Almost There...

One of my favorite scenes from any movie is that classic scene in Star Wars IV where they are flying to destroy the Deathstar and that one guy keeps saying "almost there." I think he dies. Anyway we have around 100 miles till we are boarding a plane to return to "normal" life. Actually I hope my life is never normal but that is another topic from the one I would like to discuss right now. So I have a few things to catch you up on. Louisiana aside from New Orleans was pretty scary. For some reason they don't believe in shoulders on the highway or bike paths or bridges accessible to bikes. We had to hitch rides across two bridges. Also the mosquitoes were terrible. Mississippi was pretty boring except couch surfing with a guy named Brian. We discussed all of the things you are not supposed to talk about like politics and religion. Then we caught a ferry in Alabama which was the highlight of that state. That and leaving it. We missed Mobile by taking the ferry, I'm afraid of leprechauns. Then we finally made it in to Florida. Florida has a different feel from the other southern states. It feels more like the west. Or north. Right across the Alabama/Florida border was a rib place and I got some tasty ribs and we eventually pulled into Pensacola, FL. Turns out Pensacola is one of the oldest cities in the USA but shortly after it was founded it was annihilated by a hurricane so a lot of times oldest city goes to St. Augustine which actually is oldest continually inhabited city or something like that. I know I'm forgetting Vinland discovered by my ancestor Leif Ericcson. I've tried using my ancestors as a pick-up line... it doesn't work. Anyway we were set up to stay with another guy from couch surfing in Pensacola. He called and told us that because another vouch surfer was staying with him he didn't have room at his house but he did have a sailboat we could sleep on. Awesome*. So that night we went out and picked up tons of chicks and had a party on the boat. I also found a Ian Fleming James Bond novel on board, awesome*. Then we biked some more and hit up church while staying with Zach and Ashley, more couchsurfers, and watched "Walking Dead."Then while biking we ran into the biking portion of Iron Man Florida. We watched them race by while eating lunch. Lunch was steamed seasoned shrimp, potatoes and key lime pie. I love being on the bikers diet. Eventually we were in Tallahassee in time for the fair. We stayed with Liz who "works" for the government and she and another friend took us to the fair. I got to pet a camel. From Tallahassee the next big location is St. Augustine. Riding for long distances isn't really that hard I've decided. The only hard parts are sitting on a bike seat all day and wind. Oh and hills. But really the bike seat is the worse part. It feels like ripping off a band aid when I ever I get off it. A few hundred miles ago, actually in New Mexico I think, I stopped wearing my bike shorts with a padded seat. It made my riding experience much better. In fact I've only wore them once since I stopped. Now I think they are only for wimps and communists. Along with bike shirts. Actually I think they do have a place but are way overrated.

* must be said in sing songy voice.

NOLA

For the uninformed NOLA refers to New Orleans Louisiana and it is a common abbreviation used down there and yes I did go there and yes it was over Halloween weekend and YES it was the best Halloween weekend. Halloween is not as big as Mardi Gras but is pretty high on the list of New Orleans debauchery. And I loved every second of it. Like everything it depends on what your looking for. If you are looking to pick up a S.T.I., sexually transmitted infection, it is the pc way to refer to these things now, and spend a night in a gutter or puke out of a street car window, saw that and smelled it, you can find it. Or, if you want to have fun dancing to free music, looking at awesome costumes, and eating, all that is there as well. It is pretty hard to describe NOLA without experiencing it yourself, the craziness, smell, and history somehow don't put themselves into words. You have to be there and experience it yourself. But because I'm a man and more importantly an American, I'll describe the commencement of what I hope turns out to be a long and fruitful (I'm not sure if that was the right word to use) relationship. We got to the outskirts of town and were stuck because the only way in is over a bridge not friendly or safe for cyclists. So we ended up paying some drunks, at this period only partly drunk, to take us over in their truck. After a longer than necessary discussion of how dangerous New Orleans is, especially in the "darker" sides of town we were finally free of their help. We worked our way past beautiful old mansions to a church where we were just in time for the Halloween party and free dinner. There we met some people that were headed down to the French quarter, Bourbon St, etc... I told them I had a great smelly hippy costume and they asked if we wanted to join them. I ended up just taping a sign on my chest which read "nudist on strike." Not my idea but clever enough to make the checkout lady at walgreens very distraught and numerous other comments throughout the night as to when I could return to work. We rode the street car that goes straight to Bourbon St and were greeted by a hail of notes from a street corner band. From there our hosts escorted us through the crowded and noisy streets showing us places to eat, listen to jazz, interesting historical facts and, probably most important, reminding us to not step in the puddles. We eventually found a free jazz club to dance at, grabbed a late night meal complete with cops escorting a drunk patron out, to finally our street car ride back where we got to watch and smell the after affects of to much alcohol. We got back to our bikes which we had cleverly hidden right around 3:30. I can't remember exactly when we stepped into the French quarter but I thought it was around 9:30 or 10. Time doesn't really exist there. When we headed out of town I really wanted to stop at Cafe Beignet on Bourbon St to get some beignets, I'll explain them when you go there, and was worried they wouldn't be open in the morning because of the nightlife it has had the last 80 years. They were open and working on full steam when we got there and that is when something one of our hosts, Rianna, told me finally sank in. "Did you know," she inquired, "that bars in New Orleans are only required to shut down for one hour a year and that is the hour right after Mardi Gras?" I realized that nowhere over in that part of town ever closes. So I got my beignets and was just in time for the live music that goes from 10 AM to 3 AM, and we were entertained by a award winning 4 string banjo player who takes requests and played one of my favorite Fats Waller songs. Finally I realized I had to leave while I still could and with a heavy heart dragged myself away. Not long after that we had peddled out of Louisiana entirely and into Mississippi (I will never get tired of spelling that word).