The Big Easy was anything but

On the map it looks like no big deal. The Big Easy, as Nawlans is known, is a measly 300 miles from Port Arthur. I once drove from Cleveland to Salt Lake City (remember that trip Jules?), stopping only for food and fuel. But now that I'm safely (?) tucked away in my motel for the evening, I feel like I just went 10 rounds with the late, great Mohammad Ali.

The day got an early start as I was up, packed and fed by 6:30 or so. I hoped to get ahead of the storm cell that was launching the 80% chance of a duplicate day in Texas. My timing appeared to be spot on as the first drops settled on me as I fastened my bag on the back of the bike. With the sun still rising I rolled through historic Port Arthur, across MLK Jr. Bridge and onto the Intracoastal Highway 82 that runs across the Gulf Coast Estuary. I was no sooner at speed when I came to the bridge over the Sabine River and, in the very early morning light, crossed into the 46th state that I have visited in my life time (47 and 48 rest just down the road apiece). Sorry about the lighting, I was just happy to not be wet when I took the pic.

The Southern Louisiana landscape unfolded as an unending series of canals, houses on stilts, birds of unnumbered species, bayous, estuaries and water filled ditches. Elevation-wise? The highest point I reached today was going over one of the bridges! Mile after mile the road ran perfectly centered between two water filled ditches, sometimes in plain sight, sometimes hidden behind tall grasses, but ever present.

I thought I saw a couple of armadillos on the road. The first was upside down, the second on its stomach, the third was only partially there. The second one really looked like an armadillo and I had been told they are common in Texas (although I have only seen them in Georgia). I had convinced myself of my 55 mph identification, failing to think of what else it might have been. Then I stopped in a small turn-out and spotted these remains:

This may look like an armadillo at highway speeds but at this speed it looks a lot like a turtle

I wonder if all of the ditches I had been riding near were fresh or salt water (rain or tidal)? Do they occasionally find alligators up on the road? Can you imagine hitting a gator at 55?

The wooden houses were of all sizes and vintages and became common place in the subconscious mind until something like this appeared and reminded one of what all the locals live with annually, Hurricane season!

The Johnson Bayou Jr. High. The white line is the bottom of the building, which stands on stilts

Eventually the grasses on the right gave way to the coast line.

The poles and rocks piled just off shore continued for miles

I soon found myself being waved directly onto the Cameron ferry for a short ride to the other side of a dredged channel that connects Calcasieu Lake to the Gulf. I was one of only two vehicles that was up that early.

After a number of very level miles the highway made an abrupt bend to the north on what is called Pecan Island, and went almost due north along the east end of White Lake. When it did, the flora and fauna changed just as abruptly. Had I not been paying attention I could easily have been convinced we were in another state altogether.

This did not last much longer and neither did those beautiful blue skies. The road headed, once again, east at Abbeville and I began to bear down on some very dark clouds forming in the distance. By the time I turned onto highway 90 just outside of New Iberia the weather had turned also. I decided, foolishly, not to stop and don my rain gear, continuing to close on my date with reality. 

At almost exactly 11 a.m. I was noticing that all the cars emerging from the blackness in front of me had headlights and wipers turned on. "Good time for lunch" I rationalized. As I dismounted the sky opened up and Spuddy Buddy reached for his SCUBA gear. 

By the time I was ready to go the sky had lightened only slightly. I decided a minimal approach would be warranted so I put the rain pants on before heading east again. By the time I had logged the first post-lunch mile I was reducing my speed to avoid hydroplaning. I quickly noticed that the strips that zipper in under each arm (which I had removed in west Texas for temperature venting) were an ideal place, in their absence, for rain to enter and that a cross wind blowing on wet clothing has a major cooling effect. 

I got off at the next exit, found a gas station with a large canopy for protection, and reinstalled the vent strips. I also decided to put my leather jacket on OVER my rain coat. I rode the final 75-80 miles today alternating between drenching rain and stifling heat and humidity.

Perhaps it was the extreme opposites that did me in but by the time I hit the city limits I was done. I couldn't find a motel fast enough and finally found a Motel 6 with this ominous piece of furniture across their parking lot.

Is it good that they have a gate and fence to seal off the parking or bad that they feel it necessary to have it? Not wanting to be locked in or out I decided to ask what time the gate closed. "We don't lock it" was the unexpected reply. So now do I feel better because they don't feel it is needed or do I worry about the gate being open in a neighborhood that required it in the first place? Where's my wife when there's something to legitimately worry about?

My plans are a bit nebulous for the near future. Tomorrow I intend to ride the longest bridge in the world across Lake Pontchartrain. Then I'll see about access from here to explore the French Quarter. I wonder if the debauchery is open on Sunday? I may lay low another extra day to avoid The Gulf Coast of Florida until after the tropical storm lands Tuesday. I have to calculate miles/days.