NEARLY NAKED AND NOT EVEN AFRAID...JUNE 2016
The goal was to Circumnavigate Lake Pontchartrain, "accomplished", the goal was to seek sanity, "not accomplished", the goal was to root out truth, happiness, a reasonable amount of self respect, "ummm"," could have, might have, don't matter", I was enriched in mania, drenched in endorphin's, brought to life's edge, brink of death, bottomless fall into pains vortex relishing pleasure relishing pain relishing pleasure relishing pain.
7 am , 12 Gatorade's, 6 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, 4 protein bars, 3 bananas, grapes, 4 packs of fig newtons, 2 pieces of cheese, some Chip Ahoy Chocolate Chip Cookies , 2 yogurts, weather was great , forecast was great, legs were great, mind was great (well best possible). Started at Airline to Laplace, then world famous "Old Hwy 51" to the new Hwy 51, new Highway 51 is well traveled by Cyclist, Mafia body dumpers, fishermen, speeders , escapee's , Alligators, and the occasional faded Green 54 Chevy Apache pick up carrying 4 men in the front 12 in the bed, all in kinda white T shirts, blue jeans, flip flops, black mustaches, black hair , looking around like they're in Beverly Hills, unable to pluralize with an "S". .. First song on the MP 3 player , appropriate of course, "Hellbound Train" , by "Savoy Brown", followed by "Until it Sleeps ". Metallica , then smooth out with " Sorrento" by "Xavier Cogat". The order of these songs are important to the psyche , no need for sanity on a long ride, the less sanity the smoother the ride..Head forward, pedal in circles, consistent, watch for road debris, check rear view mirror for potential killers, enjoy the music, send your conscience to that aluminum chair on your helmet top to gaze around , smell the fresh air, and laugh at you taking your mind for a ride within itself. So far we've met 2 people on the ride, I'm sure there's more, be patient. (note: have no clue who the 2 people are, just felt like the right thing to say right there). Next song , " Twilight Zone" by Golden Earring", wow, what a motivator, follow that by "Radar Love", double shot of Netherlands Music. The road is long, empty, just road kill, just a bridge, we arrive at the World Famous "Manchac Pass" connecting Lake Meaurapas with Lake Pontchartrain, the bridge is old but sturdy, very high, if you stop on the top you can see for hundreds of miles because Louisiana is flat, we're closing in on 50 miles , have had no human contact to this point , another reason I like this highway.. 1 peanut Butter and Jelly gone, 3 Gatorade's gone, 1 banana , gone.. In Manchac "the city", home of Mendendorffs Seafood Restaurant , both of them, NO! , I didn't have lunch there I went to the municipal picnic area , rested, cooled off, checked the weather, no!, not on cell phone, I looked at the sky, felt for rain, stuck up a wet finger for wind direction, everything is cool. Next song , "Nickelback", "If Today was Your Last Day ", followed by "Sunrise ", "Uriah Heap", as I pass through downtown Manchac, next stop, Pontchatoula . Made it to the Pontchatoula "Welcome Sign", stopped and took some selfies like I was at the entrance to Disney World.. Close but no Cigar... Into beautiful Pontchatoula, strawberry festival was over last month, Alligator still there, paused under an Oak on Main street, cooled down ate a Yogurt, I just squeeze em out the cup, I started, I thought, to go through downtown then realized I was out of town.. Ok hwy 22 , not much of a shoulder, all bridges over creeks , rivers, ditches, 2 vehicles can barley fit, on a bicycle I have to watch traffic, time it till there's an opening , race across, then breathe a sigh of relief. Have a banana, more gatorade, more gatorade, more gatorade, next song .. Counting Crows " December", followed by "Crystal Blue Persuasion", Tommy James and the Shondells, a classic favorite of mine, on to Bedico Creek, not sure whats happening there, a lot of pasture land sold for homes, a lot of homes built, but it seems to have lost its luster, more hwy 22, Madisonville on historic Tchefuncte River, I stop at the draw bridge, the focal point of bars, restaurants, launches, as I watch assorted boats go by I'm amazed with a 16 foot speed hull, red, overloaded with 16 men, all in white t shirts, blue jeans, black flip flops, black mustaches, looking like they're in Beverly Hills, unable to pluralize with "S", then a barge meanders by , loud speakers blaring, " vote Christopher Walken for President, we need more cow bells", followed by "Country Joe (air force veteran) and the Fish" , " Fixin to Die Rag",, how apropos, meanwhile on my Mp3 it's "Jimi Hendrix" ( army airborne) singing and playing "Isabella", my favorite line is " I should be holding you instead of this machine gun", must be a Vietnam War Era song, I'm not sure. Back to reality , I set on "Space Lord " by Monster Magnet", out of Bedico and on to Covington. The end of the Tammy Trace is at Covington City Hall, a needle in a haystack , it starts on a sidewalk, goes behind a muffler shop on Boston St. then across a river then becomes a path, trace is long , narrow, lonely , not scenic, with intersections ripe for death, caution here, quickly I'm scooting , another peanut butter and jelly, more gatorade, Led Zeppelin, " Ever Since I've been Loving you", Joe Bonamasa "Sloe Gin", I have some great music. Arriving at Fountainbleu Park in late afternoon, actual time means nothing, I check in, I'm assigned plot 44 in the primitive area, ready for some food, drink , rest, think about tomorrows ride, the sun hangs at 30 degrees, the grass is green , the breeze is salty, two pine trees were placed there just for me, (I actually think that way) , I cable lock my bike to one , run my shock cord between the two, string up my reflective tube tent, sit on sore ass , start to pull out my amenities for the night, no teeth brushing, no showering, no hair combing,(haha ), no changing clothes, this is "almost naked and not even afraid". before dark I like to read a chapter in one of my favorite classic books, "Trout Fishing in America", by "Richard Brautigan", written in 61 published in 67, surrealistic prose tying the "Beat Generation " Kerouac, Ginsberg , Burroughs, " to the "Hippie Culture". Munching on fig bars , protein bar, grapes, sunset on Lake Pontchartrain had to have been learned in the Pacific, majestic, alluring, colorful , cultured, it adds weight to my falling eyelids, last song, "Reconsider Baby" Joe Bonamassa version, written by Lowell Fulsom, great settling down music . Crawling onto the tube, true almost naked ,,not nearly afraid style, backpack for a headrest, I'm ready to settle in and recoup, I did .. 3 am , I'm awakened by loud grunting, hep,hep,hep, noises, my expensive tube tent has no ends, I just have to open my eyes to see what's the racket. Lo and behold , before me are 5 men, dark fedora hats, baggy cuffed trousers, white t shirts, suspenders, throwing each other to each other in the light of a campfire of 5 foot logs, their tent was a 2000 square foot canvas, I'm sure it had families, kitchen, bedrooms, and a storage room, they spot me," not to worry", " we Bulgarian acrobats", "we practice night, travel day", "you want tickets next show", I reply ," no , me want sleep", now I'm talk like dem, "do what you want, just cut down on the , hep, hep, hep's," , "ok Joe"," Whatever's you wants". I maybe sleep another hour , a subtle engine noise, it's a white 72 Cadillac Fleetwood Convertible, 12 men stacked up inside, all in kinda white t shirts, blue jeans, black mustaches, black flip flops, black hair , unable to pluralize with a "S", looking like they're in Beverly Hills, slowly idles by the campfire light , into the darkness. I'm not dissuaded , nor confused, not intimated, nor amused. Another hour passes, here it comes, a trailer towed in during the night, pink, circa 50's, white trim, piercing out the open window comes a shrieking protest, "but Ricky, Ethel has one ", then "Lucy, no, Lucy, no," I'm not Fred Mertz", the voices grow louder, Ricky and Lucy are walking around the area, my only inquisitive exclamation can be," ok , I give up , whats this story ?", 'Ricky replies in his best Cuban accent " We are actors playing in a I love Lucy Stage play, we rehearsing our lines, " Lucy chimes in , " Yea, we rehearsing our lines", again I can only reply, " ok , ok, but can you limit the volume on the ,Lucy, calls", Ricky replies , "ok Joe", scratching my head I lay it back down after checking my shirt for a "Joe ", name tag, I try to salvage the night, Ricky creeps up to my tube, "Hey Joe , want some tickets to our next show?," "no thanks", I sleepily retort. Something felt warm on my shoulders, It's Mr. sunshine, its morning, Sunday morning, time to cook breakfast, I reach in my backpack for a peanut butter and jelly omelet, I mean sandwich. Installed my blue riding shoes, (tennis shoes), made it to the Latrine, made it out the Latrine, returned to my campsite to carefully pack up my reflective tube tent, looked down at the final product, tossed it in the garbage can, unlocked my steed, ate a fig bar, which was actually a blueberry bar, whole wheat, may even be nutritious, attached my back pack to my back like preparing a mule to cross the Rockies, other campers were not stirring yet , walked to the gate , jumped on cycle caught the trace right outside the park. First song today, "Round Here", by "Counting Crows", reaching the Bayou Lacombe, draw bridge observation deck, beautiful area, I hung out a while , took some pictures, spotted a freshwater mermaid, she had a catfish hanging out the side of her mouth, you can't be surprised that I believe in Mermaids, stranded hair, missing teeth, skull face, dark eyes, thin lips, scarred arms and hands, lower body a shimmering scaly, silvery, golden colored, narrowing to the bottom into a fish like tail, not beautiful as folk lure portrayals, more of a practical , survivalist, they like to swim on their backs, laugh at you , dive down, and will take your picture with a camera they stole from me last year. They hang in families, you have to be patient , quiet, nonchalant and you'll see them, if you believe or start your day with a Valium.. Next song, "Jerry and the Pacemakers" , "Don't let the sun catch you crying", they were recorded by George Martin and rivaled the Beatles in the Merseybeat genre. More trace, more trace, more trace, crossed a few people on foot , not many bike riders, St Tammany Trace has a fifteen mile an hour speed limit on bicyclist, adds to the boredom , lack of scenery change and overall isolation. I reach the head of the Trace, beautiful building and parking lot, bathroom. picnic table, nice place to sit down and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. On the wall, next to a picture of a red tractor pulling a green wagon with 14 young men standing in it, all in kinda white t-shirts, blue jeans, black flip flops, black hair and mustaches, looking like they're in Beverly Hills, with the inability to pluralize with an "S", is a black and white map helping me navigate the Slidell Metropolis and get to highway 433 along Salt Bayou then to Hwy 90... Through Slidell was easy, hwy 433 was tricky, pickup trucks pulling boats wider than the lane at 90 miles an hour almost made me part of Salt Bayou. A few miles prior to Hwy 90 I find the Salt Bayou Bridge, where as a young man, my dad and his friend would bring me with them to sit under this bridge, fish for croakers on Sunday afternoons. They mostly drank beer with a veiled attempt at fishing, I was hard at it though . Kinda looks the same , seemed cleaner back then.. Legs feel great, ass not hurting, plenty calories, oxygen, trucking time. Reaching hwy 90, its a hard right turning south, right up the street is the Rigolets pass, connecting Lake Pontchartrain to Lake Catherine and the Gulf of Mexico, Rigolets bridge seems like the highest bridge in the world , the large shoulder allows you to stop, view most of Louisiana, north to Slidell, East to Mississippi, South to Mexico, west to the Isthmus between Lake Catherine and Lake Pontchartrain, you can also see thunderstorms off in the distance, time your travel and route to miss them. If you look down you 'll see Fort Pike, seeing it helps to understand why its there. Climbing the bridge is a bitch, 5 mph in gear one, going down the other side though is 30 miles per hour, wide open , hoping nothing gets in front of you. Crossing the Isthmus of Lake Catherine , littered with fishing camps 16 feet off the ground, most mansions by any standards, all with cute names, and funny signs, boat houses, fishing piers, gazebos, and those big ass green garbage cans really adding to the rural , rustic, view... God Save us , Off the Isthmus we then cross the Hwy 90 trail through the Bayou Savage Wildlife management area, home to many species of animals, gators, snakes,deer, pigs, chubracabras, eagles, big foots, or plural , big feet,?, otters, nutria, turtles, politicians, and occasionally an accidentally released chimpanzee..Time for a tinkle, plenty woodlands off the road, I kickstand bike, visible from highway, just in case, so the authorities know where to look for my body, or whats left of it, into the swampy edge of wilderness,, facing the jungle abyss, I begin my business, but wait, I hear voices from the right, zipping up I sneak quietly over the dried broken branches, toward the mumbling 's, 10 paces , there's a clearing, I hug an oak tree for cover, peek around, in the mist, a regulation card table, a clean bed of St Augustine Grass, around the table sits recognizable figures, Genghis Khan , Truman Gandhi, Gandolf, Tom Waits, Eric Von and Christopher Walken , the game sounds like poker, but no chips, instead the pot was made of lost souls, little white airy potato sized globs of life, death, sin, penance, salvation, all struggling to find eternal life, the players used regular playing cards , bet souls , the pot winner got to keep the souls he won , later he could release them to heaven, sell them to Satan, or just enslave them eternally, don't know how they got them or from where, maybe at a political convention, a lot of soul selling there... I decide then it's time for me to go , before I can turn, their eyes catch me, "bring your soul to us" commands Gandolf, I turn to run, between trees, over puddles, under briars, blindly racing back to the road, just as I approach the edge of the woods I slam into a furry wall, I'm stopped dead, stunned, feeling large arms around me I look up to see 9 foot BIGFOOT has grabbed me, great what can happen next ?, unafraid I struggle with the beast, I've found in this situation ,when a 9 foot BIGFOOT grabs you , you're the right height for a kick to the crotch, I perform the maneuver, I'm released, I run with a blaze, jump on my bike , with fire in my thighs pump down the highway..Next song "Tom Waits', "Gods Away on Business", then "John Prine's " "Jesus the missing Years". Approaching New Orleans East, AKA, "Little Vietnam", civilization reappears, kinda, I see a woman on the side of the road holding up a sign, , she was attractive, big smile, nicely dressed, not one I dared stop to mess with , as I passed I noted the sign read, "Vote for me and I'll set you free", " from what" I thought to myself, I'm free now, well?, on my bike I'm free, but in the real world ?, maybe I'm a slave to socioeconomics, politics, responsibility, I turned around and asked the lady, will you set me free from the chains of bourgeois, the struggle for economic survival, the hell of castration , the torment of manipulation, abuse, and degradation, she replied, "no way buddy", "look in the mirror", I wondered, was I wearing a clown suit, or was I really ugly, or were my sunglasses not sheik, I don't understand?. . I continue my ride, next song, "When I'm Gone", by "3 Doors Down", then "Its' not my time". great music to think by. My legs are starting to wear, calories diminishing, I eat and drink, take in some "protein shot drink", my brain is thinking funny from lack of calories, may even have imagined some things, reality and fantasy sometimes blur as they try to meld into each other...Stopping for a break along Hwy 90, a large yard catches my eye, strangest thing, chickens, walking around bandaged, swollen, hacking, on crutches, in wheelchairs, red eyed, what in the world ? , I then see the reason, a sign, "Joe's Chicken Farm", "specializing in non antibiotic chickens", wow that's working great. Closer to the city things become more recognizable, I'm cramping now, not hungry, not hot, just finished, Gentilly Blvd to Hayne Blvd, no camps anymore, to the airport , stop to break at the swimming hole/ boat launch, by the industrial canal, I note in the water are 12 young men in kinda white T shirts, blue jeans, black flip flops, black mustaches and hair, looking like they're in Beverly Hills, unable to pluralize using an "S", only about 15 miles to go , time to use the guts God gave me, I jump back in the seat and push on . Music; "Master of Sparks ", "ZZ Top" great riding song, then "Drowning on Dry Land", by the master "Albert King". Lakeshore drive is such a pleasant ride, plenty scenery, lake , sailboats, picnickers, families, sunbathers, motorheads prowling around each others vehicles, oohing , aweing, pointing, nodding heads, shaking heads, excited about exhaust noise , ecstatic about the color red. I ramble through Bucktown, past the new Marina, onto the lake Bike Path, smooth, fairly new, really nice surface for biking, additionally there's the alligators at the Suburban Canal, the Bonnabel Boat Launch, I 'm not stopping , I pass all this , the Clearview exit, the Transcontinental exit, I'm not stopping, legs cramping, Gatorade is hot , not helping thirst, I feel that familiar clammy thighs, dehydration rearing its ugly head, , going all the way, suddenly I'm inspired by the big red ball sinking into the west shore of the lake, I can hear the sizzle as it bubbles into Manchac Pass, then disappears leaving behind an eerie light, red flaming clouds, and the promise of night.. Power Blvd , my exit, head to Lafanierre park for a cool down lap, glad I did, I got to see the culmination of 50 or so young men in kinda white t shirts , blue jeans, black flip flops, black mustaches, black hair, looking like they're in Beverly Hills, all gathered under the Al Fired Chicken Copeland Music Meadow, singing "She Sells Sea Shells by the Sea Shore", what a treat,, to think they traveled all this way just to get to Lafanierre Park to perform . There's no freedom in trenches of norm, it exist outside boxes we erect for safety, security, warm fuzziness. Until you accept YOUR impending death you never drink lust for life, you wander thirsty , die parched and empty. I live drunk on lust for life, but am always yanked back to my box, for now, freedom awaits around the next turn, must keep peddling. 153 miles... just the beginning....
Road Kill Inventory;Raccoon,Opossum,Snake (Moccasin),Killed Beer Can,I argyle sock, toe missing,A 9/16 Socket,Elect Dave Treen Button,Size 6 flip flop with broken strap,An 8x10 glossy photo, autographed, of "John Pela and the Saturday Hop Dancers". ,A 78 RPM record of Tony Bennett Singing , "I left my heart in San Francisco" , slightly warped and scratched. ,1 earring , pierce type, shaped like "Huckleberry Hound". An empty tin of "Murray's Superior Hair Dressing Pomade"
Some say there are hidden meanings in my Blogs, let me know when you figure them out, I'm unable to , I just write them , can't always understand them..
MS TOUR IS AROUND THE CORNER , WATCH FOR INFO.....
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| Loosing the Race... overloaded |
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| Friendly cyclist wave to each other... |
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| The long not winding road.. |
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| Even longer and not winding |
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| Swamp land... |
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| There's a little winding. |
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| Long way to Tipperary . |
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| From atop the Manchac overpass. |
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| To the left. |
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| Long way down... |
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| Think someone killed this beer and threw the body on the highway.. |
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| Unknown roadkill, |
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| The end of Hwy 51.. |
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| Madisonville at the Bridge. |
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| Madisonville |
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| Madisonville |
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| Downtown Madisonville |
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| Uptown MadisonVille |
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| Hayne Blvd. the part you don't see. |
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| Where the camps used to be. |
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| Typically in America,, and per the Flag Etiquette of the Congress of the United States no flag flies higher than Old Glory.. Apparently not the case in East New Orleans.... |
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| Narrow Bridge ahead. |
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| Held my breath over this one.. |
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| Rigolets Bridge. |
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| South off the Rigolets Bridge. |
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| More South off the Rigolets Bridge. |
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| Camera Bugs on the Rigolets Bridge. |
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| Its me on the Rigolets Bridge |
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| Gee where am I .... ? |
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| Fished here as a kid... |
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| Highway into Slidell |
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| Trace... |
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| Some River I crossed on the Nart Shore. |
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| Nart Shore |
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| Another River on the Nart Shore.. |
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| The trace , don't change much.. |
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| 153.07 miles |
