The Traveling Roses

The Traveling Roses

One of our hosts in Louisiana told us about a mother and daughter team that are cycling the coastlines of North and South America. That’s ambitious! They call themselves The Traveling Roses. They came to stay with our host for a day or two, and just kept staying. Apparently they are very picky about weather conditions by biking. “Oooooh, it rained last night and it’s wet today. Biking in the wet is miserable. Let’s stay another day to let it dry up.” At about five days into their stay, they said they’d be leaving early the next morning. The next morning, they delayed. More bad weather conditions. “It’s overcast. I hate gray days. I hope there’s blue skies tomorrow.” At this point, the host couldn’t take another day of them. He drove them and their bikes 60 miles to their next destination.

But they’re not all bad. One night they offered to make their world famous spaghetti. Giving back for overstaying their welcome. They delayed. The host got anxious because it was getting late and they hadn’t even started. Their world famous spaghetti probably involves a lot of preparation. Cutting up vegetables, adding spices, making the sauce, hand-rolling the pasta. He prompted them and they got to it. They boiled pasta and added Ragu sauce. WORLD FAMOUS!

They started in New Orleans a year ago. And they just got out of Louisiana recently. They hitched rides a number of times, and then overstayed to the extreme in Gueydan, LA. The Methodist church allowed them to stay in their guest house and the Traveling Roses freeloaded for 9 months. There was probably an extended period of morning dew on the ground. You can’t bike in that!

They’ve extended the duration of their coastline trip from 4 years to 6 years after their year long pace to get out of Louisiana. Texas will probably take them 2 years. Maybe they should change their mission to be to bike the coastline of two states. That would save a lot of generous people from being abused.

Reading their website is frustrating. They’ve got ads, a list of “Sponsors,” an “Amazon Store” where you can buy the same gear they’re using, and a few places where they urge you to donate money to their cause. Here’s their sales pitch:

Many folks we’ve met have asked how they could help us, so in late autumn of 2007 we wrote a fundraising letter telling our story, liberally lacing it with movie quotes. Our idea was to ask for a $30 minimum donation and to give away a t-shirt to each person who could identify all the movie quotes hidden in the letter. When we realized how time and cost intensive it would be, we scratched the t-shirt idea, but we still really loved the movie letter.
So, since we know most of you probably have too many t-shirts anyway, we’re going straight to the heart of the matter – and asking for your donation of $30, $50 or more! We hope you enjoy our letter, and we hope it inspires you to click on the button below to help us out by sending us a donation of any amount. Let us know if you can identify any of the movie quotes!

So they’re not giving t-shirts to people who donate? Why make an empty reference? They want everyone to know that they intended to give send t-shirts for donations, but they have no follow through, and are good for nothing. A tease. Empty and parasitic. And a $30 minimum?! That’s asking a lot for supporting a pipe dream.

Ryan and I developed a seething hatred for The Traveling Roses. The mission, “cycling to celebrate life,” seems more like “mooching and lying to take advantage of generous people.” Ryan and I adopted a temporary mission: to warn our hosts about the mother-daughter deadbeat combo coming through

Kathy’s New Orleans Chili

I want to share Kathy’s chili recipe with the world. It was great, really tasty. It is actually a WeightWatchers recipe but we ate cinnamon buns, burned cookies, and dough nuts with it.

12 oz kidney beans

6 oz ground turkey

3 c stewed tomatoes

2 c tomato sauce

1.5 c chopped onions

1 c chopped green chiles, drained

1 tbs, 2 tsp chili powder

1.5 tsp cumin

1 tsp paprika

1 tsp oregano

Instructions: Put in a pot.

Lake Arthur, LA to Lake Charles, LA

It was a good night. Peaceful by the lake. Then at 7 am, a bulldozer. Loud as shit. Right by our tents. Prone, and helpless, we lay awake in our tents. When the coast was clear, we got up.

The sun was rising over the lake, and the geese were honking. It was a highlight morning. Ryan took out his hand-crank-powered radio and we listened to a morning show as we made oatmeal. Why didn’t we think of doing this earlier? The radio made it feel like we were a household, or that we were part of civilization. Way better than dead silence, our usual. A Rod Stewart song came on, we looked around to make sure no one was watching. Then we danced.

Some guys have all the luck.
Some guys have all the pain.
Some guys get all the breaks.
Some guys do nothing but complain.

As we packed up, we noticed an old man watching us from a distance. He sat at the picnic area 100 ft away. Staring. It rekindled recent memories. Paranoia. “Is he going to bust us? Why would he call the cops? He should just come and talk to us. Bastard. A few minutes later, he left. Really self-centered guys dreaming up how important we are. Wanting attention. Wanting to be baaaaad.

It was hard leaving, and even harder once we got into the open fields. The wind hit us hard. Angry wind. Sapping us, breaking our spirits. The sun was out too. My red arms were lined with sweat beads. My bike shorts got swampy. The landscape was boring. Flat, swampy land. Nothing around.

When we stopped at a gas station, an odd woman walked up to us. Short boys cut, short, plump, short arms and legs, round torso, like a ball, doughnut face. “Ya’ll pedalin’ the entire way?” She made a pedaling motion with her hands. “Ya’ll makin’ me thirsty. I’ll drink for ya. I’ll drink a case for ya.” No need to drink. She was already drunk. It was early afternoon.

We turned North to go to Pete and Mary Ann’s, friends of Ryan’s grandmother, who were North of Lake Charles. The wind was at our backs. It carried us. It was a relief to be riding at an easy 22 mph. We had to go over a few bridges. Traffic was pretty bad, and a couple of trucks passed us really closely. Ryan felt the danger. He stood up on his pedals and sprinted. We didn’t stop in Lake Charles at all. Too tired to stop and too close to our end destination for the day.

It was a relief to get to Pete and Mary Ann’s. They came out and greeted us. They said they had been looking forward to our arrival. Really nice people. We went in, Mary Ann made some sweet tea, we took showers, and rested.

Mary Ann made a taco casserole for dinner. Huge platter of heavy meat and cheese. Ryan and I kept eating and eating. Hungry, selfish boys. Bottomless pits. We polished it off, easily. She had also made a coconut cake. I had about five slices. I was surprised by how much I could eat.

Mary Ann and Pete were really selfless. They wanted us to eat. They poured us glasses of milk to nourish us. Pete went out of his way to make sure we had everything we needed. Great hosting.

Abbeville, LA to Lake Arthur, LA

happy jumping guys

We were able to successfully avoid the cold and get a full night’s rest.  Knights of Columbus saved us.  We celebrated in the front of the building the next morning.

The fire station was next door.  Really macho firemen watching two ugly guys jumping in celebration.  Harmless ugly cyclists giggling.  We wanted to rub the hospitality of the Knights of Columbus, our own personal knights, in their faces.  Take that!

jack, the indian cajun

We were approaching Kaplan, Louisiana.  I wanted to stop at the Post Office and send whatever crap I wasn’t using home.  Books and water filter were the first things to go.  I ended up unloading about 7 lbs of my load.  I hoped it would improve my ability to cycle into the wind.  I was desperate.

When I came back out of the Post Office, I saw Eoin speaking to an Indian guy with a blazer on.  I figured he was asking the typical questions:  Where are you headed and why are you doing this?  He said goodbye and took off.

Eoin pulled out a $20 bill.  Jack, the Indian with a cajun accent, had stopped to give us some cash money.  He wanted to buy us lunch.  He said he admired what we were doing and passed us earlier on Highway 14.  I wish we could have gotten a picture of him.  I wish I could have made out with him a little and give him thanks.  Eoin told me he fooled around with him in his truck a little, so that eased my mind.  I don’t like taking money without giving something back.

tension in the wind

We were headed to Lake Arthur.  The entire day was to be spent on Highway 14.  We hoped that the wind had died down the previous night.  We were wrong.

14 took us through deforested areas and pasture.  The wind abused us heavily there.  No trees to shield our fragile bodies from the wind.  It’s almost not even worth commenting on anymore.  It’s just a given that we’ll go against the wind.

There was nothing to do but comment about the wind and geography.  We disagreed about wind strength and direction.  We disagreed about the local geography and how far the coast was from our current location.  We disagreed about the geography of Lake Arthur.  Wind and disagreement.  The tension was mounting, and there was nothing to look forward to.  Two whiny babies disagreeing and complaining in the wind.

stupid gas station girl

44 miles later we arrived at Lake Arthur.  The town welcomed us with a large bridge.  Thanks.

We rode into town.  We disagreed about what direction we should take into town.  We stopped at a gas station to get $4 Po-boys and french fries.  A mechanic was telling us it was good.  Cheap lunch on Jack.  We briefly disagreed about whether we should eat there or not.  We ended up going in to check it out.

We went in to find a young angry girl working the gas station.  She didn’t care about us.  She wanted to sit on her ass all day and get paid for it.  I wanted her to get her ass out of the stool and feed us.  We walked over to the food section.  She had to serve us food.  Dry food under a heat lamp.  It was calories.  Cheap calories.

She couldn’t serve us Po-boys because they were low on shrimp.  The sign next to her said “Overstuffed Po-boys! Only $4!”  I tried joking with her about it not being overstuff.  Understuffed it should read.  No smile.  No laugh.  Just malice and contempt.  She wanted to sit back down on that stool and stew over who got voted off American Idol the previous night.  I bet she hated Paula.

Eoin asked her if she could cook up some more.  She refused.  “I am not allowed to do that until 3 pm.”  It was 1:30 PM.  Stupid girl.  Stupid lazy angry girl.  We suggested stuffing it with chicken tenders or some other meat.  She could not do that.  The ‘Overstuffed’ sign lied.  The gas station lied.  The mechanic lied.  The girl sucked.  We were in a town of liars and a girl that sucked.

tension at Pappy’s

After 45 minutes of riding around looking for food, we wound up at a place called Pappy’s.  Cajun and Po-boys.

We ate our food quickly.  It was good, but the portions were small.  Jack’s $20 was spent quickly.  We were in the company of 3 big black guys that had just come back from Atlanta.  They were promoting their rap music.  They wanted to be rap stars.  One guy declared that they were entrepeneurs.  Cool big word.  Successful big word.  They were cool black guys who rapped.  I didn’t really care about his entrepreneurial abilities.

When they were leaving, Eoin said “see you guys later”.  They didn’t respond.  They just walked out.  Ugly cycling white guy dissed.  This was a repeat of saying goodbye to the New Iberia scammer.

We spoke about the wind.  We discussed how the wind would affect our route tomorrow.  I said the southwest wind would help us on our northerly route tomorrow.  Disagreement.

Eoin said, “Maybe.”

I said, “There is no maybe about it.”

This was how it was earlier that day.  Disagreement turned into a blowup at Pappy’s.  Arguments about the wind.  Stupid.  We were seething…fuming at Pappy’s.

Minutes later we were laughing about it.  We did a limp handshake on it.

early hunt for a camp site

We left Pappy’s in search of a church.  We wanted to find a camp site early.  We found the town square which was situated next to the lake and town park.  It would be an awesome place to camp.  Small beach.  Geese.  Restrooms.  Huge oak trees.  Picnic tables.  A long pier.

We went off to the Police Department to get permission to pitch tents in the park.  I had doubts.  I was preparing myself for a ‘No’.

We went inside and spoke to Liz.  She contacted the Chief.  We got permission.  Damn.  We were elated to have a camping spot this early.  The perfect camping spot.  Liz and the Chief were good to us.

We set up camp.  Eoin bathed in the water while I bathed in the sun.

I’m not wearing a white t-shirt.  That’s my skin.  “Hi hot babes.  Are you interested in an ugly guy with brown arms?”

We tried eating a decent meal.  What we got was watered-down chicken alfredo.  It was chicken alfredo soup.  We didn’t care.  We had each other.

After eating soup, we played harmonica on the beach.  We shared cookies and laughed.  Giggling all night in the moonlight.  It was magical.

New Iberia, LA to Abbeville, LA

7am and my cell phone alarm went off. It was cold and I didn’t want to get up. I looked outside to see if there was any church activity. I didn’t want us to overstay our welcome. I yelled over to Ryan’s tent, “Hey, it’s 7. Maybe another 30 minutes?” Tired, phlem voice, “I’m tired. I couldn’t sleep with all that wind.”

At 7:45, I still didn’t want to get up. “Hey do you think we should get up? It’s almost 8.” “It’s up to you.” Typical Ryan response. “You have no input at all?” We got up slowly.

I got out of the tent and saw a truck over by the administration building. They pulled away and then came back. The driver stayed inside. We had someone watching us. I told Ryan.

He got out of his tent and we started packing up. We kept a nervous eye on the truck. Just sitting there. Watching us. Suspicious. Why didn’t they just come over and talk to us? Probably calling the cops. “We got two harmless boys over here camping on church property. They probably think they’re gonna get away with it.”

Another truck pulled up. Great. They’re calling around to the neighborhood watch, getting all the parishioners involved. Cracking down on two camping boys on bikes. They just sat there, watching.

Our initial nervousness turned to anger and then laughter. It was insane. Why do they care? We’re packing up to leave. And we got the pastor’s approval! Let them gather all their friends and call the cops. The pastor said okay. “Holy crow! What kind of mess did you boys get yourself into?”

They must have thought we were too dangerous to approach. No one wanted to step up and confront us. So I just took my time packing up. Just to piss them off. There! Take that!

As we pulled our bikes to leave, two more trucks pulled up to cut us off. They were surrounding us. I put my brave face on and held my head up high. Acting confidently like you own the place can get you out of jams like this. Ryan ducked his head and looked at the ground. Those extra two cars broke his spirit. We kept walking.

And walking. Nothing happened. No one came out to confront us. As we got closer we realized there was no one sitting in those trucks, and there were a bunch of other cars on the other side of the building, out of sight from where we set up our tents. There must have been a service. No one gave a shit about us.

Two boys working themselves up. Thinking they were the center of attention. Talk of the town. Nope. No one cared. Probably didn’t even notice us. If they did, they probably took note of our big egg helmets. “Uh oh, we’ve got a situation. Two boys are camping over here. Oh wait, they’re wearing big harmless helmets, and they’re smiling. Never mind, it’s just some ugly guys.”

We headed towards Abbeville, disheartened from no one taking notice of us at the church. Maybe we wanted the fame, or the infamy. Harmless guys wanting to be bad boys.

The ride sucked. WIND. 25 mph head on. We pushed ourselves to crawl. Gusts making us wobble. We tried to tuck ourselves and get low, but our loaded bikes provide a lot of wind resistance. Tucking doesn’t do a whole lot.

As we approached Abbeville, we decided it would be better to end the day early than to battle the wind. So we only made it 20 miles.

We saw a Chinese buffet that was just opening for lunch. $7. It was awesome. We stuffed ourselves until we felt pretty sick. Dessert too. Feeling bloated and the wind roaring outside, it felt good to know we weren’t going anywhere else the rest of the day.

We went to the library to update our blog, plan out the next few days, and look for ways to get down to Central America. Ryan joined findacrew.net and I posted a bunch of ads on couchsurfing.com and craigslist.org (boat hitch-hiking and rideshare).

At 5pm, we left to find a place where we could camp for the night. We had heard fire stations are a good option. We thought they might even let us stay in one of their bunks.

As we approached the fire station, they were folding their hoses on the driveway. Ryan asked. One of them checked with the chief. Yeah sure, I guess you could camp in the small plot of grass behind the station. Then another guy came up and said we should go to the RV park down the road. “I mean, if you need to use the bathroom during the night, I don’t know where you’re going to go.” Mmmm. Not friendly. They didn’t want us.

We went to the RV park and scouted for church grounds along the way. Nothing. Ryan called the RV park and found out there’s no tent camping. Then the lady on the phone said she’d make an exception, $17. Mmmm. Shitty.

The sun was setting as we went back into town to ask the police station. Nope. They turned us away quickly. No help.

A couple of guys were sitting outside a shop. Ryan approached, “Hey do you mind if I ask you guys a question?” What? Is this The Pickup Artist? Is he trying to get a male opinion? Peacocking with his sweaty face and big helmet. They suggested we try to stealth camp behind the gazebo in the square in the middle of town.

We were running out of options. All the churches we saw were closed since it was well after 5pm, and no one was around. As we going back towards the fire station with our tails between our legs, there was a Knights of Columbus (Catholic mens service organization) building next door and people were going inside. We pulled up, and walked in. Confidently, I said, “Hi, we’re long-distance cyclists from Atlanta and we’re ending up in Abbeville for the night. Would we be able to camp outside on the premises?” One of the men nodded immediately. “Sure.” Not bothered at all. Awesome!

As we were setting up outside, two guys, Mason and Jules, came over and asked about our trip. They were cyclists themselves. They were enthusiastic and glad that we had come by. They left and a few minutes later another guy came out, “Hey guys, we’re eating inside and we all want you to come in and eat dinner with us.”

We entered as they were starting their meeting.  About 30 guys, most of them at least in their late 60s.  We had chicken, sausage and cabbage, beans, rice, and bread.  Cajun.

It was a short meeting, and at the end, we were asked to introduce ourselves.  Ryan spoke eloquently as he thanked them for their generosity in giving us food and a place to stay.  As the meeting broke, a lot of the guys came over to wish us luck and ask us questions.  Then the president, Blaine Sauvigney told us that a bunch of the members want to offer us the building for the night, so we don’t have to stay outside in our tents.  Incredible.   The hospitality kept escalating.

The members trickled out and thanked each of them as they left.  Tom and Randy were washing dishes in the kitchen.  As Tom went to the back to lock up, Randy wished us luck, and handed Ryan $20.  We said we couldn’t accept it, and Ryan tried to give it back.  Randy wanted to help us on our way.  After some struggle, Ryan was able to hand it back.  Damn.  We were both floored by that.  It was a sobering experience.  Randy was such a nice guy.

We had a sink shower, rolled our mats and sleeping bags out, and then kicked off our shoes and partied.  Knights of Columbus dance party!

Franklin, LA to New Iberia, LA

bye guys

After Paul cooked up some pancakes, we said our goodbyes. It was tough. Tears streaming down all of our faces. We saw fog outside, and we wanted to stay another few days because the fog is dangerous to cycle in. There was also dew on the grass. And there were a few puddles on side of the road. Dangerous.

We were going to be camping for the next few days. We had no idea where we were going to be sleeping. We were homeless sad guys, crying and petting each other under Louisiana bridges, fearful of not knowing our way.

two angry guys in the wind

The scenery was off and on. The previous day had been great. We had cycled along a canal. Flowers, turtles, and beautiful women. Today, it was wide open fields. When you have wide open fields, the wind abuses you. It pissed me off. All I could think about was the wind. Nothing positive in my mind.

Beautiful.

Conversation often passes the time. I didn’t want Bryan and Ian conversation. That would amplify my frustration. I decided to ask Eoin why he was so quiet during our New Orleans to Houma ride. I was hoping he was just annoyed with the city. I was wrong.

He prefaced the conversation, “It’s not a big deal. I’m OK with it now.”

Shit. This was going to piss me off more than the wind. He continued to pre-empt me. I readied myself.

We exchanged thoughts about some of the things that had happened the previous few days. It was an unsaid war of frugality. Mini-battles of the dollar during our stay in New Orleans. Things festering in one another’s minds for days, burning holes of anger in our brains. When something festers in your mind during a few 70 mile rides, it grows and grows. That’s all you think about. That and avoiding being hit by a car.

We got a lot out of it. We fooled around on the side of the road for a few hours and laughed. By the time our conversation was over, we were in New Iberia. Cleansed with a new positivity, we stopped and got sno-balls.

New Iberia annoying dumbass

We were sitting down enjoying our snowballs when some stupid guy flies up on the curb and parks a few inches from our bikes. We were expecting him to get out and demand that we move our bicycles. Eoin was prepared to retaliate verbally before he opened the door. I wanted to eat my sno-ball.

The guy came walking up to the sno-ball window, blubbering stupid words. He was cheap too, which made him more annoying. Frugal and cheap are two different things. This guy was a true cheapskate. The first thing he asked was how many scoops are in a small. He would criticize the size of the small and continued complaining about price.

He was trying to show off in front of a mom with 6 fat kids. One of the fat kids ask for 50 napkins and dropped them all. The fat kid didn’t even try to pick them up. The annoying guy blubbers out, “Don’t pick them napkins up. They touched the ground. Tell the girl to get some more!”

He banged on the window with needless force. He yelled, “Can we get some more napkins? Give the girl some napkins!” The girl working the window gave the fat kid more napkins. The girl was annoyed.

Eoin was busy picking up the 50 napkins the fat kid had dropped. He was angry. I was sitting down, enjoying my sno-ball. The fat kids started passing in between the annoying guy’s car and the bikes, nearly knocking them over. That is when I got up. Their bellies were nearly pushing over the bikes. They couldn’t simply go behind the car to avoid the bicycles. That would be too hard. I got up and blocked the way, pretending to do something with my rear bag. One fat girl just stood there, expecting me to move. I was implicitly challenging her to a duel of patience, a battle of wits. I continued to stand there. She continued to stand there. I wasn’t moving. She wasn’t moving.

Finally, the fat kid got too hot to be standing outside and retreated behind the car to the air conditioning of her mother’s SUV. Meanwhile, the annoying guy was again banging on the window, demanding some water. I wanted to bang this guy’s head into my handlebars, demanding that he shut the hell up. He disrupted my enjoyment of a sno-ball.

tandem

We went down the street to Wendy’s. Free wi-fi. Cool. Now we can scavenge internet from fast food places. It was like finding a place to handwash your clothes with free soap.

While in Wendy’s, we noticed a couple on a tandem bike at the hotel across the street. Eoin ran out to say hello. Anne Louise and Peter. This was the couple that couldn’t make it to Russ and Paul’s due to the wind. I was happy they couldn’t make it. It meant having a bed. Plus they were credit card touring. We were two young boys that did not own businesses. Campgrounds for $18 a night turn us off. It was good to see other people touring though. We felt a connection to them. Very deep connection. Intense and burning. I wanted them to invite us in to sleep on their hotel floor. It would mean a shower. They knew what it was like to be hot, smelly, and desperate. It was getting close to dusk, and we had no clue where we were going to sleep.

faith cathedral and the liar

It was 6:15. We had an hour to make it 17 miles, find a place to camp, and set up our tents. No way in hell that could happen. Damnit. I wanted that hotel floor space. I would have shared some of my peanut butter.

We came up on a church named Faith Cathedral. We saw two trucks in the parking lot and rode up to the two men talking to one another. The first guy had an old beat-up truck. He looked like he was in his 50s. A goatee and camo cap. Chubby sad guy. The other guy, Anthony, was a member of the church. He was the maintenance man. He had lived in New Iberia his whole life. He had a pencil thin mustache just above his lip. Weird facial hair.

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Eoin pedals up to the pair and asks if we could camp on the church premises. Anthony has to call up the pastor and the bishop (pastor’s wife) to get permission. Meanwhile, we speak to the chubby guy. He asks us where we’re from and if we go to church. “Hey you boys go to church, right?” Weird question. It put us on edge, like we had to prove ourselves. “Yessir, of course, every Sunday!” with a nervous smile, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the lie, or ask us which church. But what was his authority? He wasn’t even a member of the church. He gives us a background on his life.

Chubby guy went to Africa for about 9 months. I liked that. A generic answer. Africa is big. He didn’t give specifics. It’s like saying I was born in the United States and my birthday is the 80s. I asked him if he did missionary work. He said he did consulting. Consulting for what? Stupid job title that has no meaning. Service Consultant. Technology Consultant. Industry Consultant. Stupid made-up job. This guy was loaded with generic answers.

He just came back from Africa, and when he arrived, he found out his house had been robbed. Everything was gone, including his jet skis, dirtbikes, BMW, and his plasma TVs. His freezer doors had been left wide open.

I asked him about insurance covering it. He sidestepped it. Weird. He went on to say his Harley wasn’t stolen. Evidently, the only thing they didn’t steal was his piece of shit truck and the Harley. I was on to this guy. He was putting on an act for Anthony. Chubby guy wanted something from him. I hadn’t shared my thoughts with Eoin yet.

Anthony spoke to the bishop. She said we couldn’t camp there. He then spoke to the pastor, and he gave us the OK. I guess the bishop was fearful of two harmless guys on bicycles. We might rob the church of all their valuables and get away quickly, pedaling and laughing maniacally. Our bags full of gold and frankincense.

Chubby guy asks us for our IDs so he can get our information. Anthony didn’t even ask. I thought about this guy stealing my identity, parading around the U.S. as Ryan Harwell. He comes back to Conyers and starts dating Ashley. No one notices. Driving my Ford Splash.

Chubby guy started crying. I felt bad for Anthony. He was already in an awkward situation, and we gave him another one on top of it. I think we might have saved him though. Saved him from a scammer.

Anthony lets us know we can fill up our water bottles at the spigot. The chubby guy then says, “I’d give you guys the food that was in my icebox, but I gave it away to some homeless people. I had ham sandwiches and gatorade.” Great. That helps. He was putting on this huge show.

As he prepared to leave, he told us if we even left a speck of trash, he’d hunt us down and throw us in jail. Another show. He was being defensive of a church that he wasn’t a part of. Chubby guy went from a crying pathetic sob to a angry defensive guy. I told him we won’t get far on bicycles. He laughed and said, “That’s for damn sure.” No respect. Stupid fat scammer.

He gave Anthony another hug as he started to cry again. He got into his truck. Eoin went for a handshake and said, “Cya later man.” Nothing. He didn’t even acknowledge us as he drove away. Eoin was rejected by the scammer. Funny. I am happy I noticed that detail. We were of no use to him. I thought about him robbing us in the middle of the night. Putting our bikes in his crap truck and taking off.

We thanked Anthony and went on to set up camp. The wind was terrible that night. 30 mph winds. I thought my tent was going to topple over. I cried myself to sleep.

Houma, LA to Franklin, LA

As Perry was cooking us breakfast, I snuck away to the office to write Lep and her a thank you note. She announced breakfast was ready so I left the note on the computer desk. As I sat down, Perry excused herself for a moment to get something in the office. I got up to cut her off, but she was too quick. So I made a pretty awkward movement – got up, turned, and then immediately sat back down. Perry came out a few minutes later and thanked “whoever” wrote the note for their nice words. And I wasn’t even finished. She seemed happier. Maybe we should adopt that technique: “hide” a thank you note in an obvious spot so they see it before we leave.

The wind was with us on the ride. I sat up on my saddle as tall as I could get so my back would catch the wind. We were gliding at 18-22 mph for a while.

As we were cycling through a small town, we heard a long, loud honk behind us. Trouble. A pickup truck towing a boat passed us. There was an ugly kid in the back of the cab who stared back at us, eyes fixed, sweaty hair, ugly. He kept staring, it felt like forever. I gave him a big wave. Big friendly smiling wave. He flicked me off.

We stopped for lunch at a small park.

Ryan: Mexico was still on my mind. I gave Heather a call while swinging on a swingset. I talked to her for about 20 minutes about the subject. Towards the end of the call, I became more cocky with my swing. Higher and higher. No hands. One hand on the phone while the other was free. I started to swing back and began to fall into the air. My hands were too far gone. I couldn’t do anything but land on my back. I fell 5 feet. I immediately looked up. Eoin didn’t see it. No macho construction workers saw it. I kept speaking on the phone like nothing happened. I played it off anyways in case someone saw it through a door peep hole or window far off. I’m cool.

We rode 12 miles through sugar cane fields to get to our hosts. Russ and Paul greeted us. They live in a remote area and make stained glass for a living. Since they’re so far away from everything, they buy food in bulk every two weeks or so. Russ made some amazing shrimp etouffe. Holy Crow!

Russ and Paul had some great stories of other cyclists who came through. Some pretty pathetic people with big goals. Holy Crow! These people sucked. It was great hearing stories about them; it made us feel good.

They told us about a “cult” movie called Sordid Lives. Apparently it takes a while to warm up to it and is pretty bizarre, but they love it and wanted us to see it. It was a low budget, amateur-quality video movie, but with pretty big name B-list celebrity actors like Olivia Newton-John and Beau Bridges. Lots of weird cuts and odd angled shots that reminded me of our stuff – lots of mistakes. Mostly dialogue that wasn’t even funny. I was exhausted and my eyes started drooping. I tried to stay awake, and I thought I did, but Ryan said I was asleep for about 30 minutes. Rude guy asleep. Whoops.

Ryan: I had been struggling to stay awake during this movie the entire time. I did not want to be rude. Falling asleep during their favorite movie of all time. I imagined getting kicked out into the bayous. Cold and afraid. The timecode on the DVD player was like staring at the clock in grade school. It was a huge hellish tease. I looked over at Eoin and he was asleep. That asshole. I had gotten up to go to the bathroom to keep myself awake. He just fell asleep. I poked him a few times. I didn’t want Russ and Paul to catch him napping. I was nervous every time Russ and Paul shifted their positions and slightly turned their faces. Wake up Eoin…Wake up!!! 30 minutes later, Eoin woke up. As soon as he woke up, he asked a question about the scene. I thought he was trying to play off his nap, like he had been awake the entire time. Damnit. I wanted to fall asleep.

There was a bed, but since Ryan had suffered through sleeping in a pullout bed in the middle of the living room the night before, I let him have it. I slept out on a mattress in the living room beside an aquarium. With water trickling all night, I was afraid I was going to pee the mattress.

New Orleans, LA to Houma, LA

getting out of New Orleans

Nightmare. We didn’t think it would be that bad. Google maps with walking directions gave us a route that went over the Huey P. Long bridge.

Hell no. We traveled 8 miles east to find a ferry. That was a cool experience. When we got on the ferry, one of the workers said, “Fuck that shit.” She was talking about my bicycle. I looked at her and said, “What?” I wanted to hear it again because it was funny. She didn’t say anything else. I must have scared her with my big egg head.

I looked up and the Captain was giving us a peace sign. I should start doing that more. It’s cool. Lame and cool all at once. Stupid old hand sign starts to become cool once you’re on a bicycle.

The ferry took us to a heavily industrialized section of the city called Gretna. Asshole redneck drivers everywhere. They took humor in nearly clipping us. Not much I could do about it, so I’d just wave. Harmless ugly egg head guy waving to fat truckers really pissed them off.  It’s great.

Our route led us to a construction site. The road was blocked for 15 minutes because a levvy was being built. One of the workers said we were going the wrong way. I didn’t believe him and trusted my route. What does this guy know? He’s lived here all his life and I’ve been here once. Stupid harmless idiot cocky with his navigation skills.

We ended up going 6 miles out of the way before I realized my mistake. We backtracked 6 miles. I didn’t want to see the construction worker. I could picture him laughing at us, holding up his “Slow” sign and with an “I told you so” under his breath. I pedaled fast avoiding eye contact.

The nightmare continued. We got on a 6 lane highway. I managed to find a gap to cross, although it was close. Eoin had to wait about 10 minutes to find a break. He ended up doing a U-turn. I could tell he was pissed.

I wanted to get out of the New Orleans area. It was like a magnet from hell that would not let us go. That’s been the worst city we’ve cycled through. Nightmare.

dead silence

There was no talking for most of our 70 mile ride that day. Eoin was quiet. I initially thought he was tired, but it was a festering, seething silence. Something was bothering him. I was concentrated on getting to Houma. My focus was often on the shoulder. Throughout the entire ride, the shoulder was littered with nails, bolts, boards, Mardi Gras beads, and road kill. You have to hold your breath for 20 seconds everytime you come up on road kill. It’s hard not to look at. Rubber necking roadkill is disgusting and tempting.

The most painful parts of cycling through Lousiana are getting over waterways. Usually, we’re on bridges that have little or no shoulder. Cars are stuck behind two ugly turtles climbing a huge incline. I would frequently think about getting flicked off the side of the bridge into the water by one big truck.

houma

Finally. The ride was shit. When we got to Houma, Perry and Lep welcomed us with showers and cold drinks. They had been preparing BBQ, cajun style. Shrimp wrapped in bacon. Chicken. Pork. And there was salad. We needed the protein after all the mac ‘n cheese we had been eating. We were two frail boys on bikes.

Shrimp wrapped in bacon.  Good food for frail boys.

Perry and Lep were incredible hosts. They showed us around Houma, a town put on the map for its four big industries: shrimp, sugar, oil, and medical. Lep was in the dried shrimp business. Shrimp jerky.

Perry entertained us with a story about a pair of cyclists that told her to be quiet in her own home. I love horror stories. They’re terrible when they happen, but they make great entertainment.

A shot of us all.  Happy cyclists.

New Orleans

The day after doing 80 miles against the wind, we were still exhausted. We just idled around the house, stayed in separate worlds from each other, needing space, silent.

Kent, Mary, and Kathy came back from work, meeting up with us, two unemployed, stay-at-home smiling guys. We went out to Abita Brewery to eat. Ryan and I picked up the check to thank the Tribbles for their hospitality.

Kent let Kathy borrow his Suburban so she could transport us and our bikes across Lake Pontchartrain. 30 minutes in the Suburban across the bridge, or a whole day of riding to get around the lake. The 24-mile bridge over Lake Pontchartrain used to be the longest bridge in the world, now it’s just the longest bridge over Lake Pontchartrain.

Kathy brought us back to her apartment in Uptown, and we met her boyfriend, Morgan. Great guy, we liked him immediately. Plus he’s pretty knowledgable on conspiracy theories. Ever heard of the Web Bots Project? Hey Ryan, fill him in. What’s the schedule for the next earthquake or financial disaster? Not trusting banks, and only dealing in cash is always cool.

Kathy’s place was great and was a shotgun setup, so we had to pass through her bedroom from the living room where we were sleeping to use the bathroom. Going to sleep, pass through their room, Morgan no shirt. “Hey guys. Okay, good night.”

Ryan and I went into town the next day. We took a stroll along the river, carrying our bikes. Ryan traded in his bike for a smaller, bluer one.

Ryan sat down on the steps, and he began to tell a story. Black children came out from everywhere and gathered around. Laughter and smiles on their young faces. And when Ryan finished his story, their small hands clapped and clapped and clapped. Ryan loves children.

The French Quarter is the best. We saw so much! Beautiful!

Wow! It was a really authentic cultural experience. Sipping Hurricanes on Bourbon St. It doesn’t get much better than that!

It’s a funny thing about the French Quarter. The locals are so curious about their city that they like to stroll around on a weekday taking photos of all the buildings with sensible walking shoes and a sweater tied around their waist. Carrying my handlebar bag like a purse and wearing my small red shorts, I felt I fit right in.

Geoff and John Mark from the Pickup Artist were going ga-ga outside the Hustler store.

I love this city. So much to see and do.

Greetings from The Big Easy.

Gorgeous!! You gotta come to New Orleans.

Ryan and I escaped to a private spot to eat some famous Cafe du Monde beignets.

Look at my friend to the right. Gotcha! You probably thought he was a sleeping bum. Fooled you!

Awesome!! Keep up the good work.

Still smiling. Still harmless.

We headed out to the Lower 9th Ward, the emotional center of the Katrina disaster. It was still in bad shape. Ryan cried, but when I told him some Katrina jokes, he smiled and got over it. Then we fooled around in one of the abandoned houses.

NOLA is flat, but it’s horrible for cycling. The roads are in terrible condition, and the drivers forget their laid-back Louisiana attitude when they’re on the road.

We did a potluck with Kathy and Morgan. What are we going to bring??!?

Salad, stir fry. Mmm, that sounds good.

Craning my neck, Kathy obliged.

Ryan: cinnamon buns, a small potato. Eoin: burned cookies, and undercooked, sloppy-in-the-middle pizza.

Band photo on the stoop. Waiting for UPS.

Morgan got a new keyboard. Nord.

We celebrated by hula hooping. I’m great with my hips.

Ryan was the sad guy that day. Sitting alone at the local coffee shop, updating the blog. Mmmm, he loved seeing that snoball.

Earlier, when we were both taking hours to write and upload photos to the blog, we got caught up in a teenager hang out that was happening next to us. They really loved cigarettes and hated homework. “Yeah, come to PJs, and bring cigarettes!” “I can’t believe Ms. Weaver. She told us we’ve got 60 flash cards due tomorrow, and that that was being nice to us. I was like ‘You’re high!‘” And I can’t believe Tommy Pederson is breaking up with Julia. I think his anger towards his parents is destroying their relationship.

Morgan’s band had a show that night. We got dressed up in our crumpled “nice” clothes — wrinkled long-sleeve flannel shirt, shitty boot-cut jeans, and big running shoes. Awesome band. Bill Withers influence. Morgan’s Nord keyboard stole the show.

Rachel Pillion, our friend from Georgia Tech, happened to be coming into town from Colorado. Catholic Center reunion. New Orleans is magical!

A middle-aged lady, Lady in Red, came into the bar and looked over at me really friendly, stuck out her tongue through her teeth and gave me a flirtatious smile. Mmmm. Ryan caught that, and we started doing it a lot to each other. Lady in Red saw us, and figured out we were making fun of her. The rest of the night, she looked over with a cold eye. I felt bad. Sorry Lady in Red.

Her date was a guy in his fifties dressed in an all-black suit. He was diggin’ the scene and diggin’ the music and diggin’ his girl, his Lady in Red. At a break between songs, he called out to the band, “You’re good,” but the band didn’t notice. Then he cupped his hands over his mouth, and let out a staccato, “You’re fucking good!” The singer, Jamie, replied, “Thank you fucking much.” Weird interaction.

Mexico: Dead within 24 hours

There’s been a lot of media attention on the drug wars in Mexico.  Since telling people about our plan to cycle through Mexico, we’ve gotten a lot of negativity.  Our families are worried and our friends think we’re stupid.

Ryan got a phone call from Don Potts’ (host in Jackson) friend, Tom.  Tom lives in Brownsville, TX, and seemingly has a lot of knowledge of Mexico.  His neighbors in Brownsville got kidnapped, and he thinks our plan is dangerous.

As Ryan was speaking with Tom on the phone, I had a feeling it might change our trip.  Ryan had been pretty positive about going for a while now.  When he got off the phone and relayed the message, I shut down.  I didn’t want to hear it.

Ryan said that he didn’t want to go to Mexico.  It’s not worth the risk.

The next day I got a phone call from Donna, our host in Kosciusko.  She had talked to a friend in Texas about our trip.  The friend said we’d be crazy to go, drug violence has spread up into Fredricksburg, where he lives.  He said that if we crossed the border, we’d be dead within 24 hours.  Donna had been worrying about us all night.  She is very motherly, and she was looking out for us, warning us.  Delivering the bad news.

It’s hard to figure out what’s realistic.  The news reports mostly focus on border problems like in Juarez.  Drug-related.  Localized to the border.  Then there’s the personal stories like Tom’s.  Crazy stories.  Scary.  Is it this common?  24 hours and certain death.  That’s extreme.  I understand the message, but it’s not realistic.  Then there’s forums I’ve been reading on CouchSurfing, and other personal accounts from people who’ve done bicycle trips through Mexico.  Great experiences.  Safe place.  Only dangerous if you’re involved with drugs.

Mexico’s a big country.  I don’t think “violence” has spread all over it.  Any tourist, any American, any cyclist: you’re dead.  Rob, kidnap, and kill you.  Extreme.

But it’s hard to know.  Am I just naive?  I just don’t think lawlessness and violence everywhere makes sense.

So now we’re trying to figure out what to do.  I would still love to travel through Mexico and Central America.  Rich experiences in a different culture.  Different people, different language, different food.  No Wendy’s, Dollar Generals, or Walmarts.  When am I going to get this chance again?  Ryan’s more interested in seeing other parts of the US, and volunteering at organic farms.

I’ll be looking at other possibilities of getting into Mexico.  Craigslist rideshare, airfare, boat hitch-hiking.  I wouldn’t mind skipping Northern Mexico where most of the trouble is and getting down to Oaxaca, Chiapas, and the Yucatan.  I’m more interested in those areas anyway.

For now, we’re traveling West through the Bayou of Louisiana, and we’ll be heading through Galveston, Houston, Austin, and maybe making it to Big Bend National Park.

Topeka, MS to Mandeville, LA

silent morning

We broke camp in the cold. We had slept well that night and were thankful for the patch of woods that night. We had a water spigot too.

It was a silent morning. We only said a few words to each other that morning while breaking camp. I had woken up to Eoin taking pictures of me. Annoying Ian. I hated it at the moment but I’m glad he’s Ian in the morning. The shots of me being annoyed are great.

We took off and few miles later stopped at a gas station. I needed to wrap my knee. The tendon behind my knee was sore and painful. Not a great way to start a long day. The two ladies inside the small remote gas station were immediately cautious. We were going to rob them of their candy bars since that was the only thing we could reasonably carry. We were then going to pedal away at breakneck speed while they dialed the police. They will never catch us. Blending in to the environment. “The only thing we saw was two ugly guys on bicycles that went that way, officer.”

The two ladies warmed up to us after I used the restroom. Maybe it took two guys using the restroom to think we were normal. Just Eoin using the restroom while I lingered outside bandaging my knee was too suspicious.

We rode for 15 miles. We did not speak. Silence.

riding into the wind

The wind that day was terrible. We had been spoiled the previous day. The wind had been at our backs, and we did 19 miles per hour on flat roads. Today sucked. The wind pushed us down to a crawl. 12 mph and we were fighting hard.

We stopped to each lunch at a hot meals stand in Tylertown. Eoin was silent. I spoke to one of the employees about our trip. He was really talkative. Eoin didn’t want anything to do with the conversation. He wanted silence. He was probably thinking about the wind and the 55 miles we had to go.

The cook gave us the rest of the fries he had lying around. That made Eoin talkative again. Free food.

Shitty welcome to Louisiana

The wind continued. Our crawl continued. It was a boring ride on a highway surrounded by the occasional flooded home and lawn. Otherwise, it was swampy forest.

We were nearing Franklinton, LA and hit the asphalt version of the Bermuda Triangle, a 100 foot patch of road that was cursed for cyclists. Every single car that came by us in that stretch of highway honked, gave us the bird, and came close to clipping us. A big caravan of assholes that didn’t know each other. Big macho trucks hauling nothing. Cars. Logging trucks.

Our ride continued into the wind, but we gradually neared Mandeville, LA. The homestretch is always the easiest, no matter the conditions. However, our 3-lane highway we had been on suddenly merged with another highway and the speed limit hit 70 mph. Shit. This was the most scared I had been the whole trip. We were stuck in between the merging parts of the highway in rubble. Speeding honking cars at both sides. We were a mile from our destination.

We ended up making it across, but we had to pedal on the shoulder. It was a pathetic shoulder. Nails, glass, and miscellaneous sharp objects cluttered the shoulder. I wish I would have gotten a picture. At the time, I really didn’t give a shit about photo opportunities. I just want to live.

80 miles later

We arrived at Kathy’s parents’ house. Mary and Kent had been expecting us, and they were preparing a Cajun dinner when we arrived. Local cuisine. What a welcome. Showers, electricity, and internet were at our fingertips once again. I felt sick from the 80 miles of battling the wind. This had been our longest day. That quickly dissipated as we ate. Dinner was incredible. Mary and Kent are superb cooks. Kathy even made us blackened pecan pie.

The day was fulfilling. Painful tendons. Wind. 80 miles. Bermuda Triangle. All had been overcome. And we had beds that night.