Nov 11, Tuesday. 7am. Pump up tires, oil chain, pack up pockets; first aid kit, wet ones, banana, 6 boxes of raisins, a chocolate brownie, 4 ounce 64 gr protein shot, cherry throat candy, jelly beans,6 Gatorade's,
Mp3 player, cellphone, 1 oz windbreaker, camera, disposable poncho, emergency Valium. Forecast; light winds from the north, moderate temperatures, at 3 PM, winds increasing to 30 + miles an hour, temperature dropping 20 degrees. No issue's, I'll be back before 3pm.. Caught the River bike path at Williams Blvd. Legs were rested, mind was rested, ass was rested, neck a little stiff, arms OK . With the new path completed through the cancer corridor, no need to suicide ride on River Road, straight shot to the spillway, under the Levee Board station over the levee , into the spillway, across the spillway to Montz Metropolis, the railroad road to classic Airline Hwy, up to old highway 51, across Laplace, then base camp, the start of Hwy51 along I-55.
My goal, to ride around the lake, first step to get to Hwy 190 east/west..Fighting a 30 mile per hour headwind, I trudged on with determination, froth with anticipation, eager to find a passage to the east. North, North, North against the wind, my only consolation, on return I'd have a 30 mile per hour push. Hwy 51 is long, lost , lonely, desolate, even animals are scarce, only an occasional body discarded by ,careless , unknown, killers. Thighs begin to burn, calves flexed, side stitch, neck muscles cramping, keeping focused and determined, keep scanning far ahead , finally get a distant glimpse of the Manchac Bridge,,alas , once again conquered the boring Hwy 51 trek, the height of the bridge enabled me to feel fully the force of the north wind beating me like a flog in the face, holding me back, tearing at my stamina, calories, strength, and determination. Trying to race on the downside did not occur, forced to pedal DOWN the bridge. Going further at this point than ever before, passing the Manchac docks, marina, some industry,
on to the north side of Manchac, at least 1/4 mile from the south side. I note that the gap to I-55 has narrowed, and narrowed, and narrowed, now I'm on the entrance ramp to the interstate, whoa ! trigger , time to stop, get bearings, survey, scout, generally see what the hell happened. Old highway 51 merges on to I-55 at a canal 1/4 mile prior to the exit ramp to Pontchatoula, I'm not swayed, more determined than ever there lies a gravel road through the woods along the interstate, alas, my way to my goal, the gravel was rough but so am I , 1/2 mile of gravel, dirt,, mud, bottles, cans , tires, a stove, night stand, 2 empty oil cans, a broken Howy Doody doll and an autographed glossy 8x10 of Uncle Sky to Penny. . The end of the road was filled with revelations, first; no crossing the canal to the other side, second;10 feet from a railroad track with an Amtrak passing 70 miles an hour, blew my hair back, third; a gator skid into the canal left by 30 foot alligator, fourth; BIGFOOT sitting in the woods, 30 feet away, munching on Doritos, and to top off all that the temperature has dropped 15 degrees. I sneak pass bigfoot, let the train pass, stay out the water and again survey, get bearings, scout, all that shit, the following analysis formulates in my forehead,, my rearhead is fairly empty, three options to get to Pontchatoula, one ; ride on the interstate across the canal, 1.5 ft shoulder, suicidal, two; swim with bike across the canal faster than a 30 foot alligator, suicidal, three; cross the Amtrak track faster than the 5 o'clock express. suicidal, I chose the safest one, turn around an go home.
Going home was filled with dilemma, suspense, drama, heartache, danger, fear, pain, and generally a hell of a mess. So involved in reaching my goal I failed to notice, the temperature dropped another 10 degrees, the wind still blowing 30 miles an hour, cold as Satan's breath , did the down side of the Manchac bridge coasting at 33 miles an hour, I still had 51 miles to get home. I watched the sun sink, I could make it with help of the freezing wind, I 'm not concerned about riding in the dark but I had no headlight, being pushed by a powerful wind, had to ride the levee's winding path in the dark,
what the hell, time to take risk, time to tempt fate, time to pull out that gate ticket to hell, or was that the one to the Warehouse, anyway, made it to Laplace safe, sound and quick, crossed Airline , got to the railroad road along the Spillway. it's dark now, need to get on the River path out the street. Crossing the Spillway was neat, 5 o'clock traffic, my taillight and helmet light protected my rear but no one could see me coming, tried opening my eyes wide to show some white, all that showed was baby blue. ( this is a signal that we're entering the twilight zone). Reached the path along the River, black, dark , focused on the right edge of the asphalt to stay centered, the bitter cold wind pushing me southward was now a cross wind pushing me off the path , not helping me get home, peddling my ass off, dark,cold, crosswind, what else could happen?
Just pass the Shell refinery I get a little woozy from the harmless (?) sulfuric steam, having trouble staying on the path, I'm blown around like a half full helium birthday balloon,inevitably I"m blown off the path down the right side of the levee through the grass , hit a pot hole, turns my wheel , I flip , roll off the bike to the bottom of the levee near the woods and loose consciousness for a few seconds, it seemed. Blink,blink,blink, my eyes start to focus, it's lightless, can't make out anything around me, I could feel something near me ( I have that sense), chubracabra?, Coyote?, gator?, rabbit ?, wolf ?, giant river squid?, no , none of these,
it was Truman Gandhi, yes, Truman was hanging at the river, saw my fall , figured the best he could do was whip out a guitar and play "Reconsider Me", thought the blues would cheer me up, he was in his traditional skinny legged blue jeans, blue plaid flannel shirt, black high top tennis shoes, a captain hat ,like "Captain and Tenille" guy wears, his freckles were in their glory, mumbling the song as only he can do . I immediately sat up, tuned my ear to the blues , started to feel better, no longer cold, out of the wind, no pain, only joy ,
relaxation , self empathy, and fearless as usual. Grooving on Truman really occupied my conscious, I hadn't noticed that sitting on my left ,lit by a faint distant light from a chemical plant, was a greenish scarab beetle, about 3 feet tall, wearing a green derby, smoking a chewed cigar, still holding the paper ring, hands covered in white gloves of only 3 fingers, bulging red eyes, legs were crossed ,he bopped his head to the song occasionally removing his stogy for a shot of clean air, wow, wasn't ready for that, naturally I glanced to the right to find a Himalayan Sherpa, yes, decked out in full climbing gear, spiked boots, heavy jacket, leather pants, tinted goggles, Sherpa hat, coils of nylon rope draped across his shoulders, thick gloves, back pack, ice pick, a bag of knots, dark skinned from those Everest climbs, the cold , high winds, blinding sun , making rich British climbers famous, a hard life, so I ask , gee what's up, I didn't see any issue with the beetle or Truman , but the Sherpa threw me, with his best Indian Mongolian accent he gently explains that eventually I'll need to climb back up the levee, he was there to help me up the 21 foot levee, ok . Truman finishes "Reconsider Me", then starts on a string of Ronnie Spector, "Ronettes", hits, I stop him, "hold on there Truman, before you finish {Don't Worry Baby}, stop and explain whats happening to me", Truman laid his guitar at his side, removed his captains hat, wiped his forehead with a blue bandanna he pulled from a back pocket, stared in to my blue eyes with his blue eyes beginning a soliloquy similar to that of Captain Quint in Jaws describing the sinking of the Indianapolis , he bends his head forward ," Gary", "about an hour ago a chemical plant had an accidental discharge of inorganic Mescaline, I'm afraid you were in the mist of the discharge, consequently your not here , we're not here, none of this is happening, but then since your you, it's your ride, your exhausted, dehydrated, high on Valium, cold, you'll fallen off your bike, hit your head, this is real as it gets, so relax , dig on the Ronettes, enjoy the mescaline", I thought for minute, decided it all made sense, Truman, The beetle, the Sherpa, and I sang "Be My Baby", Ronnie would have been proud.
As I sang the last line, "Be my baby now", with all intention, straight from my heart, someone grabbed my shoulders and shook me , I blinked my left eye,, turned to see who, I was laying down, Truman, the Beetle , the Sherpa, were all gone, looking up I find a brown shirted Levee Policeman hunched over me asking ,"are you alright ?, I saw you fall a minute ago, thought you may be hurt", shinning his flashlight up and down to inspect me for damage, "you look alright, can you get up? ", "yes, yes" I reply, I arose embarrassed, straightened my helmet, walked my bike up the levee, thanked the officer for stopping , started to ride, the wind hit me like a Russian Airliner, the cold ripped at my skin, needed to get home , only 3 miles away, once on Williams I was out of the dark, the north wind slowed me to 6 mile per hour, peddled down West Napoleon fast as my legs could go , needed to get out the cold, the wind , the insanity. Once home, I ate some protein food, drank some hot chocolate, took a hot bath, raised my core temperature to where it should be, slipped between my flannel sheets,laid there relaxing, thinking about what happened, if it happened, can't explain it , OK, I'll watch a little TV and fall asleep, good ride, 102 miles in adverse conditions, 7 am to 6 pm, need to find a way to Pontchatoula, may have to go to Baton Rouge and circle back, pushed the "ON" button on the remote, started scanning channels but the channel didn't change, only one show was on , the one where Truman Gandhi, a Scarab Beetle, a Sherpa , sing a melody of Ronette hits.
Gary Gauthier
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| Long desolate Hwy 51. |
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| Long desolate Hwy 51 |
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| Looks like a raccoon , to a trained chubracabra hunter, it's not. |
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| Yes. it's a Bigfoot sitting in the shade. |
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| Tires are in bloom |
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| tires growing everywhere. |
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| Old Manchac Bridge on 51. |
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| Looking to Lake Pontchartrain from Manchac Bridge. |
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| the State Pelican resting |
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| Draw Bridge at Manchac Pass. |
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| Slide where the 30 Foot alligator slides in to the canal. |
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| Dirt Road alongside Interstate 55 . |
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| Hwy 51 going home , still long and lonely |
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| miles of swampland south of Manchac |
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| Long drop to the bottom |
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| climbing the bridge and holding on at the top |
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| Looking South. |
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| alligator slide into the Canal |
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| Caught a Bigfoot sitting on a log in the woods.. |
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| Bike wants to go home. |
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| Alligator Slide |
