross, small but nice they assured me. “ Weese ain’t goin’ nowheres” was their reply to my “sppose you are here for the day. Such laid back cool guys, older than me. “Travel safe” was their parting comment. A farewell so often heard.
The trip took me over gravel roads with associated t intersections and four ways. Cotton fields were more often than not at the roads edge.
Passing one wooden house on the edge of a cotton field, a small girl was out the front, three neat dogs came to greet me, the little girl, so cute, was also inquisitive. Her mum cautioned her from the veranda. This scene evoked a backwards movement of time, to days when her mum and dad would have been in the fields. It was an excellent cotton crop, the field was brilliant white, such a contrast to those who used to pick it.
Arriving in Marvell near 0100hrs, hunger alleviation needed to be attended to in a big way. The local servo was a focal point. Four large fried wings and two Mountain Dews were consumed at a rapid rate.
This was a great place, befriending Luther and a few other guys and girls we laughed and stirred each other. Commenting that you could spend all day here watching the comings and goings, everyone kind of knew each other. Once accepted it is so relaxing just letting your next thought flow and laughing with these people. Their mannerisms are so laid back. Their sense of humour so spontaneous.
I grabbed a phone book, knowing it would be hard to find a motel in Helena because of the Arkansas blues festival. Two “fully booked” replies greeted both initial phone calls. Luther gave me a card of a place he knew, they had a room located in West Helena. Thanking him and saying good bye to everyone. I headed west for the Louisiana Purchase, a national historic landmark.
Briefly:
Spain had ceeded the Louisiana territory to France in 1801. President Jefferson hearing Napoleon would close the Mississippi toAmerican trade sent an envoy to France telling them to back off.
In 1802 Nappy was due to occupy New Orleans with troops. Another envoy was sent to France to say the US would form an alliance with Britian should they annexe Louisiana.
With French occupation a threat, the US offered to buy the port of New Orleans and West Florida for 9 mill.
On April 1903 Nappy suddenly announced he would cede the entire territory to the US. April 30 saw a binding treaty for 830,000 square miles for 15 mill signed.
This shaped the destiny of the US ending Nappys dreams of a French empire and confirmed Spains fear of Americas westward movement.
About 7 miles out from Marvell, my stomach was brewing, a wooded creek sufficed for an emergency stop. I was a tad desperate, not even having time to park the bike properly, just laying it on the roadside. To make matters worse my toilet paper had parted company on the gravel earlier in the day.Paper towels were hastily removed from the wok. Back up on the road it had been one of those episodes where one doesn’t feel much better after the event.
Riding on about 4 miles. Bloody hell I had to get off the road! At a bend I pulled in, dumped the bike and before my shorts were down all hell broke loose. I was in it up to my waist, pretty much in sight of traffic. To make matters worse, blackberry was the dominant vegetation under foot.
I delicately removed my shorts and tidied up using my handlebar towel, bagged the offending attire and thankfully had my towel outside the panniers. I tucked this around my waist, put my sandals on, tied the bag so as to hang well out of the way and got the hell out of there.
A good tail wind sucked me along the highway as it did the odour from the bag. At times like this I wished I had a vessel that could handle gravel rash, put the soiled gear in it and drag it as far behind as possible. This reminds me of a pair of some socks that spent the passage from Lord Howe to Coffs trailing some distance behind the boat, not one fish was interested!
I couldn’t use my water, as I knew none was at the Purchase.
Keeping a good eye out for water of any kind, a swamp came up on my right side. The edge was deep mud. I had to sort this dilemma at any cost. Luckily a sheet of plywood was found in the grass on the roadside, this got me close enough to the water to perform some very undesirable laundry duties. Without the plywood, a secondary shit fight would most certainly have ocurred.
This done, I put the wet shorts on, put the seat cover in its place. Every soiled item of clothing was hand washed with soap in the swamp water at camp that evening.
I recall this event to let you know it’s not all peaches and cream on the road. The fried chicken was the culprit it is felt, maybe old fat or eaten to quickly. This kind of activity on an upset stomach causes an explosive brew, believe me. In hindsight the first stop was only the icing on the cake.
For those who maybe touring or just going on a long ride. These tips may help in this situation:
· Keep toilet paper accessable
· Keep a towel handy.
· Act before it’s to late
· Keep spare plastic bags handy
· A tapered plug of some sort may help in an urban area. (Try a chandlery)
Arriving at the historic site, a boardwalk led visitors to a stone laid at the point which the purchase was surveyed from. It is in a headwater swamp as compared to a backwater swamp. It responds to fluctuating water levels of flooding and drying, whereas backwater swamps seldom flood deeply, yet rarely dry up.
The dominant trees present are: Swamp Cottonwood, Swamp Chestnut, Water Tupelo, Bald Cypruss and Button Bush.
Reptiles present are, but not limited to:Cotton mouth snake, Diamond back water snake, Snapping turtle and the American Alligator.
Riding to the end of the boardwalk to view the site was ok, no one else was about. The mozzys were horrendous.
John the ranger had said camping was not permitted at the site, however it was nearing dark. Finding access down a gated vehicle track in the swamp.(Bikes are such an asset in the circumstances) The palace was set up.
Bearing in mind that the odd alligator coud be about ,the empty salmon can from tea was taken well away from the camp. Snapping turtles were everywhere. The mozzies were that thick, Deet was used sparingly just to make things half bearable.
Caution was taken to not let even one in the palace, sleep was needed. During the night some big splashes were heard in the swamp, “big turtles” I convinced myself. Human intervention was unlikely as automatic gates isolated the site at 2100hrs.
Otherwise it was an uneventful nights rest.
It was kind of special to be camped here due to my French heritage from my mothers side of the family.
Camping at the Louisiansa Purchase
This gap in the trees is due west, cleared at the time of the survey it is still visible today
|
The Louisianna Purchase was surveyed from this point
Buttressed trees in swamp
|
Saturday 8/10/2011 Louisiana Purchase to Helena
Stong northerly, fine
D60, T3.32, Av16.79, 5775
Arising early, keen to get to Helena, packing up, the road was already passing by at 0830.
The footprint at my camp on departure was no more than some flattened grass and soapy water spread on the track, there were portable toilets at the site. Just incase you are reading this John!
Greeted with a head wind adding a slight chill to the morning, thoughts went back to Bellevue, Iowa and the oppressive heat. This was a pleasure.
I soon arrived back at Marvell and headed to the servo for breakfast. This time two ready made salads and a sprite were consumed. Being there early, the pile of fried chicken in the bainmarie ready for sale, was huge. The poison apple.
Leon, Luther, another guy and some women were just hanging at the tables. We greeted each other. The other guy, 60 as he informed me, sporting dreadlocks or a peak hat that had dreads attached was such a lovely guy. Reminded me of Morgan Freeman but much more of a hard case, maybe I am wrong here, only making a judgement from the odd interview seen with him.
A guy came up to us and asked me where I was riding, having explained it, he said “you must have a lot of money or something”.
I replied, looking him in the eye,offering encouragement, “Look, time is more of an asset than money though some helps when doing this, and that one day I will return to home but not at this point. Also adding, it’s important to follow your dreams whatever they maybe, if your circumstances don’t suit, never ever let those dreams go”.
We chatted some more. He kindly gave me his best wishes and parted.
The guy with the dreads reached over to me and made a few observations about that guy.
He made such an uncanny judgement of his disposition and his opening comment, we were like minded, both in humour and our philosophy on life. On more than one ocassion some people have said “You must have a lot of money to be doing this”. I will add, that they are in a small minority.
This town and this service station and the people encountered here were such a pleasure, it was a great insight into life down here.
I thanked Luther again for the tip on the motel and parted company.
Having learnt from yesterdays dramas, an ablution stop was made fairly soon into proceedings. Internally, things were still a bit dodgey.
Arriving in Helena and locating the motel, a modest affair owned by an Indian family.
I headed off to do some washing . The first laundramat had been trashed. Alternative plans were made, finally having a bunch of clean clothes.
Dining at a China Buffet, always good value, all you can eat for $7.00, exit was made not needing to eat for another day.
Looking at the line up to the blues fest I decided not to go. Logistically it was difficult as it was 7 miles away. I needed a rest. Instead a relaxing time in the room with a resident mouse was had. A movie was enjoyed along with some tapping with my fore fingers.
Some better opportunities to experience the music should be available, especially in Mississippii. The state is really embracing the fact that the blues originated within its boundaries.
Stong northerly, fine
D60, T3.32, Av16.79, 5775
Arising early, keen to get to Helena, packing up, the road was already passing by at 0830.
The footprint at my camp on departure was no more than some flattened grass and soapy water spread on the track, there were portable toilets at the site. Just incase you are reading this John!
Greeted with a head wind adding a slight chill to the morning, thoughts went back to Bellevue, Iowa and the oppressive heat. This was a pleasure.
I soon arrived back at Marvell and headed to the servo for breakfast. This time two ready made salads and a sprite were consumed. Being there early, the pile of fried chicken in the bainmarie ready for sale, was huge. The poison apple.
Leon, Luther, another guy and some women were just hanging at the tables. We greeted each other. The other guy, 60 as he informed me, sporting dreadlocks or a peak hat that had dreads attached was such a lovely guy. Reminded me of Morgan Freeman but much more of a hard case, maybe I am wrong here, only making a judgement from the odd interview seen with him.
A guy came up to us and asked me where I was riding, having explained it, he said “you must have a lot of money or something”.
I replied, looking him in the eye,offering encouragement, “Look, time is more of an asset than money though some helps when doing this, and that one day I will return to home but not at this point. Also adding, it’s important to follow your dreams whatever they maybe, if your circumstances don’t suit, never ever let those dreams go”.
We chatted some more. He kindly gave me his best wishes and parted.
The guy with the dreads reached over to me and made a few observations about that guy.
He made such an uncanny judgement of his disposition and his opening comment, we were like minded, both in humour and our philosophy on life. On more than one ocassion some people have said “You must have a lot of money to be doing this”. I will add, that they are in a small minority.
This town and this service station and the people encountered here were such a pleasure, it was a great insight into life down here.
I thanked Luther again for the tip on the motel and parted company.
Having learnt from yesterdays dramas, an ablution stop was made fairly soon into proceedings. Internally, things were still a bit dodgey.
Arriving in Helena and locating the motel, a modest affair owned by an Indian family.
I headed off to do some washing . The first laundramat had been trashed. Alternative plans were made, finally having a bunch of clean clothes.
Dining at a China Buffet, always good value, all you can eat for $7.00, exit was made not needing to eat for another day.
Looking at the line up to the blues fest I decided not to go. Logistically it was difficult as it was 7 miles away. I needed a rest. Instead a relaxing time in the room with a resident mouse was had. A movie was enjoyed along with some tapping with my fore fingers.
Some better opportunities to experience the music should be available, especially in Mississippii. The state is really embracing the fact that the blues originated within its boundaries.
9/10/2011 Helena, AK to Clarksdale, MI
Fine D59, T3.23, Av17.3
Leaving the motel about1030 hrs, the mice were mentioned to the owner, they apologised. Moving on, the first person spotted was asked where a home cooked diner was, not to far, luckily. Grit was tried for the first time, consisting of a glutinous brew with coursely crushed corn within. It was a nice compliment to the B&E.
Leaving the diner, riding alongside a guy on a pushbike in a snazzy white suit being followed by his dog Candy. We talked for awhile, Leon was off to church, he asked me for some money to help out. Only having a twenty, I emptied my coin purse into his large hands. He wasn’t backwards in coming forward. That was ok. CCRs song Proud Mary came to mind.
People on the river are happy to give
Big wheels keep on turnin’
So much has been given to me on this journey, by people on the river.
Some miles on. US 49 and a huge bridge were about to deliver me into the state of Mississippii, home of the blues.
Stopping at the apex of the bridge, the view afforded me was one of a river that for sometime had been free of locks. She now had room to spread when nature required. When not relaxed. Her confines were now defined by levees far from the channel I was viewing. Farmers were prepared to risk their crops in order to utilize the deep fertile silt deposited over many years by this body of water beneath me.
Cruising down the MS side of the bridge, a huge casino on the left came into view. One does not have to know about Arkansas gambling laws, a bit like tweed Heads in days gone by.
The road was concrete with no shoulder and a cross wind blowing, keeping a line was downright hard. Slipping off the concrete down a two inch lip onto the gravel shoulder was experienced not just once.
A few miles on, turning right, riding again was bliss on a quite road heading to Friars Point, a tiny town. There are MS blues trail markers about now, these are signs about famous bluesmen.
Here Robert Nighthawk called home. He and Robert Johnson used to play in front of the now closed pharmacy. A few miles down from here Muddy Waters was born.
Chinese owned the heavily fortified general store while an AA woman owned the small ramshackle servo, she gave me water, it was town water but brown, the authorities said it was rust, she said don’t drink it. My reply was, the more foreign bods tossed at me the better.
Having a good chat with her. She kindly gave me directions out of town, avoiding back tracking my entry.
Some guys pulled into the servo, they told me they were going dove shooting, you must be bloody hungry!! I replied. We had a laugh and chatted more about our respective countries.
Clarksdale was my desired stop for the night. Arriving in town and finding out that a Blues festival was also on here. Stopping at a servo and having to make the decision to visit the King Biscuit Blues Festival on at at Hobsons. No accommodation would be available.
Having been there not long I asked a guy who just pulled up, he said it’s on right now, shove your bike in my camper. I thought about it aloud for awhile. We both laughed at my caution later. Anyway we man handled the bike in through the side door.
On the way to the festival we introduced ourselves. Deak Harp was a harmonica player performing at the festival. We got on well. Arriving at Hobsons we drove into “shacksville where Deak was camping.
He knew most people in the Blues scene around Clarksdale. We headed over to the stage, it was great, no more than 200 people having a fine time. The mucisians were brilliant. As someone said to me, anyone on stage in Mississippii is good.
This went on till 2300hrs then we headed to Reds Blues bar in town, this place is legendary with many well known artists playing here. It’s really just an old building with some seats a bar and the band plays almost amongst the audience.
Two dollars fifty for a long neck and three for a heinekin. Value deluxe.
The atmosphere was something else about, 70 people and a list of anyone who wanted to perform. Deak got the crowd going with his animated harp playing.
The night wound up about 0400hrs with people yarning out on the street, we had an early breakfast from the BBQ outside on the street.
Fine D59, T3.23, Av17.3
Leaving the motel about1030 hrs, the mice were mentioned to the owner, they apologised. Moving on, the first person spotted was asked where a home cooked diner was, not to far, luckily. Grit was tried for the first time, consisting of a glutinous brew with coursely crushed corn within. It was a nice compliment to the B&E.
Leaving the diner, riding alongside a guy on a pushbike in a snazzy white suit being followed by his dog Candy. We talked for awhile, Leon was off to church, he asked me for some money to help out. Only having a twenty, I emptied my coin purse into his large hands. He wasn’t backwards in coming forward. That was ok. CCRs song Proud Mary came to mind.
People on the river are happy to give
Big wheels keep on turnin’
So much has been given to me on this journey, by people on the river.
Some miles on. US 49 and a huge bridge were about to deliver me into the state of Mississippii, home of the blues.
Stopping at the apex of the bridge, the view afforded me was one of a river that for sometime had been free of locks. She now had room to spread when nature required. When not relaxed. Her confines were now defined by levees far from the channel I was viewing. Farmers were prepared to risk their crops in order to utilize the deep fertile silt deposited over many years by this body of water beneath me.
Cruising down the MS side of the bridge, a huge casino on the left came into view. One does not have to know about Arkansas gambling laws, a bit like tweed Heads in days gone by.
The road was concrete with no shoulder and a cross wind blowing, keeping a line was downright hard. Slipping off the concrete down a two inch lip onto the gravel shoulder was experienced not just once.
A few miles on, turning right, riding again was bliss on a quite road heading to Friars Point, a tiny town. There are MS blues trail markers about now, these are signs about famous bluesmen.
Here Robert Nighthawk called home. He and Robert Johnson used to play in front of the now closed pharmacy. A few miles down from here Muddy Waters was born.
Chinese owned the heavily fortified general store while an AA woman owned the small ramshackle servo, she gave me water, it was town water but brown, the authorities said it was rust, she said don’t drink it. My reply was, the more foreign bods tossed at me the better.
Having a good chat with her. She kindly gave me directions out of town, avoiding back tracking my entry.
Some guys pulled into the servo, they told me they were going dove shooting, you must be bloody hungry!! I replied. We had a laugh and chatted more about our respective countries.
Clarksdale was my desired stop for the night. Arriving in town and finding out that a Blues festival was also on here. Stopping at a servo and having to make the decision to visit the King Biscuit Blues Festival on at at Hobsons. No accommodation would be available.
Having been there not long I asked a guy who just pulled up, he said it’s on right now, shove your bike in my camper. I thought about it aloud for awhile. We both laughed at my caution later. Anyway we man handled the bike in through the side door.
On the way to the festival we introduced ourselves. Deak Harp was a harmonica player performing at the festival. We got on well. Arriving at Hobsons we drove into “shacksville where Deak was camping.
He knew most people in the Blues scene around Clarksdale. We headed over to the stage, it was great, no more than 200 people having a fine time. The mucisians were brilliant. As someone said to me, anyone on stage in Mississippii is good.
This went on till 2300hrs then we headed to Reds Blues bar in town, this place is legendary with many well known artists playing here. It’s really just an old building with some seats a bar and the band plays almost amongst the audience.
Two dollars fifty for a long neck and three for a heinekin. Value deluxe.
The atmosphere was something else about, 70 people and a list of anyone who wanted to perform. Deak got the crowd going with his animated harp playing.
The night wound up about 0400hrs with people yarning out on the street, we had an early breakfast from the BBQ outside on the street.
Leon just cruising to church
Deak hamming it up at camp
|
passage to Mississippii
Hobsons, a half way stop for many people on the blues trail from Memphis south
|
Monday, 10/10/2011/Clarksdale all day
D, Nil
Fine (music by Watermelon Slim)
Arising about 100hrs, the morning, or that left of it, was spent hanging about camp drinking coffee waffling and meeting people.
One of which was Marshall, an interesting guy from Arkansas, a likeable character, I might add. Ed and Tobi were parked next to us. Ed has a small business forkmanman.com, he makes this fascinatingly interesting jewellry from old forks and spoons. The last thing you would guess is where these pieces originated from. Check their site out.
Clarksdale has a resume littered with well known artists attached, Ike Turner started as a DJ here, John lee Hooker was born here,as was Frank Frost and a favorite artist of many people I met was Pinetop Perkins who performed here last year but passed away aged in his late nineties. His last album was with a good friendWillie Big eye Smith, he too passed away recently. Inerestingly theit last album was called “Joined at the Hip”
That evening the four of us went for tea, a much needed buffet. Ed and Tobi are like two peas in a pod, they were great company. Their presence creates an easy ambience
Deak took me round to meet Red at the bar. He was a major character who called a spade a spade. One of those guys if he likes you it’s cool, if not, forget it.
The words just roll off the tongues of these guys, always stirring each other. Looking for a sharp comeback and always getting it, followed by a laugh.
Morgan Freeman also has bar in town.
Fom there we went to another well known blues venue “Bluesberrys” to see Watermelon Slim, a mate of Deaks. He had just got back to town from DC causing havoc with anti Wall St rallying and anti war protesting.
The crowd at Bluesberrys was only about 40 strong. Another group of Aussies were there.as was a promotor from Norway. It was great, Slim played slide guitar and played some heart felt blues, much to the pleasure of the small but priveledged crowd.
He went on to tell us about a soldier just last week, who, called up for his 9th tour in Iraq, turned his service revolver on himself. So sad, such a waste, one may ask,at this point, for what?
These guys coming back with limbs missing create no problem for the medical fraternity. However many of those with phsychological wounds go unseen, they are the real victims of this conflict. A guy in Memphis working to help Vietnam vets told me many are still wandering the country, homeless. A battle may have been won but this war like the one in the 70’s appears lost with terrible multi generational consequences.
After the bar Deak and I went round to Watermelon Slims place where I was treated to some brilliant impromptu blues. Everything Deak would say Slim would break out into the words of a new song.
He has toured all over the world including Byron Bay Blues Fest. Having just toured Turkey for five weeks, he sang a solo,an instumentally unassisted song he wrote about Australians at Gallipoli. He has alot of respect for Aussies and Kiwis.
This song was so good I asked him did someone in Aussie tell him about it.
His lounge room walls were covered in his art, very interesting canvases.
Needless to say a night out with musicians would be late, getting home sometime very late.
Deak was so hospitable to me, introducing me to so many interesting people who had a passion for the blues. It was a true insiders look at the music scene in Clarksdale. He was one of those guys you can’t help but like. Everything he does is with good intentions. Check him out on facebook at Deak Harp.
He also repairs and tweeks harps, doing so for many top blues guys.
It was a relaxing, fun filled couple of days in the company of great people.
D, Nil
Fine (music by Watermelon Slim)
Arising about 100hrs, the morning, or that left of it, was spent hanging about camp drinking coffee waffling and meeting people.
One of which was Marshall, an interesting guy from Arkansas, a likeable character, I might add. Ed and Tobi were parked next to us. Ed has a small business forkmanman.com, he makes this fascinatingly interesting jewellry from old forks and spoons. The last thing you would guess is where these pieces originated from. Check their site out.
Clarksdale has a resume littered with well known artists attached, Ike Turner started as a DJ here, John lee Hooker was born here,as was Frank Frost and a favorite artist of many people I met was Pinetop Perkins who performed here last year but passed away aged in his late nineties. His last album was with a good friendWillie Big eye Smith, he too passed away recently. Inerestingly theit last album was called “Joined at the Hip”
That evening the four of us went for tea, a much needed buffet. Ed and Tobi are like two peas in a pod, they were great company. Their presence creates an easy ambience
Deak took me round to meet Red at the bar. He was a major character who called a spade a spade. One of those guys if he likes you it’s cool, if not, forget it.
The words just roll off the tongues of these guys, always stirring each other. Looking for a sharp comeback and always getting it, followed by a laugh.
Morgan Freeman also has bar in town.
Fom there we went to another well known blues venue “Bluesberrys” to see Watermelon Slim, a mate of Deaks. He had just got back to town from DC causing havoc with anti Wall St rallying and anti war protesting.
The crowd at Bluesberrys was only about 40 strong. Another group of Aussies were there.as was a promotor from Norway. It was great, Slim played slide guitar and played some heart felt blues, much to the pleasure of the small but priveledged crowd.
He went on to tell us about a soldier just last week, who, called up for his 9th tour in Iraq, turned his service revolver on himself. So sad, such a waste, one may ask,at this point, for what?
These guys coming back with limbs missing create no problem for the medical fraternity. However many of those with phsychological wounds go unseen, they are the real victims of this conflict. A guy in Memphis working to help Vietnam vets told me many are still wandering the country, homeless. A battle may have been won but this war like the one in the 70’s appears lost with terrible multi generational consequences.
After the bar Deak and I went round to Watermelon Slims place where I was treated to some brilliant impromptu blues. Everything Deak would say Slim would break out into the words of a new song.
He has toured all over the world including Byron Bay Blues Fest. Having just toured Turkey for five weeks, he sang a solo,an instumentally unassisted song he wrote about Australians at Gallipoli. He has alot of respect for Aussies and Kiwis.
This song was so good I asked him did someone in Aussie tell him about it.
His lounge room walls were covered in his art, very interesting canvases.
Needless to say a night out with musicians would be late, getting home sometime very late.
Deak was so hospitable to me, introducing me to so many interesting people who had a passion for the blues. It was a true insiders look at the music scene in Clarksdale. He was one of those guys you can’t help but like. Everything he does is with good intentions. Check him out on facebook at Deak Harp.
He also repairs and tweeks harps, doing so for many top blues guys.
It was a relaxing, fun filled couple of days in the company of great people.
Tobi, Deak and yours truly outside Bluesberrys
The scene in Reds, not to be missed if you enjoy the blues and are in Clarksdale, MS
Deak and Martin at it, Watermelon Slim in Background, all amazingly talented guys
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Tobi and Ed, great company
The crossroads of US61 US 49 where Robert Johnson allegedly sold his soul to the devil in exchange for fame
Marshall, avid blues fan and great guy
|
Tuesday 11/10/2011
Clarkesdale to Gunison
D65, T3, Av21.07 Total 5898
On the move around camp about 0930hrs, Tobi had a brew made. So nice. Packing up with a slow farewell process happening, It culminated about 1230hrs. Myself heading into Clarksdale for a meal and to check the net. Finding a little cafe, energy was taken onboard for the ride south.
A tidy northerly was blowing, lifting me along with it. State highway 1 was my conduit to my next destination south wherever that maybe.
Flat, bare tilled fields, straight roads and little traffic would best describe the environment for most of todays ride. Small towns sectioned the passage.
Temperatures were in the mid 20’s.
Arriving at Gunnison about 1830 hrs, the small servo was visited. The owner Billy following a yarn kindly offered the yard behind the servo to pitch the palace. His offer was gladly accepted.
After setting up the palace, back in the servo one could buy single beers. A guy Rob was enjoying a Carona, joining him we had a good laugh, he had a mechanic shop in Rosedale. His girlfriend came in, she was amazingly dark skinned and strikingly attractive with high cheek bones. After she left, my thoughts were conveyed to him, he broke out in a big smile followed by a laugh, we enjoyed another ale together, all the while a constant stream of people coming, all so friendly.
The accent of people is now making catching every word hard. This is reciprocated with both parties occasionally needing an update on the odd word or phrase.
Beer here is cheaper than coca cola in many instances, selling super large cans for 99c, a small can of coke is $1.
The nest was a welcome place believe me.
Clarkesdale to Gunison
D65, T3, Av21.07 Total 5898
On the move around camp about 0930hrs, Tobi had a brew made. So nice. Packing up with a slow farewell process happening, It culminated about 1230hrs. Myself heading into Clarksdale for a meal and to check the net. Finding a little cafe, energy was taken onboard for the ride south.
A tidy northerly was blowing, lifting me along with it. State highway 1 was my conduit to my next destination south wherever that maybe.
Flat, bare tilled fields, straight roads and little traffic would best describe the environment for most of todays ride. Small towns sectioned the passage.
Temperatures were in the mid 20’s.
Arriving at Gunnison about 1830 hrs, the small servo was visited. The owner Billy following a yarn kindly offered the yard behind the servo to pitch the palace. His offer was gladly accepted.
After setting up the palace, back in the servo one could buy single beers. A guy Rob was enjoying a Carona, joining him we had a good laugh, he had a mechanic shop in Rosedale. His girlfriend came in, she was amazingly dark skinned and strikingly attractive with high cheek bones. After she left, my thoughts were conveyed to him, he broke out in a big smile followed by a laugh, we enjoyed another ale together, all the while a constant stream of people coming, all so friendly.
The accent of people is now making catching every word hard. This is reciprocated with both parties occasionally needing an update on the odd word or phrase.
Beer here is cheaper than coca cola in many instances, selling super large cans for 99c, a small can of coke is $1.
The nest was a welcome place believe me.
School in Gunnison closed 5 years ago due to asbestos presence. Demolition obviously not part of the decommissioning process.
|
Foggy morning at rear of servo, Ginnison,MS
The sun torched this within 1 hour
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13/10/2011Greenville to Grants Canal, Louisiana.
Fine, great northerly blowing
D165, T11.48, Av21.30, Total6141
Knowing a northerly was forecast, arising early and icing the water bottles, it was a pleasure to be doing 25k with no wind in my hair.
The bridge back to Arkansas was bloody huge and almost new, the shoulder was as wide as a vehicle lane. Just bridging the low ground each side of the river led to the bridge being about a mile long.
The old bridge upstream was being dismantled in huge sections and with each being placed on a barge, maybe it has a new home elsewhere.
I took a southern turn after the bridge on 149 which ended on the levee.
The gravel on the levee road was small round river stones.
Needless to say my first serious stack occurred enroute to highway 65. Shirt off trying to cross from one wheel track to the other, disaster struck, myself shoulder first into the gravel, a pannier off, items from the bar bag spread about and the handle bars almost at 360°. Gathering myself, luckily damage was restricted to the steering dampener spring, the fuel bottle carrier and minor aching in the groin and shoulder.
Lucky, and a lesson learnt, stay in one wheel track, or cross very cautiously.
It was a pleasure to be back on the black top
Lunch was enjoyed at lake Providence, Louisiana (such a nice name for a girl, I might add, two great nicknames, either Lou or Anna), while stores were purchased at Tullalah , LA.
Getting close to dark and almost at the MS state line, all attention was on a nesting site.
A sign post to my right indicated grants canal historic site. Here the union tried to dig a canal to bypass Vicksburg to get the gun boats down stream. Oppressive conditions coupled with a huge undertaking saw abandonment of the project.
A telephone tower was nearby with a vehicle barrier blocking the short blacktop track to it. Prerequisite one: no vehicles could bother me and two: bottles etc at the compound were old and three: there were woods around the area.
Setting up the palace almost in the dark, happy with the safety here, the sound of trucks on the elevated freeway 200m away put me to sleep in no time.
Fine, great northerly blowing
D165, T11.48, Av21.30, Total6141
Knowing a northerly was forecast, arising early and icing the water bottles, it was a pleasure to be doing 25k with no wind in my hair.
The bridge back to Arkansas was bloody huge and almost new, the shoulder was as wide as a vehicle lane. Just bridging the low ground each side of the river led to the bridge being about a mile long.
The old bridge upstream was being dismantled in huge sections and with each being placed on a barge, maybe it has a new home elsewhere.
I took a southern turn after the bridge on 149 which ended on the levee.
The gravel on the levee road was small round river stones.
Needless to say my first serious stack occurred enroute to highway 65. Shirt off trying to cross from one wheel track to the other, disaster struck, myself shoulder first into the gravel, a pannier off, items from the bar bag spread about and the handle bars almost at 360°. Gathering myself, luckily damage was restricted to the steering dampener spring, the fuel bottle carrier and minor aching in the groin and shoulder.
Lucky, and a lesson learnt, stay in one wheel track, or cross very cautiously.
It was a pleasure to be back on the black top
Lunch was enjoyed at lake Providence, Louisiana (such a nice name for a girl, I might add, two great nicknames, either Lou or Anna), while stores were purchased at Tullalah , LA.
Getting close to dark and almost at the MS state line, all attention was on a nesting site.
A sign post to my right indicated grants canal historic site. Here the union tried to dig a canal to bypass Vicksburg to get the gun boats down stream. Oppressive conditions coupled with a huge undertaking saw abandonment of the project.
A telephone tower was nearby with a vehicle barrier blocking the short blacktop track to it. Prerequisite one: no vehicles could bother me and two: bottles etc at the compound were old and three: there were woods around the area.
Setting up the palace almost in the dark, happy with the safety here, the sound of trucks on the elevated freeway 200m away put me to sleep in no time.
Passage from Geenville MS to LA
Still fresh even this far south, casino in rear on MS side of river
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Delta country
A huge advantage having a green tent and black bike cover
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14/10/2011 and 15/10/2011Grants Canal, LA to Vicksburg, MS (John henry, Deak Harp)
Fine
D17 T.1, Av 15.22, Total 6158
Having brekky on the road into the tower, setting off, some 500m up the road, the old bridge on CR3218 was reached, to greet me was a locked impassable gate. Phoning the bridge authority, a pickup arrived in 10 minutes to transport me across.
Such good service, on the other side an enjoyable conversation was had with the person incharge.
Next stop was the info centre another 500m away. They directed me to the Days Inn just next door, at $50/ night great value.
Booking in a room was requested as always on the ground floor, with a special request made to be close to reception to recieve a good wifi signal.
The net has been so slow and unreliable since leaving Memphis one library unable to afford it.
I needed to keep downloading the initial backup to Carbonite, to ensure that vibration, theft or computer failure didn’t lead to total data loss.
I have now been scratching sores on my legs for over two months, It is now impacting on my sleep with incessant irritation during the night.
My sister, a nurse, thought it could be scabbies, possibly a few friends from the el cheapo motels frequented. Deciding to visit a doctor here, she prescibed Permethrin, last night spending covered in the cream. Hope this works. It’s beginning to look like: Whats wrong with this guy on close inspection of my legs. So hoping this solves the issue.
Day two here was spent relaxing, getting parts and food for the road ahead.
The running gear on the bike was thoroughly degreased. A special purpose bruch bought to clean the cassette has left it looking new.
I use degreaser that can be hosed off. Prolink chain lube has been great for oiling all moving parts.
The casino here have a great seafood buffet, waking up yesterday with a crab hangover.
Washing was done enmass with the boundary fence of the motel used as a clothesline. I would recommend this motel as it is so handy to services.
As usual, sadly the old downtown area of many river towns is dead, Vicksburg also has this problem with all major stores off the interstate this end of town.
This was a good place to rest up for a couple of days in relative luxury .
Skype got a good work out during the stay .
Fine
D17 T.1, Av 15.22, Total 6158
Having brekky on the road into the tower, setting off, some 500m up the road, the old bridge on CR3218 was reached, to greet me was a locked impassable gate. Phoning the bridge authority, a pickup arrived in 10 minutes to transport me across.
Such good service, on the other side an enjoyable conversation was had with the person incharge.
Next stop was the info centre another 500m away. They directed me to the Days Inn just next door, at $50/ night great value.
Booking in a room was requested as always on the ground floor, with a special request made to be close to reception to recieve a good wifi signal.
The net has been so slow and unreliable since leaving Memphis one library unable to afford it.
I needed to keep downloading the initial backup to Carbonite, to ensure that vibration, theft or computer failure didn’t lead to total data loss.
I have now been scratching sores on my legs for over two months, It is now impacting on my sleep with incessant irritation during the night.
My sister, a nurse, thought it could be scabbies, possibly a few friends from the el cheapo motels frequented. Deciding to visit a doctor here, she prescibed Permethrin, last night spending covered in the cream. Hope this works. It’s beginning to look like: Whats wrong with this guy on close inspection of my legs. So hoping this solves the issue.
Day two here was spent relaxing, getting parts and food for the road ahead.
The running gear on the bike was thoroughly degreased. A special purpose bruch bought to clean the cassette has left it looking new.
I use degreaser that can be hosed off. Prolink chain lube has been great for oiling all moving parts.
The casino here have a great seafood buffet, waking up yesterday with a crab hangover.
Washing was done enmass with the boundary fence of the motel used as a clothesline. I would recommend this motel as it is so handy to services.
As usual, sadly the old downtown area of many river towns is dead, Vicksburg also has this problem with all major stores off the interstate this end of town.
This was a good place to rest up for a couple of days in relative luxury .
Skype got a good work out during the stay .
Impassable gate, old CR 3219 bridge
Back in MS and another casino
Brilliant addition to toolkit
|
Service supreme, thanks guys!
View from motel, road bridge on left, rail is on the old bridge that I crossed
Clean as a fresh diaper
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16/10/2011 Vicksburg to North Coles Creek, Natchez Trace Parkway
D96, T4.26, Av17.16, Total 6330
Getting on my bike at 1030hrs, it was good to have rested up for two days and hopefully unloaded the bed bugs.
The initial departure from Vicksburg took me through a rural residential area for some 15 miles, the road had no shoulder, neither did it have much traffic. Pulling in at a servo knowing it was the last stop for supplies for some distance.
Not to far ahead, the trail took me onto the Natchez Trace Parkway, this runs from Natchez to Nashville, has a speed limit of 40 mph and no commercial traffic. To cut along story short it is sheer cycling bliss.
There were any number of places to camp throughout the passage. Camping up a hill off the road is advantageous as most people look down as the drive past.
Pulling in at Port Gibson off the Trace, a meal of fried chicken and sodas was consumed.
Every person spotted in the community was AA, having said that, it was a friendly community, with everyone a pleasure to chat to.
A young boy in the servo while I was eating the chicken was trying to tell me his name, Mooorlin, he kept saying, having no idea, his mum was asked. Marlin she explain, we all had a laugh.
Leaving town and getting back on the Trace, 1800hrs signified time to look for a campsite for the night.
Fishermans beard (bromeliad spp.) was now present in many trees roadside, a typical featureof the south.
A prime spot up a batter and on to a mown swardwas occupied, things were set up just before dark. An armadillo casually cruised past my camp, nose in the air, not perturbed by my presence, "stay off the road mate", these animals now constituted a large part of the road kill spotted.
Not erecting the tarp, but also knowing dew would be an issue in the morning, though ever hopeful the first sun may dry things, I hit the nest.
D96, T4.26, Av17.16, Total 6330
Getting on my bike at 1030hrs, it was good to have rested up for two days and hopefully unloaded the bed bugs.
The initial departure from Vicksburg took me through a rural residential area for some 15 miles, the road had no shoulder, neither did it have much traffic. Pulling in at a servo knowing it was the last stop for supplies for some distance.
Not to far ahead, the trail took me onto the Natchez Trace Parkway, this runs from Natchez to Nashville, has a speed limit of 40 mph and no commercial traffic. To cut along story short it is sheer cycling bliss.
There were any number of places to camp throughout the passage. Camping up a hill off the road is advantageous as most people look down as the drive past.
Pulling in at Port Gibson off the Trace, a meal of fried chicken and sodas was consumed.
Every person spotted in the community was AA, having said that, it was a friendly community, with everyone a pleasure to chat to.
A young boy in the servo while I was eating the chicken was trying to tell me his name, Mooorlin, he kept saying, having no idea, his mum was asked. Marlin she explain, we all had a laugh.
Leaving town and getting back on the Trace, 1800hrs signified time to look for a campsite for the night.
Fishermans beard (bromeliad spp.) was now present in many trees roadside, a typical featureof the south.
A prime spot up a batter and on to a mown swardwas occupied, things were set up just before dark. An armadillo casually cruised past my camp, nose in the air, not perturbed by my presence, "stay off the road mate", these animals now constituted a large part of the road kill spotted.
Not erecting the tarp, but also knowing dew would be an issue in the morning, though ever hopeful the first sun may dry things, I hit the nest.
typical scenery Natchez Trace Parkway
The nights campsite, dew central
|
Roadside bayou
|
17/10 2011 North Coles Creek, MS to Deer Park camp ground, LA
D76, T4.26, Av17.16, T6330
Fine and warm
Dew was not a good way to describe the moisture present, the fly was oozing with condensation, the tent within the fly, on packing up got soaked, the morning sun did not have the heat to impact on the moisture.
Three miles from camp another tourers bike was seen parked at a rest area, pulling in to say hi, a guy emerged from the loos. Chris, a new Yorker , had been on the road nine days from Jamestown TN and was on his way to Playa del Carmin, Mexico to see his Venezuelan girlfriend, crossing the Texas border at Eagle Pass into Piedras Negras.
Following a chat, we headed off, it was great to have someone to chat to on the move and the Trace was a perfect place to ride two abreast without hassles from traffic.
It turned out Chris had camped just up the road from me.
Arriving at Natchez we headed for Walmart to stock up on food and have breakfast. Stopping at Western Auto bike shop, Chris had his rear wheel trued as well as other minor repairs done to his rear rack.
Taking a couple a couple of hours, I got a few things sorted at this business which sold everything from fridges to oil.
An enjoyable conversation was had with the staff, one of the girls was into mountain biking and had ridden in Colorado, she was about to climb Kiliminjaro.
Heading off Chris got a flat within one mile of the shop. He is running 700x320’s quite a narrow tyre. Fixing this we continued.
We headed over the bridge to Louisiana, which for me was quite a milestone, as this is the last time a state line is crossed on the MRT. Now with 350 miles till Venice, the sweet smell of salt water is not far off.
Riding on highway 15 alongside the levee, the surrounding countryside was oh so flat.
Deer Park Campground was encountered, pulling in, it was a classic affair, obviously trashed in the floods early this year.
The owner was approached in his trailer, our tents were set up. We bought a few beers off the guy. A great meal was had, Chris had bought some chicken tenderloins. These were cooked with garlic, chilli, pasta. Black beans, onion and a vege medley in the wok. This, the beer a fair amount of waffling was enjoyed into the night.
It was amusing to hear Chris saying he was camping at Ratliff Ferry, MS and the sound of gun fire in the morning was unbelievable, later finding out that it was the Mississippii opening morning of the squirrel shooting season. These guys must have been as hungry as the dove hunters at Friars Point. I will add that one person did mention they weren’t bad eating.
The showers here were primitive, but for me the best to date with a drenching flow of water coming forth, no water saving shower head here. The hand basin would never require a plumber as ones feet were splashed as the water flowed straight onto the concrete below the basin.
It was easy to see the whole place had been under water. New power meters were installed thirty foot up the adjacent power poles with scaffold like steps up them for the meter readers to access them.
Homes on the bayou nearby were on stilts some 35 ft high, some guys were in the process of raising one even further, they looked liked tree houses .
The owner had some cats, they were feral to the extreme, one dragging the bag of chicken off. Into the scrub, luckily we spotted it.
All night they were climbing over the tents, looking for food, the owner said he was cutting back on their food!
That evening he told us about the flood, saying when the water hits Cairo, IL, they have 15 days to get out of here. The water is channelled here and reaches unbelievable heights (see pic). Also telling us that a cold front was on the way, that wind would proceed it, then rain, not much though and it would arrive early morning. We prepared for this.
D76, T4.26, Av17.16, T6330
Fine and warm
Dew was not a good way to describe the moisture present, the fly was oozing with condensation, the tent within the fly, on packing up got soaked, the morning sun did not have the heat to impact on the moisture.
Three miles from camp another tourers bike was seen parked at a rest area, pulling in to say hi, a guy emerged from the loos. Chris, a new Yorker , had been on the road nine days from Jamestown TN and was on his way to Playa del Carmin, Mexico to see his Venezuelan girlfriend, crossing the Texas border at Eagle Pass into Piedras Negras.
Following a chat, we headed off, it was great to have someone to chat to on the move and the Trace was a perfect place to ride two abreast without hassles from traffic.
It turned out Chris had camped just up the road from me.
Arriving at Natchez we headed for Walmart to stock up on food and have breakfast. Stopping at Western Auto bike shop, Chris had his rear wheel trued as well as other minor repairs done to his rear rack.
Taking a couple a couple of hours, I got a few things sorted at this business which sold everything from fridges to oil.
An enjoyable conversation was had with the staff, one of the girls was into mountain biking and had ridden in Colorado, she was about to climb Kiliminjaro.
Heading off Chris got a flat within one mile of the shop. He is running 700x320’s quite a narrow tyre. Fixing this we continued.
We headed over the bridge to Louisiana, which for me was quite a milestone, as this is the last time a state line is crossed on the MRT. Now with 350 miles till Venice, the sweet smell of salt water is not far off.
Riding on highway 15 alongside the levee, the surrounding countryside was oh so flat.
Deer Park Campground was encountered, pulling in, it was a classic affair, obviously trashed in the floods early this year.
The owner was approached in his trailer, our tents were set up. We bought a few beers off the guy. A great meal was had, Chris had bought some chicken tenderloins. These were cooked with garlic, chilli, pasta. Black beans, onion and a vege medley in the wok. This, the beer a fair amount of waffling was enjoyed into the night.
It was amusing to hear Chris saying he was camping at Ratliff Ferry, MS and the sound of gun fire in the morning was unbelievable, later finding out that it was the Mississippii opening morning of the squirrel shooting season. These guys must have been as hungry as the dove hunters at Friars Point. I will add that one person did mention they weren’t bad eating.
The showers here were primitive, but for me the best to date with a drenching flow of water coming forth, no water saving shower head here. The hand basin would never require a plumber as ones feet were splashed as the water flowed straight onto the concrete below the basin.
It was easy to see the whole place had been under water. New power meters were installed thirty foot up the adjacent power poles with scaffold like steps up them for the meter readers to access them.
Homes on the bayou nearby were on stilts some 35 ft high, some guys were in the process of raising one even further, they looked liked tree houses .
The owner had some cats, they were feral to the extreme, one dragging the bag of chicken off. Into the scrub, luckily we spotted it.
All night they were climbing over the tents, looking for food, the owner said he was cutting back on their food!
That evening he told us about the flood, saying when the water hits Cairo, IL, they have 15 days to get out of here. The water is channelled here and reaches unbelievable heights (see pic). Also telling us that a cold front was on the way, that wind would proceed it, then rain, not much though and it would arrive early morning. We prepared for this.
Final state line crossing, MS to LA
The yellow ribbon on the flag pole was this years flood height.
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Flood defense measures Deer Park camp ground
Deer Park campground set up
Bayou at Deer Park
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18/10/2011 Deer Park CG, LA to Lettsworth ,LA
D74, T3.37, Av20.24 Total 6403
Wet morning, 14℃ strong nor wester and very cold
The owners prediction of the weather was precise to the minute. We were in no hurry to arise from our nests as it rained. This was the first encountered for sometime. It was a welcome break to the regularity of the hot days for the last two months.
Chris had a sweet tooth, impregnating his water bottles with gatorade powder, so sweet. This morning we did pancakes in the wok. Myself one of the everso sweet numbers was enough, Chris polished off about six, all swimming in maple syrup.
The rain did stop as predicted, sometime later the tents were dry. With more rain threatening we packed them up.
Loading the bikes in the lean to nearby, Chris moved his bike, immediately hearing the hissing of air, he had just wheeled the rear wheel onto a piece of glass, with weight aboard, the sidewall was sliced with ease.
Repairing this we got away about 1200hrs, leaving the camp we came across an original paddle steamer alongside a side road, it must have been bought up here in times of flood, secured to trees and left stranded as the waters receeded. It was at least a hunred foot long. The Mamie S Barrett had been here for sometime.
The ride was aided by a good nor wester, riding alongside the levee, it was riding at its best, minimal traffic, flat and a changing landscape.
Passing serious flood mitigation infrastructure and a power station along the route provided variation to the vast tilled fields and the ever present levee.
It was the coldest day since way back in Minnesota on my way south from International Falls. Stopping at one point to put a long sleeved ice breaker on under my raincoat.
The servo at Lettsworth was a welcome site at 1700hrs. Bulk coffee was consumed along with a hamburger, stirring the woman about not having beetroot to put in it.
A guy who worked for the Army Corp of Engineers kindly offered to take Chris to see if we could find a campsite for the night.
The servo had wifi which was an unexpected bonus.Chris had found a top spot. A covered area with power. It was great to be out of the bitterly cold northerly wind for the night. We pitched both tents beneath this on the concrete. It was luxury in this world on the road, never knowing where you will be each night .
It has been great having a travelling companion, comparing experiences and having a good laugh about nothing in particular.
D74, T3.37, Av20.24 Total 6403
Wet morning, 14℃ strong nor wester and very cold
The owners prediction of the weather was precise to the minute. We were in no hurry to arise from our nests as it rained. This was the first encountered for sometime. It was a welcome break to the regularity of the hot days for the last two months.
Chris had a sweet tooth, impregnating his water bottles with gatorade powder, so sweet. This morning we did pancakes in the wok. Myself one of the everso sweet numbers was enough, Chris polished off about six, all swimming in maple syrup.
The rain did stop as predicted, sometime later the tents were dry. With more rain threatening we packed them up.
Loading the bikes in the lean to nearby, Chris moved his bike, immediately hearing the hissing of air, he had just wheeled the rear wheel onto a piece of glass, with weight aboard, the sidewall was sliced with ease.
Repairing this we got away about 1200hrs, leaving the camp we came across an original paddle steamer alongside a side road, it must have been bought up here in times of flood, secured to trees and left stranded as the waters receeded. It was at least a hunred foot long. The Mamie S Barrett had been here for sometime.
The ride was aided by a good nor wester, riding alongside the levee, it was riding at its best, minimal traffic, flat and a changing landscape.
Passing serious flood mitigation infrastructure and a power station along the route provided variation to the vast tilled fields and the ever present levee.
It was the coldest day since way back in Minnesota on my way south from International Falls. Stopping at one point to put a long sleeved ice breaker on under my raincoat.
The servo at Lettsworth was a welcome site at 1700hrs. Bulk coffee was consumed along with a hamburger, stirring the woman about not having beetroot to put in it.
A guy who worked for the Army Corp of Engineers kindly offered to take Chris to see if we could find a campsite for the night.
The servo had wifi which was an unexpected bonus.Chris had found a top spot. A covered area with power. It was great to be out of the bitterly cold northerly wind for the night. We pitched both tents beneath this on the concrete. It was luxury in this world on the road, never knowing where you will be each night .
It has been great having a travelling companion, comparing experiences and having a good laugh about nothing in particular.
Chris, the pancake king
The ultimate multi purpose helmet, seat, washing tub, saucepan, bed pan, etc. The dent on the side was sustained the last time Chris came
|
The Mamie S barrett
Rising houses for the next big one
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19/10/2011 Lettsworth to 5 miles north of Plaquemine
D134, T5.52, Av22.83 Total 6532
Supreme tail wind
We were indeed lucky having this pavillion to camp under, as there was a bitterly cold nor wester blowing.
During the night some coyotes started howling, it was as though every dog within earshot also started barking. What a comotion.
Waking up before daylight, my plans were to head back to the servo and do a bit of journal work and emailing, having breeky I left Chris in the nest saying see you when you get there, no hurry.
The wind was still blowing and was colder than yesterday and still from the north, great!
Having a couple of BLT’s, extremely nice I might add and copious coffee, Chris arrived at about 0900hrs.
We headed off to Morganza where we would part company due to his need to head west.
We averaged 25k all the way there, being sucked along by the tail wind.
Arriving at the little servo there we bade each other farewell and got the owner to take a few photos
We had a great few days together having plenty of laughs, it was a shame to have to go our seperate ways so soon.
Ringing him after about one half hour, he informed me that his speed had dropped to 13km/hr, the westerly influence was slowing him big time. Luckily the wind was still favouring my passage south.
Spanish Moss was now everywhere, cool stuff. People told me this was alligator territory, although in the cooler weather they tend to stay under cover.
The babies a hinderance when fishing.
Bayous were everywhere roadside, prime gator habitat.
Scenery on the way to Plaquemine was a mixure of timber and tilled fields, one noticeable change was the presence of sugar cane fields with short pieces littering the road shoulder enmasse
New Roads was largely bordered a lake which used to be the main channel till it was redirected.
Riding till dark saw me utilize the relative peace of a cemetry, water was on hand, it was great.
Phoning Chris he informed me he had done as many miles, he did exceptionally well given the head wind he had to endure, these young buggers!
D134, T5.52, Av22.83 Total 6532
Supreme tail wind
We were indeed lucky having this pavillion to camp under, as there was a bitterly cold nor wester blowing.
During the night some coyotes started howling, it was as though every dog within earshot also started barking. What a comotion.
Waking up before daylight, my plans were to head back to the servo and do a bit of journal work and emailing, having breeky I left Chris in the nest saying see you when you get there, no hurry.
The wind was still blowing and was colder than yesterday and still from the north, great!
Having a couple of BLT’s, extremely nice I might add and copious coffee, Chris arrived at about 0900hrs.
We headed off to Morganza where we would part company due to his need to head west.
We averaged 25k all the way there, being sucked along by the tail wind.
Arriving at the little servo there we bade each other farewell and got the owner to take a few photos
We had a great few days together having plenty of laughs, it was a shame to have to go our seperate ways so soon.
Ringing him after about one half hour, he informed me that his speed had dropped to 13km/hr, the westerly influence was slowing him big time. Luckily the wind was still favouring my passage south.
Spanish Moss was now everywhere, cool stuff. People told me this was alligator territory, although in the cooler weather they tend to stay under cover.
The babies a hinderance when fishing.
Bayous were everywhere roadside, prime gator habitat.
Scenery on the way to Plaquemine was a mixure of timber and tilled fields, one noticeable change was the presence of sugar cane fields with short pieces littering the road shoulder enmasse
New Roads was largely bordered a lake which used to be the main channel till it was redirected.
Riding till dark saw me utilize the relative peace of a cemetry, water was on hand, it was great.
Phoning Chris he informed me he had done as many miles, he did exceptionally well given the head wind he had to endure, these young buggers!
Oil and gas exploration
Parting company at Morganza, Chris heading west myself further south
|
Lettsworth luxury, thanks to the kindness of the owner
Spanish Moss everywhere
|
20/10/2011 North of Plaquemine to Grand River
D4, T18mins, Av14.88, Toatal 6542
Arising to minimal dew, due to my having set the palace up under a tree, it was still fresh but the wind had abated.
Pulling in at a memorial garden near Plaquemine, the admin building was visited, it was a antebellum type house. These homes of the 1700’s were built for air flow, with high ceilings and off the ground.
They were built before civil war, constructed of old cyprus with windows above every door.
The cemetry was owned by a well known family, the Wilberts, Jacob gave me a bit of his family history and a welcome coffee. On telling him my inerest in these homes he rang his grandfather, John who lived a Variety Plantation, on my way. He would show me through his heritage listed home.
On the way there, not sure of my directions a guy out the front of his house situated on a bayou with deep water frontage was asked directions.
We started talking, Rob then introduced me to his wife Daphine, we all got on well in such a short time. Rob asked me if I would like to spend the night with them and friends on their house boat up a bayou.
Accepting their offer, though explaining I was off to see John Wilbert up the road, Rob said see you back here at 1200hrs. Following their directions and entering a magnificient property 1 mile further up the road, John was expecting me.
Coming to greet me, I introduced myself. He gave me a full tour of his home.. His ancestors of German descent were cabinet makers and started making coffins here in the 1800’s.
What an absolutely lovelyt old gentleman, following a tour of the house and the magnificent period furniture within it,much of it hand crafted by his ancestors, though much was lost in a fire some years ago, he explained. We sauntered into the backyard that was occupied by three ancient Live Oaks (Quercus virginiana) . These trees have very small acorns and do not go fully dormant. The huge area was a tapestry of shade and sun due to the presence of these grand old trees, John had a name for each of them.
John was a man of 85, with a sharp mind, showing much interest in what I had to say. While at the same time telling me about his family history and way of life here with as much enthuusiasm and passion of a man half his age. He was interested to hear we had seen the Mamie S Barrett at Deer Park, he has an interest in paddle steamers.
A famous vessel was depicted in a painting above the fireplace in the lounge of his home.
We wandered about and sat in a park seat beneath the largest tree and just relaxed together chatting. He told me he was good friends with an Australian Paul Ramsay who owns Nottaway Plantation near Whitecastle. Informing him that Pual Ramsay owned a hospital in Coffs Harbour , my home town,and on a couple of ocassions myself requiring their services.
All the while pecans that are ripe and falling from trees everywhere were being picked from the ground and crushed on the seat with the palm of my hand. Smaller than the commercial varieties, they were no less tasty.
My passage through rural areas here has seen people collecting them on the roadside to sell to various buyers .
We could have talked for hours, he was so interesting, on asking me to join him at his rotary meeting that afternoon but having to reluctantly inform him of my already made plans with Rob and Daphine, we talked more, took a few photos together and I wished him well.
It was a priveledge to have been in the company of such a respected person in this community.
Back at Robs place, Daphine said take a shower, it was great to tidy up a bit. We loaded the bike on the houseboat and headed off up the bayou. Our passage took us up Bayou Plaquemine into the intracoastal canal and onto Grand River.
On the way up we came by Lonnie and Caroline who were joining us in their house boat.
Daphine and I made short work of a couple of bottles of red enroute. This was such a pleasure for me, boating on a bayou,. I had a delicious bowl of traditional Gumbo Daphine had leftover from a family get together the day before. This is a famous southern dish.
The scenery was just like that imagined, with Spanish moss in most trees, with Bald Cypruss trees in the water at the lands edge, supported in the muddy environment by huge buttresses and adventitious roots, ospreys, white and blue herons took to the air on our approach. The water was a brown colour broken by fish feeding and our wake.
Arriving at an isolated spot on the river bordered by Bald Cypruss and other trees beginning to show some fall coluring we tied up and were soon joined by Lonnie and Caroline. The boats were rafted end to end with both entertaining areas joined.
Lonnie and I went and set a trot line for bass and catfish, this is a set line with about 20 hooks evenly spaced and set across the river. Rob had caught live shad with a throw net for live bait.
The line was baited and left for the night.
It was a magic evening complimented with a bbq, dining on beef, chicken and spicey sausage.
This was southern hospitality at its best, we had a great night.
Sleep came so easy having been in the company of such welcoming and likeable people. Both boats were so comfortable and relaxed, not to mention the presence of Dixie, a labrador with such a laid back nature, but never missing any word we spoke about her.
D4, T18mins, Av14.88, Toatal 6542
Arising to minimal dew, due to my having set the palace up under a tree, it was still fresh but the wind had abated.
Pulling in at a memorial garden near Plaquemine, the admin building was visited, it was a antebellum type house. These homes of the 1700’s were built for air flow, with high ceilings and off the ground.
They were built before civil war, constructed of old cyprus with windows above every door.
The cemetry was owned by a well known family, the Wilberts, Jacob gave me a bit of his family history and a welcome coffee. On telling him my inerest in these homes he rang his grandfather, John who lived a Variety Plantation, on my way. He would show me through his heritage listed home.
On the way there, not sure of my directions a guy out the front of his house situated on a bayou with deep water frontage was asked directions.
We started talking, Rob then introduced me to his wife Daphine, we all got on well in such a short time. Rob asked me if I would like to spend the night with them and friends on their house boat up a bayou.
Accepting their offer, though explaining I was off to see John Wilbert up the road, Rob said see you back here at 1200hrs. Following their directions and entering a magnificient property 1 mile further up the road, John was expecting me.
Coming to greet me, I introduced myself. He gave me a full tour of his home.. His ancestors of German descent were cabinet makers and started making coffins here in the 1800’s.
What an absolutely lovelyt old gentleman, following a tour of the house and the magnificent period furniture within it,much of it hand crafted by his ancestors, though much was lost in a fire some years ago, he explained. We sauntered into the backyard that was occupied by three ancient Live Oaks (Quercus virginiana) . These trees have very small acorns and do not go fully dormant. The huge area was a tapestry of shade and sun due to the presence of these grand old trees, John had a name for each of them.
John was a man of 85, with a sharp mind, showing much interest in what I had to say. While at the same time telling me about his family history and way of life here with as much enthuusiasm and passion of a man half his age. He was interested to hear we had seen the Mamie S Barrett at Deer Park, he has an interest in paddle steamers.
A famous vessel was depicted in a painting above the fireplace in the lounge of his home.
We wandered about and sat in a park seat beneath the largest tree and just relaxed together chatting. He told me he was good friends with an Australian Paul Ramsay who owns Nottaway Plantation near Whitecastle. Informing him that Pual Ramsay owned a hospital in Coffs Harbour , my home town,and on a couple of ocassions myself requiring their services.
All the while pecans that are ripe and falling from trees everywhere were being picked from the ground and crushed on the seat with the palm of my hand. Smaller than the commercial varieties, they were no less tasty.
My passage through rural areas here has seen people collecting them on the roadside to sell to various buyers .
We could have talked for hours, he was so interesting, on asking me to join him at his rotary meeting that afternoon but having to reluctantly inform him of my already made plans with Rob and Daphine, we talked more, took a few photos together and I wished him well.
It was a priveledge to have been in the company of such a respected person in this community.
Back at Robs place, Daphine said take a shower, it was great to tidy up a bit. We loaded the bike on the houseboat and headed off up the bayou. Our passage took us up Bayou Plaquemine into the intracoastal canal and onto Grand River.
On the way up we came by Lonnie and Caroline who were joining us in their house boat.
Daphine and I made short work of a couple of bottles of red enroute. This was such a pleasure for me, boating on a bayou,. I had a delicious bowl of traditional Gumbo Daphine had leftover from a family get together the day before. This is a famous southern dish.
The scenery was just like that imagined, with Spanish moss in most trees, with Bald Cypruss trees in the water at the lands edge, supported in the muddy environment by huge buttresses and adventitious roots, ospreys, white and blue herons took to the air on our approach. The water was a brown colour broken by fish feeding and our wake.
Arriving at an isolated spot on the river bordered by Bald Cypruss and other trees beginning to show some fall coluring we tied up and were soon joined by Lonnie and Caroline. The boats were rafted end to end with both entertaining areas joined.
Lonnie and I went and set a trot line for bass and catfish, this is a set line with about 20 hooks evenly spaced and set across the river. Rob had caught live shad with a throw net for live bait.
The line was baited and left for the night.
It was a magic evening complimented with a bbq, dining on beef, chicken and spicey sausage.
This was southern hospitality at its best, we had a great night.
Sleep came so easy having been in the company of such welcoming and likeable people. Both boats were so comfortable and relaxed, not to mention the presence of Dixie, a labrador with such a laid back nature, but never missing any word we spoke about her.
Funeral home with jacob Wilbert and co. on front verhanda
John and I on my departure back up the road
Lonnie checking the trot
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Backyard, Variety plantation, Live oak in foreground
Typical scenery on the bayous, The Little Honey and the Double D
The crew, Caroline, Lonnie, Rob, Daphine and Dixie, such great hosts
|
Grand River to 10 miles south of Plaquemine
D26, T1.23, Av 19.20 Total 6569
Fine, mild
The river was shrouded in fog, adding so greatly to the southern atmosphere. Lonnie and I checked the trot, catching a few striped bass and some small catfish.
Daphine cooked a great brekky of bacon and eggs. From here, we just relaxed and chatted on the decks. A classic Louisiana fall day was in the making.
We bade farewell.
Last night Caroline asked me an interesting question. “How do you feel about spending time with all these people who you will more than likely never see again?
Thinking for a moment, firstly, never say never, also adding that my life has been enriched from you sharing an ever so small part of your life and hoping my presence has enriched your life as well.
Adding that this experience and the fun time I spent with you guys will be often repeated when recalling my time on the Mississippii River.
About 1200hrs Rob and I loaded the bike and gear into the dinghy and he ran me 6 miles back to the boat ramp.
Dropping me off and saying goodbye, I got a bit emotional, due to the overwhelming friendliness, kindness and sheer enjoyment derived from their company over the last couple of days. It was a window into the hospitality, cuisine and recreation of people in this special part of the United States.
Heading to the Plaquemine library, the journal was updated over a few hours. A feeling of total contentment permeated my being. The time on the bayou had truly been special.
About 1630 saw me head out of town following the levee south, finally setting up camp at 1800hrs in an old playground, having fresh chicken from Walmart and a Cajun rice mix Daphine had given me . Mothers milk.
The cooler temperatures now allowed the purchase and transportation of fresh meat.
The neighbours gave me some water to make a few brews and clean the wok etc.
It was a mild calm evening.
D26, T1.23, Av 19.20 Total 6569
Fine, mild
The river was shrouded in fog, adding so greatly to the southern atmosphere. Lonnie and I checked the trot, catching a few striped bass and some small catfish.
Daphine cooked a great brekky of bacon and eggs. From here, we just relaxed and chatted on the decks. A classic Louisiana fall day was in the making.
We bade farewell.
Last night Caroline asked me an interesting question. “How do you feel about spending time with all these people who you will more than likely never see again?
Thinking for a moment, firstly, never say never, also adding that my life has been enriched from you sharing an ever so small part of your life and hoping my presence has enriched your life as well.
Adding that this experience and the fun time I spent with you guys will be often repeated when recalling my time on the Mississippii River.
About 1200hrs Rob and I loaded the bike and gear into the dinghy and he ran me 6 miles back to the boat ramp.
Dropping me off and saying goodbye, I got a bit emotional, due to the overwhelming friendliness, kindness and sheer enjoyment derived from their company over the last couple of days. It was a window into the hospitality, cuisine and recreation of people in this special part of the United States.
Heading to the Plaquemine library, the journal was updated over a few hours. A feeling of total contentment permeated my being. The time on the bayou had truly been special.
About 1630 saw me head out of town following the levee south, finally setting up camp at 1800hrs in an old playground, having fresh chicken from Walmart and a Cajun rice mix Daphine had given me . Mothers milk.
The cooler temperatures now allowed the purchase and transportation of fresh meat.
The neighbours gave me some water to make a few brews and clean the wok etc.
It was a mild calm evening.
Bald Cypruss at grand river
|
Morning fog added to the atmosphere
|
Well set up with lots of play things.
|
Muttly already for hunting trip on bayous, dressed in LSU colours, at present leading the college footy comp, hugely popular comp here.
|
22/10/2011 South of Plaquemine to Oak Alley Plantation
D78, T3.5,Av19.99, total 6647
Fine day about 24℃
Arising early, though not early enough to beat the scrutineers for the parish elections who were occupying the building from 0530hrs. They were helpful in allowing me to use the toilet and obtain water.
Looking at the ballot paper it was interesting to see the positions candidates were vying for, those being, governor, sec of state, state senator, assessor, Parish president, Commissioner of ag and forestry, com of insurance, Lieutenant governor, council member, member for ed and sheriff , the position fielding the most candidates.
I got on the road about 0830 after having a half hour workout on all the play structures in the park!!
The road followed the levee all day. People in all sorts of dwellings ranging from trailers to substantial homes would wave as I rode past. It was a pleasure.
Stopping at Donaldsonville for brunch saw me at what locals told me was the best food in town. A mixture of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, onion and gravy, with a southern flare, it was just what one needed.
From there the library was visited for a couple of hours, getting a few things up to date.
The sugar cane harvest was in full swing, with most truck drivers on my waving at them blasted their horns, getting familiar with each other as they returned from unloading their harvest.
Short sections of cane littered the roads edge.
This ride along SH 18 was just the most idyllic cruise, levee on one side and all manor of dwellings on the other , getting closre to Oak Alley it was like riding in a park, no shoulder and manicured grass to the roads edge and little traffic.
Come 1500hrs Oak Alley Plantation was sign posted. This is a famous antebellum home built by a frenchman for his new wife.
Pulling in, a tour was payed for, the hosts were attired in period costume and provided a great commentary as we were taken through the house. Interestingly in the dining room, the chairs at the enormous table were very high, we were informed that they were very short people, the men rarely taller than 5’4” and the woman less than 5’.
Saying, why did such small people have such large spoons and forks (they were big) and all set upside down, well they had their family coat of arms on the back and being solid silver, size was an indication of wealth.
Having taken the tour, nesting was on my mind, the woman at the ticket office said I could camp here for $5, a token gesture, plus they had wifi, great!
Setting the tent up on a patch of lawn which was near a function centre, they have weddings here along with other events, a couple of guys gave me a few beers. They were having a kind of bucks night where the future groom invites his mates and wives or partners and they buy him tools and that kind of guys stuff.
Another meal of dirty rice and salmon was enjoyed from the wok, sleep was always close at hand. Drifting off with thoughts of New Orleans wafting idly in my restful mind.
D78, T3.5,Av19.99, total 6647
Fine day about 24℃
Arising early, though not early enough to beat the scrutineers for the parish elections who were occupying the building from 0530hrs. They were helpful in allowing me to use the toilet and obtain water.
Looking at the ballot paper it was interesting to see the positions candidates were vying for, those being, governor, sec of state, state senator, assessor, Parish president, Commissioner of ag and forestry, com of insurance, Lieutenant governor, council member, member for ed and sheriff , the position fielding the most candidates.
I got on the road about 0830 after having a half hour workout on all the play structures in the park!!
The road followed the levee all day. People in all sorts of dwellings ranging from trailers to substantial homes would wave as I rode past. It was a pleasure.
Stopping at Donaldsonville for brunch saw me at what locals told me was the best food in town. A mixture of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, onion and gravy, with a southern flare, it was just what one needed.
From there the library was visited for a couple of hours, getting a few things up to date.
The sugar cane harvest was in full swing, with most truck drivers on my waving at them blasted their horns, getting familiar with each other as they returned from unloading their harvest.
Short sections of cane littered the roads edge.
This ride along SH 18 was just the most idyllic cruise, levee on one side and all manor of dwellings on the other , getting closre to Oak Alley it was like riding in a park, no shoulder and manicured grass to the roads edge and little traffic.
Come 1500hrs Oak Alley Plantation was sign posted. This is a famous antebellum home built by a frenchman for his new wife.
Pulling in, a tour was payed for, the hosts were attired in period costume and provided a great commentary as we were taken through the house. Interestingly in the dining room, the chairs at the enormous table were very high, we were informed that they were very short people, the men rarely taller than 5’4” and the woman less than 5’.
Saying, why did such small people have such large spoons and forks (they were big) and all set upside down, well they had their family coat of arms on the back and being solid silver, size was an indication of wealth.
Having taken the tour, nesting was on my mind, the woman at the ticket office said I could camp here for $5, a token gesture, plus they had wifi, great!
Setting the tent up on a patch of lawn which was near a function centre, they have weddings here along with other events, a couple of guys gave me a few beers. They were having a kind of bucks night where the future groom invites his mates and wives or partners and they buy him tools and that kind of guys stuff.
Another meal of dirty rice and salmon was enjoyed from the wok, sleep was always close at hand. Drifting off with thoughts of New Orleans wafting idly in my restful mind.
Top end accommodation enroute, the ubiquitous Live Oak in front yard, sugar cane in all fields roadside.
More modest accommodation encountered during the passage
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Oak Alley Plantation, the Live Oaks were there before the house , being 300 years old with life expectancy of 600 yrs. Finding someone had planted this avenue of trees on a piece of land, the frenchman built the house at one end of the planting , the MR is a couple of hundred metres behind, over the levee from where this pic was taken
The ol' beard is fascinating stuff, it was used in earlier times to fill mattresses
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23/10/2011 Oak Alley Plantation to St Christopher Hotel, New Orleans
D104, T5, Av 20.50 Total 6750
Light northerly, Perfect day, 25 degrees C
The lawn on which the palace was erected was spongy buffalo grass, it made for a super comfy sleep.
Rising early to the noise of staff blowing the walkways, the road was set upon about 0830 with all wheels pointing to the south, levee on the left and the dwellings of man and his impact on the land to the left.
Excitment was brewing in anticipation of arriving in New Orleans, in my mind, a city of resilient people, people who take each day on its merit, knowing and having known the impact of flood waters on more than one ocassion.
The ferry at Edgard was not operating weekends, the need to get to the eastern side of my constant companion was paramount to an easy passage downtown.
My guide book, may I take this time to highly recommend this book, so well written by Bob Robinson, published 2008, ISBN 978-0-9818952-0-8. It has been invaluable during my journey, though not followed to the tee, without it, and Bobs great commentary, it may well have been a different experience, one of a less informed journeyman. Thankyou Bob.
Don’t leave Itasca SP without it!!
Anyway the river was crossed at Wallace, another monolith of a bridge, the MR certainly keeps engineers of all disciplines busy.
Once on the west side, a servo was visited for a piece of delectable fried catfish, coffee and a chocolate bar , fun was had with the locals in the shop which was really busy, most servos have beer in ice chests as you walk in, most tempting.
The owner shouted me a couple of coffees and another guy told me about the best route to town, follow the levee was the most important part of the directions.
All manner of heavy industry was now roadside, all with umbilical cords to the reason for their presence, the MR, whether they be conveyors or pipes, she delivered raw materials and water and carried away the finished product. Fertilizer factories, huge grain silos, refineries, alumina plants, just to name a few that were recognized.
Some 30 miles from town, a group of cyclists was encountered, they were ever so helpful in directing me. Crossing the huge spillway that realeases flood waters into Lake Ponhcitrain, the route headed onto the levee and an asphalt surface.
This was the environment for 25 odd miles to Magazine St. An elevated view of the river was enjoyed with shipping of all sorts going about their business.
Many cyclists on all sorts of rigs were encountered. Music was playing on the mini speakers.
Music that had been compiled over the last four months, music that will always remind me of the Mississippii River and the people who allowed me to share their lives for a short time. People who should they ever come to my part of the world will be hosted with great pleasure and enthusiasm.
My riding was aided with adrenalin, a light head wind with was parted with apparent ease. I was high on the stuff.
Louisianians were enjoying the magic fall day, with parks providing space for all sorts of recreation, from couples just enjoying each others company on a blanket to picnics and impromptu games of ball.
Leaving the levee, Magazine St with all its cafes and restaurants was a pleasure to negotiate. Live Oaks lined the street adding to the delight.
A pizza from the gods was enjoyed enroute.
New Orleans had a good feel about it, no one in a hurry. Wanting to get a tad up to speed with the news a copy of the NY Times was bought, weekend copy $6, still good value.
I had a coupon to the St Christopher Hotel on Dectaur, walking distance to the french Quarter, great value, definitely not bed bug habitat.
Checking into a second floor room, the loaded bike just fitted on an angle in the elevator .
Knowing that New Orleans were playing Indianapolis in the NFL, a few drinks were enjoyed pre game with a guy from Sao Paulo here on business and tickets were bought.
Sixty thousand at the superdome, it was entertainment deluxe, New Orleans thrashed the visitors. Two couples from Baton Rouge filled me in on all the rules and scoring. The atmosphere was such that most time was spent standing, adopting New Orleans as my team, cheering with excitement came easy with good plays from the Saints. ( there is a strong catholic presence here)
Forty mill had been spent on the venue since Katrina.
The hard part was seeing where the object of desire was, there were players going in all directions, as they do, spotting it must come with practice, a closer seat and better eyesight.
Half time was a spectacle to behold with the LSU band on field, some 100 odd bods.
D104, T5, Av 20.50 Total 6750
Light northerly, Perfect day, 25 degrees C
The lawn on which the palace was erected was spongy buffalo grass, it made for a super comfy sleep.
Rising early to the noise of staff blowing the walkways, the road was set upon about 0830 with all wheels pointing to the south, levee on the left and the dwellings of man and his impact on the land to the left.
Excitment was brewing in anticipation of arriving in New Orleans, in my mind, a city of resilient people, people who take each day on its merit, knowing and having known the impact of flood waters on more than one ocassion.
The ferry at Edgard was not operating weekends, the need to get to the eastern side of my constant companion was paramount to an easy passage downtown.
My guide book, may I take this time to highly recommend this book, so well written by Bob Robinson, published 2008, ISBN 978-0-9818952-0-8. It has been invaluable during my journey, though not followed to the tee, without it, and Bobs great commentary, it may well have been a different experience, one of a less informed journeyman. Thankyou Bob.
Don’t leave Itasca SP without it!!
Anyway the river was crossed at Wallace, another monolith of a bridge, the MR certainly keeps engineers of all disciplines busy.
Once on the west side, a servo was visited for a piece of delectable fried catfish, coffee and a chocolate bar , fun was had with the locals in the shop which was really busy, most servos have beer in ice chests as you walk in, most tempting.
The owner shouted me a couple of coffees and another guy told me about the best route to town, follow the levee was the most important part of the directions.
All manner of heavy industry was now roadside, all with umbilical cords to the reason for their presence, the MR, whether they be conveyors or pipes, she delivered raw materials and water and carried away the finished product. Fertilizer factories, huge grain silos, refineries, alumina plants, just to name a few that were recognized.
Some 30 miles from town, a group of cyclists was encountered, they were ever so helpful in directing me. Crossing the huge spillway that realeases flood waters into Lake Ponhcitrain, the route headed onto the levee and an asphalt surface.
This was the environment for 25 odd miles to Magazine St. An elevated view of the river was enjoyed with shipping of all sorts going about their business.
Many cyclists on all sorts of rigs were encountered. Music was playing on the mini speakers.
Music that had been compiled over the last four months, music that will always remind me of the Mississippii River and the people who allowed me to share their lives for a short time. People who should they ever come to my part of the world will be hosted with great pleasure and enthusiasm.
My riding was aided with adrenalin, a light head wind with was parted with apparent ease. I was high on the stuff.
Louisianians were enjoying the magic fall day, with parks providing space for all sorts of recreation, from couples just enjoying each others company on a blanket to picnics and impromptu games of ball.
Leaving the levee, Magazine St with all its cafes and restaurants was a pleasure to negotiate. Live Oaks lined the street adding to the delight.
A pizza from the gods was enjoyed enroute.
New Orleans had a good feel about it, no one in a hurry. Wanting to get a tad up to speed with the news a copy of the NY Times was bought, weekend copy $6, still good value.
I had a coupon to the St Christopher Hotel on Dectaur, walking distance to the french Quarter, great value, definitely not bed bug habitat.
Checking into a second floor room, the loaded bike just fitted on an angle in the elevator .
Knowing that New Orleans were playing Indianapolis in the NFL, a few drinks were enjoyed pre game with a guy from Sao Paulo here on business and tickets were bought.
Sixty thousand at the superdome, it was entertainment deluxe, New Orleans thrashed the visitors. Two couples from Baton Rouge filled me in on all the rules and scoring. The atmosphere was such that most time was spent standing, adopting New Orleans as my team, cheering with excitement came easy with good plays from the Saints. ( there is a strong catholic presence here)
Forty mill had been spent on the venue since Katrina.
The hard part was seeing where the object of desire was, there were players going in all directions, as they do, spotting it must come with practice, a closer seat and better eyesight.
Half time was a spectacle to behold with the LSU band on field, some 100 odd bods.
Wallace bridge, maybe half a mile long. Attained 55k/hr coming off her.
The Mississippii is now mans workhorse in no small way.
New Orleans Superdome
|
A change in the angle of the dangle, river side of levee.
Canal St, French quarter to the left
Half time spectacle
|
24, 25/10 2011, New Orleans
D48, T2.46, av 17.31 Total 6798
It was a pleasure to have a luxury hotel, washing was done in the French quarter, looking like a local carrying a pillow slip of dirty clothes down the road on foot.
It’s always nice to be out and about without the bike, knowing it is safe. The rest of the day was spent wandering about and catching a trolley to Carrollton Ave to get some Ortlieb parts delivered to GNO Cyclery who were helpful in holding it for me.
The driver gave me a running commentary on the mansions down the street.
Many having brilliant halloween decor outside.
Beads hung in all the trees from many previous Mardi Gras. Live Oaks, such a stately tree lined St Charles Ave.
The guys said the mexican restaurant next door had won a couple of awards in town, a great meal was enjoyed.
The rest of the day was spent sleeping, one doesn’t realise how tired you are till you stop. It was so good.
A fine meal was cooked in my room with fresh veges, pork anddirty rice from a cool downtown supermarket. Again wandering back to the motel eating grapes from a couple of shopping bags, none of the spruiks on Bourbon street hassled me.
Day two here saw me do an exploratory 48k around the city. Audubon Park was cicumnavigated, this is home to the New Orleans zoo.
During my travels, a Nalgene bottle with an opening that suits my Katydan Water filter was purchased and a rescue knife with just one serated blade was bought.
It can be sharpened and is used by fireman and other rescue orgs, ideal for cutting seat belts.
Well worth a visit is the shop it was purchased from, Alpine Clocks and Knives, 1901 Veterans Blvd. They have the best knives ,clocks and watches, such an interesting shop. Bearing in mind, ones interest in this sort of thing.
This knife will come in handy down south for cutting anything a normal blade struggles with, i.e. thick plastic, rope or any other material requiring cutting in a hurry.
New Orleans is way more cycle friendly than Memphis. Cycle lanes abound, especially around the uni on St Charles.
It was a kind of day where a true feel for the city was experienced, especially the most pampered hair cut ever experienced courtesy of “Chill” on Carrollton Ave, again recommended. We both never stopped yakking. Such a man with words and coolness, introducing me to mates as they dropped in for a yarn.
Katrina saw his shop recieve 2’ of water, not the first time, he said. With no malice.
A little kip was again had late afternoon.
The evening was spent computer side bringing you this, not afraid to admit it’s enjoying recounting ones recent activities, especially in that they are mostly unplanned, unexpected and to date have been so enjoyable.
D48, T2.46, av 17.31 Total 6798
It was a pleasure to have a luxury hotel, washing was done in the French quarter, looking like a local carrying a pillow slip of dirty clothes down the road on foot.
It’s always nice to be out and about without the bike, knowing it is safe. The rest of the day was spent wandering about and catching a trolley to Carrollton Ave to get some Ortlieb parts delivered to GNO Cyclery who were helpful in holding it for me.
The driver gave me a running commentary on the mansions down the street.
Many having brilliant halloween decor outside.
Beads hung in all the trees from many previous Mardi Gras. Live Oaks, such a stately tree lined St Charles Ave.
The guys said the mexican restaurant next door had won a couple of awards in town, a great meal was enjoyed.
The rest of the day was spent sleeping, one doesn’t realise how tired you are till you stop. It was so good.
A fine meal was cooked in my room with fresh veges, pork anddirty rice from a cool downtown supermarket. Again wandering back to the motel eating grapes from a couple of shopping bags, none of the spruiks on Bourbon street hassled me.
Day two here saw me do an exploratory 48k around the city. Audubon Park was cicumnavigated, this is home to the New Orleans zoo.
During my travels, a Nalgene bottle with an opening that suits my Katydan Water filter was purchased and a rescue knife with just one serated blade was bought.
It can be sharpened and is used by fireman and other rescue orgs, ideal for cutting seat belts.
Well worth a visit is the shop it was purchased from, Alpine Clocks and Knives, 1901 Veterans Blvd. They have the best knives ,clocks and watches, such an interesting shop. Bearing in mind, ones interest in this sort of thing.
This knife will come in handy down south for cutting anything a normal blade struggles with, i.e. thick plastic, rope or any other material requiring cutting in a hurry.
New Orleans is way more cycle friendly than Memphis. Cycle lanes abound, especially around the uni on St Charles.
It was a kind of day where a true feel for the city was experienced, especially the most pampered hair cut ever experienced courtesy of “Chill” on Carrollton Ave, again recommended. We both never stopped yakking. Such a man with words and coolness, introducing me to mates as they dropped in for a yarn.
Katrina saw his shop recieve 2’ of water, not the first time, he said. With no malice.
A little kip was again had late afternoon.
The evening was spent computer side bringing you this, not afraid to admit it’s enjoying recounting ones recent activities, especially in that they are mostly unplanned, unexpected and to date have been so enjoyable.
In every tree down St Charles Ave, from many a previous Mardi Gras, trees never looked so good
Great stuff
Heaven for a dog.
|
The library, St Charles Ave , donated by a wealthy family to the city, Katrina impacted St Charles Ave, though not hugely.
Chill, going hard, check painting in background, he has had a couple of books published. Conversation with him was so enjoyable.
Typical dwelling St Charles Ave
|
26/10/2011 New Orleans to West Pointe A La Hache
D119, T6.5, Av17.19 Total 6917
Fine with light southerly, about 25 Degrees
Arising at sparrows wind, having not spotted the “City Of New Orleans” from Memphis to New Orleans, it was decided to head to the Amtrak station.
Arriving at 0730, heading into the station, which incidently was the departure point for Greyhound buses, an attendant at the desk was asked about the train. It didn’t leave till 1240hrs from platform 3 . The least physical attachment I could make with this fabled form of transport was to photograph the platform, talk about a compromise.
Heading through the doors to platform 3, to my surprise some sleeper cars were still at the platform, taking a photo. I was told to leave, by a couple of woman security guards. For what reason? Anyway, obliging, on going back to the lobby of the station , another security guy approached me and said if you dont leave now, we will arrest you for trespassing on federal property. He was in no mood for a chat, wheeling the bike at a faster than normal pace, the station was vacated.
This pilgrimage was special for me, firstly, that this historical train typifies the Mississippii, making passage from New Orleans to Chicago and secondly, trains have been such a large part of the audible experience of this journey. Don Mcleans lyrics have reinforced the romance.
Back at the St Christopher, a light breakfast was enjoyed. On the road at 0930, greeted by just the best day. The planned route out of town ended up taking me in a huge circle around the city, 30km, the word lost would be best descibed as a poor choice.
The trip was great, taking in all manner of neighborhoods and industrial sites. (nil sarcasm)
Having said that, time is such a precious commodity when cycling long distances. Plenty of it makes this kind of travel what it should be. With time, one travels back to a day when we all had plenty of it, not realising its almost sacred value. Thinking back beyond five months, there weren’t to many days, or nights for that matter, having a 5hr stretch of time that didn’t have some sort of conflicting activities planned during its presence was a rarity.
Finally back on the track, leaving town via the St Bernard Highway, a bicycle lane was provided, traffic was however offering minimal consideration to cyclists.
The route dowm to the St Bernard State Park was heavily industrialized, most places where food was available were servos.
A meal of, dare its mention, fried chicken and plenty of it was devoured at a servo at the turn off to the park. It’s so morish, they cook it to a tee here, whether it’s a servo or restaurant.
Two orange jiuces were consumed to neutralize things. The park was half a mile away, pulling in, a night was booked, checking the site out, the time was about 1300hrs. Having been well rested at the motel, energy was still in reserve, the decision was made to push on, there was 75 miles to the most southern part of Louisiana and journeys end.
Not to mention, the day was not one for hanging around camp. The road was now a pleasure to travel, classic low traffic, levee one side and occassional housing to the left.
The Army Corp of Engineers keep the levee banks like a park. Shipping was now common place, with the deck superstructure of ships seen cruising past above the tree line, quite bizarre, though fascinating.
Riding on the levee at times, though the head wind and loose gravel made me think of an experience a couple of weeks ago, one of minimal desire for repitition.
Stopping at a level crossing with some 10 cars, for what was either a very long train or a group of shorts ones joined, literally being shunted to a siding, arriving at front of the queue, swinging to the drivers door of a medium size truck, conversation arose, the driver had been to Aussie, we were having a good chat when the shunt stopped right on the edge of the road and let traffic through, having to move but halfway through a sentence, he pulled over to the side before the track, we finished the convo, on leaving he gave me some local Satsuma mandarins that are grown here. Another MR experience of goodwill.
Arriving at Pointe A La Hache at 1700hrs, the 1730 ferry would provide a river crossing to West PALH.
Time was spent in the small store talking to the owner, she said many homes here just disappeared during Katrina, they were just never found. Her shop was new. Her insurance on the dwelling is $6000/yr.
The need for a campsite was on my mind following the ferry trip, 5 minutes, the ferry was more like a speed boat, though having the capacity to car about 20 odd vehicles.
With so much water about in bayous and swamps, sites away from the road were few and far between.
Just north of Port Sulphur, a church (new tin shed) was spotted, pulling in, the owner was approached, he was happy to see me nest behind the church for the night.
His young daughter came out and chatted while the palace was being sorted, she said they had some nesting gators in the swamp at the back of their property. Believe me at this time gators weren’t an issue, it was gnats, small sandfly like insects. They were so ferocious all I could do was finish securing the palace, clean my teeth and get inside, it was 1930hrs. My surrendering resulted in the earliest retreat to date.
It had been a big day, being thankful of the decision to carry on, my eyes were heavy.
The church was having a gathering and sing along, there were people everywhere outside the palace. Being so relaxed and tired, the conversation , conducted in a tone of happiness intermingled with much laughter, led to a rapid deep, uninterrupted sleep.
The Gulf of Mexico was 41.5 miles to the south, here some water from Lake Itasca would see its journey end and be reunited with its earlier companions . A journey that saw it leave the Mississippi flood plain on many occassions, in a peaceful manner.
D119, T6.5, Av17.19 Total 6917
Fine with light southerly, about 25 Degrees
Arising at sparrows wind, having not spotted the “City Of New Orleans” from Memphis to New Orleans, it was decided to head to the Amtrak station.
Arriving at 0730, heading into the station, which incidently was the departure point for Greyhound buses, an attendant at the desk was asked about the train. It didn’t leave till 1240hrs from platform 3 . The least physical attachment I could make with this fabled form of transport was to photograph the platform, talk about a compromise.
Heading through the doors to platform 3, to my surprise some sleeper cars were still at the platform, taking a photo. I was told to leave, by a couple of woman security guards. For what reason? Anyway, obliging, on going back to the lobby of the station , another security guy approached me and said if you dont leave now, we will arrest you for trespassing on federal property. He was in no mood for a chat, wheeling the bike at a faster than normal pace, the station was vacated.
This pilgrimage was special for me, firstly, that this historical train typifies the Mississippii, making passage from New Orleans to Chicago and secondly, trains have been such a large part of the audible experience of this journey. Don Mcleans lyrics have reinforced the romance.
Back at the St Christopher, a light breakfast was enjoyed. On the road at 0930, greeted by just the best day. The planned route out of town ended up taking me in a huge circle around the city, 30km, the word lost would be best descibed as a poor choice.
The trip was great, taking in all manner of neighborhoods and industrial sites. (nil sarcasm)
Having said that, time is such a precious commodity when cycling long distances. Plenty of it makes this kind of travel what it should be. With time, one travels back to a day when we all had plenty of it, not realising its almost sacred value. Thinking back beyond five months, there weren’t to many days, or nights for that matter, having a 5hr stretch of time that didn’t have some sort of conflicting activities planned during its presence was a rarity.
Finally back on the track, leaving town via the St Bernard Highway, a bicycle lane was provided, traffic was however offering minimal consideration to cyclists.
The route dowm to the St Bernard State Park was heavily industrialized, most places where food was available were servos.
A meal of, dare its mention, fried chicken and plenty of it was devoured at a servo at the turn off to the park. It’s so morish, they cook it to a tee here, whether it’s a servo or restaurant.
Two orange jiuces were consumed to neutralize things. The park was half a mile away, pulling in, a night was booked, checking the site out, the time was about 1300hrs. Having been well rested at the motel, energy was still in reserve, the decision was made to push on, there was 75 miles to the most southern part of Louisiana and journeys end.
Not to mention, the day was not one for hanging around camp. The road was now a pleasure to travel, classic low traffic, levee one side and occassional housing to the left.
The Army Corp of Engineers keep the levee banks like a park. Shipping was now common place, with the deck superstructure of ships seen cruising past above the tree line, quite bizarre, though fascinating.
Riding on the levee at times, though the head wind and loose gravel made me think of an experience a couple of weeks ago, one of minimal desire for repitition.
Stopping at a level crossing with some 10 cars, for what was either a very long train or a group of shorts ones joined, literally being shunted to a siding, arriving at front of the queue, swinging to the drivers door of a medium size truck, conversation arose, the driver had been to Aussie, we were having a good chat when the shunt stopped right on the edge of the road and let traffic through, having to move but halfway through a sentence, he pulled over to the side before the track, we finished the convo, on leaving he gave me some local Satsuma mandarins that are grown here. Another MR experience of goodwill.
Arriving at Pointe A La Hache at 1700hrs, the 1730 ferry would provide a river crossing to West PALH.
Time was spent in the small store talking to the owner, she said many homes here just disappeared during Katrina, they were just never found. Her shop was new. Her insurance on the dwelling is $6000/yr.
The need for a campsite was on my mind following the ferry trip, 5 minutes, the ferry was more like a speed boat, though having the capacity to car about 20 odd vehicles.
With so much water about in bayous and swamps, sites away from the road were few and far between.
Just north of Port Sulphur, a church (new tin shed) was spotted, pulling in, the owner was approached, he was happy to see me nest behind the church for the night.
His young daughter came out and chatted while the palace was being sorted, she said they had some nesting gators in the swamp at the back of their property. Believe me at this time gators weren’t an issue, it was gnats, small sandfly like insects. They were so ferocious all I could do was finish securing the palace, clean my teeth and get inside, it was 1930hrs. My surrendering resulted in the earliest retreat to date.
It had been a big day, being thankful of the decision to carry on, my eyes were heavy.
The church was having a gathering and sing along, there were people everywhere outside the palace. Being so relaxed and tired, the conversation , conducted in a tone of happiness intermingled with much laughter, led to a rapid deep, uninterrupted sleep.
The Gulf of Mexico was 41.5 miles to the south, here some water from Lake Itasca would see its journey end and be reunited with its earlier companions . A journey that saw it leave the Mississippi flood plain on many occassions, in a peaceful manner.
Platform 3, New Orleans central station. These can be found between New Orleans and Chicago. "Rolling on past houses, farms and fields"
Great use of old trucks and barge covers
Post Katrina housing
One of Katrinas positives.
|
Sliding on by.
Port A La Hache ferry
Empire bridge, Bay Adams in background
|
27/10/2011
West Port A La Hache to the end of the road
D78, T3.59, Av19.43 Total 6984
Total back to Cypruss Cove Marina, Venice, 6994km
Arising early to a heavy dew and a relentless onslaught of gnats, another record was broken, that being the earliest start.
My hosts were thanked, the sky was cloudless, another magic day was on the way.
The highway was a pleasure, new, post Katrina and a wide shoulder. All housing now was pretty much new demountables.
Stopping to ask a guy some distances, we started chatting, Dennis asked me in for a coffee and introduced me to his wife and young Drayson. Having not made a brew prior to departure, it was welcome.
Dennis was a shrimp fisherman, he had been busy using his boat to clean up the spill, making good money he wisely paid off everything he owned and helped out other family members.
We got on well, he kindly invited me to dine with his family tomorrow night. It is going to be a spicy seafood meal of shrimp, crayfish, alligator and something special he assured me.
Such a kind gesture, I am looking forward to their company and some traditional Creole fare.
We bade farewell, though knowing we will see each other tomorrow afternoon.
A graze was enjoyed at Subway up the road, it too was in a demountable.
A huge carpark, fully occupied was seen at a heliport, these were rig personnel vehicles parked whilst they work off shore.
The Empire bridge loomed ahead, at its apex, looking to my right was the huge expanse of water known as Bay Adams and the MR in the distance on the left side. Katrina piled boats up under this bridge from the working port below.
The wind was still out of the south, though light, it was being sucked into the low pressure of a front due here tomorrow, the same front that dumped 10” of snow in Colorado.
Arriving in Venice, which is really just a working town for the oil industry, charter boat industry and recreational fisherman port. A right hand turn was made, chatting with a fisherman who had a ton of blue crab on his trailer, it was interesting to talk about his trapping methods.
This right hand turn resulted in the road surface becoming concrete. Tidewater Road the last stretch of paved road to the southern most part of Louisiana, about five miles.
Riding on, refineries were passed, the road was almost at sea level with bayous lapping at its extremities. Water birds were in abundance, Water Hyacinth drifting in huge rafts and Bald Cypruss typified the scene.
A small alligator was seen running into the water, immediately after two beads were seen just above the surface giving me the eye, a small surge saw him disappear.
The last cold front a couple of weeks ago had sent them pretty much into hibernation.
Reching the end of the road,the sign stating so had been removed, dismounting to survey an old work boat. So this is journeys end.
Looking at my compass, another road of gravel headed due south. It was followed, turning into a boat yard time was spent talking to a marine mechanic who worked for Hillcorp. Ben was a great guy, we chatted about all manner of stuff. He showed me where the waters from Katrina rose to . He repaired work boats, they spare no expense in having reliable work boats. He told me the most southerly point is further down the road.
Being lucky to get this far, he informed me it's nothing for him to be driving in 2" of water along Tidewater Road during big tides or certain winds. I could fully understand and was appreciative of the dry road.
Riding on past disused oil facilities, a barrier blocked the road. Feeling this was it.
I sat down at the waters edge, reflecting on the past 5 months for some time. Only good thoughts arose. Setting up the camera on a pole, the moment was captured.
One more task was fulfilled, the small bottle of clear water from Lake Itasca was retrieved and opened at the waters edge, a small amount was reunited with the brackish water, some of this water was then put in the bottle, mixing it with that of Itasca. The cap was secured.
Symbolically and emotionally the journey was complete. Turning around, my eyes and thoughts moved to a feather on my bike, both remaining transfixed .
By and by some oil guys cruised along for a chat," to kill time" they added.
They said when looking across the vegetated horizon to the high areas of trees on the islands, the local cattle will swim the bayous to feed on vegetation upon these drier areas.
Proir to heading here, the Cypruss Cove Marina had offered to let me camp there and provide a shower, so kind of them.
Arriving back there ,the palace was set up. Chatting with people at the cleaning table, two fisherman kindly gave me a few fillets of fresh Red Fish and White trout. Red fish is one of the better eating fish.
Time was then spent having a few beers with crew of a large game fishing boat. Great guys. Tea was dirty rice and cubed fish. This was my best palace cooked meal to date.
The nest was welcome. Pre sleep thoughts about the ride to Houston were idly pondered.
West Port A La Hache to the end of the road
D78, T3.59, Av19.43 Total 6984
Total back to Cypruss Cove Marina, Venice, 6994km
Arising early to a heavy dew and a relentless onslaught of gnats, another record was broken, that being the earliest start.
My hosts were thanked, the sky was cloudless, another magic day was on the way.
The highway was a pleasure, new, post Katrina and a wide shoulder. All housing now was pretty much new demountables.
Stopping to ask a guy some distances, we started chatting, Dennis asked me in for a coffee and introduced me to his wife and young Drayson. Having not made a brew prior to departure, it was welcome.
Dennis was a shrimp fisherman, he had been busy using his boat to clean up the spill, making good money he wisely paid off everything he owned and helped out other family members.
We got on well, he kindly invited me to dine with his family tomorrow night. It is going to be a spicy seafood meal of shrimp, crayfish, alligator and something special he assured me.
Such a kind gesture, I am looking forward to their company and some traditional Creole fare.
We bade farewell, though knowing we will see each other tomorrow afternoon.
A graze was enjoyed at Subway up the road, it too was in a demountable.
A huge carpark, fully occupied was seen at a heliport, these were rig personnel vehicles parked whilst they work off shore.
The Empire bridge loomed ahead, at its apex, looking to my right was the huge expanse of water known as Bay Adams and the MR in the distance on the left side. Katrina piled boats up under this bridge from the working port below.
The wind was still out of the south, though light, it was being sucked into the low pressure of a front due here tomorrow, the same front that dumped 10” of snow in Colorado.
Arriving in Venice, which is really just a working town for the oil industry, charter boat industry and recreational fisherman port. A right hand turn was made, chatting with a fisherman who had a ton of blue crab on his trailer, it was interesting to talk about his trapping methods.
This right hand turn resulted in the road surface becoming concrete. Tidewater Road the last stretch of paved road to the southern most part of Louisiana, about five miles.
Riding on, refineries were passed, the road was almost at sea level with bayous lapping at its extremities. Water birds were in abundance, Water Hyacinth drifting in huge rafts and Bald Cypruss typified the scene.
A small alligator was seen running into the water, immediately after two beads were seen just above the surface giving me the eye, a small surge saw him disappear.
The last cold front a couple of weeks ago had sent them pretty much into hibernation.
Reching the end of the road,the sign stating so had been removed, dismounting to survey an old work boat. So this is journeys end.
Looking at my compass, another road of gravel headed due south. It was followed, turning into a boat yard time was spent talking to a marine mechanic who worked for Hillcorp. Ben was a great guy, we chatted about all manner of stuff. He showed me where the waters from Katrina rose to . He repaired work boats, they spare no expense in having reliable work boats. He told me the most southerly point is further down the road.
Being lucky to get this far, he informed me it's nothing for him to be driving in 2" of water along Tidewater Road during big tides or certain winds. I could fully understand and was appreciative of the dry road.
Riding on past disused oil facilities, a barrier blocked the road. Feeling this was it.
I sat down at the waters edge, reflecting on the past 5 months for some time. Only good thoughts arose. Setting up the camera on a pole, the moment was captured.
One more task was fulfilled, the small bottle of clear water from Lake Itasca was retrieved and opened at the waters edge, a small amount was reunited with the brackish water, some of this water was then put in the bottle, mixing it with that of Itasca. The cap was secured.
Symbolically and emotionally the journey was complete. Turning around, my eyes and thoughts moved to a feather on my bike, both remaining transfixed .
By and by some oil guys cruised along for a chat," to kill time" they added.
They said when looking across the vegetated horizon to the high areas of trees on the islands, the local cattle will swim the bayous to feed on vegetation upon these drier areas.
Proir to heading here, the Cypruss Cove Marina had offered to let me camp there and provide a shower, so kind of them.
Arriving back there ,the palace was set up. Chatting with people at the cleaning table, two fisherman kindly gave me a few fillets of fresh Red Fish and White trout. Red fish is one of the better eating fish.
Time was then spent having a few beers with crew of a large game fishing boat. Great guys. Tea was dirty rice and cubed fish. This was my best palace cooked meal to date.
The nest was welcome. Pre sleep thoughts about the ride to Houston were idly pondered.
Bayou country
Journeys end.
|
Ben, water rose to the brace in the corner during Katrina.
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My sincere thanks goes to all those fantastic, friendly people I shared time with in Americas heartland, you made this journey so enjoyable, safe, enriching and ever so fulfilling. Memories of you will always remain with me. Thankyou.
CYPRUSS COVE MARINA, LA TO HOUSTON,TX
28/10 2011 Cypruss Cove Marina To Port Sulphur
D21, T1.13, Av17.24 total 7015
Fine calm, with cold front on the way
Having promised to vacate the area by 0800, come 0830 saw me in the marina reception drinking coffee and updating this.
The harbourmaster, Mike, a great guy filled in another hour yakking about stuff , it’s so interesting hearing stories about Katrina from different people who were insitu.
Now that the road to be negotiated was back tracking and it was 1300hrs, a lift would be good, anyway one of mike friends, Troy was delivering a work boat for an oil company, he offered to take me to the Empire bridge. Manhandling the fully loaded bike in his pickup, we headed off. Stopping for a crawfish burger at his favorite takeaway, The milk of the mother would best describe my offering.
Empire bridge was about 6 miles from Port Sulphur and Dennis house. So thankful of the lift, for outside a northerly was now puffing as an indication the front was on the way, the road was wet, these guys had the rain this morning.
Reaching Dennis about 1630, he had some family members there, we played pool and chatted.
The front had now hit, it was about 10 degrees with a fierce nor wester blowing.
Dennis family originated from France and more recently Canada.
He had prepared this meal of Creole crab and shrimp with red peppers etc, it was divine. This was accompanied by shrimp, catfish, crab stuffed capsicum and peppers stuffed with crab.
One has to admit to over indulging.
His wife and family were such nice people, their young son, Drayson was such a cuddle bug and cute.
It was so nice being in the shelter of Dennis games shed with so much wind about.
A feeling of being safe and secure was experienced, like that of being at home in the nest when there is torrential rain and wind outside, knowing you are wrm and dry and in familiar surrounds.
D21, T1.13, Av17.24 total 7015
Fine calm, with cold front on the way
Having promised to vacate the area by 0800, come 0830 saw me in the marina reception drinking coffee and updating this.
The harbourmaster, Mike, a great guy filled in another hour yakking about stuff , it’s so interesting hearing stories about Katrina from different people who were insitu.
Now that the road to be negotiated was back tracking and it was 1300hrs, a lift would be good, anyway one of mike friends, Troy was delivering a work boat for an oil company, he offered to take me to the Empire bridge. Manhandling the fully loaded bike in his pickup, we headed off. Stopping for a crawfish burger at his favorite takeaway, The milk of the mother would best describe my offering.
Empire bridge was about 6 miles from Port Sulphur and Dennis house. So thankful of the lift, for outside a northerly was now puffing as an indication the front was on the way, the road was wet, these guys had the rain this morning.
Reaching Dennis about 1630, he had some family members there, we played pool and chatted.
The front had now hit, it was about 10 degrees with a fierce nor wester blowing.
Dennis family originated from France and more recently Canada.
He had prepared this meal of Creole crab and shrimp with red peppers etc, it was divine. This was accompanied by shrimp, catfish, crab stuffed capsicum and peppers stuffed with crab.
One has to admit to over indulging.
His wife and family were such nice people, their young son, Drayson was such a cuddle bug and cute.
It was so nice being in the shelter of Dennis games shed with so much wind about.
A feeling of being safe and secure was experienced, like that of being at home in the nest when there is torrential rain and wind outside, knowing you are wrm and dry and in familiar surrounds.
Beaneth the motels units at marina, Katrina piled so many boats up under her the building nearly fell down
Dennis and Alyssha, such good hosts and great cooks
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Dillon ready for the big game
Armour adorned and ready to do battle. The other team had their own cheerleader squad
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29/10/2011 Port Sulphur to Hideaway Ponds Park, Gibson
D120, T5.34Av 21.5 Total 7135
Windy and 10 degrees.
Up early, as we had to get to Gretna to have Dillon playing gridiron, it would be enjoyable to watch the youngsters play, they put on all the armour. Dillon played for a 9-10 age group, Port Sulphur team.
We loaded my gear into the pickup, with a lockable tray. It was still only about 10 degrees, the wind chill saw it around 6-8 degrees.
His team were making short work of their opponents by the time the second quarter was over. The other team had a bunch of 10 year old girls cheer leading.
Again with blocking allowed, one has to watch every move to keep an eye on the ball.
Bading farewell, I headed off into traffic that obviously wasn’t used to or tolerant of pushbikes.
Having a few close encounters and needing to cross the Gulf intracoastal canal ( runs fronm LA to Galverston,TX with outlets to the gulf along the way and connects many bayous).
This bridge had a no bicycles sign posted, having no choice a very strict line was adhered to during the passage. Thankfully it was Sunday and traffic was reasonably sedate except for the odd vehicle whose occupants were itching to hit the shops.
My passage to Houston will see me head west on US90 and 182., then at Abberville drop south onto 82 all the way to Texas. This route is through Cajun country, this, the scenery, the cuisine and its people should be a delight.
The wind had east in it so good time and easy pedalling was enjoyed along 90.
The shoulder was littered with so much debris, ranging from nuts and bolts, plastic vehicle fittings, wood, tyres and stones with all manner of everything else also encountered. My Scwalbe Dureme tyres must get a mention here, not one puncture was recieved, even though on many occassions objects were unavoidable.
Come 1700 hrs, the nights accommodation was foremost in my mind. Unfortunately all roadside topography was swamp.
The only dry areas were heavily wooded, on the grass shoulder at these areas, armadillos were out and about feeding, just one step on the grass nearby for a pic, sent them heading into cover.
An interesting piece of road was enjoyed for at lesat 6 miles, it was concrete and elevated above a swamp of Bald Cypruss. This must having cost millions to construct, one could tell it had been there awhile. Caught on this stretch needing a toilet stop would have been a little tricky.
Later, it was explained to me that Dwight Eisenhower had a vision to connect all America via roads,while president, this was a product of that vision.
Needing to stop due to it being after 1800 hrs, a camp sign was spotted, exiting to the Hidden Ponds Camp ground at Gibson.
Arriving there, a sign posted read it was a private affair, people were everywhere dressed in Halloween gear (The evening before All Saints' Day; often devoted to pranks played by young people). No shortage of witches here.
The owner,Liwanda kindly put me up in her back yard.
They described themselves as Cajuns, food is a big part of life here, the spices used make it a culinary pleasure. Most animals about are devoured.
Though possum is definetly not on the menu. Unlike our possums they are carnivors, Dennis told me if a cow dies they will climb in the carcass mouth and eat their way through and emerge from the bum. He has seen decaying carcasses moving during this repulsive eating habit of these animals. Thinking of this each time one is spotted dead on the roadside.
Setting up the palace in the dark, the now favorite dish of dirty rice, broccoli and chicken was cooked, Liwanda and Herb asked me to join them around a campfire.
Enjoying my meal, Liwanda then treated me to fresh crab and some vegetables cooked in the crab liquid, divine.
Unaware my wok was cleaned to perfection by her dog.
We chatted about our respective lifestyles. They were not impacted by Katrina here.
It was a cold night, luckily my scrot is rated down to -5℃, so with a T shirt on, the outside temperature was not an issue.
Gulf intracoastal canal crossing, Gretna. Dodgey to say the least.
At least 5 mile of this, (dual lanes) sth of Gibson, elevated over Bald Cypruss swamp
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Armadillo sniffing about US90 shoulder
The nest, Hidden Ponds Camp ground, a great place to stop
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30/10/2011
Hidden Ponds, Gibson to Morgan City, LA
D24, T1.17, Av 18.39 Total 7159
Light wind about 22 degrees C
The dew was seriously heavy, once again the Hillberg Tarp saved the palace from any condensation issues.
Arising about 0830 and tidying up, wandering over to the house, Liwanda had cooked me bacon and eggs.
In no hurry to move on, the tarp was hung to dry and packing up was performed at a leisurely pace.
When I finally did depart it was 1200 hrs. The hospitality showed by Liwanda and Herb made me feel so relaxed about the place. I thank them. The park has great facilities with an indoor hot pool and jacuzzi. Cyclists are welcome to say the least.
Heading off,a much quieter road, 182 was followed, it was such a pleasure in the warmth of the day and almost no traffic.
Almost every culvert crossed had an Alligator hanging in the water below, catching them unaware, though on my turning around a surge was all to be seen, wary creatures, survivors from another time.
Stopping on a Bridge some guys were fishing for Choupique. “The Creature from the Black Lagoon.” The monster featured in the 1954 movie classic by the same name looks like the kid next door compared to this fish. Both creatures thrive in the often near oxygenless and heavily vegetated waters of blackwater swamps. But after that, the resemblance ends.
We had a good chat, on departing one of them caught one, great stuff, they said on a plate they were very good eating.
Arriving at Amelia, a working town, huge engineering facilities were seen roadside. Most were associated with the offshore oil industry with tugboats in the waterway and one area devoted to building and repairing offshore platforms.
Criusing along at an ever so slow pace, all the roadside sights were enjoyed. It was not a day for big miles.
Having said that at Morgan City a motel was booked, food and a nice Californian red were bought. On returning to the motel a time for some major relaxation would best describe my attitude.
Sleep was bliss.
Hidden Ponds, Gibson to Morgan City, LA
D24, T1.17, Av 18.39 Total 7159
Light wind about 22 degrees C
The dew was seriously heavy, once again the Hillberg Tarp saved the palace from any condensation issues.
Arising about 0830 and tidying up, wandering over to the house, Liwanda had cooked me bacon and eggs.
In no hurry to move on, the tarp was hung to dry and packing up was performed at a leisurely pace.
When I finally did depart it was 1200 hrs. The hospitality showed by Liwanda and Herb made me feel so relaxed about the place. I thank them. The park has great facilities with an indoor hot pool and jacuzzi. Cyclists are welcome to say the least.
Heading off,a much quieter road, 182 was followed, it was such a pleasure in the warmth of the day and almost no traffic.
Almost every culvert crossed had an Alligator hanging in the water below, catching them unaware, though on my turning around a surge was all to be seen, wary creatures, survivors from another time.
Stopping on a Bridge some guys were fishing for Choupique. “The Creature from the Black Lagoon.” The monster featured in the 1954 movie classic by the same name looks like the kid next door compared to this fish. Both creatures thrive in the often near oxygenless and heavily vegetated waters of blackwater swamps. But after that, the resemblance ends.
We had a good chat, on departing one of them caught one, great stuff, they said on a plate they were very good eating.
Arriving at Amelia, a working town, huge engineering facilities were seen roadside. Most were associated with the offshore oil industry with tugboats in the waterway and one area devoted to building and repairing offshore platforms.
Criusing along at an ever so slow pace, all the roadside sights were enjoyed. It was not a day for big miles.
Having said that at Morgan City a motel was booked, food and a nice Californian red were bought. On returning to the motel a time for some major relaxation would best describe my attitude.
Sleep was bliss.
The boys on the bridge with trophy Chopique, Gators seen in culverts all along this road
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Atchafalaya River
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31/10/2011 Morgan City south of Abberville
D129, T6.23, Av20.11 Total 7287
Perfect fall day
Getting away early after a good nights sleep, being blessed with an easterly wind, the kilometres slipped by with ease.
Stores were purchased at Walmart, they are in every town over about 6000, at least you know they will have the product, most items in my food inventory are stocked by Walmart.
The gulf Intracoastal waterway was crossed a couple of times.
The shoulders were littered with sugar cane, pieces about 200mm long, luckily the weight of my gear was crushing it as some pieces were unavoidable.
The historical town of Franklin was chosen as a food stop, a cajun type bean mix was enjoyed. The main street had some Antebellum homes and every street tree was adorned with the ubiquitous Spanish Moss.
Arriving at New Iberia, a shop was found that sold mini ipod speakers, the ones previously purchased hadn’t made the grade, lasting only 2 and a bit months.
On the approach of 1700hrs around the township of Abberville and turning onto LA82 that would take me to the Texan border, it was time to look for a pad for the night.
Pulling into the local cemetery, a flash affair, someone told me they were going to bless it tomorrow at 0800, that’s all I needed at that time of day, moving on, a better site had to be found.
Having developed an eye for the right kind of spot for campsites, a brilliant site was found south of Abberville, consisting of a slashed area beneath a grand old Pecan tree near rice fields. No dwelling was within half a mile. The location caught the last rays of the day.
Setting up the palace at a leisurely pace, the twilight was enjoyed, sitting back over a coffee, thinking to myself that, for me, at this point in my life, it doesn’t get much better. The freedom and the ability to truly experience the atmosphere and lifestyle of places visited, often not achievable from a vehicle.
So few possessions and yet so comfortable and not knowing what each day will bring. Cycling 60 or 70 miles a day has become the norm, it is such a pleasant way to keep half fit. Though as a cyclist one is very spoilt here in the incredibly flat part of the country .
D129, T6.23, Av20.11 Total 7287
Perfect fall day
Getting away early after a good nights sleep, being blessed with an easterly wind, the kilometres slipped by with ease.
Stores were purchased at Walmart, they are in every town over about 6000, at least you know they will have the product, most items in my food inventory are stocked by Walmart.
The gulf Intracoastal waterway was crossed a couple of times.
The shoulders were littered with sugar cane, pieces about 200mm long, luckily the weight of my gear was crushing it as some pieces were unavoidable.
The historical town of Franklin was chosen as a food stop, a cajun type bean mix was enjoyed. The main street had some Antebellum homes and every street tree was adorned with the ubiquitous Spanish Moss.
Arriving at New Iberia, a shop was found that sold mini ipod speakers, the ones previously purchased hadn’t made the grade, lasting only 2 and a bit months.
On the approach of 1700hrs around the township of Abberville and turning onto LA82 that would take me to the Texan border, it was time to look for a pad for the night.
Pulling into the local cemetery, a flash affair, someone told me they were going to bless it tomorrow at 0800, that’s all I needed at that time of day, moving on, a better site had to be found.
Having developed an eye for the right kind of spot for campsites, a brilliant site was found south of Abberville, consisting of a slashed area beneath a grand old Pecan tree near rice fields. No dwelling was within half a mile. The location caught the last rays of the day.
Setting up the palace at a leisurely pace, the twilight was enjoyed, sitting back over a coffee, thinking to myself that, for me, at this point in my life, it doesn’t get much better. The freedom and the ability to truly experience the atmosphere and lifestyle of places visited, often not achievable from a vehicle.
So few possessions and yet so comfortable and not knowing what each day will bring. Cycling 60 or 70 miles a day has become the norm, it is such a pleasant way to keep half fit. Though as a cyclist one is very spoilt here in the incredibly flat part of the country .
Franklin main street
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A site that was just waiting for a camper
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1/11/2011 Sth of Abberville to Pecan Island
D58, T2.58, Av19.20 Total 7344
Blueprint Fall Day, about 25 degrees
Having camped beneath the Pecan tree, the dew was not overly heavy, the normal brekky was enjoyed to a rising sun, whose rays were finding the site through the roadside vegetation.
Heading south on LA 82, the highway that would take me along the southern portion of Lousiana to the Texas Border. West of Pecan Island is known as gator alley.
Rice was now in abundance in roadside fields, cruising along, a boat was seen moving about in a flooded rice field, further investigation and a barrage of questions to its helmsman, it was the beginning of the crawfish season.
This area for the next few miles was prime country. Briefly, the crawfish over summer in the ground in the paddocks, when flooded this time of year they come from their burrows and disperse their young. This is the time fisherman set traps in the paddys, so to speak.
Back to the boat, only in Southern Louisiana would you expect to see such an ingenious contraption, a tinny with two rear wheels and an hydraulically driven wheel extending forward of the bow with 3 rams, one to steer, one to exert downward presseure and one the opposite. The wheel rotates and drags the boat through the shallow water on the wheels, when it is deep it floats, amazingly it can emerge from the water and just cruise along the berms between the paddys.
My passage saw me here about three days before fresh crawfish were available. Never mind.
Near Esther, a guy standing alongside a pickup was waving me down, well I’ll be, it was Rob from Plaquemine who I’d been up the river with, it was great to see him and catch up. Never say never. He departs for offshore work from Intracoastal City, not far from here, his week on had just finished.
The road was now bordered on both sides by bayous with Live Oaks and their burdon of Spanish Moss.
A pocket gator was spotted in one area accessable from the road, he was in no hurry to move on.
Arriving in Pecan Island, a coffee or four were enjoyed at the local store. Catching up on some electronic duties for a couple of hours. Linda the attendant was a pleasure to chat and laugh with. She was giving me a great insight into the lifestyle down here in this hunting and fishing paradise. She said it was fine to sleep behind the servo.
By and by the owner Bill came in, we had a good yarn, he invited me to stay at his “camp” down the road to which he drove me to show me its location.
Back at the servo, asking Linda about obtaining some crabs, she phoned a friend and within about 20 minutes a woman arrived with a bucket of live Blue Crabs in hand, she would not accept payment, anyway on verbally exploring each other, she had a daughter who had owned a hostel in Managua for seven years and just sold and bought a similar setup in Uraquay, we had a great chat. In relation to the crabs , her husband was a commercial crabber.
It was an enjoyable few hours just hanging at the shop, chatting with most that entered, the sheriffs deputy informed me that sorting gator problems out in urban areas was part of his duties, other than that he said the Plaquemines Parish was an enjoyable environmnt to work within, not having a huge amount of crime.
Unlike some small towns visited where the court house was the busiest place.
Heading onto Bills place, the palace was set up in what could be best described as a 5 star location, waterside, infront of a not so modest ‘camp”.
His son, Will helped me set up , one hell of a nice kid, I had never been called sir so many times in such a short space of time. This is a sign of respect.
Again the mossys were in plague proportions just on dark. My legs are still a mass of scabs. Thinking back, for nearly 6 months now, a relentless evening barrage from mossys has never let things get a chance to heal. Sometimes the urge to scratch is just overcoming. Hopefully time in houston will give things chance to heal.
Bill, also a crabber had a large esky full of cooked crabs, Will and I feasted on the nippers, so sweet.
We were treated to a classic gulf sunset from the front lawn ant the bayous edge.
Bill invited me up for tea, this was a cajun delight. Blackened catfish ( the endemic catfish here is not even remotely comparable to the inferior farm raised product from asia in the Mekong. This product is widely available in Australia, marketed as basa.)
and crawfish, crab meat and shrimp in a Etoufe sauce, to say one over indulged, couldn’t better describe my participation in the meal.
My contibution was chilli crab cooked in the wok, asian style is so different from Cajun, they use peppers rather than chilli to heat up a dish.
We sat around watching a fishing show Bill had been featured in on the the excellent fishing in this part of Louisiana. He is also a fishing and hunting guide.
It had been such an enjoyable end to the day. The kindness and hospitality extended to me was so special.
Material read prior to departure, mentioned loneliness as a problem experienced by solo touring cyclists, for me the opposite has been true, not many days have gone by where the evening was not shared with people. Infact sometimes it was so nice to spend time alone in the elements, this time was spent thinking about my immediate environment, life, and the pleasures of this lifestyle. Thoughts of home intermingled with those of this journey. Every location has its beauty to be appreciated, whatever that maybe.
D58, T2.58, Av19.20 Total 7344
Blueprint Fall Day, about 25 degrees
Having camped beneath the Pecan tree, the dew was not overly heavy, the normal brekky was enjoyed to a rising sun, whose rays were finding the site through the roadside vegetation.
Heading south on LA 82, the highway that would take me along the southern portion of Lousiana to the Texas Border. West of Pecan Island is known as gator alley.
Rice was now in abundance in roadside fields, cruising along, a boat was seen moving about in a flooded rice field, further investigation and a barrage of questions to its helmsman, it was the beginning of the crawfish season.
This area for the next few miles was prime country. Briefly, the crawfish over summer in the ground in the paddocks, when flooded this time of year they come from their burrows and disperse their young. This is the time fisherman set traps in the paddys, so to speak.
Back to the boat, only in Southern Louisiana would you expect to see such an ingenious contraption, a tinny with two rear wheels and an hydraulically driven wheel extending forward of the bow with 3 rams, one to steer, one to exert downward presseure and one the opposite. The wheel rotates and drags the boat through the shallow water on the wheels, when it is deep it floats, amazingly it can emerge from the water and just cruise along the berms between the paddys.
My passage saw me here about three days before fresh crawfish were available. Never mind.
Near Esther, a guy standing alongside a pickup was waving me down, well I’ll be, it was Rob from Plaquemine who I’d been up the river with, it was great to see him and catch up. Never say never. He departs for offshore work from Intracoastal City, not far from here, his week on had just finished.
The road was now bordered on both sides by bayous with Live Oaks and their burdon of Spanish Moss.
A pocket gator was spotted in one area accessable from the road, he was in no hurry to move on.
Arriving in Pecan Island, a coffee or four were enjoyed at the local store. Catching up on some electronic duties for a couple of hours. Linda the attendant was a pleasure to chat and laugh with. She was giving me a great insight into the lifestyle down here in this hunting and fishing paradise. She said it was fine to sleep behind the servo.
By and by the owner Bill came in, we had a good yarn, he invited me to stay at his “camp” down the road to which he drove me to show me its location.
Back at the servo, asking Linda about obtaining some crabs, she phoned a friend and within about 20 minutes a woman arrived with a bucket of live Blue Crabs in hand, she would not accept payment, anyway on verbally exploring each other, she had a daughter who had owned a hostel in Managua for seven years and just sold and bought a similar setup in Uraquay, we had a great chat. In relation to the crabs , her husband was a commercial crabber.
It was an enjoyable few hours just hanging at the shop, chatting with most that entered, the sheriffs deputy informed me that sorting gator problems out in urban areas was part of his duties, other than that he said the Plaquemines Parish was an enjoyable environmnt to work within, not having a huge amount of crime.
Unlike some small towns visited where the court house was the busiest place.
Heading onto Bills place, the palace was set up in what could be best described as a 5 star location, waterside, infront of a not so modest ‘camp”.
His son, Will helped me set up , one hell of a nice kid, I had never been called sir so many times in such a short space of time. This is a sign of respect.
Again the mossys were in plague proportions just on dark. My legs are still a mass of scabs. Thinking back, for nearly 6 months now, a relentless evening barrage from mossys has never let things get a chance to heal. Sometimes the urge to scratch is just overcoming. Hopefully time in houston will give things chance to heal.
Bill, also a crabber had a large esky full of cooked crabs, Will and I feasted on the nippers, so sweet.
We were treated to a classic gulf sunset from the front lawn ant the bayous edge.
Bill invited me up for tea, this was a cajun delight. Blackened catfish ( the endemic catfish here is not even remotely comparable to the inferior farm raised product from asia in the Mekong. This product is widely available in Australia, marketed as basa.)
and crawfish, crab meat and shrimp in a Etoufe sauce, to say one over indulged, couldn’t better describe my participation in the meal.
My contibution was chilli crab cooked in the wok, asian style is so different from Cajun, they use peppers rather than chilli to heat up a dish.
We sat around watching a fishing show Bill had been featured in on the the excellent fishing in this part of Louisiana. He is also a fishing and hunting guide.
It had been such an enjoyable end to the day. The kindness and hospitality extended to me was so special.
Material read prior to departure, mentioned loneliness as a problem experienced by solo touring cyclists, for me the opposite has been true, not many days have gone by where the evening was not shared with people. Infact sometimes it was so nice to spend time alone in the elements, this time was spent thinking about my immediate environment, life, and the pleasures of this lifestyle. Thoughts of home intermingled with those of this journey. Every location has its beauty to be appreciated, whatever that maybe.
Crawfish territory, note line of traps in rice field
A member of a lunar landing party completely lost
Fitting surroundings for the palace, young Will, a great helper
Alligator Alley LA 82, bayous on both sides of road, minimal traffic.
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What it's all about
Just a pocket version, the big boys have dug in for winter, bayou LA 82
South west Louisiana sunset, Pecan Island
Pecan Island "fishing camp"
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2/11/2011
Pecan Island to Holly Beach
D94.4, T3.42, Av 25.44, Total 7439
Fresh westerly blowing, much to my pleasure
Bill headed off early to set his traps, tarting myself up with a shower and a shave, 0950 saw proceedings commence, once on the road they went by at a rapid rate.
Having taken a feed of crab with me, an unscheduled stop was made beneath an ancient Live Oak enroute. A few crabs were devoured with much haste. My appetite was under estimated.
The 90 km to Cameron was covered in 3.5 hrs, one wonders about the possibilities of setting up a sail system on a push bike, though things could get a bit tricky during a gybe, especially in this environment, ending up in a roadside bayou could cancel out any time made up through the use of sails.
Cameron was where the ferry crossed the river up to Port Charles in TX.
Due to spare time, the library was visited and copious coffee was consumed whilst tapping away.
On turning into the approaches to Cameron an electronic sign stated the ferry was not operational, finding a dinghy shouldn’t be a problem.
The ferry had been out for a week or two, steering parts were needed, they were coming from Illinois.
It was uncanny how having turned up on this day not knowing this, the ferry just happened to have recommenced services at 1300hrs .
Words from Winnibigoshish came to mind. Heading to the embarkation point, a 10 minute wait was required. By this time it was 1730 hrs, getting cool and a forecast front was on its way from the north.
One of the female crew came and had a chat, she said she could get me a lift to Holly Beach, some 10 miles west. A young guy onboard said he could take me in his pickup, 5.8 litre Dodge Ram, thirsty as a 2 month old baby on the boob at first light.
Anyway during the ride, Zac explained he was a pump man for a small oil company, his role was to check all land based oil wells and record flow rates and look for leaks etc.
Dropping me off at Holly Beach close on dark with a strong southerly blowing. This wind gets sucked into the northerly front which when hits brings northerly winds. A couple of the fronts have occurred so far, they cool the waters in the gulf, so the threat of hurricanes is as good as over this season people tell me.
Looking for a campsite here was like trying to find shelter in a desert without dunes.
The houses were all on stilts, no insurance if you haven’t built up.
Most properties were unoccupied. A woman was seen watering plants outside a trailer, on asking about locating myself under a shed nearby, she offered to have me in her yard.
Accepting her offer, she moved her pickup to give me shelter from the north so as to offer some protection when the front hit tonight, also motioning me to get inside the vehicle should the weather get out of hand.
She had more cats and dogs than time would allow to count. The yard though not fenced was covered in land mines, transportation of one of these babies into the palace would have been a nightmare, the immediate tent site was defused prior to setting up.
The meal at Bills the night before and the crabs on the road were still sustaining me, an evening meal was not required.
The palace was set up with strong wind in mind, using long pegs at the corners of the tarp facing the anticipated wind. A shape was present to the north that would offer minimal wind resistence in that it was pegged to the ground on this sector.
Hitting the nest, sleep was not a problem until the rain hit which was followed by the predicted northerly gusting maybe to 35 knots, not to strong, also thankful the pickup was breaking its flow to some extent.
The palace roof was being flattened onto my head at times, although these tents are designed to flex in these conditions, It survived the initial onslaught, the wind soon settled to a steady brisk breeze. Sleep left me oblivious of further events prior to daylight.
Pecan Island to Holly Beach
D94.4, T3.42, Av 25.44, Total 7439
Fresh westerly blowing, much to my pleasure
Bill headed off early to set his traps, tarting myself up with a shower and a shave, 0950 saw proceedings commence, once on the road they went by at a rapid rate.
Having taken a feed of crab with me, an unscheduled stop was made beneath an ancient Live Oak enroute. A few crabs were devoured with much haste. My appetite was under estimated.
The 90 km to Cameron was covered in 3.5 hrs, one wonders about the possibilities of setting up a sail system on a push bike, though things could get a bit tricky during a gybe, especially in this environment, ending up in a roadside bayou could cancel out any time made up through the use of sails.
Cameron was where the ferry crossed the river up to Port Charles in TX.
Due to spare time, the library was visited and copious coffee was consumed whilst tapping away.
On turning into the approaches to Cameron an electronic sign stated the ferry was not operational, finding a dinghy shouldn’t be a problem.
The ferry had been out for a week or two, steering parts were needed, they were coming from Illinois.
It was uncanny how having turned up on this day not knowing this, the ferry just happened to have recommenced services at 1300hrs .
Words from Winnibigoshish came to mind. Heading to the embarkation point, a 10 minute wait was required. By this time it was 1730 hrs, getting cool and a forecast front was on its way from the north.
One of the female crew came and had a chat, she said she could get me a lift to Holly Beach, some 10 miles west. A young guy onboard said he could take me in his pickup, 5.8 litre Dodge Ram, thirsty as a 2 month old baby on the boob at first light.
Anyway during the ride, Zac explained he was a pump man for a small oil company, his role was to check all land based oil wells and record flow rates and look for leaks etc.
Dropping me off at Holly Beach close on dark with a strong southerly blowing. This wind gets sucked into the northerly front which when hits brings northerly winds. A couple of the fronts have occurred so far, they cool the waters in the gulf, so the threat of hurricanes is as good as over this season people tell me.
Looking for a campsite here was like trying to find shelter in a desert without dunes.
The houses were all on stilts, no insurance if you haven’t built up.
Most properties were unoccupied. A woman was seen watering plants outside a trailer, on asking about locating myself under a shed nearby, she offered to have me in her yard.
Accepting her offer, she moved her pickup to give me shelter from the north so as to offer some protection when the front hit tonight, also motioning me to get inside the vehicle should the weather get out of hand.
She had more cats and dogs than time would allow to count. The yard though not fenced was covered in land mines, transportation of one of these babies into the palace would have been a nightmare, the immediate tent site was defused prior to setting up.
The meal at Bills the night before and the crabs on the road were still sustaining me, an evening meal was not required.
The palace was set up with strong wind in mind, using long pegs at the corners of the tarp facing the anticipated wind. A shape was present to the north that would offer minimal wind resistence in that it was pegged to the ground on this sector.
Hitting the nest, sleep was not a problem until the rain hit which was followed by the predicted northerly gusting maybe to 35 knots, not to strong, also thankful the pickup was breaking its flow to some extent.
The palace roof was being flattened onto my head at times, although these tents are designed to flex in these conditions, It survived the initial onslaught, the wind soon settled to a steady brisk breeze. Sleep left me oblivious of further events prior to daylight.
From the ferry, Cameron, these piles are driven down to the seabead in the gulf to stabilise the boats
Post Ike , 2008 housing ,Holly Beach, LA
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Holly Beach, note rigs on horizon behind sign, the surf is definitely not up.
Shelter from the storm, in hindsight the biggest threat was under foot not from the heavens, having said that I was ever so thankful of the hospitality shown by these people at Holly Beach.
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3/11/2011 Holly Beach, LA to Port Arthur, TX
D 82, T5, Av 15.41, Total 7521
Very cold about 12 degrees, head and cross wind all day
Though cold , the need for long pants was considered unecessary. Infact the whole journey has seen riding in longs on only two occassions, those being Minnesota and just the other day from Gretna.
Packing up, an early start was made into what could be best described as trying conditions, it was pay back time for all those great tail winds recieved earlier.
Preparation of breakfast had not been considered.
The road was desolate, it was overcast, windy and cold with very few other vehicles making use of it.
The journey to Port Arthur was about 35 miles. Not having had a morning coffee or having eaten, one was getting thirsty and peckish after about 18 miles.
In the middle of nowhere, like most other buildings encountered on this road, there was an oasis in the desert, coming to mind: " On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair, warm smell of salt, rising up through the air, up ahead in the distance.... The Cameron Parish Library at Johnson Bayou came into view. It was brand new and up off the ground as usual. An everso welcome sight.
Going up the stairs, the interior was so welcome after the wind. The librarians were great and ever so friendly, offering coffee, the machine was emptied 4 cups later. The girls were telling me that in '05 Rita sent a 10 foot surge through here and packed 150mph winds, then in '08 Ike sent a 20 ft surge overland here accompanied by a 120-130mph breeze. I take my hat off to the resilience of the people who call this area home .
We had a great chat and laugh. Two guys pulled in on motor bikes on their way to a gathering in Galverston.
An hour later fully recharged, the elements were braved again, this time in a better frame of mind.
Gloves were being worn,
Just el cheapos with rubber palms and fingers, keep my hands really warm.
Oil and gas facilities were now becoming common place, roadside. Seeing a bridge in the distance made me feel a heap better, this was the approach to Port Arthur, (55,000) the birth place of Janis Joplin. Being told not to ride down the river in town, a northwest direction was taken to where the new growth in town was.
A great motel, modern and well priced, the Airport Inn was chosen, highly recommended.
Deciding to stay two nights as my lower back had been stirred up lifting the bike onto the pickup once off the ferry at Cameron. Also stirred up but in worse shape were a couple of teeth on the outer chain ring. These had bore the weight as it was being lifted on to the tailgate. A replacement will be needed before heading south.
It was a relaxing day and a half. Deciding to catch an airport shuttle mini bus to Houston as the road from here was mainly freeways and of little interest for me. My cycling in the US was over for now. I feel I will ride here again some day. Such good memories have been born of this trip.
$32 saw me at Houston Bush airport where I was kindly picked up by friends who live here. I am here for 10 days to regroup, pack the bike, be ruthless with the amount of gear carried and get a few other things sorted.
From here a flight will take me to Managua, Nicaragua, where, while writing this journal will be recommenced.
To get to this point I must also thank the countless number of anonymous people who gave me directions during the passage from Fort Francis in Canada.
During the trip one bottle of water was purchased, for the container, four flat tyres in the rear were experienced. Other stats are:
· About 6 litres of Coleman fuel used.
· 1 wipeout causing minor bending to front rack
· Didn’t change brake pads
· Disposed of all padded riding pants, rode in ice breaker woollen boxers and Patagonia shorts
· Did not use cycling helmet from Minneapolis south
· Scratched legs all the way from Illinois, combination of chiggers, mossys and bed bugs
· No more than 7 wet days encountered
· Predominantly tail or no wind encountered.
· Almost every vehicle encountered contained a courteous driver
· Only one slight indication of aggression by someone, easily diffused.
· Diners provided food most of the way
· Supplies purchased at Walmart or Dollar General stores
· Cheapest motel, $25, most expensive $85.
· Camped most nights
· Longest period without a shower, 3 days
· Spent about $9000
· Lost weight in heat but Southern Louisiana put an end to that.
Bye for now
D 82, T5, Av 15.41, Total 7521
Very cold about 12 degrees, head and cross wind all day
Though cold , the need for long pants was considered unecessary. Infact the whole journey has seen riding in longs on only two occassions, those being Minnesota and just the other day from Gretna.
Packing up, an early start was made into what could be best described as trying conditions, it was pay back time for all those great tail winds recieved earlier.
Preparation of breakfast had not been considered.
The road was desolate, it was overcast, windy and cold with very few other vehicles making use of it.
The journey to Port Arthur was about 35 miles. Not having had a morning coffee or having eaten, one was getting thirsty and peckish after about 18 miles.
In the middle of nowhere, like most other buildings encountered on this road, there was an oasis in the desert, coming to mind: " On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair, warm smell of salt, rising up through the air, up ahead in the distance.... The Cameron Parish Library at Johnson Bayou came into view. It was brand new and up off the ground as usual. An everso welcome sight.
Going up the stairs, the interior was so welcome after the wind. The librarians were great and ever so friendly, offering coffee, the machine was emptied 4 cups later. The girls were telling me that in '05 Rita sent a 10 foot surge through here and packed 150mph winds, then in '08 Ike sent a 20 ft surge overland here accompanied by a 120-130mph breeze. I take my hat off to the resilience of the people who call this area home .
We had a great chat and laugh. Two guys pulled in on motor bikes on their way to a gathering in Galverston.
An hour later fully recharged, the elements were braved again, this time in a better frame of mind.
Gloves were being worn,
Just el cheapos with rubber palms and fingers, keep my hands really warm.
Oil and gas facilities were now becoming common place, roadside. Seeing a bridge in the distance made me feel a heap better, this was the approach to Port Arthur, (55,000) the birth place of Janis Joplin. Being told not to ride down the river in town, a northwest direction was taken to where the new growth in town was.
A great motel, modern and well priced, the Airport Inn was chosen, highly recommended.
Deciding to stay two nights as my lower back had been stirred up lifting the bike onto the pickup once off the ferry at Cameron. Also stirred up but in worse shape were a couple of teeth on the outer chain ring. These had bore the weight as it was being lifted on to the tailgate. A replacement will be needed before heading south.
It was a relaxing day and a half. Deciding to catch an airport shuttle mini bus to Houston as the road from here was mainly freeways and of little interest for me. My cycling in the US was over for now. I feel I will ride here again some day. Such good memories have been born of this trip.
$32 saw me at Houston Bush airport where I was kindly picked up by friends who live here. I am here for 10 days to regroup, pack the bike, be ruthless with the amount of gear carried and get a few other things sorted.
From here a flight will take me to Managua, Nicaragua, where, while writing this journal will be recommenced.
To get to this point I must also thank the countless number of anonymous people who gave me directions during the passage from Fort Francis in Canada.
During the trip one bottle of water was purchased, for the container, four flat tyres in the rear were experienced. Other stats are:
· About 6 litres of Coleman fuel used.
· 1 wipeout causing minor bending to front rack
· Didn’t change brake pads
· Disposed of all padded riding pants, rode in ice breaker woollen boxers and Patagonia shorts
· Did not use cycling helmet from Minneapolis south
· Scratched legs all the way from Illinois, combination of chiggers, mossys and bed bugs
· No more than 7 wet days encountered
· Predominantly tail or no wind encountered.
· Almost every vehicle encountered contained a courteous driver
· Only one slight indication of aggression by someone, easily diffused.
· Diners provided food most of the way
· Supplies purchased at Walmart or Dollar General stores
· Cheapest motel, $25, most expensive $85.
· Camped most nights
· Longest period without a shower, 3 days
· Spent about $9000
· Lost weight in heat but Southern Louisiana put an end to that.
Bye for now
Two of the best ever librarians
The last bridge
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A bit sad to leave Louisiana and my last connection with the Mississippii River
Hundreds of these Grey Pelicans were dive bombing birds below the bridge
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