Convent Louisiana , or Up The River

Horace Greely said , " Go West Young Man", so I did, packed up for a 100 miler, better prepared than Bay St Louis trip, everyone loves my Gray with Pink Trim draw string back pack, its so apropos, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, same kind they use in the tour de France, bananas, oranges, raisins, cookies, cheese,
protein bars, Gatorade, if I was lost for a week I'd not be hungry. Sleep didn't come easy, felt like a 10 year old  boy the night before his first fishing trip, couldn't wait to get started, I knew there was adventure ahead , on the river I'm Huckleberry Finn, rafting the edge of the current, wondering whats around the next bend,
catching that catfish that'll make dinner, looking for a calm beach to spend the night. What Huck didn't see was the obnoxious pipes, hard hats, open structures, obnoxious odors,  grain dust, steam carrying off sulfur, thousands of holding tanks, the first 10 or 15 miles aren't filled with camera shots, or anything Huck may have seen,  once you past Marathon and DuPont it's nice till you meet Mr Aluminum plant, everything is tainted in rust, the plant, the road, buildings, everything .  Crossing the Spillway is a pleasant sojourn, its the only strip in Louisiana where the speed limit is 400 miles an hour, moccasins sit on the side of the road with a thumb out looking for a ride, the grasshoppers sit in the tall grass large as  kangaroos, and empty beer cans keep water off the road.. Montz, beautiful little community, the levee path stops here , so you ride River Road, every 3rd home is a shack surrounded by half million dollar mansions, Little Gypsy power plant, an old reliable landmark,  back on the Levee top at the old Bayou Steel plant. I'm feeling great by now, just got into a grove, drank a lot, ate a little, Mp3 player going in both ears, exploding in the middle, how about "Reconsider Baby" written by Lowell Folsom and covered by Joe Bonamassa , blues standard, its at that point your no longer a bicyclist, your a spirit , a paradox,  your body and bike meld as one , your mind , your soul are just there for the ride, no matter where, no matter how, no matter when, just for the ride..
Back to River Road, no more levee path, Laplace, Reserve, Garyville, the road is rough, plenty loose rocks, mud, personal relief stations are on the other side of the levee, still feeling great, not much wind for or against. The folks I pass wave back, some look at me like, "look at this nut",  but they wave, most vehicles give you a leeway, some pass so close they move the hairs on your leg, mostly cause they can't drive. Let see I've had a banana, raisins, cheese, a few cr jelly beans,  5 Gatorade, feeling great, happy, oh , its the "Happy Song" on the brain phones, gotta dance on the bike seat,,,I plan to turn around at 50 miles, at 45 miles I find the place I'm gonna eat lunch, Manresa Catholic Retreat,  beautiful grounds, buildings, large front yard, loungers spread around, kinda looked like a mental institution, across the road were 2 oak lined walks, one very old, big trees, a statue at the end, the other, younger trees, with a crucifix at the end , both securely chained off, less a lesser cafeteria catholic like me come by and try to get closer than I can afford.
I stopped to take a few pictures , a man comes out the gate, waving his hands for me to stop,, it won't be the first time someone tried to stop me taking pictures , it don't work but they try, I turn off Mp3, he was a nice looking man, I looked at his hands right away, smooth,  wandering what he wants, he's on River Road with me and begins to tell me the history of Manresa, he comes here every year, a silent retreat for Catholic men, I tell him I'm a Catholic and I know about Manresa, yet he continues, so I say I gotta go , yet he talks, as I'm riding off, he talks, in my rear view mirror he's still talking, then it dawned on me , silent retreat , he had to talk to someone, even a bicyclist on River Road, for no other reason than to talk, so why do you go to a silent retreat if you can't shut up. For a minute I thought maybe he had OCD, but that wasn't possible , he showed me a tattoo of Lucille Ball's face on his back.. I'm on a silent retreat too, that's why I ride alone, not with 50 other riders, I want to be alone. I continue on to the 50 mile mark, return to Manresa, make sure the talker is inside and park my ass under a giant oak tree, outside the chains, relax and eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, beautiful surroundings, 50 miles from home, relaxed, high as a kite, it doesn't get better for me.
Coming home, tailwind, averaging 18 miles per hour, weather still clear and beautiful, I knew my endorphins were running rampant when I look to my left to see I'm being shadowed  by a 1952 Chevy Belair , yellow, looked painted with a brush, inside sitting on the bedspread seat cover , behind the steering wheel was Jude Glenn in his Farah Slacks, a pressed tailored collared dress shirt, Penny's penny loafers,  attached to his bottom lip was a Kool cigarette, in the passenger seat was non other than Truman Gandhi in his costume, tight legged jeans, black Keds tennis shoes, low tops, a red plaid collared shirt, and that Captains Hat he likes so much , the AM radio was blasting ,, "Try a Little Tenderness" sung by Otis Redding from his Live album, "Otis Redding Live in Europe", they didn't stop just passed by slowly, Truman half sticks his head out the window asking me , "Where you going", I reply, "home", "why are your two here on my ride, shouldn't you be in 1964, " , Truman gives me a cocky "cause you keep bringing  us back " .  ..What next I wondered,,,????? Made it back to the top of the levee, riding was smoother and safer, no cars, just trucks from the refineries, chemical plants and grain elevators. I'm flying , 18 miles an hour, my long blonde hair flapping behind me, painless, legs pumped up , working like pistons on a freight train, and yes my brain traveling 600 miles an hour, thoughts popping in and out in milliseconds, no subject untouched, I gaze across the river regularly, just for the view change, it changed, I see 3 Pyramids like those in Egypt, that didn't scare me , what scared me was they had ARAMCO signs on the sides.  Back to the East Bank, back down to River road, MP3 support equipment playing "Soul Sacrifice" , Santana, the Woodstock version, increases my tempo, temperature,  blood pressure, endorphins, revolutions, speed, everything moves faster, with intent,  Carlos claims that the Mescaline he took made him think his guitar was a snake trying to bite him, ok Carlos, it looked that way, but sounded great.  Thank God for inventing shatter resistant sunglasses, a beetle just hit my left eye, spun my head around, almost knocked me down, exploded on my lens, his yellow insides dripping down my face, that bug was big, I pulled into a nearby gas station, grabbed the windshield washer  tool , cleaned my glasses , rinsed off my face.. yuck.....Back on the Levee, I started to count the chubracabra egg nest, mud mounds with the eggs packed in side, sort of like the egg cases in the "Alien",
going to be a big crop this year...I'll buy some extra tags, still trying to get that "Chubracabra Hunter" reality show, no takers yet...Crossed the spillway again, empty, it's getting late, tackled the maze of pipes, tanks, elevators, that are NORCO, New Orleans Refining Company, sulfur laden steam filled the air, I took a big deep breath, isn't sulfur healthy, they use it on wounds on the battlefield, they also use lead bullets to get your attention , that isn't healthy, lead is poisonous, forget about the impact.. Legs still pumping like champions,
plenty energy,  food is gone as I approach Kenner, still have 3 Gatorades, in an emergency I can scrape a bottle off my tongue, through Kenner to Metairie made it to the house, 9 hours, it's between 3:30 and 4:00 pm, doesn't really matter, I'm home, did 100 miles, feel good, did my 50 sit ups, went out to eat, relaxed for almost 15 minutes, then  on the computer,,,, Some life,,,, Next day "Sunday" did another 35. for good measure... Next trip , ??? want to go to Waveland, about 100 miles,,, swim in the gulf , catch a shark, bring him home on my handle bars, now that's slaying the dragon and returning to the village a hero.......

Night before packing..

Post office in Convent.

Me in front of Manresa

Me ,peanut butter and Jelly in front of Manresa

Me, more peanut butter and jelly in front of Manresa

Me in front of a line of Oaks at Manresa

Me Again

Future bike path in St James.

future bike path

Huge Church and Complex, has 3 names. 

Where does this bridge go ?

Old tractor in Gramercy...

Gramercy

Where does this Bridge Go?

Garyville, 

100.73 miles

Bed of flowers on swamp...

Flowers.

8 hrs 58 minutes.

Sunday saw this ship at the Lakefront, its only 25 feet long.

Did I drink enough Gatorade, matches my kerchief.

At the spillway Airfield

Big ship in the Lake....

Bay St Louis, ,, long day...

Bay St Louis,,,,,,,,
6:00 am.. I stand on my cold cement driveway facing the sacred east awaiting the sun's birth to shed upon me its promise of hope, it's promise of life, it;s promise of fulfillment.  Clasping my hands, inter-winding my fingers as if  preparing for a communion of some kind, I bow my head in reverence, hoping this day will be communal , nature and I , the road and I, fear and reverence and I . . The time has come..made it to Covington from both sides of the lake, far north, far west, now we attack the east. My third attempt to go further than 100 miles in one day. Started preparing mentally Monday, loading up protein, calories, sit ups, committing to myself , Bay St Louis sounds like a good ride, 60 miles away, cyclist ride hwy 90 regularly,scenery is great, weather predictions on my side, just got bike out the shop, it's ready, everything in my favor, Friday night, laid all my gear on the kitchen table, like a Sherpa preparing for an attempt on Mount  Everest, ,  tool bag,  clinch sack, phone charged up , 2- mp3 players charged up,  loaded with 1500 songs, , first aid kit, cash, ID, medical card, kerchief for my neck, shorts, colorful jersey, short socks, shoes, pumped up tires to 80 psi, oiled chain, checked brakes , charged, then loaded front and rear lighting , gathered food stuffs,  protein bars, oranges, banana, jelly beans, trail mix, raisins, 12 Gatorade's, some orange some blue, ate a protein bar, drank protein. ate cookies. 6:30am, time to attack, took West Napoleon to Canal then Canal to Broad,I wanted to travel the old school route, the one we used  before 1-10, Broad St  to Chef Highway, all cool, still early, Danzinger bridge, stopped to admire the ominous Industrial Canal, from atop, Seabrook bridge is clearly blocking the way to Lake Pontchartrain, Mississippi , ship channel all visible, onward to beautiful Gentilly Woods, pass the exit to the Old Gentilly Highway, not much stirring. As I approach the edge of the city I find Lake Catherine on my right and Lake Pontchartrain on my left, its always interesting to read the name of the camps, reflective of the personalities of the owners , mostly Yats. My legs are kicking ass, I have a tail wind, scurried up the new Rigolets Pass Bridge, that's pronounced "Rigolees" , that would make a Chevrolet a "Chevrolee" ,atop I stop , suddenly I'm in the crows nest of a tall ship creaking,swaying , fantastic view,  Fort Pike completely visible, the wind ruffles my hair, , I can see Lake Borgne ,Lake Pontchartrain, Gulf of Mexico, Slidell, New Orleans , scary what doesn't lay between us and the Gulf of Mexico, can't understand what made an explorer walk miles in waist deep muck looking for a place to live. Rolled to the bottom at 30 miles an hour, hang on , that's fast for me and my bike. to cross the state line your must first run the gauntlet of Pearl Rivers, East Pearl , West Pearl, several Pearl tributaries, narrow bridges, fast rivers, muddy waters, plenty fishermen... I cross several cycle teams on the opposite side, 30 to 50 in each group, I see something ahead that's hard to make sense of , I see a white flag behind a bicycle, a little trailer behind it, a man in a mixed military fatigue outfit, the bike, its a morphed beach bike, big tires, gear packed everywhere, a backpack on the man 2 ft taller than he, I slow down to see whats up , he's Michael Cliff, of Veterans for Peace, his white flag has a Dove of Peace on it , so I have to talk to him.
Mike says he doing a Trans National tour to raise donations and awareness  to assist the plight of  homeless Veterans, help them reintegrate into our communities, I explain to Mike , my American Legion does the same thing,  we've plenty common ground.  Mike started his ride in San Diego, Ca.  went across the  Mid West and Texas down to New Orleans. We spent about 3 miles together, Mike had a big Axe on his bike , said he was an arborist, he sometimes builds a stand in a tree top to spend the night, pulls his bike up with some climbing rope attached to his frame,, I thought, "what a great idea"  if you have to spent the night in the "Bayou Savage Reserve" and don't want to be eaten by Pigs, Snakes or Chubracabras, a tree top is the only safe place..I left Mike, crossed into Mississippi, as I neared that Famous "Silver Slipper" sign, my back tire began to knock, knock, knock, knock, I knew what the knock knock was, I just dreaded it, yep it was a roofing nail straight up in my back tire, pulling over to an extended shoulder in front of an old abandoned  building from Pre I-10 era , like so many times before I dismantled the bike, pulled out my tools, a tube, replaced it , put it all back together in about 15 minutes, wasn't in a hurry, back on the road.. .. If you ride a bicycle over 1 mile, you need to know how to maintain and repair in emergencies, changing a tube on the side of the road is essential, it's a definite event ,it's just a matter of when and where., no one escapes flat tires, or in the Tour de  France they call them punctures. Back on the road, another group of 50 or so riders on the other side of the highway..Not my class, I couldn't begin to keep up with them, all young skinny, fast, healthy, riders on nice expensive fast cycles...I just wave.Like a good tourist I had to stop at the "Welcome to Mississippi " sign and take my picture, next stop Bay St Louis, seeing many signs saying Bay St Louis up ahead , makes me pedal faster. Just had my second protein bar, banana's been gone, 5 Gatorade's gone,  not thirsty but am hungry, found and used  personal relief station , few and far apart, none are marked, who cares, gotta go gotta go . There it is , the sign I was looking for ,the one that says Welcome to Bay St Louis,  61 miles, no problem . stopped , took at picture at the Post Office, ate some more, cr jelly beans, an orange. Toured the town, didn't take long, turned around, put Mr Sun on my neck and made for the west, ass is starting to hurt, calves cramping a little but generally ready.. Didn't take long to get to the Pearl Rivers, crossed them , got back into Louisiana, the side of the road seemed littered with swollen dead sows, little piglets running around everywhere, I'm stopped , on the right side of the road chained to a tree is a completely white bike cluttered with flowers, teddy bears, dolls, beads, religious artifacts, then it hit me , it's a memorial for the man that was killed riding where I'm riding right now, he was with a group, a shame,  standing there doing my part in remembrance and mourning, it was clear what happened, vehicles come around the turn here at 273 miles an hour, unchecked, now, understand this about driving, driving a car is a skill , like playing a video game, shooting pool, driving a nail, combing your hair, playing an instrument  some can , some can't, yet everyone gets a license,  so you don't have to know how to drive a car to go 273 miles an hour , you just need to past the 10 question test with pictures ,a set of keys., and never again will anyone test your skill, even when your 83, have blinding cataracts, reaction time of a sloth, and usually press the gas instead of the brake and when the car goes faster you press harder cause you think your foots on the brake. ,  even after you drive through the front of that fast food restaurant you still will be allowed to drive the next day...What a great country...
Back to Highway 90. The miles keep adding up, ass hurting , keep drinking Gatorade but notice some
potassium shortage on my legs, food is getting low.I note turkey buzzards flying lower and lower around me, they can sense my weakness.  Watching the sun sink slowly in front of me, I have light with me , just thought I could get home before dark, I pick up the pace, when I hit just under 100 miles a side stitch I had turned into a liver ache, drinking plenty fluid, short of food though, I decide , maybe incorrectly, that my blood stream is out of calories, "hit the wall", so my liver is working its ass off to convert fat to calories, that takes  a lot of oxygen, so does riding a bike 100 miles , consequently  my liver is begging for mercy, crossing the Danzinger bridge I start riding one to  three miles then walking a mile and letting oxygen catch up, worked but found my self walking in an area of town not good for walking at night, I didn't care, down Gentilly blvd in time to meet the 200,000 jammers coming out of the Jazz Fest. off the bike , too many people and cars to ride through in the dark, it was good, relieved my liver, met some interesting people ,nearing Canal St I'm over 122 miles,  I jump back on the bike, as soon as I try to pedal with my right leg it felt like someone grabbed the muscles inside of my right leg , twisting,squeezing, beating , I jumped off immediately , found a tree and started stretching, walked a little, tried to jump back on the bike , a repeat, cramped, ouch! , found another tree , stretched , walked, did some bending , rubbing, tried a third time , ok , back to peddling, cleared the traffic and people , got to Jefferson Davis and Canal St.  made the call. Marie come get me ... 123.7 miles was enough for today, it was 8:30 pm., need nourishment, I was happy, I accomplished something, next time I'll be better prepared , have an easier time .  After I do this again comes," around the Lake,", sounds like a lot but don't see me getting an opportunity to cross the country soon, eventually though..Remember the words of Lance Armstrong, "endurance athletics are running from something." ....I have a long run..........must find the key maker......My sense of accomplishment is eclipsed only by the high that comes with endurance and struggle. I can never look at life the same,  but who would want to, adventures like these change the inner core of self esteem, confidence,, and insight.....I'm a better man.....

gary gauthier.

note" Never crossed Mike coming back???? Must have found a good tree...

Ready to GoGoGo,,,

Mike Cliff the Veterans for Peace Man,.

So Long Mike Cliff,

 Rusty Bridge over a Pass.

Lake Pint emptying into Lake Borgne

Someone need to paint .

Can't bring enough Gatorade...Its everywhere.

Lake Catherine

Lake Catherine

Lake Catherine

A car wrecked, burned then stripped .

Lake Pontchatrain

Lake Pontchatrain

Big, Big Camp...

Mansion Camps

Surrounded by Water.

Climbing Rigolets bridge.

Fort Pike from atop the Rigolets Bridge.

Lake Borgne the the Gulf From atop the Rogolets Bridge.

Straight Down.

Far as you can see.

Fort Pike

Rogolets Bridge.

Personal Relief Station

One of the Pearl Rivers

Pearl River

Pearl River

Pearl River

Pearl River

Go East.....

Welcome to Mississippi, I rode to another state...

That nail don't belong there...

Fixing a flat....changing a tube...

There's the Culprit

Ready to ride again .

Silver Slipper Sign , , Big...

I'm welcomed to bay St Louis.

Found this fellow gasping for air, asked if I could help, no, he says, they got me . 

Cough,cough. cough,

Memorial Bike for Slain Rider...

Hwy 90 raceway....

Hwy 90 raceway...and Memorial

Electric Fences to keep the hogs off the road.

Electric fences to keep the Harley Hogs on the road.

Electric Fence

Yes it says, 123.75miles , my 3rd over a hundred ride, and my longest yet,....