Thursday, May 29, 2008
The Mayor of Centreville
It's one hundred miles down the road to the next marked campsite, but the office of the camp I stayed at last night doesn't open till eleven. I coulda left out at dawn, but I have to keep up the goodwill for the cyclists what come after me. Besides I got a hot shower, some free lean cuisine, and a copy of Steinbeck's Travels with Charley out of the deal, so I came out on top. Since I couldn't make the mileage today I called the Centreville police station about fifty miles down the road and asked about camping on public land. "Hang on son," said the officer, "Lemme just ask the Mayor... Yeah come on through, Mayor says you can camp outside city hall." So tonight I get to camp free outside of Centreville Mississippi's city hall, by mayoral decree. Sometimes all you have to do is ask polite-like...
I'm a Level Seven Hobo, Chaotic Neutral.
To quote Patton Oswald, "Sometimes my nerdiness gets in the way of my dorkiness."
I gained 15 xp from sleeping in the city park. What kind of magical fairyland is this where joggers apologize for waking up a bum in the park? It must be my mithril sleeping bag (+3 warmth +2 charisma). When I become a level ten hobo I'll be able to cast trashcan fires at will, and at level fifteen people will just start handing me money, but they won't know why. Time to pack up camp and get a cup of coffee (+1 humanness).
After Lunch
I must be doing something right. Ten miles and one big ass river from my campsite I learn the Mississipi river ferry is out for some undetermined amount of time. I'd have to make the ninety mile detour through Baton Rouge. Now I'd allready gone forty-five miles today, and I did't have another ninety in me, or enough daylight left for that matter. I stopped outside of a service station on the Baton Rouge route and waited. Mr. Ronnie Plauche talked with me for a while about his younger days long distance hiking, and then he hand drew me a map of the old river road so I could get to Baton Rouge without going down hwy 190. Then he gave me twenty dollars!!! (plus one hobo level all at once.) John Dixon took me the fifty-five miles into Baton Rouge in his pickup. I think he gave me a ride mostly so he could figure out why I was doing what I was doing. "But what possessed you?" was phrased in a variety of ways that hour. I did some confused riding in B.R. during rush hour till I found my route. Then I rode thirty five miles off into the sunset down Hwy 61! Awesome! It's settled then. Life imitates art.
I gained 15 xp from sleeping in the city park. What kind of magical fairyland is this where joggers apologize for waking up a bum in the park? It must be my mithril sleeping bag (+3 warmth +2 charisma). When I become a level ten hobo I'll be able to cast trashcan fires at will, and at level fifteen people will just start handing me money, but they won't know why. Time to pack up camp and get a cup of coffee (+1 humanness).
After Lunch
I must be doing something right. Ten miles and one big ass river from my campsite I learn the Mississipi river ferry is out for some undetermined amount of time. I'd have to make the ninety mile detour through Baton Rouge. Now I'd allready gone forty-five miles today, and I did't have another ninety in me, or enough daylight left for that matter. I stopped outside of a service station on the Baton Rouge route and waited. Mr. Ronnie Plauche talked with me for a while about his younger days long distance hiking, and then he hand drew me a map of the old river road so I could get to Baton Rouge without going down hwy 190. Then he gave me twenty dollars!!! (plus one hobo level all at once.) John Dixon took me the fifty-five miles into Baton Rouge in his pickup. I think he gave me a ride mostly so he could figure out why I was doing what I was doing. "But what possessed you?" was phrased in a variety of ways that hour. I did some confused riding in B.R. during rush hour till I found my route. Then I rode thirty five miles off into the sunset down Hwy 61! Awesome! It's settled then. Life imitates art.
Motion is Lotion
It felt so good to be back on the road again. It all made sense again. There is no cure for the doldrums (apologies for the nautical reference on a landlocked journey) like moving on down the line. Made it to Simmesport LA, called the city and got permission to camp at the Yellow Bayou Civil War park on the Atchafalaya river. Pitched my tent and then it looked like rain. I have a rain fly, but I took the lazy man's way out and dragged everything under a pavilion and threw my sleeping bag on the ground. It's a pretty sweet set up for, um, absolutely free! No running water but it does have electricity to charge stuff, and a light I can turn on and off for reading.
A passel o' kids (ages 4, 6, 6, 7, and 8) came up to me while and were curious. "You're gonna sleep here in the park? Do you have a home? You come from Houston, how far is that? My daddy works in Texas for two weeks, he works for The Oil." Ah kids, ain't they... kids. I remember what that was like, sort of. It was a whole different world.
Now I'm tired, sore, dirty, miles away from home and about to sleep out in a thunderstorm. But I'm fed and I have a good book. Have I ever been so content?
A passel o' kids (ages 4, 6, 6, 7, and 8) came up to me while and were curious. "You're gonna sleep here in the park? Do you have a home? You come from Houston, how far is that? My daddy works in Texas for two weeks, he works for The Oil." Ah kids, ain't they... kids. I remember what that was like, sort of. It was a whole different world.
Now I'm tired, sore, dirty, miles away from home and about to sleep out in a thunderstorm. But I'm fed and I have a good book. Have I ever been so content?
Stuck Inside of Washington with the Open Road Blues Again
Stuck out in Washington going on three days now, waiting out the holiday weekend, and for a package from home. I feel like the momentum is lost. I never should have mailed those books back, they were worth the extra weight. Glad I'm getting them mailed back to me. I hit the road in the morning and that is a good thing. If boredom is a self indictment then I stand to convicted.
Ode to Louisiana Roads
LA roads if you were on fire and I couldn't find a restroom, I would piss myself before I would help you put that fire out. LA roads, if you were my long lost brother I would spit in your eye before I would kiss your cheek. LA roads, if you were the last woman on earth, and I was the last man, I wouldn't give the human race a snowballs chance in hell.
That being said, I have to quote Mistah Paul in Washington LA, "We got worse roads but better drivers."
You know what, he's right.
That being said, I have to quote Mistah Paul in Washington LA, "We got worse roads but better drivers."
You know what, he's right.
De Ridder is Prounounced Dare-idder
Stopped at the De Ridder public Library for my first shot at internets. Started raining on my way out. Half a block from the library the curator of the De Ridder museum flagged me down and offered me coffee and a croissant. Never one to shun black gold I accepted and we talked a spell. I do believe the one gay man in De Ridder La did try and pick me up. He asked me what my line of work was and I told him wandering. He replied that he would have pegged me for a male model. Now I haven’t showered in two days or shaved in five… When he invited me to stop at his place anytime for a, “Toddy for the Body” I decided it was time to move on.
Rhet of White Sand Canoe Rental in Mittie LA, was kind enough to let me pitch tent in the field he stores the canoes in, even though he doesn’t operate a campground anymore. When the rain started coming down proper he was good enough to provide hot food, cold beer, and several hours of good natured bull shittin on the porch of his café. When all was said and done I needed waders to get back to my tent, and not because of the rain…
Rhet of White Sand Canoe Rental in Mittie LA, was kind enough to let me pitch tent in the field he stores the canoes in, even though he doesn’t operate a campground anymore. When the rain started coming down proper he was good enough to provide hot food, cold beer, and several hours of good natured bull shittin on the porch of his café. When all was said and done I needed waders to get back to my tent, and not because of the rain…
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Officially a Hobo
I'm officially a hobo. I crossed into Merryville Louisianna today, only to discover no camping. However, If I headed six miles back the way I came (in the dark) I could camp on the banks of the Sabine river for free. Six miles later I'm on a sandbank irritably trying to set up camp in the dark. It is going poorly. I stop myself, and remind myself where I am and what I'm doing, and I relax and start to enjoy it. Crawl into bed tired, sweaty, sore, and strangely satisfied. The river is gurgling and I can see every star in the sky. In the distance, train whistles.
Dogs Hate Bicycles
Left out of Sam Houston National Forest (the restroom of spiders!!!) with the sunrise. Got chased by dogs three times before lunch. You would be surprised how much energy you didn't know you had when Cujo is bearing down on your ass. Thanks to William in Dolen Tx, who saw me on the road and waited at the junction of 223 and 787 with a glass of ice water and conversation. He said he allways gives water to cyclists, and rides about eight miles a day personally. Fun fact: stock law in Tx states if an animal leaves private property and comes on the pavement you can shoot it. William carries a pellet gun for the dogs when he goes riding.
Stopped in Rye Tx, for lunch. Haven't had cell signal since crossing the Trininty River. Not much to do in Rye unless your a Baptist or a logger.
Slept in Kountze Tx. Apparently Kenneth Topmlait is drilling in Kountze right now. I wish I had known. I wouldn't have minded the conversation or the meal. You haven't lived untill you walk into a hardware store in Kountze wearing skintight lycra, and a burly fellow in overalls and no shirt says, (and I shit you not) You ain't from around here is you boy?"
Stopped in Rye Tx, for lunch. Haven't had cell signal since crossing the Trininty River. Not much to do in Rye unless your a Baptist or a logger.
Slept in Kountze Tx. Apparently Kenneth Topmlait is drilling in Kountze right now. I wish I had known. I wouldn't have minded the conversation or the meal. You haven't lived untill you walk into a hardware store in Kountze wearing skintight lycra, and a burly fellow in overalls and no shirt says, (and I shit you not) You ain't from around here is you boy?"
Step One
Mon. 5/19
I knew getting out of Houston would be a bitch-kitty of a ride, but I had no idea. U.S. 59 is a terrible route for a bicycle. Much thanks to Justin, from Cleveland Tx, who brought me 10 miles down the road from Splendora to Cleveland where 59 had no feeder. And for the Coke.
Well I was bound to forget something, turns out it was bug spray and my phone charger. (Forty fuckin dollars in Cleveland. Hosed.) Floyd from Cleveland says, "Watch out for dem yankees when you get to Chicago. Camped outside of Coldspring , 75 miles from home.
I knew getting out of Houston would be a bitch-kitty of a ride, but I had no idea. U.S. 59 is a terrible route for a bicycle. Much thanks to Justin, from Cleveland Tx, who brought me 10 miles down the road from Splendora to Cleveland where 59 had no feeder. And for the Coke.
Well I was bound to forget something, turns out it was bug spray and my phone charger. (Forty fuckin dollars in Cleveland. Hosed.) Floyd from Cleveland says, "Watch out for dem yankees when you get to Chicago. Camped outside of Coldspring , 75 miles from home.
Chicago or Bust Tour 08
Before
I actually wrote about a page and a half trying to explain why I thought riding a bicycle across the country was a good idea, but I tossed it. It was dreck. I realized I could probably sum it up in eight words: Change. Whimsy. Why the fuck not?
Massive thanks to my parents, the guys at the Houston Bicycle Company, and Vaughn Cavanaugh. Without you guys help I probably wouldn't have made it out of Houston. And of course my friends, who are willing to indulge me from time to time.
I actually wrote about a page and a half trying to explain why I thought riding a bicycle across the country was a good idea, but I tossed it. It was dreck. I realized I could probably sum it up in eight words: Change. Whimsy. Why the fuck not?
Massive thanks to my parents, the guys at the Houston Bicycle Company, and Vaughn Cavanaugh. Without you guys help I probably wouldn't have made it out of Houston. And of course my friends, who are willing to indulge me from time to time.
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