Tuesay, October 22, 2013
Today was spent off the trike and in a motel in Gautier, Mississippi, glued part of the day to the computer to write and label photographs. I am still labeling photos from Niagara Falls! This trip may be completed before I actually can post them on the website. So many sights, so many memories.
A little about this area. Actually, there is a lot to say about this area. Friends and family request different things. “What are the people like?” “Any signs of Katrina damage or rebuilding?” “How is the economy?” “Tell us about what you see and think about all day long.”
Actually, if any human wrote about what they think about all day long, he/she would never have time to write it all down. According to a study by UCLA, humans have an average of 70,000 thoughts per day. (www.loni.ucla.edu). Since my thoughts are no more special than the next person, I will refrain from telling you everything I think about. Unless you’re an insomniac. Then, it might be helpful! But you could think about everything YOU think about, too!
Hey, let’s count thoughts instead of sheep!
So, I noticed that Pascagoula, MS, was a bit shabby on the highway, but there is a tremendous amount of reconstruction going on. The road crews are busy. The motels are filled with workers, which is one reason why I went ahead into Gautier. No more rooms...
When I cycled into Gautier, I noticed the Welcome sign to Gautier. They had decorated it with a Halloween theme. In fact, Halloween is a big deal in Cajun country. Gautier has been busy decorating corners with pumpkins and skulls, with signs pointing visitors to go on a Halloween tour this weekend and then during Halloween week up to the Big Day.
I noticed that Gautier is a proud little town trying to do what it can to beautify itself. There are sidewalks with decorated tiles; park benches shaped like boats; colorfully painted alligator sculptures hanging along the street from tall poles. One of the ladies at the motel told me that the town was hurt quite badly during Katrina but is working very hard to recover. All the schools in this town have the “Gator” mascot, so you see its theme everywhere.
Gautier is located next to the Singing River. So, you see the river theme in the city decor, winding through the town. When I booked the motel, I was excited to see that it was located across the street from “Singing River Mall”. However, when I cycled up to the area of the mall, which was about a block from The Suburban Stay (also filled with workers and their families), I was dismayed to see an empty parking lot, weeds coming up through the pavement, and what looked to be like a mall going down. On this day, after writing and labeling most of the day, I walked over to the mall to the Dollar Tree and picked up a few things. I wandered through this mall that was 90% empty, but had been nicely laide out. There were marble tiles on the floor and stores, and a bright blue, metal grid river sculpture running the length of the ceiling of this fairly sizable mall for this town of 18,500.
When I asked the lady at the motel, who so enthusiastically provided me with Gautier infobytes about the condition of the mall, she explained that it was scheduled to be demolished. The good news, however, is that the new owners were going to rebuild it as an outdoor mall. The shop rental prices of the indoor mall were forcing small operators out of business.
Essentially, in an indoor mall, the shop owners are paying for the utilities of the entire place. It becomes a dominoe effect. When the rent is too high and the little store owners move out, the remaining ones have a larger share of the utilities to cover. When that becomes unbearable, they move to a separate location and the mall begins to tumble. So, in the warmer areas of the country, fewer indoor malls are being constructed. Just like “open kitchens” and “open floor plans” are the currently popular mode for newer homes, “open malls” are becoming the preferred “floor plan”. Personally, I like wandering through indoor malls in the winter because of the climate control---I can see several shops in a few hours and I don’t get cold. But, here in the deep south, where it is pretty doggone nice in the winter, it doesn’t make sense to put everything under one roof. Little outdoor courtyards and restaurants with outdoor seating are very enticing. I love to sit outside to drink coffee or share a meal with a friend. I really like those outdoor heaters to take the chill off the night air so I can still sit outside.
Apparently, behind the Singing River Mall is a huge bronze sculpture in a central fountain, gracing a large playground or park. I didn’t get a chance to see it, but I did look it up on the ‘net. It really IS something.
So, Gautier is a town with a heart for art.
I finished the day eating fruit and crackers in my room. It was time to get moving again.
Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013
What a great day! After continuing for about 15 miles on hwy 90 to Ocean Springs, HD and I crossed the bridge over Biloxi Bay to Biloxi, MS. Russ, my stepdad, had requested that I wave to him, facing north to Illinois when I arrived in Biloxi, as it is due south from Normal, Illinois where he lives. So, I parked at a little harbor to enjoy the view of the Gulf waters, turned north, and waved to my whole Illinois family and then sent Russ a photo of the map.
I enjoyed Biloxi. What a fascinating town. It was dotted with harbors and beaches and parks on the Gulf side of the hwy, which is right next to the coast. Several highways that skirt the coastlines of the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans don’t actually hug the coast but are separated from the seaside by a few blocks of homes and businesses. But today, once reaching Biloxi, it was hwy 90, right on the coast. From Biloxi to Pass Christian, there is a large sidewalk on the coast side for bikers, runners, walkers, skaters, and strollers. I imagine that it gets fairly packed in the summer, but I just about had the next 30 miles to myself on that expanse of decent cement!
Biloxi is still rebuilding after Hurricane Katrina, but the government money is now long spent and the rest of the recovery process is up to private investors. Casinos are springing up, luring tourists back to the area. I saw several large lots next to the water where there once were homes and businesses. Katrina wiped them out, but the concrete foundations are still present, with grasses and weeds poking through. Across the street, on the “inland” side, there are the typical businesses of any city as well as those that cater to the tourist and summer population. Seafood restaurants are on every block for miles.
When I cycled through the residential section of the area, still on the highway of course, I saw many places for sale. They looked like empty lots, but actually, upon closer inspection, you could still see the remnants of home foundations. The homes that are now up and standing are all built on stilts of wood or huge metal poles. They look fairly new, so they have been recently constructed, post-Katrina.
I stopped at a convenience store in Biloxi and spoke to “Johnny” at length about the area as well as about him personally. He owns a small construction company and said that his business was doing quite well about 8 years ago, prior to Hurricane Katrina’s hit in August 2005. He typically would be working on 3 homes at a time and booked up for 6 months, receiving daily requests for more houses.
Katrina hit him a nasty blow. Government funds for reconstruction were present but insufficient for a full recovery. Then, the economy tanked in 2008, sending his company “under water” so to speak. His credit sank, he turned his toys back to the bank, and has been about a month behind in his bills ever since. He is now working on only one house, employing 4 men part time, as the money trickles in from the bank, which is holding and dispersing the money as work is being completed. He gets a small lump of dough, then he and his men work furiously on the next stage of construction. Then they have to wait for the next installment. It has been hand-to-mouth for 7 years now. He used to keep an operating expense account of $20,000 to keep his construction business afloat. Now, his company operating expense account is held at $200.
Johnny pointed out the many lots for sale. He said that, after Katrina hit, leaving so many thousands of people without a home, the housing prices soared. This fact has been confirmed by the many locals with whom I have spoken on this issue. Construction went wild to fill the need for housing. But, insurance costs also soared, so the lower and middle classes couldn’t afford their homes any longer, leaving a vacuum in its wake. Just like a tidal wave: it moves inward in a rush, then recedes back out to sea, leaving flotsam and jetsam in its path.
Now, the coastal towns are trying to survive on tourism. It is growing, but slowly.
So that is why I have seen so many casinos--they bring in lots of cash. And that is why so many condominiums are going up--to attract the retired folks with disposable income.
It is so beautiful here, I believe that it will recover, albeit slowly. Shipping is still ongoing.
But then, the BP oil spill occurred. The oyster beds were demolished. This year they finally had a small harvest, but it will be many years, if ever, before it fully recovers. Johnny said he loves to go fishing, and he has been able to catch some nice red snapper. That is good news at least.
Johnny has a few dreams. He wanted to retire at 52, but these disasters have necessitated that he continues to work. He is now 53. But, he loves to travel and plans to enjoy smaller vacations than in the past. He would like to take his wife to NYC and enjoy the big city for a week. Maybe go on another cruise--he and his wife have been on 3 cruises, when finances were better.
It is the indomitable human spirit. We get knocked down, but we keep getting back up. Really, there is no other option. You must keep getting back up.
After continuing to marvel at the deep, sapphire blue waters of the Gulf on this day, I crossed the bridge at Bay St Louis and continued to hug the coast to reach Buccaneer State Park. This park is, or “was”, connected to a huge wave park. While it is a state park, it was once quite an amazing place. It had a pool, a wave amusement park, incredible nature trails, a store, laundry, showers, etc---like a private campground with all the bells and rings. I had read on the internet that it had suffered but was on its way back up after the hurricane. I passed by the east end of the park, all locked up, and cycled for a few more miles before entering the part of the park that is now opened to the public. There I met the two park rangers, Joel and Ed. Of course, I asked them about the park and the changes they have seen. Each of these men has worked here 10+ years and know the scoop.
They have lived through the scoop.
Katrina flooded the park, killing the trees on the hiking trails, wiping out the campground and all of its buildings, including the wave park. Joel and his family live at the park and the presence of water amusement park was a big reason he moved his family here. He and his wife, who is a nurse practitioner, raised their daughters right here at the campground. When the girls were children (now ages 18 and 20), they played in the pools and at “Waveland Park” every day in warm weather. It was a great perk for a fairly low paying job. The kids loved it.
The park has been under reconstruction from state and federal funds. The campsites are now rebuilt and nicely spaced among the coastal pines and oaks. The store and laundry are almost finished. There was a pool with a little waterfall effect---I have never seen a state park like this. The Waveland Park down the street is not up and running yet. The hiking trails will take years to rebuild because the damaged, dying trees had to be clearcut and removed.
The new buildings at the park are all elevated, with the business end of each building held on the 2nd floor. Or, well, it’s supposed to be held on the 2nd floor. The stairs at the check-in station would be a bit difficult for many campground customers to ascend. So, the bottom floor has the computer and basic equipment for operation. When there is a serious storm threat, however, they have to carry all the equipment upstairs.
The campground is really quite beautiful. Yet the prices are currently quite reasonable. $13 for primitive site; $24 for basic sites with electricity and water; and a little higher for pull through spots for the big RVs.
Joel believes that the federal funds could have been spent with more forethought. He is concerned about Mississippi’s debt to the US government, as the relief funds were actually loans, not gifts. The reconstruction was necessary, but he is concerned about the cost.
Ed was the quieter of the two helpful rangers. His passion is his work. He has worked for the state parks for several years and plans to continue for several more. He has 2 grown sons and a lovely wife who is an RN. While he enjoys the ranger work, someday he would like to retire. He will continue to enjoy the out-of-doors through his retirement.
In the meantime, these two coworkers enjoy each other’s company, and keep things running at the park.
After our conversation, I cycled into the park to find a spot. While getting ready to set up the tent, a camper came by to chat. He goes by Wolland, his middle name. Wolland and his wife Brenda have a pop-up trailer and love to travel to the state parks. Wolland worked in the carpet mill yarn industry for about 38 years. His avocation, in younger years, was flying airplanes and he actually built his own. He still loves to stay active and was interested in HD. He said he has arthritis in his knees and hips. He also broke his back in a plane accident. But, he keeps moving and said his knees bother him more than his back. He likes to meet people at the campgrounds and hear their stories. He asked good questions about HD and, later in the evening, he and his wife came by to ask if I needed anything from WalMart, as they were making a run into town. I got out of the tent to meet Brenda, who was sitting in their truck, as she had a hard time believing Wolland’s story about the crazy lady cycling the US.
Another camper named George came by as well. His passion is playing poker. He was coming back from Florida and staying in campgrounds to save his money as he did not fare well at his last poker game. He gives himself a poker loss limit. When he loses $100, he stops and goes home. Or sometimes he goes to visits friends in the area for a little vacay, and THEN goes home.
It had been a busy day. I learned a bit about southern hospitality. They sure have it in Mississippi. They also have the gift of gab, whether they are from the area or not! It is the Gulf Coast air that makes people so friendly? It got to the point where I was hoping another light wouldn’t shine into my tent, with someone hoping to talk, so I could actually go to sleep! This made me laugh! Sometimes I will go for a few days with people smiling and waving but exhibiting no real desire to “set a spell for a nice, long natter”. But the folks here in Mississippi? Well, they would like to share a story. Or two.
I like that!
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Thursday, October 24th, 2013.
I awakened before dawn and HD and I were out of the park by 7:15 am. I cycled into Waveland and picked up some coffee, where a couple of folks insisted that I take a back road to get back to the highway, supposedly shaving off some miles. They were very nice and told me they had a lifetime of stories to tell. But, yikes! I needed to get on the road as we had already chatted for a bit and this was going to be a long mileage day. I blessed them and went on my way. I felt obligated to follow their directions, as they watched me leave, and their blessing to me was to give me local advice.
Sometimes that works well, and sometimes it doesnt. Today, it added a good 45 minutes to my ride! LOL!! But I did get to see some Mississippi back country. The Old Lower Bay Road emptied onto Hwy 90 again and I crossed the Mississippi and Louisiana border formed by the Pearl River, followed by 4 tributaries.
There is so much water in Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana! At least, that’s the case down here in the southern edges of the state. Any ditch fills with water. Today I saw several homeowners redigging the ditches between the roads and their homes, hiring backhoe operators to move the dirt. Rivers are barely held within their banks, and spread for miles on shallow grounds. I wondered, what is the difference between a bayou and a swamp?
Well, of course, there are answers to that.
According to the CoveBear (www.covebear.com), a bayou is a very slow-moving stream, attached to a larger streem or river, and usually with many open spaces. The word bayou comes from the Choctaw Indian word “bayuk”. While a bayou is usually an open stream with vegetation along the sides, a swamp is a boggy wetland where water seems to stand still, although its water does rise and fall with freshwater tides. Sometimes the water stands still so long in a swamp that algae grows on top and the water stagnates. Swamp water tends to be a dirty brown color due to the dead vegetation, such as fallen leaves, which have decomposed in the water. Or it might be bright green from the algae growth on top of the water.
Anyhoo. I now veered west-northwest, along hwy 190, near the eastern border of Lake Pontchartrain. After going through Slidell, this hwy lost all semblance of a shoulder and it was now “grass riding”. A few miles from Slidell, a man pulled over to tell me that there was a bike trail about 500 feet from the hwy, paralleling the highway all the way to Mandeville, then cutting north to Covington. The next intersection was about 1-2 miles up the road. I thanked him profusely and went on my way, looking for the intersection. After passing by a deadend street, I pulled to a stop to check for the street I needed. That is when I met “Madeline”.
Madeline pulled over to tell me about the bicycle path as well. She says that, whenever she sees a cyclist on this road, she makes a point to tell them how to get on the path. The path is Louisiana’s first official rail-to-trail bike and walking path. For those of you unfamiliar with the rail-to-trail program, this is a fantastic use of the old railroads and railroad service roads of yesteryear. There is quite a movement to resurface these old roads for use by the population for walking, cycling, skating, hiking, and even backpacking. This particular biker/hiker trail is called the Tammany Trace. It is 28 miles long and goes from Slidell to Covington. First, it parallels hwy 190. Then, at Mandeville, it turns and parallels hwy 59. A little more on “The Trace”, as the locals call it, in a bit. But first... Madeline.
Madeline is a retired junior high schoolteacher and her passions are animals and her faith in Jesus. She says she shares her faith with everyone she meets because she wants to make sure they are saved. As a teacher, she lived by example in front of her students as being true to one’s beliefs is very important to her. Madeline does a lot for the community in volunteerism and says she is also a political activist for the Republican Party. Madeline is a lovely woman, probably about my age.
Shortly after Madeline departed, I found the entrance to The Trace. My, was it heaven! Nicely paved, shaded by lovely oaks, pines, and cypress trees, the path was well cared for. And utilized! I met, passed, or was passed by, several walkers and cyclists. I met a retired man named Tommy, speeding along on a serious cycle, who slowed down to match my pace for a little bit. He cycles 3 times a week for a goal of about 30-35 miles each ride. He sprints at a fast pace and was quite familiar with this bike path. He stopped for awhile to see if there was a way I could ride The Trace almost all the way to the motel in Covington, which was on hwy 190. But, alas, I really would need to get off in Mandeville and return to the 190 as there were no connecting roads from hwy 59 to 190 in Covington.
Hey, I loved The Trace for several miles and it was lovely!
Then, another cyclist joined me a few miles further down the road, after Tommy zipped on his path to pick up his pace. This was “Mike”. He joined me for a few miles and we talked about The Trace and then we chatted about how he and his wife met. Now, THAT was a story. It would take several chapters to regale you with all the delightful and interesting details, but here is a summary.
Mike was born in El Paso, Texas, which is only a 3 hour drive from my house. His mom bore him when she was only 17. While she and his dad were married, it was a brief marriage, and Mike never really knew his blood-father. When he was about 3, his mom remarried and his stepdad eventually adopted him. His mom and stepdad had 3 more children--his half-sisters. His stepdad was from New Orleans so Mike says that the family went to New Orleans often to visit his family. There, Mike became fast friends, by age 8, to his “step-cousin”, Fran. He would see her on various family visits to New Orleans and they would write to each other in between. This went on for several years.
When Mike graduated from high school in El Paso, he had a girlfriend. Fran had a fiance.
Then, Mike and some buddies took a car trip and stopped in New Orleans. He stopped to see Fran and the sparks started to kindle. A few months later, after his road trip with buddies, Mike returned to New Orleans and the kindle turned into a tiny flame. Fran moved to El Paso to go to college at UTEP. They started to see each other more often as they were already family anyway. Fran had moved in with Mike’s mom, while Mike had his own apartment. When Fran went home to New Orleans during Thanksgiving break, Mike suggested that she make a decision about her fiance who was still in New Orleans.
She did, indeed, make a decision. She returned from Thanksgiving break, and told Mike that she was no longer engaged.
They got married 3 weeks later.
They have been married 41 years. About 39 of those years have been in Louisiana. They started their married life in El Paso. After a few years and the birth of their daughter, Fran’s mother became very ill with cancer and they moved to New Orleans so Fran could help take care of her. They stayed. Now they live in the Mandeville/Covington area. She is retired and he hopes to join her too, although he will likely do some part time work of some sort. They have carefully budgeted their money and, if they are frugal, they will enjoy a modest retirement and get to do some traveling. He wants to see the Grand Canyon and the fall colors in New England, among other places all over the country.
After Mike zipped off to continue his cycling route, I moved on to Mandeville, where I had to exit The Trace and get back on hwy 190. It was fairly populated between Mandeville and Covington, so I was able to ride on sidewalks. There was just one hairy section where 190 crossed I-12 when the on- and off-ramps got crazy busy. But, I made it to the Super 8 on the edge of Covington and worked for about an hour cleaning HD’s chains. Then, I settled in for the night. Long day, but a good one.
Friday, October 25th, 2013.
On the internet last night and again this morning, I had searched out lodging in Baton Rouge and Denham Springs. Louisiana State University was having a home game tonight (Friday night college football!), so the motels were filled. The closest town this side of Baton Rouge with rooms to spare was Hammond, which was about 30 miles from my current location. So, I booked a room at Super 8 and headed out on the 190.
Rough road! Back to the grass and gravel. It took longer than usual and, at one point, the cable going to the rear drive train failed and I couldn’t change the crawler gears. This was ok for now, as the road was still fairly flat. But it would need to be fixed before I hit any serious hills.
Just before I reached Robert City, which is actually a small village, a man pulled over in front of me, hopped out, and handed me a bright orange, fabric Halloween bag with a witch emblazoned in black on the front. He said he had passed me earlier and was concerned that I needed more visibility than my little orange bike flag. So I put the Halloween bag on the bag of the cargo area and thanked him profusely. He waved and went on his merry way. Now, I am cycling in the Spirit. The Halloween Spirit.
Louisiana friendly.
Hammond is a very busy town, right there on the highway, without regular sidewalks or room for HD. It took awhile to get through to the west end of town, as I moved in and out of parking lots, up on grass, and, when I ran out of options, onto the road itself, interfering with one lane of traffic. There wasn’t a bike shop in town, so I pulled into a motorsports business, about 1/2 mile from the Hammond Super 8. The two men who owned the store did not know anything about bike repair, but told me they had an employee who might be able to help. Just then, Paul, the employee extraordinaire, rode up on his cycle. Paul is a friendly young man of 18, who was happy to try to figure out what was going on. After fiddling and trying different things, he got under Henry David and tightened up the cable. This was a partial fix, but allowed me to move the gear to his crawler setting, which would give me what I needed for hills. I could use the primary drive chain for adjustments when the road was flat and easy. The owners told Paul to do it for free, so he wouldn’t even take a tip.
Paul says he loves to work and works at both the motorsports store and at McDonalds. What does he love most about work? The money! He wants to buy a car. He pointed out a brightly colored scooter and asked if that would withstand a trip around the country. I said, yes, indeed it would!
He advised me to try out some great restaurants in New Orleans. He has lived here all his life---either in Baton Rouge or in Hammond. But he wouldn’t mind doing a bit of traveling!
After checking into the Super 8 and doing my nightly exercises, I sat down to write. And here I sit. I think I’m done for the night---all caught up, except for any editing. But my bottom is sore from sitting in this chair for several hours. I think I will take a shower and see if there is anything to eat around here. I wish I could follow Paul’s advice and find some great restaurants, but the budget says a Subway salad is now in order.
But, when Shannon and I meet with her friends in New Orleans, we will splurge on a dinner and a breakfast out!! I will get to sample some Cajun cooking yet!
Saturday, October 26th, 2013
After consuming raisin bran and 2 cups of coffee in the Super 8 lobby for breakfast, I packed up HD and hit the road, just after 8 a.m. It was hwy 190 almost all the way to Port Allen.
This hwy is a popular highway and roughly parallels interstate 12 and it is in fairly ragged shape in many areas. The Louisiana DOT is repaving portions of it, but it has a long way to go to be a comfortable road. When I got to Baton Rouge, I had to follow the 190 north along the Mississippi River for about 4 miles before it turned west to cross the river. Because pedal driven cycles are not allowed on the Interstate, HD and I were relegated to cross the river on the highway. But, YIKES! It was an old, narrow bridge without any shoulder or space for HD and I, so we had to take up a good portion of the right hand lane. Luckily, the traffic was a bit light on this Saturday afternoon crossing the bridge. The interstate bridge was much busier, but, oh, the interstate has such a nice, lovely space that just goes unused...
I may be forced to cross a few rivers or lakes on the Interstate.
The highlight of the day was meeting Jeanette, just outside of Walker. She pulled up behind me while I was straddling the grass and gravel on the highway, and gave a little toot on her horn. I pulled to a stop and climbed off the trike while she hopped out of her car and literally ran up to me to say she just had to see what I was doing and where I was going. I answered her questions and she explained that she loves to ride her bicycle but generally prefers to transport it to Baton Rouge and then rides it on the levee by the university (Louisiana State University) or in the neighborhood subdivisions with good roads. Jeanette even asked to give HD a try! So, she climbed aboard and rode him around an empty parking lot a few times.
Jeanette is a very compassionate person who just exudes enthusiasm. Her passion is her love for Christ. She says “it is not about me, but about Jesus and what HE wants for me”. We talked about gratitude for all things, appreciating our lives, and living in the moment, rather than in the past or future. She says she loves to talk about God, but also says that being “religious” is not always such a good thing, if it means getting stuck in rules and judgments and pointing fingers at other people. She says she remembers that God loves everyone, so she tries to do the same.
She prayed for me and with me, right there on the side of the road, and her compassion and love were contagious. We blessed each other and parted.
What a lovely lady.
Now I am in Port Allen and figuring out tomorrow’s route. May you all have a lovely evening!
Sunday, October 27, 2013
After raisin bran and coffee in the Super 8 lobby (now becoming a standard motel breakfast on this trip), I headed out of Port Allen, Louisiana. Once reaching hwy 190 again, I turned due west toward Opelousas. Hwy 190 was a variable road today---sometimes a good shoulder, sometimes covered with debris, sometimes stretched across with those ribs that I really don’t like anymore at all, and sometimes without a shoulder at all. But, I had to admit, the road was better than the day before.
Well, sorta, kinda, maybe...
On the west end of Livonia, I met a man selling sweet potatoes out of the back of his truck. Most of them were bagged in plastic mesh in 10-20 lb bags. But there were also several unpackaged potatoes for sale. I really do love sweet potatoes and they are so nutritious. So, I stopped and asked to buy just one. I picked up a small one, planning to nuke it at the motel that night. He wouldn’t accept any money and then asked me if I had ever had a white sweet potato. I didn’t think I had, so he handed me a nice, big one. Again, accepting no payment. We talked about the road and he warned me that there was a 4 mile bridge ahead without a shoulder. His car had broken down on that road and he found it extremely frightening. He finally got off the bridge but was shakey the rest of the day.
I appreciated the warning. It meant another hwy 190 bridge just like the one over the Mississippi River in Baton Rouge.
Eventually, I reached the bridge. It spanned a good length of the Atchafalaya National Wildlife Refuge. I pulled to a stop just before the bridge so that I could take off the earphones to my iPod and pull off the orange flag that is positioned on HD’s left rear wheelguard. I could feel my anxiety elevating a bit and then, just before I took off, I realized I was standing in a bed of little black ants. The little critters had covered my right ankle and had a nice lunch, but the adrenalin was coursing through my blood vessels and blocked any sense of pain. I brushed the ravenous critters off my leg and took off across the bridge.
For four miles, I waved that little orange flag overhead, sticking my arm up as high as I could reach. The strategy worked and all the vehicles saw me in plenty of time to get out of “my” lane until they passed me. I pedaled as fast as I could and was glad for all the arm exercises I have been doing, so that my little arm could stay up in the air, enthusiastically waving that bright orange warning flag. I found myself grinning about the entire experience, which was not as scary as I thought it would be. This was due to the courtesy of the drivers. Only a few had to actually slow down before they could pass.
I thought, “Hey, I should wave this flag overhead every time there is no shoulder” Maybe the cars would see me ahead of time and move over, just like on the bridge.” I tried the technique later that day during a shoulder-less stretch of 190. It didn’t work. I guess I have to be on a bridge that makes the car drivers more alert and nervous.
Anyway, it was two days later before I realized that a quarter sized area of my right ankle was swollen and blistered fromt the ant bites.
That adrenalin worked quite well as a pain killer. This is why people don’t really feel it when they are injured during a truly frightful time, such as a car accident or in battle. They feel it later, when everything calms down and they realize they are bleeding.
As for the blistered ankle, it still doesn’t hurt. Go figure.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Well-wishers and kind travelers and locals continued to wave, wished me well, and occasionally asked a few questions. I was on a mission, however, so I kept on the move as much as possible. My daughter Shannon had texted me, letting me know she was on her way and I would see her that night.
I pulled into Opelousas, LA shortly after 5 pm and had just finished my exercises when Shannon arrived. My beautiful daughter swept in, blonde hair flowing around her shoulders as she strode in the room, wearing flowered skintight jeans and high heels and her typical 2-3 shirt layers. She is a fashionista and buys her clothes from thrift stores. Her outfits tend to cost less than $10 and everyone stares because she has a flare for style. And a killer figure.
Her grandmother---my mother---had the same gifts. Although my mother dressed modestly and conservatively, she could shop a bargain and all her coworkers always thought she must spend all her money on clothes. My mom was slender and fit and always looked like a million bucks. The only arguments we had when I was a teenager were about my horrible wardrobe. I felt ugly and fat and my mom always wanted to take me shopping. The last thing I wanted to do was try on clothes and see my figure in the mirror. Most teenage girls love to shop for clothes. I hated it.
It was fun to have daughters who both liked to shop. My two girls have very different styles, so there was not a lot of borrowing or sharing. Shannon is flambouyant and chic; Heather is sporty and wears more tailored clothes. As a teen, however, Heather was my little hippie chick. That part still comes out.
So, Shannon and I yacked our heads off for the rest of the evening, rushing off to get Subway salads at about 9:30 pm and bringing them back to the room to continue catching up with the “news” of her life.
Nice day and a fantastic way to end it.
Monday, October 28th, 2013
I got an early start, leaving the motel around 7:15, with Shannon still sleeping off her travel fatigue. I had left the tent, my laundry, and one of my backpacks for her to carry in the car, thus lightening my load. Boy, I could feel it, too! I zoomed along the road without the usual fatigue at the 30-40 mile mark. Hwy 190 was also very sweet the entire way, once outside of each little town. Once a highway reaches a local corporation limit, the town or city has to accept some responsibility for the road. Typically, the condition then deteriorates. But, the towns were small along this hwy today and the way was easy.
The previous night, I had arranged for an inexpensive room at The American Inn in Kinder, LA. My iPhone map directed me north of Kinder on hwy 165 for about 5 miles. This made no sense to me, but every time I put in the address again, the map showed the same results. So, I headed north from Kinder and, after going about 4 miles, I passed by a lone little house with a small family sitting on the porch. The matriarch of the family called me over--a slender little lady with a friendly smile and a generous heart. She offered me a drink and asked me where I was going. After describing the general route, I told her I was looking for The American Inn and my phone map said it was another mile north. The woman, as well as her grown daughter, both said simultaneously, “Oh no, you passed that motel. It is back there in Kinder a few blocks from Market Basket”. I called the motel and asked the lady who answered the phone about her location. She didn’t know how to answer my questions as she didn’t know north from south nor did she know the numbers of any of the highways, so she couldn’t really help much.
But, I trusted the ladies at this little country home, so I turned around and headed back to town. The ride today was supposed to be about 50 miles but had now turned into 58. No big deal, I was running ahead of schedule with Henry David’s lighter load. But, still, I found myself feeling frustrated about the map misdirection and stopped at a McDonalds at the north edge of Kinder for an iced coffee and a quick text to Peter, who immediately responded. Both strategies eased my angst.
So, armed with a rapidly diminishing iced coffee, I continued south and reached the motel in the late afternoon. I still beat Shannon there and finished my exercises just as she arrived. She brought groceries with her and this cheered me up even more! Yay food and yay Shannon!
After a quick shower, we went out to find a movie DVD and a few more groceries. We returned to the room and made veggie lettuce wraps while we watched The Heat, with Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy. This is an hilarious film---it is like the typical movie about a beat cop and an FBI agent teaming up on the job, like the Odd Couple. This theme has previously focused on male law enforcement officers. This is the first one I’ve seen about female officers. I loved it. Shannon and I laughed our heads off.
A good day, all in all.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
I slept in just a little and headed out around 8 am this morning. HD and I headed southwest on 165, then caught hwy 90 and turned west to Lake Charles. It was an easy day, just 35 miles, to reach Capitol Cyclery. I left HD in their capable hands and then went next door to the McDonalds to write and wait for Shannon.
This blog has been titled Cajun Country, so perhaps I should spend a few paragraphs on this topic.
“Cajun” is the adopted-or slang- term for Acadian. The Acadians are descendants of the French colonists who settled in Acadia in what was called New France. Acadia was located in what is now Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, part of Quebec, and Maine to the Kennebec River. The Acadians were conquered by the British in 1710 and continued to live there until the French and Indian War against Britain and New England. The “Great Expulsion” was carried out from 1755-1763. The Acadians were deported---many back to France but quite a large number to Louisiana.
The “Cajuns” developed their own dialect, considered “Cajun French”, and their own, unique culture, heavily influenced by their French heritage. The Cajun, or Acadian, territories in Louisiana were primarily in the southern third of the state.
Cajun music finds it roots from the French Catholics, Initially the fiddle predominated. Later, the accordion took the limelight and its joyous, rhythmic tunes make fun dance music. Zydeco music is the most popular Cajun music style. I own a few old Zydeco music tapes and used to dance around the house to them, shouting out “bon temps” and “et toi” at the appropriate pauses! It’s a wild ride.
Cajun and Creole cuisine are often differentiated by food experts. Both find their roots in French cuisine, but Cajun tends to be spicier and heartier. Both the French Cajun and Creole populations tended to live in the country as farmers; they utilized local produce and game and they did not waste anything. “Cracklins” are fried pork skins or fat and “boudin” is the leftover pork parts, ground up, and mixed with rice. It is then either made into sausages or rolled into balls and fried, called “boudin balls”.
When we think of southern Louisiana cuisine, we also think of crustaceans: shrimp and fresh water crawfish, called “crawdaddies” or “mudbugs”. Oysters and clams are also popular, as well as gumbo, which is a dish containing spicy stock, meat or shellfish, rice and seasoning vegetables.
Jambalaya is a Creole dish and originated in the Caribbean Islands. It has both Spanish and French influence. This is the “red jambalaya” and usually includes chicken, sausage, seafood, celery, peppers, onions, and tomatoes. Cajun jambalaya does not contain tomatoes, so lacks the red color. The cooking processes differ a bit between Cajun and Creole jambalaya, giving each type its own flavor. In some restaurants, they make a quick variety, sans the veggies, to entice the kids to eat it.
So, local veggies, meats, and rice. Good country cooking. With a French flair. Welcome to Cajun Country!
Grab your accordion and move!
