A Fool's Progress: CoonFed in the swamps

Here I sit in my motel room in Austin, Texas. I got checked in and unloaded just in time. God is pissing on a flat rock out there.

But before we discuss Texas and all of its failings...let's backfill a bit. When I last posted, I was just arriving in Bush, Louisiana by the light of a blood red swamp moon to stay with a fellow I know as Coonass from a couple Bike forums. (ADVRider.com and TrailPilgrim.com)

Coonass is a stellar fellow. Took me in, stinky feet and all on a short moment's notice. He fed me, gave me a place to sleep, gave me a place to work on my bike and delivered a metric ton of excellent conversation and information about the area. I think it might be unique to the biking world that people are comfortable opening their doors and others entering those doors witout having ever met face to face. A tradition grouunded in the days of the old BMW "Owners Anonymous" book in which folks had themselves listed as points of contact for help to wayward bike travelers.

After a rack of beers and a shower, I hit the rack to get ready for the following day. That day was spent just resting from the stress of Tennesee, weather, tires and a growing sense of frustration with this ride. I also did some inspecting of the bike. The couple leakes I mentioned were really just weapage and hadne gotten any worse. in fact the final drive weepage seemed to have stopped without an indication if more than a half ounce of loss in total. I suspected the bellhousing leak to be engine oil (good..since the alternative spells doom for the clutch). So once I get home it is time for a couple seals and some clutch plates while I am in there. It's all good. The hard starting in the mornings was a bit more worrisome. So I set to adjusting valves. Unfortunately in my haste to leave, I didnt bring the specific tool needed to reach around the tank and get that last valve cover bolt (stupid design, Guzzi folks. Really stupid) But I rummaged in Coonass's tool box and found
aomething that would do the trick. That saved me from unbolting and hoisting the tank. The valves were spot on. Within a thou of spec. But the parkplugs were barely more than finger tight. Well one turn of the threads could certainly cause problems. Loss of ground when cold, different spark characteristics from the recessed plug, etc. So I left it at that and decided to check it in the morning.

That night Coon's Buddy Will came over followed by Weave. We had a riotous evening of beers and fresh grilled pork ribs. The gents filled me in on a lot of local culture and issues since Katrina bent the region over and had her way with it. There are a lot of topics for future postings there. I tell you, few things compare with sitting on a big porch on a balmy Louisiana evening, drinking ice cold beers and discussing the world with some intelligent and insightful companions.

The next morning, the Swamp Boys opted to go for a quick dirt road jaunt. I opted for playing tourist. After some consulting of maps and discussion of the state of New Orleans, I had some destinations in mind. For what it is worth, New Orleans is basically not a place to go wandering without several companions, preferably well armed and competent in the use of same. I see the devastation still there after a year on the media...but anywhere outside New Orleans, you wouldnt know there was a huge hurricane a year ago unless you were told and knew what to look for. I am told that the Mississippy coast which got harder hit than the city is deep in the throes of complete rebuild and looks great. Apparently many New Orleans residents feel entitled to restoration of the former public works without actually diggin in themselves and those who do care enough to hoist a shovel are so disgusted by the rest that they often give up and leave. But that is a whole other subject that I would like to
explore another time.

So with New Orleans (save for the french quarter which I didnt feel an absolute need to see) off the list, I went to wander the banks of the Mighty Miss, the Big Muddy.

I opted to take a highway that splits between Lake Ponchartrain and the one northwest of it rather than take the whole causeway for the same reasons as noted before about the city. The highway sits above the swampland about 15' or so and the swamp is beautiful. The open grass and occasional spindly tree reminded me of Alaskan Tundra. I wanted to get on a flat boat and go wandering. Midway across, I noticed a frontage road and dropped off the freeway to ride that. I had no sooner entered the deep swamp along the frontage road when I noticed the garbage. A lot of the backroads in the south were heavily littered but this was bad. It looked like a Washington logging road after a meth cook had finished with it. I saw lots of people fishing in the dark, shallow water. I stopped off and conversed with a fellow. I wanted to know what the deal was with the garbage. He said it isnt locals, just passers by. I wasnt sure and later Coonass told me no, it's everyone. The poor guy was trying to
catch bass or whatever by casting around floating beer bottles and garbage. I'm not poking at Louisiana in particular...I saw this on a lot of back roads. Even my home state, Washington has a huge problem with it. It disgusts me to no end...is it really that hard to carry it to a trash can? The spot I stopped had a nearly empty trash barrel sitting right there. Is it really that difficult to take the couch to the dump? Or to donate it? C'mon folks..we are supposed to be better than that.

Onward...

I got to a small town pointed out to me that had a good bridge over the Miss. I wanted a piicture of the river...and forgot about the levees...duh. As I rode along the levees looking for a likely spot, I saw kids riding four wheeled ATVs up an down the levees at breakneck speeds despite the dire warnings of fines and imprisonment. Apparently there are some places where you can drive on the levee, but not here or anywhere I saw. I didnt let that stop me from sneaking up for a picture of my bike against the miss though. Jail 3000 miles from home? Why not, everything else has happened.

I headed up the miss on the west side passing several plantation homes open for tours. The one I stopped at was an old colonial plantation home, predating the antebellum of the famous movies by about 75 years. Very cool designs and grandeur, filled with cleverness to battle the heat and humidity without the benefits of modern air conditioning. And boy did I feel the heat and wet. I would start sweating like a whore in church as soon as I stopped and by the time I walked to the gift shop, I had sweat Dripping off my nose. The chipper young thing asked me if I wanted a tour..no thanks sis...all I needed was to clomp around in my boots and riding jacket with everyone around me asking "What on earth is that smell?" That would be the overheated northerner in the armored jacket stinking like a pig's ass.

So I just snatched some trinkets and headed out again.

I experienced the Guzzi Delay Factor again and again...lots of folks are curious about it and me and my journey and I always stop to chat. I learned that no matter how crushing the poverty, folks out here are friendly to a stranger. Smiles and handshakes all the time. Might be different in the cities, I dont know...I have generally stuck to the outskirts.

After I connected again with the interstate I headed back to Coons place for another evening of beers, ribs and jawboning. But I had to head for bed all too soon as tomorrow was a traveling day. I had to get to MPH cycles in Houston on Monday morning and I wanted to bed down as close to it as I could.