Around the Lake ?? Naugh !

Ruddock boat launch at night.

Hwy 51 just before dark

another bike memorial this one on  Hwy 22

Salt Bayou

Under bridge at Salt Bayou

Salt Bayou Bridge.

Top of Rigolets bridge

Top of Rigolets Bridge

Me on Rigolets bridge

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Me again on Rigolets Bridge.

Tuesday morning, date unknown, knowing dates imply mortality, I avoid them at all cost, 6:00 am,  decided, an opportunity to tackle a trek around Lake Pontchartrain,  winter's closing in, days are shorter, weathers is great, I'm on vacation, (gives me time to recover), mostly, I had a vision Monday night , an apparition of Truman Gandhi whispered ,"go for it now", the stars were lined up properly, my horoscope favored a trip, and mostly listening to "Bobby Blue Bland" sing ,"This time I'm gone for good", thought I heard him say , "Go Gary", nothing else mattered in this life, the force was with me .  Dressed, aired tires, lubed chain, threw 10 Gatorade's on the crossbar of my Trek, opened my backsack, 4 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies, protein concentrate, bananas, orange, piece of cheese,  4 packs of trail mix, 6 boxes of raisins,  first aid kit, poncho, leggings, arm warmers, windbreaker, dry socks, spare power supply for phone, extra Mp3 player, sunscreen, body lotion, Aspercreme, wet ones, a kerchief around my neck, riding gloves, and I'm off. I'd already went to Covington around the east side of the lake and separately around the west side, each was about 80 miles, since, I've found a few short cuts, it's prudent to start any saga facing the Rising Sun, east it was, not following the lake path saved some time and distance,took West Napoleon to Bonnabel, to Vets, Tuesday morning traffic was not on my list of obstacles, no problem, I'm a street fighter, at Canal Blvd I slipped stealthy into neighborhoods , working toward Gentilly Blvd, then the ride starts. Clouds protected me from the morning sun, cool weather helped keep me hydrated, my imaginary Sherpa guided me directionally, my legs were starting to wake up, the first song to play on Mp3 was, "Nickelback" , "If today was your last day", how ironic I thought, but then isn't that my life , "irony". Stopping on the Danzinger bridge , surveying the canal, not much going on , then realized I could get shot, hurriedly rode down , passing used tire outlets, car washes, motels from Roger Corman movies,      countless Massage signs, restaurants offering Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Indian, Cajun, and New Jersey cuisine, all in the same kitchen. How they do it, amazing , Cajun seasoned spicy duck larb, curry covered Mandarin Duck with a side Pork Roll, for dessert Salt Water Taffy.  Getting out of the city I pick up a little speed, legs are getting up to speed, feeling good, pass through Vietnam West,  then empty manufacturing plants, did smell coffee roasting, I don't drink coffee, but beans roasting make me want to .My legs have found their groove, their on their own, they are no longer part of my body, they act on their own, they propel me, nothing more or less, no pain, no thought, perfect rhythm, they are highly trained extremities, it's what I expect of them each ride, they deliver.  I should name them?  Gentilly Blvd becomes Gentilly Road becomes Chef Menteur Highway , becomes Hwy 90, you know the one , Jane Mansfield died there, a bicyclist died there, another very injured, a white bike chained to a tree shows the spot, its a crowded highway , your never alone, dead pigs, dead raccoons, dead opossums, dead skunks, dead snakes, dead armadillo's, bodies dumped out of big black sedans, and an occasional Chubracabra. Big Foot never appears on Hwy 90, it's too dangerous. I'm listening to "Reconsider Baby", written and originally recorded by Lowell Folsom, my version by Joe Bonamassa, followed by Jeff Healy's version of "As the Years Go Passing By", original to Albert King. Next is the Chef Pass Bridge over one of two waterways connecting Lake Pontchartrain to Lake Borgne , metal grid, rusty, dilapidated, no room to squeeze a bike, a big truck, or 2 cars, have to pick my time to cross, snuck across without notice, leads me to the strip of land pretending to exist between Chef Pass and the Rigolets pass, one camp after another ,  all 16 to 20 feet off the pretense of ground, some worth millions, others worth 10 bucks,  most are cleared off during a hurricane, the camp people have unique names and signs for their camps, they've found their Nirvana at the waters edge, 20 feet in the air,  " the hardheads", "the busy bees",  "finally ours", "fish and beer",  "our dream",  beautiful signs, no addresses though, the strip is a pretty ride, good road, friendly people, the best is the new "Rigolets Pass Bridge" , Fort Pike , or whats left of  it, is on Rigolets Pass, (pronounced, "rigolese") from the top of the bridge you can see Mexico, Florida, Texas, Yucatan Peninsula, I traditionally stop on top, take a photo of me, eat a PBJ,  look around at the world, wonder how pirates got around without this bridge as a point of view. My ears pick up the boost of "Led Zeppelin", doing,  "Since I've been Loving You", instantly adds a bop to your head, coasting down the bridge at 350 miles an hour I turn left (first northward movement) on Hwy 433, heading to Slidell, but first we cross Salt Bayou, it's importance is at 8, or 9 or 10  years old, I can't be sure,  don't do time remember, my dad took us fishing  there, we'd catch drum, croakers, occasional speckle trout, under the shady bridge, drinking beer, smelling the salty air, hearing the constant putter of little waves upon the rocks, it's still there, but while I was gone someone built several  housing subdivisions. Next song, "Sunrise", by Uriah Heep, how apropos . It's about mid morning , had 4 Gatorade's 1 PBJ, some cookies, raisins, 2 bananas, I'm stoked. Slidell,  Hwy 433 ends, we pick up Hwy 190, somehow,,don't remember, it's there though, Hwy 190 connects to Hwy 22 in Mandeville  crossing the north shore southernmost of any other, navigable road.   The edge of  Lacombe holds another white bike memorial. Nestled on beautiful Bayou Lacombe, we cruise through the city limits  in about 5 minutes, leaving Lacombe I get into a fight and lost, a giant wasp, must have been a notorious South American giant black bike biter wasp, hit me in the chest, thought he'd knock me back to a flip, I managed to keep my balance, he was a little dazed, fell to my thigh, awoke pissed ,stung me twice, then took off, 30 seconds later I couldn't find enough curse words to express the burn in my thigh, I kept peddling, can't stop for that,  get stung all the time, nothing like this rascal, he had to weight about 5 pounds, and was 3 feet long, I think , had a snarl on his face as he flew off, I heard him laughing, decided I needed to do something about this, I stop at the next convenience store, buy 2 mounds candy bars and some chocolate chip cookies, that ought to  fix it, it did.  Lacombe to Mandeville, woodlands, one subdivision after another, fast as they can build them, all sold, it's a flight to escape hurricanes, I'll have to go to they're house when we're threatened since I live in a flood prone area. We have pumps to pump out flood water but no one turns them on, although there's a land rover on Mars driving itself around , taking pictures and soil samples,sending them back to us, 35 million miles away, maybe it can turn them on. For some reason NASA technology spills into the commercial arena but fails to reach municipalities. Cross many beautiful rivers on the naughtshore, in Mandeville we transfer to Hwy 22, narrow, trafficy, older road, it's here I feel that familiar sloppiness in my rear tire, I verify  looking down , yes I have a flat tire, no problem I 'm prepared, the road shoulder was graveled, I found the best spot I could , stopped , got out tools, tube, removed  wheel, had trouble with derailleur, replace tube, a man in a hand painted Mitsubishi pulled up and asked if I was all right, I said, "thanks for stopping" , "I'm fine, just have a flat tire", "ok", he replies, I expect him to drive off, no he just sits there on the side of the road, then I hear "do you need any tools?", "no, I have all I need " , "thanks for asking", I reply, "ok", yet he sits there, I'm having a hard time with my twisted derailleur, solve my bike problem , leave the Mitsubishi there, head down the road. Another PBJ, greasy fingers and all, down to 4 Gatorade's, few cookies, protein shot, stop in beautiful Bedeco, not really a town just a place loaded with subdivisions because of it proximity to Hwy I 55, stopping at the local convenience store, I get 2 waters should I need them, more cookies, more mounds, I ask the clerk lady, how far is Pontchatoula from here, in that traditional Bedeco linguistic , "why honey it's about 5 miles", "where you coming from? ", "Metairie" , I reply, " trying to ride around the Lake", she says "you gonna spend the night in Pontchatoula?","no"," I'm a gonna turn left in Pontchatoula", her eyes widened , "oh my". Onward, Semisonic singing , "Closing Time", its getting late, having my first thoughts of plan B,  get to Pontchatoula, make my left, my thigh has a knot on top of it, red and swelling, no problem , I'll eat some cookies, yeah, more cookies solves everything. Pontchatoula is a pretty little town, I had to see it all to get to Highway 51 south. Don't ask me how I swam the canal with bike to get  to Hwy 51 south, do what you have to do , walked 2 miles down a gravel road,  finally on Hwy 51 south. I'm racing the sun now, 50 miles to go, I feel good, legs are strong, it's dusk, I stop , turn on my powerful headlight, my flashing taillight, light up the flasher on my left calf, I'm pretty visible, Mp3 playing "Low Spark of High- Heeled Boys", by Traffic,  Steve Windwood,, Dave Mason,still haven't figured all that song, most of it, but not all of it, "but today you just read that the man  was shot dead by a gun that didn't make any noise but it wasn't the bullet that laid him to rest , was the low spark of high- heeled-boys", before long, George Jurak and I will dissect this song like we did so many others . Suddenly its dark, Hwy 51 south is a old highway, the interstate 55 was built 100 yards from it ,  little traffic, no lights,   dead animals everywhere, abandoned cars, giant crickets, mountain lions, walking fish, lost penguins, alligators, an occasional camel, and bigfoots everywhere, I realize now at 95 miles that maybe I'm out of calories, my endorphins are going crazy, serotonin is snapping back and forth from one brain cell to another and missing sometimes, I stop for a "papa romeo", military talk for personal relief, turning off my headlight I notice it's not dark, I cant see my glasses on my face, it's black, I start riding again, uncomfortable about debris on the shoulder, trucks zooming by at 170 miles an hour, I cross the Manchac Bridge,usually a sight seeing opportunity,  can't see a thing.  I decide to come back and fight another day, I make the call I hate to make, Marie come get me, meet me at the Ruddock boat launch, the only lit place on the entire highway. I'm 15 miles to get there, I smell home so I'm moving it , feel good, legs good, except the swollen thigh,  In those darkened 15 miles, pumping hard and fast, I knew I had a severe case of endurance high, Superman flew over me guiding me home, a 3 foot black beetle smoking a cigar butt, wearing a tattered derby and a plaid vest was hitchhiking, Mp3 player was playing "Twilight Zone" , by Golden Earring,  glowing eyes stared at me from the woods, finally I made it to the Ruddock Launch, lights, whew!,  Marie was on the way, I placed my bike on the shoulder with the light flashing so she'd see where I stopped,  it attracted a St John Policeman. He stopped to see if I was ok, I explained why I was on a desolate highway at night, very nice young man, he stayed with me till Marie got there, we had a nice talk. Loaded up the bike, Marie drove us home ,  did 110 miles still had about 40 to go, got home at 6:30, 12 hour day. NEXT time, in the spring when the days are longer, I'll start earlier , on the west side, and Marie can pick me up in New Orleans ? I live to fight another day and I will, not as Procol  Harum sings,  in "Conquistador" ,"though you came with sword held high you did not conquer only die , and though I hoped for something to find, I could see no maze to unwind.".  An aging Conquistador, I am, 64 they tell me, I don't keep track, leads to mortality.

  11-2014