I should have taken the day off.  In the past 2 days, I had ridden 197 miles and had all the aches, the pains, the sore butt, and the sunburn that went with having tried such a thing a little too early in the season.  Stubbornly, I decided to move on anyway.  Kaplan was a decently sized town.  By having ridden 35 miles North to reach it, I had also removed myself from the heavily damaged coastal areas where virtually no services remained.  Rita had affected these areas too but the damage was nowhere near as severe as it had been on the Gulf Coast.  Up in this part of Louisiana, I saw a lot more evidence of reconstruction going on.  Trucks and workers were moving about, as I rolled along.

Here in Kaplan, there were actually restaurants, drug stores, cars, and people milling about.  A diner was open, so a rare commodity called breakfast was available. I didn't pass it up.  Afterwards, I got onto Route 14 and headed East, out of town.  The first town was Abbeville.  I read somewhere, I believe in one of Peter Jenkins' books, that Abbeville was the heart of Cajun Country.

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It seemed a peaceful place, with Live Oak Trees lining the road and a New England style traffic circle in the center of town.  Despite its charm, I didn't linger very long.  

I was feeling better and making good time as I passed through Delcambre.  It was memorable for only the distinctive drawbridge that didn't decide to open as I passed by.  

Highway 14 was a nice road until I reached the outskirts of New Iberia. Like that, it narrowed down, lost its shoulder, and became congested with motorized vehicular traffic.  Temperatures were becoming very warm again, as well.  My peaceful and pleasant morning ride had come to an abrupt end.

Trying to avoid the congestion, I looked for some parallel alternate routes but ended up off course.  There was a lack of street signage in this town and the people I asked for directions seemed to have no idea what I was talking about.  I was definitely in Cajun Country.  The accents were so thick that even when I knew what someone was going to say, when the words came out, it was an effort of mental processing on my part to confirm what they were saying.  

I started to get worried.  Here I was, turned around in Tabasco Sauce Country where street signs seemed unnecessary for the locals.  It was one of those phenomena where the locals didn't know the roads by their real names or numbers. As an outsider, I did not know the common names of the roads.  Street signs were in short supply and my maps did not always have the road names on them.  Well, maybe if I hung around town for a couple of weeks I would catch on but I didn't have that much time.

I caught sight of a Blockbuster Video Store and rode over to it.  Surely, an employee would be able to help me get back on course.  Inside, all I saw were young people with lots of tattoos, crazy hair, and jewelry in various parts of their faces.  I asked for the store manager, but when the young lady approached me, looking like the other employees, I lost all hope of receiving useful directions.  It was then that this cyclist learned a thing or two about people.  She was intelligent, spoke very well, and gave me tremendous directions to get back on course. I'd like to be able to say I have never been judgmental since but all I can truthfully say is that I am a work in progress.  I was very impressed with that young lady.  She helped me greatly.

The road I needed to get to was called the Old Spanish Trail.  The Blockbuster Lady's directions got me there in short order.  It was also known as Louisiana Route 182, which ran parallel and slightly to the North of US-90, which was now a highway.  A few miles further on, I briefly spoke with an older fellow who recommended crossing a small river known as Bayou Teche and riding on Route 87, which ran parallel to 182 and a little bit further to the North.  If you ever go there, heed that advice.  I didn't and wish I had because 182 became a more heavily traveled road and was too narrow for biking.  It was hot again and 182 had a very rough surface.  I was being jarred with a too frequent regularity while proceeding along its path. Two working guys passed in a beat up pick up truck but not before hitting me with and empty can of beer. Hey dudes, if you're going to throw a beer at me, it should be full and cold!

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I stopped in Jenerrette and had lunch in a roadside cafe.  Before entering, I didn't know the place was an African-American restaurant and I got some  not so friendly looks when I walked in.  But, I was hot, tired, and didn't care at that point.  The food was good and the spot was hit.  The waitress was nice and a young lady at what seemed an unfriendly table shot a couple of smiles in my direction.  There are good people in any situation, if you look around and don't act like a jerk.

I went back out, satiated and in a better frame of mind to continue taking on the heat and that rough road.  I remember stopping in downtown Franklin, Louisiana because I had cell service, something I hadn't had much of for the past few days.  My wife was sure glad to hear from me and had been worried.  A bit further along, I passed a beautiful place called Bocage Plantation.   It would do a person some good to kick back in that peaceful spot and in the shade of the Live Oaks, for a while.  However, that wasn't going to be a part of my itinerary so I moved on.

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I continued on the Old Spanish Trail for a few more miles before ending up a a small hotel on the outskirts of Morgan City, at a place called Bayou Vista.  The hotel fronted on the busy US-90, which was now a high speed highway. Thankfully, my room was back a bit from the road and very quiet.  I ate a New Orleans Style dinner at the adjacent restaurant.  Seeing my suntan/sunburn, a working man who was patronizing the place, straightened up and asked, "Where have you been working?"  I told him what I had been doing and we talked for a little bit.  He was a nice fellow.

I had put down 77 more miles.  When planning the trip, I had definitely intended to do fewer miles each day and take more time to see the areas through which I was passing.  But the storm and its devastation resulted in longer days and more miles, simply to get to areas that were safe to stay each evening.  I was going to finish this tour ahead of schedule.