Little Florida Beach to Kaplan, Louisiana

April 3, 2006

A "Century" of Devastation

I awoke, on the screen porch of a house in Little Florida Beach, still grateful for my good fortune. I was locked out of the house. I felt no ill will toward the family inside, who had befriended me the night before. They hardly knew me and yet were very generous and welcoming. They did plenty for me and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening. I didn't need the bathroom. I could head back down that wooded path to the beach to relieve myself, rinse off in the Gulf, use my water bottle to assist with brushing my teeth, and surely breakfast would be down the road a piece. I left a note, expressing my gratitude and headed out. It was a balmy morning and according to the map, a couple of beach towns were just down the road.

Sometimes, things come to me slowly but upon reaching Holly Beach, the message was delivered, loud and clear. Hurricane Rita had decimated this area, 6 months ago. While these communities were still reeling, I was here, taking a bicycle vacation. I felt a little guilty.

As I approached Holly Beach, it became abundantly clear that something very bad had happened here.

At Holly Beach, a few miles down the road, the devastation was on full display. The magnitude of the destruction fully registered with me. There were a couple of people around who seemed as bewildered now as they had been in the immediate aftermath of the storm. Where does one begin when a life has been completely destroyed? How secure would someone feel after their town had become part of the Gulf of Mexico?

Devastation everywhere as I passed through Holly Beach.

There were wetlands stretching off into the distance and they were strewn with so much debris that I'm sure some of it was irretrievable and will be there for some time to come. Someone's car was turned on its side and sitting on the side of the road. I was incredulous at the destruction I was witnessing.

The damage was unfathomable here in Holly Beach, Louisiana.

After Holly Beach, the next town on the map was Cameron. Would conditions there be any better, I wondered but I was not very hopeful. The only way for me to get to Cameron was via ferry boat. A watery channel separated two coastal lands and the fishing village lay on the East side. Things looked normal enough as I boarded, but as we approached the opposite shore, it was clear that a massive construction operation was ongoing.

Riding again, I passed what had been a neighborhood but was now a tangled mix of wood and parts of houses all scrambled together. A little bit further up the road was a canteen truck serving food to construction workers who were trying to put this town back together. I needed some water but there wasn't very much potable water available so a couple of cans of soda were procured from a vending machine and placed in my rear rack bag for later. A bit further up the road, the shell of a branch of the Hibernia Bank appeared. It had been completely gutted by the storm. The vault door in the back was propped wide open. A local fellow told me that when they came to get the money, the military was there and they were heavily armed.

The remains of the Hibernia Bank in Cameron, Louisiana.

My goal at the beginning of the day was to get as far as Grand Chenier. That would be a relaxed 55-mile day after the unexpected 90-miles that occurred yesterday. Moving on from Cameron, the next town was Creole. Before even reaching the town, I knew there wasn't going to be much there. The land and the houses I was passing had all sustained heavy damage.

At an intersection near Creole, I came upon a fellow who was obviously putting a new building up. He was about my age and I stopped to talk with him. This property had been his machine shop but it was no more. He had some machines, tools, and equipment all sitting out in the sandy parking lot and rusting into ruin. He had no hope of re-opening the machine shop because the insurance company didn't give him enough to do that. He was planning on opening a convenience store on the site and working toward that goal.

This gentleman was still putting his life and business back together, 6 months after Rita.

The fellow also told me that when he returned after the storm, he couldn't even recognize where his home had been. I moved on and crossed a rickety bridge that was closed and the only way across a narrow band of water. I don't believe I would have attempted it in a car but with just me and my bike, I figured it would hold. It did, but it was scary. What had I gotten myself into?

A few miles later, I made it to what had been Grand Chenier. All that was left of some houses was a slab. Of others, a lone set of concrete steps leading to nowhere, were all that remained. I came upon a building, fenced off and made of corrugated steel. At each of the sections, the steel had split vertically and in the light breeze, they clanged together, sounding a bit like wind chimes. I stopped along side the deserted road, and went for a closer look.

Steel building turned into vertical strips, clanging against each other in the light breeze.

I moved on a little bit and stopped again to look around. After a few minutes, I went back to get my bike. I had left it on the side of the deserted road, at the top of a slope that led down at an angle, for about 10 feet and went into water. As I bent down to get the bike, I spied an enormous alligator, half out of the water, asleep, and less than 10 feet from me. I froze. Then, its eyes opened, met mine, and in an instant turned and made a huge splash into the water. Whoa! "He" made a big circle in the water but came back with just "his" eyes and nose sticking out of the water. All I could think of was that I was very lucky this predator wasn't lying in wait for me. That 'gator was so fast, I wouldn't have had a chance. The local authorities would have been saying something like, "Well, we found his bike but there is no other sign of him."

After that, alligators seemed to be everywhere. Anytime I stopped for a break, I looked around and they were there. At one spot, I was thinking about trying to get a closer photo when they started hitting the water, one after another. There were dozens of them. I got back on the bike and took off out of there. I was in the Rockefeller Wildlife Refuge, which is a haven for Alligators. They certainly do not seem an endangered species here.

I was on a very long stretch of desolate road but somewhere out there, in the outer reaches of Cameron Parish, I came upon the Rita Dumpsite. This was a pretty large area on the north side of the road for dumping of debris from the storm. I stopped and took a couple of photos.

The entrance to the Hurricane Rita Dump Site along Highway 82 in Cameron Parish.

The Hurricane Rita Dumpsite. They had observation towers at intervals along the property.

Eventually, I entered Vermillion Parish but still didn't come across any civilization. The day was becoming very warm and I was running out of water. The road seemed to go on and on with nothing but swamp and wetlands all around. I was warm and stopped at a place called Vermillion Bayou. I was very careful but went down to the water and splashed some over my head and upper body to cool off. I was constantly stopping to look around for alligators but thankfully, there were none at that spot.

I stopped here to splash some water over my head, all the while being constantly vigilant for 'gators.

A bit further down the road, I came upon two guys fishing. I stopped to ask them how far it might be to the next town and if it had a store or a restaurant. They told me it was about 15 miles and there was an open store. It was more than 90 degrees Fahrenheit, but I continued on and made it to that next town, called Pecan Island.

There was more devastation of houses and buildings. The high school didn't have a window or a door left in the structure. The store was there and open but it too had sustained heavy damage and inside there wasn't much inventory. The bathroom was an outhouse. Half of the toilet seat was missing and had some nasty looking duct tape on it. I didn't attempt to sit down or touch anything in there. I actually did have an extra toilet seat in my garage back home and was tempted to ship it there when I got back.

The store itself had some cold beverages. The only food items were pork rinds and some sort of hot sausage. Since I wasn't in a position to be a picky, so I decided to sample the local cuisine. Pork Rinds in this part of Louisiana are serious business. They had the crispy part that we've all seen but the centers were actually white and creamy lard! I was pretty hungry and tried to shut down thoughts that my arteries were going to become irrevocably clogged after this meal of lard and greasy sausages. I rationalized that with those of all these miles I had already ridden and with those still to go, perhaps all of this fat would be turned into usable energy and not have much negative effect on my system.

Here at Pecan Island, I had 72 miles down and began to make inquiries for even the most primitive place to camp. The few local residents that I met assured me there was nothing available. I wasn't too keen on camping anyway because I did not want to become a late night snack for a hungry alligator. One lady said that under normal circumstances, she would have invited me to her place but the storm had done so much damage that it wasn't an option. The consensus was the nearest place for me was Kaplan, some 35 more miles away.

I was crestfallen, hot, tired, sunburned, and sore but there was no other choice, so I continued on. Kaplan meant riding more than one hundred miles today after having ridden 90 miles yesterday. I was coming out of winter and not in the kind of shape I would have liked to have been when attempting such mileage. But I had no other choice except to get moving, so I did. It was nearly 5:00pm at Pecan Island. If all went well, I would make it to Kaplan at 8:00pm.

The first part of that 35 miles was a bit of an ordeal, mostly due to my mental state. I was stopping every 5 miles to get off the bike and to attempt to divide the remaining journey into measurable goals. Seven little rides, surely I could do this. The trouble was, there wasn't any place to stop, except on the side of the road where within a short distance each way, there were critter infested swamps. My little breaks were short and I was moving again.

A stop had to be made at a cantilevered, rotating bridge, as a boat was coming through. The process of opening the bridge via its deck swinging to one side was cool to watch. It would have been a perfect stop, save for a pick-up truck full of guys who stopped to wait, as well. They weren't too friendly. One guy, in particular, looked very mean. He smoked a cigarette and stared at me with what appeared to be malicious intent.

Fortunately, the opening of the bridge took a while and other vehicles had stopped to wait. When the boat had passed, the bridge swung back into place, the truck and the other vehicles took off, and I was alone once again. I never saw any further trace of those truck fellows, thankfully.

A few miles further the terrain changed a bit, becoming more like pastureland. There was a "town" on the map called Cow Island. When I got there, all I saw were some cows in a very green field. About 8 miles from Kaplan, a small mom and pop store appeared and I stopped. I had not seen a franchised convenience store since the outskirts of Houston. All of these little stores I was seeing over the past two days were local establishments. In this one, a couple of younger ladies were running things. The were friendly and helpful to me. My mood had changed with the terrain near Cow Island. After my break at this little store, I got a surge of energy that took me the rest of the way.

I had completely abandoned the idea of camping and found a small hotel. The proprietor was nice and seemed to need someone to talk with. So did I. After this long day, we chatted a bit and then I went to my room, which seemed palatial to me at this point in the day

The proprietor at the hotel in Kaplan was a nice guy.

I got cleaned up, found a bite to eat, and watched the NCAA College Basketball Finals that were won by the University of Florida that night.

Today's ride: 107 miles (172 km)
Total: 232 miles (373 km)

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