Biker 7

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Down below.......great ride....

Shell Beach

Arose early Saturday morning,, like an excited kid ready to go fishing, I couldn't wait to hit the road,not sure of direction I flipped my morning Valium and the manufacturers mark pointed east. so east it was.Many wise men through the centuries, Zigler, Dwyer, Campbell, Horowitz, except Horace Greely, felt that facing the east in the morning is not only spiritually uplifting but religiously righteous, the rising sun , a national motto for Japan, facing Mecca, facing the Far East, facing the foundations of most religions, facing the origins of mankind, and facing Chalmette, Da Parisch, the Garden of Tony's, the land not forgotten by time, specific destination, Shell Beach, 50 there 50 back.. I'm loaded up , take the lake route to Elysian Fields, turn left on St Claude and away we go.. navigating, the Industrial Canal Bridge is easy , don't , take the walk on the side, a wheel barrow barely fits over the grated drawbridge, a car and a bike , no chance, it's the gateway to Arabi, not Arabia, there are no sultans, no turbans, baseball caps , white swimp boots, cracked dried napes,hard working, earthy people, survivors of countless geological , meteorological , environmental and sociopolitical events..Passed Chalmette Ave. on St Bernard highway where I worked when a young man at Tony's super meat market.. it was there I received my Certificate and Pin marking me an honorary Arabian,pronounced, Ara b n. A glow on my left blinded me for a minute,, It's World Famous "Rocky and Carlos",not to be confused with Rocky an Bullwinkley's in Kenner, both great restaurants with different menu's , R and; C's famous for macaroni and cheese, R and B famous for blackened shad from the West Metairie canal. I've taken the NEW highway to boredom several times and opted to tour the OLD highway (46),through the scenic Land of Islenos filled with history ,character and Islenos, I toured the graveyard, museum, monuments ,felt like a Texan in cowboy boots on the beach in Key Largo . My keen instinct of direction told me I was headed in the right direction , but something wasn't right, I'd avoided the new highway , was on highway 46 , ROAD CLOSED , the sign said, stopping to make some decisions, I question 2 men aside a 79 green and white chevy apache pickup, I ask the one with the cowboy hat, blue green plaid shirt, stomach hanging over his rodeo belt buckle, a pair of cowboy boots to die for, cool sunglasses, a left eye that was more open than the right and the side of his mouth without teeth hung an extra inch,, "I know I''m in the right direction but seem to be on the wrong road", he replied in a friendly comforting voice, " the new road is about 3 miles back and north about 2 miles, this is hwy 46 , it's closed , but your on a bike, go on ahead, you'll be alright, tell anybody who ask I said it was ok", my best reply was natural, " yes thank you", later I wondered who said it's OK , maybe I can just describe him and everybody here knows him. I proceeded around the barricade , southeast, going to "Shell Beach" or "Yoclocsky" or "Delacroix," or " Cuba". The scenery is beautiful, the Islenos monuments , churches, schools are all classic, beautiful , warm and earthy.. As I proceeded a few parts of the road had washed out, I carried my bike and I around them, the folks all waved me on, said hello, finding Bayou LaLoutre, world famous gateway to fishing grounds for redfish, speckled trout, crabs, blue whales, haddock, and octopus, I knew I was near my target, following the bayou to the draw bridge that centers metro Shell Beach . Crab fishers were unloading their catch into boxes for retail sale, hundreds and hundreds , guides were cleaning ice chest full of specs and reds they brought their clients to, the locals were watching TV in their 20 feet off the ground camps, camps is not a good description for these gorgeous , beautiful , luxurious, houses in the sky, following the main drag , checking on my friends camp, in construction, I head back to the draw bridge, take a little break and start heading back, it's about 12:30 and my peanut butter sandwich was delectable, washed it down with my 4th Gatorade.I followed the canal, the road is narrow, a lot of fishermen were heading home with their boats in tow, I opted to take the new highway back, big 4 lane with a 8 foot shoulder, not very scenic, but safer. I went through the gigantic cement wall that keeps water, aliens, politicians and unicorns on the south side of da parish ,it was smooth riding... But ! not so fast,,, about 1/2 mile past the great wall my right eye zeroed in on an out of place object in the grass of the shoulder, like a small foot ball, blue , white, red , dirty, I recognized it immediately , a Chubracabra egg, must have fallen out of a tree and rolled here, no one stopped because they didn't know what it was , I on the other hand , being a student of the unknown, the unforeseen, the never seen, the fabled, the imagined, the ludicrous, the incredulous, and the more than likely unbelievable except in my psyche had to stop and investigate, take some pics, encourage an engagement , not my wish, snapped some photos of the egg, slowly, step by step , I angled for the tree line, I began to smell them, a acidic rancid smell, my eyes scoured the the trees, about 12 feet up is where they hang, whoa!, 2 o'clock, there it sat on a bending leafless oak branch, they manifest in variable looks, this one had the face of a Tasmanian devil with huge fangs, black fur , very large foot claws , about 5 inches long, solid, digging into the branch, perched for action, 2 small horns on the top of it's head, ivory colored, a long trail of saliva leaked out its partially opened jaw, big rough eyes with black pupils the size of bully marbles, when it spotted me it spread it wings as a show of force to ward me off, it's wings were of a leathery make, a powerful hand with claws for tearing were made into the corners, once spread it gave out a piercing vocal I can't describe although it made the hair on my neck stand up and vibrate, my skin tightened, I shifted to "OH SHIT" mode, slowly backing out. I was too slow, it swept down , grabbed my shoulders, began to flap, I resisted, throwing blows that did nothing to deter my ill fate, I was airborne, time for plan B, reaching in my right back pocket I managed to get hold of and used my Chubracabra Repellent Spray , now it's pissed off, we go higher, I note it's set sights on a barb wire fence near the highway, I see my bike not far, he releases me, having read many Green Lantern, Flash, and J"onn J"onzz Comic books I knew the secret of surviving this was to not hit the fence, land somewhere soft thinking fast I removed my riding jersey , formed it into a parachute, went past the fence, landed on my feet in tall grass, softly. The Chubracabra circled twice, dropped it's wings back, straightened it's neck , began to dive for me, a screeching yell reminded me I was in trouble, again I stayed cool, noted a culvert on my flight down, scurried into it, wet, muddy,, frogs, insects, spiders, lizards, snakes, but no Chubracabras, it's shadow covered one end , I went deeper, waited, took a peek, all was clear, snuck out the culvert , ran for my bike, saw the egg broken open, no baby Chubracabra in sight, I mounted and rode with a fearful zest that took me a few miles away in no time... Lesson, never get between a mother Chubracabra and her baby... Back on the quest , like Ulysses trying to get back to Ithaca, I look forward to the Sirens, oh and their song too, what can they do, turn me into a pig,, ha. already a Goat..I approach a large intersection, ok, left or right, I opt for left, no particular reason, good choice ,I'm back on St Bernard Highway, I get to ride through the Oak Lined corridor that has a name but I don't know it , beautiful, serene, relaxing. Stopping at a local, kinda gas station, food store, restaurant, slaughter house, casino, to empty my trash, grab some snacks out my bag, open a fresh Gatorade, I notice very skinny woman leaning on her shoulder against the brown brick wall, on her feet were scuffed up black pumps, a thin loose fitting black dress displaying large flowers of many colors in print , it was half calf length, her hair was light brown, very fine and soft looking, her complexion was more pale than light, it contrasted the dark red lipstick and cheek rouge, she raised her right hand, bony ,, venous, long nails bright red, as if to point to me , I became scared, first a chubracabra now princess of the dark side beckoning me to her web, she smiled , said "Gary", "join me for some hot tea and Honey?", not having the sense to run immediately I had to engage, "who are you and how do you know my name", here it comes , she says, " we all know your name", "who's we" , I reply, "we, the souls that haunt you every minute of your life, the souls from previous lives, this life, and those to come" , "your not a soul friendly fellow", " they ravish you one after another seeking to destroy the little sanity you have", she says..I had only one thing left to do , I point my plastic $2 Green Lantern ring in her direction, she begins to whimper, curl up, falls to the fetal position, a haze appears , all that's left is black scuffed pumps, a black dress with large flowers, another hapless soul all heaped on the dirty stained cement. Not a consequence for compassionless, unconscionable, me. Lets ride,, Arabi looks good, getting close to the city, St Bernard Highway , lined with small businesses, thriving, turning Arabi into a money mecca. Approaching the Industrial Canal , the oaks are cool, sheltering, secure, shading , once again cross the Narrows Bridge , (sidewalk on the side ), it must have just come down, there are barges in the canal being lifted to the next level on their way to the Lake, for this is where the LOCKS are, Mississippi and Lake Pontchartrain are two different levels, something we must deal with and never allow to breach. St Claude, vintage street, gateway to By Water, 9th ward, Frankie and Johnny's Furniture, Nichols High School, and Rampart St. St Claude has a bike lane, it's where the 9th warders park their cars, like an extra lane, but then, it's the nint ward, turning right on Elysian Fields, big wide avenue, big bike lane, they park bigger cars there, around Gentilly Blvd, I seek a rest stop, found a cemetery, cemeteries are safe places, this is an old and new cemetery, I think it's a Jewish Cemetery, no crosses, crucifixes, statues of any kind, many vases, and the names on the markers give some hints, I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, walk around to take some pictures, I'm startled as I come around a lane, there stands a thin, nude , pale, woman, red lipstick, rouge, light brown hair, yes, the same woman, I don't even watch ":The Walking Dead" why am I in this mess, maybe one Valium too many ?, she blows me a kiss, says ," your soul is ours", and melds into a crypt , the only appropriate response I had was to haul ass, I did so, hurriedly. Elysian Fields to the Lake, feeling good, music is good, wide road, bike lane, cruising the Lakefront brought back some memories, the Sun was nestling the horizon , preparing to rest, drop into the lake, me too, cross the Bayou St John Bridge, pass the old Shelter #2, through Bucktown, up on the Lake bike trail, slow a minute to admire the new Bucktown Marina, next stop the Bonnabel Boat launch, in construction yet still the only Porta Potties available, I always use the end one so I can prop my front wheel against the Pottie, that way I can use my sensitive Jedi senses to know if some one is trying to take my bike, notice I say trying, won't get far, entering the luxurious, sanitary, warm , comforting, plastic porta potti, going about my business, I hear a thump on the roof, then violent shaking, then tossing side to side, what ? I jump outside , look on the roof, yes , the chubracabra I escaped from followed me back , had its young attached to its' back, it had dug it claws into the top of the potti and was trying to get to me by tearing off the roof, it didn't understand the resilient, tensile, tough properties of plastic , ain't going no where, as it tore at the roof I again took the opportunity to haul ass, rode like a flash to the Causeway bridge, climbed up underneath its base and kept quite, after an hour or so I looked outside , no sign of my attacker, on the trail again, cross the levee for the hundredth time, the regular folk were out enjoying the last of today's sun, I'm cruising along stopped at the Suburban Canal , watched a teenager haul in a 5 foot garfish on his Spiderman rod and reel, impressive. Cruising again, thighs are burning, don't care almost home,,calves cramping, don't care almost home, thirsty and hungry, don't care almost home, getting dark , don't care almost home. Out of nowhere a rider comes alongside me, I'm almost to David Dr, , didn't think much of it , turned my head to the left to say hello, the face , the face, the face, it took over my conscience, thrown aback, my front wheel began to wobble, my balance was unsure, I sweat, I shook, taking inventory , a dark red bike, balloon tires, no fenders, no guards, wide handle bars, no grips, it was a kid, white t shirt, blue jean shorts, Keds tennis shoes, brown hair , blue eyes, freckled faced, once again I hauled ass, looked in my rear view, he disappeared, don't know , crossed the levee to David Drive, made the ride of death down David Drive, into Lafaniere park made my 100, great ride, beautiful sights, good weather, less meds next time?.. absolutely not,,,, Fun just as it is....planning that trip to Florida, just planning , but that's how it starts, Last song to play,, Chris Isaac "Can't do a thing to stop me " ....

gary gauthier

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cemetary on Elysian FIelds and Gentilly Blvd,, no crosses, no statues,

very interesting I know why do you.

All the plots have ornamental vases...cement..

enlarge

that's me , still kicking

enlarge

another Ghost bike

Historic Cemetery down below...

Clean an neat.

Crucifix in the back

Historic church across the road.

Not the Serengeti , St Bernard.

A monument

Same one ,

Its me .

Famous Bayou LaLoutre

Fishing boats lining the Bayou

Other side.

Sign I was looking for

Chubacabra Egg...

Down Town Shell Beach

Hey, Its not Disney World, but....

Another Ghost Bike

Lakefront on the way back .

100.35 miles 9hrs 35 minutes. 11 hour tour.

Me.. Plastic Action Figure.

looking for a sunken boat.

This curled Monolith glows and pulsates,,, From the Planet Guiron.

Highway 61 from Last week

Blind River from last week

Spillway with a stuck tree from last week

Spillway drying up

Packing my backpack Friday night.

Very Foggy Sat Morning

little better

Plenty drink

thats the lake behind me .

Lakeshore Drive

SeaWall

Looking into the Foggy Abyss

Fog Condensating on my glasses

Starting to clear up

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

MS Tour 2015

MS Tour 2015,,, Hammond to McComb 75 miles each way.... Saturday Morning 8:00 am.
1000 plus riders merge into a starting pack, a canopy of anticipation, eagerness, self doubt, covers us like a blanket too thin to give warmth, yet to heavy to be ignored. Twenty or so are called to the starting line at a time, recognized , sent off , best wishes and God's Speed. The early air was cool, a north breeze annoyed progress, the hills that lay ahead haven't moved since last year. North breeze, rise in altitude, crowed start, all led to gear position 12 not the usual 20, spin time, no power pedaling, groups stayed tight till the first rest stop, 10 miles, I skip it, get out the maddening crowd, shifted up a couple of notches, had some breathing room.
This was my 10th MS Tour, but more significant than that was the organizers are now very serious about not wearing headphones or ear buds, normally I ignore these pleas, I love my music when riding, as a sacrifice to the cause , no ear buds this year, it was like trying to quit smoking cold turkey, several times I reached to my ears to push the buds in further since I couldn't hear them, no luck, I had practiced riding without them a few times, but this was where the rubber met the road or the music leaves the road, I imagined I was listening to some Robert Cray 4/4 blues, not like the real thing, but kept my legs going. Mile 20 a little sun rose, the warmth raised the level of effort, stopped at #2 rest stop quickly, grabbed a snack, filled up Gatorade,
onward. The scenery improved the further we got away from Hammond, rolling hills, pine forest, 30 miles, I'm in a grove now, its out of my control, my legs are mechanical with their own logic, my arms steer around
debris I don't even see, my eyes scan left , right, up , down , forward , rearward, in accord with an Eagle searching for movement, scanning, peeping, stalling occasionally to ponder an interesting sight. Met a charming young lady named Maria, she's a student at LSU, we chatted about 15 miles, she was from Maryland, likes to cycle, met a man named Joe, great rider, we climbed a couple of hills together, Joe was from Baton Rouge, it was his 5th tour, met a couple, no name, the husband , about my age, said his wife had had open heart surgery a six months back , I told him to give her my regards for a healthy recovery, he says , tell her yourself , she about 15 feet in front of us , she was and kicking our asses, remarkable what the human body and spirit can accomplish if the will to live is strong enough. Lunch time, this year I skipped the traditional peanut butter and jelly, went for the vegetable wrap, it tasted great, it was a might coarse, the leaves it was wrapped in resembled leather, they protected the vegetable from all manner of destruction. It tasted great, ate it again day 2, except this time I gave the wrapping material a rub before I attacked it .
50 miles , into the hills, slow going , uphill grade, hills, north breeze, plenty spinning, I'm pretty high by now, that thing that happens to endurance athletes, the tour was over , the remainder was just a formality, my body , the bike, the road, the countryside, congeal into a melded mass rolling across the blacktop,
an entity of determination, destination, a delineation of travel in its rudimentary form. Met up with my Friend Brian Wise ,, he's one of the volunteer motorcycle escorts that donates his time, his motor bike , his gas, to make the Tour a save fun ride...Both our asses hurt at this point , my thighs flamed, burned, cried for mercy, but today there is no mercy, just more peddling, higher hills, faster pace, smelling the finish line..THE LAST HILL, AKA Godzilla, cant see the top, a mile long ride to the top, drop down to my lowest gear, spin spin spin, pedal, pedal, pedal, pump, pump, pump, half its height my thighs spit flames , a burning like no other,
can't stop, slide back on seat, lean forward, it'll all be over at the top, riders around me drop, stop and walk, not I , no stopping, feet can't touch the ground, that's failure, at 4 miles per hour I breach the crest, all is good with life again, no burn, no struggle, now I hang on for the downside 28 miles an hour ride, what a high, what a thrill, 30 miles an hour , my feet 3 inches from the ground, the wind blowing my hair back flowing behind me like a flag, I grin from ear to ear, I have once again conquered a dragon, today I win, maybe next time it wins?, mountain climbers say, " the mountain decides" ! . Ten miles to the Park, a couple of motorcyclist mirror my left, must be Brian and a friend checking on me, I turn to give them a thumbs up and a I'm OK smile, it's not Brian, its Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda, they're waving, smiling, OK so now I guess we'll have to stop somewhere , smoke a doobe , listen to "Don't Bogart That Joint My Friend", and maybe , just maybe, we'll run into Karen Black, then do some acid in a cemetery,,, Wait ! this isn't "Easy Rider", it's the MS Tour, shaking my head a few minutes cleared my vision , I then realized it was not Dennis Hopper or Peter Fonda, It was the Cisco Kid and Poncho,,what, no , it was 2 State Policemen checking on me, they watch for dreamy eyed riders that may be having too much endorphin release... Yeah , that's it , endorphin release, think that's as close to a Valium as you can get.. I missed my music today but rules are rules. Entering the Park is always a thrill, the Motorcyclist park outside , cheer you on , toot their horns as you turn into the park, the roller coaster begins, one mile of fast rolling hills full of speed bumps, welcome signs, turns, campers, cars, the the finish line, big red balloon entrance , cheering, congratulations , pats on the back, Marie waiting for me, MS Victims thanking you . . . It's like you just won the Super Bowl, and in my little pond I did.....
End of day one,,,,
Day 2....
Each day at stop 3, my friend the bike technician Eric of "East Bank Cyclery" helps those with mechanical issues, he takes care of my bike regularly, we visit at stop 3 every year and I take a big picture of him..
He wishes I'd keep my chain cleaner but admits with 46,800 miles it's ok ,,
Rolling out the Percy Quinn is an adventure of it's own, the corridor to the highway is wall to wall cyclist ,
not necessarily trying to get ahead , just trying to stay upright, it's fast, short steep hills, speed bumps,
the ground is damp , slippery , leaf covered, dark, it's an organized runaway roller coaster. Exciting,
I took a video of the morning start , its coming. Relief to reach the sunlit highway, things spread out , it's more level, time to ride...The hills come early on Sunday morning, up , up and away,,,Godzilla is first in line, but our legs are fresh, so we pump, pump, pump, pedal , pedal, pedal, thighs burn, burn, burn, but less complaining , on the down side I'm cocky, crouch down, lean forward, keep pedaling and go for 30 mph, hit bottom at 30, hanging on for dear life, every little crack in the road is possible catastrophe, one loose gravel could mean a trip over the handlebars, a trip I've taken quite a few times , not enjoyable, don't feel good, and usually break, sprain, or scrape something, never without blood, but as a t shirt says, " blood dries, bones heal, and consciousness returns eventually. Skip first stop as usual, boogie on , started reaching for my headphones then remembered , I don't have them, not allowed, shit, then like a miracle a man came riding buy with a 8 inch speaker on the back of his bike,OK I'll tag along with him and listen to some music ,
his choice of music was so bad it motivated me to leave him in the dust, I was gone, my subconscious provided me better motivational music, just from memory. I can imagine 3 Doors Down playing "Here without You", in my head, Semisonic calling me in my sleep, and whats a ride without "Golden Earring"'s
"Twilight Zone", and "Radar Love". So , who wants to hear the Tractor Trailer coming when it makes you a hood ornament, surprise me, give me that," Oh Shit !", look on my face. The prevailing wind was " none", sun was out, sky was almost blue, plenty chatter, meeting new riders, everybody has a story their ready to share with you , even me, I tell everyone I'm the blacksmith from "The Rifleman", and I moved here when I retired, their impressed how well I ride for a 73 year old, they all ask about Johnny Crawford, I have to explain to them he was shot in the John Wayne movie, " El Dorado"..Stop at the second break, grab some drink, cookies, banana, the essentials, onward. Snuggling through a narrow wooded side road that links highways my eagle eye attention caught a peculiar shape on a pipe over a small creek, it was brownish, whitish, like a very large owl, but much larger, wings were clearly there, the feet seemed webbed,
I looked around to tell someone "look at that", but I was alone, as I neared, we caught each other eyes,
it spued at me, hissed and snarled, that's when I noticed the small horns, giant fangs, claws on its wing tips, it was then I realized I was face to face with a Chubracabra, extending its wings it gracefully crossed the creek, flew to a high tree just in side the wood line, good thing I'm not a goat or it'd be over for me , or am I , The Goat,?? Blood dripped off his crudely curved fangs, no doubt loaded with parasites , bacteria and small chunks of leftover meat from his last meal, , his eyes carried visions of slaughter, blood sucking, goat eating, his talons visibly powerful , sharp, bloody, he extended his arms, the leathery skin attaching arms to body made solid wings, no noise just a silent murmur signaling approaching death. I sat high as I could in my saddle to make a larger presence, rode off fast as I could. Caught up with some riders at the next hill, didn't say a word, "who'd believe me", more Cubracabra experiences to come... Lunch Stop, same as yesterday, had the vegetable wrap, the green leather it was wrapped in seemed a little tougher today..Had some of those great whole wheat fig bars, delicious, load up my drinks, talked to Brian a while, then onward.
Everything is getting easier, there's still hills but the general grade is downhill, sunshine, I feel great, the road is friendly, no Cougar attacks out the wood-line yet, rode awhile with Bronson, he was headed up north, he and his Triumph, cool as ever, he was going down that long lonesome highway, so was I , but I eventually had to go home. All I need now is a visit from Alby Mangels, now there is an adventurer, a man I can call a hero, he stands in a puddle of his testosterone, he's done it all, all over the world, and barely lived to tell about it . Crossed continents on camel, in Dahaitsu's, on foot, fought civil wars in remote jungles, flew helicopters across desserts, mined for emeralds and was a prize fighter when low on money..Nearing the first stop after lunch I note the crowd getting smaller, more and more riders taking the sag wagon, only the hard core and the determined left, I fit the determined group, my co pilot Brian cruises by on his big white Motorcycle, we exchange thumbs up , he moves on to the next rider. Stretches of oneness grow longer , hills diminish, I start to kick it , can smell home, cruising about 17 mph, good cadence, comfortable, gonna roar in to the finish. Stop 5 , make it quick , drink, fig bars, cookies, banana , onward. Approaching the outskirts of Hammond, I'm high as Timothy Leary, endorphins have taken over any reasonable thought I may have had or hoped to have, trying to add to the pace I began to play "Cupid Shuffle " in my head, the tempo kicks me up , love the song, the dance is a little simple,, but fun, finally spot 3 riders in front of me, I'm gaining on them fast like their waiting on me , I'll just blow by them , hope their hanging on , I reach them , become parallel, but I couldn't pass them , I was locked into their pace, I turn to the right then it all makes sense, 1st is Green Lantern, probably threw me into a Parallax Universe, 2nd was Rod Serling who undoubtedly sent me to the Twilight Zone, 3rd was Truman Gandhi who whipped my karma into a frenzy,
what a mess, too close to the finish line to have imagination surges like this, blink a few times , shake my head, it's 2 girls and a man cruising along, suddenly I was released , sped to the finish line.. The ride through Hammond is scenic to say the least, we come in from the north, through neighborhoods that were transparent on Saturday morning, bunched up riders, excitement, police, now its fairly thin, get to see it all differently. Up ahead !, yes its the final turn, turn right on the big 4 lane , I immediately hear the crowd , see the big red finish line balloon, the announcer calling riders in , now I'm pumping for all I have, nothing to save it for, I whip through the finish line like I just won stage 5 of the Tour De France, throw my arms up in simulated victory, Wife , daughter and 2 grand kids waiting to pat me on the back,in my mind I just did win the Tour de France, accomplishment no matter how large or small is always a victory for everyone.
Saturday 6 hr 48 mins, Sunday 6 hr 15 mins, 150 miles, raised 1650.00 for MS, ranked 73 in fundraising for an individual, everybody won.. Thanks to all who gave me motivational support, financial support , and left the light on in the window for me.....
Gary Gauthier