Day 35: I set out from Lake Arthur early in the morning and by mid-day covered the 50-odd miles to New Iberia. I stopped off at the Visitor's Center, to get out of the heat, and get a read on a camp.
Two hours later, I was still there. I simply could not leave the little rocking chair, on the porch, where I was reading a local magazine. But, by four I knew I needed to eat and hit the road again. Where to camp?!! There was a state park twenty miles out of the way, where they didn't allow tent camping, but I could put a tent up outside the gates, for free. Then there was Morgan City.
I go through town, towards both highways, and at the fork, go straight. I was trying to be smart, go towards the state park. But then something compelled me to turn around, continue on track down the 90E. (Again, I think I'm just stubborn, and I can always find a grove of trees. Though, I thought, there are lots of alligators and snakes. Oh well, this is an adventure, isn't it?) There were 40 miles to cover to a campground at Morgan City, then I'd just have one more day to New Orleans.
It was a good road, but after about forty-five minutes and ten miles, I hit construction, the sun was beginning to slip and I knew it: flat tire. I was on a frontage road, no shade, really beat, so got off the bike and thought I'd walk a few minutes. At least find a tree to get under.
Not two minutes and I heard a quick bleep, a sort of truck siren, and a white truck was coming towards me. A young man hopped out. Showed me his ID; said he and his girlfriend, were headed to Morgan City.
Wowee, am I lucky!
It didn't feel at all like cheating. But especially because of what happened later. Without any solicitation, again, these good samaritans and kind Louisianans, took me off the street. I'd been wishing there was some way I could go out on the water, and again, without me saying a word, expecting to be dropped off at the camp, the couple decided they wanted to pick up their ski-doo and take me out on the water. An hour later, I was riding, at seventy-miles an hour, across the waters of the bayou, smiling wide, but also stunned. How could this be happening, how and why are people coming out of the woodwork, being so good to me? And how, how does anyone live anywhere else besides this, this beautiful place?
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| more pictures later, or let your imagination run wild, to do it justice |
We stopped at a bar, called the Mosquito, had a drink, talked it up with the other barflies and the lady owners. Then we went into town to help his family move some furniture. They were getting the floors waxed the next day.
We had a late meal at an old diner and, super exhausted, all of us, passed out in his home on stilts, right next to the water. It was like sleeping in a tree.
36:
Woke up late. Cool, dark, air-conditioning. But I was eager. I couldn't believe it. Today I would make it to the Crescent City.
They were all kinds of helpful in getting me situated for the ride. They even wanted to run me over to the local Walmart for a fresh tube, but I declined. I was kind of attached to my tube, with all it's patches. And somehow, I knew, the flat queens would be good to me. I would make it.
I'm riding, making good time, thrilled by the ride on the raised waterways over the Atchafalaya basin. Then I checked my phone. I had a text message, had forgotten my tire lever. They wanted to bring it to me! I was about thirty miles out by that time and called, "Please, please, don't worry, I can't put you out like that." But they were insistent, and excited to be a part of this big day. There was something in the air...
Heat. No, I kid. But they did meet me. They drove past and yelled out, "Meet us at Spahrs!"
I had told them I'd yet to have good seafood and they wanted to make sure I had some. It was the perfect spot. Literally dripping, my calves and shins covered in mud, my face red as a beet and my shorts and top wet with sweat, I slipped into the bathroom of this casual, but nice, spot, on the water, where you could look out at birds and alligators, and cleaned up. I was in the riding zone and felt a little out of place, but it was a fantastic, giant meal of catfish and shrimp and I couldn't have been set more straight for the day.
We said goodbye again, with the possibility of meeting later, in the city.
I arrived, at the outskirts, two hours later, and both my body and mind immediately breathed easier. I loved the architecture, even on the West Bank. Then the ferry ride...well, let's just say it was a mile marker.
There were only a few of us on board, and the other set was a family, the father a professional photographer and cyclist. It felt like another of those fated things, or just a pleasant coincidence. We chatted it up, then I let the wind and the spray of the water cool me as I watched downtown, and the famous/infamous French Quarter come into focus.
It was a short ride, from Gretna boarding station a few miles across and down the banks of the Mississippi. I disembarked and felt like I was tumbling, into the energy of Canal Street. The balconies, flowers, uneven, brick and cobble and asphalt streets, the rogue beads (which, actually, I would see along the road all the way through Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida, and had seen on my way in); it was all as they say it is. But they can't tell you how it feels. That is, how it hears. I've gushed enough, you know it, the music of New Orleans.
This fall, I'll be moving there, for awhile. And I knew it that day.
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