end maintenance, the ping pong conversation, a scary sight on halloween

October 31, 2008

Day Forty

"If you know all four seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter, and road construction, you may live in Canada."
- Jeff Foxworthy -

"Oh, don't cry! You'll rust so dreadfully."
- Dorothy, to the Tin Man -

"Laissez les bon temps rouler."
- Cajun saying -

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My knees were a little sore yesterday, and even more sore today. It's not too surprising: I've pedaled 254 miles in the last three days, which is a lot for me. This morning, for the first time on this trip, I took some ibuprofen.

Four miles past Mamou I came to a Road Work Ahead sign. I skirted it and continued on until I came to a hard stop: there was a woman wearing an orange vest and holding a stop sign. She said they were pouring "powdered cement."

I know this part of the country gets a lot of rain and wondered if they just put down the "powdered cement," then wait in the shade sipping bourbon and chicory until the afternoon, knowing there would be a downpour, thus saving themselves the trouble of mixing it themselves.

Looking up the road, I could see an ominous gray cloud hovering above the road, thick in the air like a blanket of mist in a graveyard.

The orange-vested lady added, "It's really not good if it sticks to you," which seemed understated, like "swimming in a vat of acid is unhealthy," and "being disemboweled can be uncomfortable." I peered down at my sweat-covered arms and wondered how much of it would need to stick to me to turn me into the Tin Man, immobile on the side of the road until Dorothy appeared with an oil can. Thinking of Nietzsche, I also wondered if it would make me hard. After another moment's pause, I considered what it would do when combined with the moisture in my lungs.

Still holding her stop sign, the woman said I could take the next road and, although she wasn’t sure if it was gravel or dirt, did assure me it would get me to Ville Platte.

As I was pedaling away I heard her say over my shoulder:
"You can't miss it."

I cursed under my breath. She'd said it.... those four unholy words that are The Kiss of Death to successful navigation. I can say with absolute certainty that when I hear those words I will beyond a shadow of a doubt miss whatever I'm trying to find. My destination will fall into a black abyss of nothingness, no longer even appearing on maps or GPS. My wife once gave me directions from our bedroom to the bathroom, then added, "You can't miss it," and I ended up in Luxembourg.

I pedaled away, determined to make sure that this time I would, by all that is holy, find the road.

But, of course, I missed it.

I eventually got where I needed to be, although my new route took me east on 104, south on 29, east on 1167, northeast on 103, southeast on 10, then north on 10/182 into Washington. The red line is where I'm supposed to be riding. I'm attaching a picture of the map, though I'm not sure if you can see it very well.

At one point I saw a sign that said "End Maintenance," but I think it was placed there accidentally. For them to have ended the maintenance, they would've had to start it first. All I’ve seen are closed roads, and the single maintenance crew was the one near Mamou.

I kept seeing flooded fields and wondered if they were rice patties.

then, when I saw a giant stack of traps, I wondered if those fields are some kind of seafood farm

I stopped for lunch in Washington and listened to the happiest people I've come across anywhere. EVERYone who came through the convenience store/cafe was laughing, smiling, teasing their friends. I half expected them to break out into a musical, with choreographed dancing.

...and I love listening to the Cajun accent, a combination of Acadian French and Louisiana creole, among others. Cloistered in this small region of the country, it has its own pace and rhythm, and fills my heart with happiness.

In Lebeau I left the ACA route. It goes way north and west, to Moreauville, then back south to Morganza. I can trim 42 miles off my route if I cut straight across at Melville.

From Lebeau I went through Palmetto and reached Melville at 3:00. When I arrived at the bridge I found something very peculiar about it....

It wasn't there. Clearly, someone had misplaced the bridge, and all I could see was the Atchafalaya river flowing darkly past.

In place of the bridge a ferry, empty and still, gently bobbed on the water. There was a sign announcing with bleak disinterest:

FERRY CLOSED

The sign may have as well said, "You can't miss it," because it meant extra miles for me today. Looking at my map, I rerouted my path: south to Krotz Springs, get on 190 East to Livonia, then head northeast again to New Roads.

Oh well... it's just pedaling, and it's fun. I turned around and headed back toward Melville.

Almost as an afterthought, I decided to stop at the convenience store on the edge of town and refill my water bottles. Maybe I'd grab a snack as well.

There were two women in the store, the cashier and another woman who appeared to be just hanging out with her. I bought a drink and as I was paying for it the cashier asked where I was going. Then she asked where I started. It gave me an opportunity to tell her that I had planned to cross here in Melville but the ferry's closed.

"Yeah, it’s closed," she said. Then she looked out the window in the direction of the ferry and added, "It don't open until 4:00."

It took me a second to register what she said, and after a moment I responded with a hopeful.... "Huh?"

The other woman saw my puzzled look and said, "They close down in the middle of the day."

Clearly unable to speak more than one unintelligible syllable at a time, I said again, "Huh?"

Afraid that if continued my trajectory of intellectual discourse I'd soon be drooling on myself, I gathered my wits and rallied with, "Really?"

It was dawning on me that I wouldn't have to take the roundabout path after all. All I needed to do was just hang out in Melville for an hour. Sitting in the air conditioned convenience store at one of the tables, sipping on a cold drink and eating a Swiss Cake Roll didn't seem so bad.

Knowing I'd be here a while I reassembled my conversational troops and added,

"Melville seems like a nice town."

The two women, Courtney and Linda, simultaneously looked at each other, then looked at me.

"That's ‘cause you don't live here."

What followed was like watching a game of ping pong. Back and forth, back and forth, as they took turns talking, sometimes finishing the other's sentence.

"If you live here, EVERbody knows your business."
"That's right. Everybody in town knows you're in this store right now."
"And they know you're travelin’ across the country on your bike."
"They're askin' each other if he's a FBI guy, comin' in on a bike."
"And some of them are saying that we're dating."
"Did you SEE how long he was in there? Just hanging out and talking to her."
"People are just bored 'cause there ain't nothing to do."
"And when they try to put up something nice,"
"Like a pool hall or a game room,"
"People just tear it up. They got no respect."
"They got no respect. And don't EEEEVEN think of doing good for yourself."
"That's right. If you have any money, they think you're a drug dealer."
"Of course, if you got money, you probably ARE a drug dealer."
"Yeah, there's lotsa drugs."
"But most of the people just get drunk."
"And EVERbody's on disability."
"Or Medicaid."
"Or both."

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Eventually, one of them laughed and said,

"Sorry to vent like this. We got nobody else to gripe to ‘cept each other."

Then they both laughed. I think my visit was cathartic for them.

I decided to leave the store a little early in the hope that I might get on the ferry and convince them to leave five or ten minutes early. When I got there at 3:40, the captain hadn't arrived. There were a couple of other guys there, and I briefly chatted with one of them between the preparatory tasks he needed to do to get the boat ready to leave.

We weren’t long into the conversation before he expressed his belief that I'm crazy. I get that a lot.

This is the Atchafalaya river which, according to Linda, is the swiftest river in the entire country.

Just before disembarking, the guy on the boat warned me that I had some “rough road” ahead of me. I suspected as much. When I looked at the map it was a dotted gray line, which means gravel. However, I had no idea just how bad it was going to be. Gravel alone wouldn't have been so bad, but it was mixture of sand and gravel, and it was like trying to pedal on a beach. My rear wheel was out of control, sliding all over the place and sometimes spinning. My tires cut deep ruts into the road as I pedaled.

This continued, at 3-5 mph, for five miles.

By the end, my knees weren't just sore, they were starting to hurt. Riding on that type of surface really takes a toll on knees.

I hooked back up with the ACA route in Morganza, having painfully cut 42 miles off my total mileage.

A picture I took just before arriving in Morganza. I tossed my glove down so you could get some perspective on the size.

I thought about camping in Morganza, but still had just enough time to make it to New Roads if I didn't dawdle. I pedaled strongly, and my knees grew worse.

Today is Halloween. When I arrived at the hotel, I saw a truly scary sight, especially since it was almost dark outside.

I went inside to ask about a good place to camp in the area and, as an afterthought, asked the woman at the counter about the sign.

"Oh," she said, "That's just for the FEMA workers. We have some rooms we keep open."

Delighted, I checked in and asked her about where I could get some good seafood and she directed me to Lucky Pierre's.

After a shower and change of clothes I pedaled down the street to the restaurant. As I was entering, a police officer chased me down to let me know that bags aren't allowed in the restaurant. This establishment isn't just a restaurant, it's actually a casino/restaurant combination, thus no bags. He did say he'd be happy to hold it for me. Since he was wearing a police officer's uniform and had a big gun at his waist I thought he was probably legit, so I removed my money, credit cards, cell phone, and PDA, then left him holding the bag.

In the restaurant I finally got some good cajun food.... Crawfish Alfredo. This must be a fancy restaurant to call them "crawfish." I was raised on the Gulf Coast and they'll always be “crawdads” to me.

My mouth was as dry as the road I'd pedaled over today, and I kept refilling my large glass with Dr. Pepper. After I finished a very satisfactory meal, I picked up my handlebar bag from the police officer and rode back to the hotel where I promptly took some more ibuprofen for my knees.

When it was bedtime, I had some trouble falling asleep. Around 2AM I realized it was probably the caffeine from the four large Dr. Peppers I had with my meal.

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distance: 81 miles
average speed: 11.7 mph
maximum speed: 22.3 mph
time on bike: 6:51:33
cumulative: 2015 miles

Today's ride: 81 miles (130 km)
Total: 2,017 miles (3,246 km)

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Gregory GarceauGreat post for this day. Not so great was that a town with the same name as one of the greatest writers in the English language was so dismal.
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