Zatarains

I woke up at 730, didn't leave until 9 or so. It was raining in New Orleans so I skipped on getting breakfast there, unfortunately. When I got back to Mississippi, which I thought was Alabama, it cleared up. Except for a few small showers throughout the day it was dry. I have come to enjoy the rain, expect what shade of gray is good or bad, and now that's a reference to a sex book isn't it. Have Gilbert gottfried read it for you and you'll be in ecstasy. I took shorter stints today, probably around 75 to 90 miles on average, but I was traveling faster, not fast enough to outrun the breaks, but they were needed. My break regimen is gas, piss, sometimes snack, sometimes Gatorade, sometimes pork rinds or chips, gotta be something local and different. Check out the distance, anticipate the next stop and go!  Today I had to force myself to stop and eat, because otherwise I have the mindset that it's a waste if time. So today, I didn't have a real meal until 11 at a fucking Waffle House. I think I like them, this is my second one. Hard to spot a quick diner otherwise. The day got stupid hot, except for a couple showers I would have turned to dust. My jacket doesn't allow enough air to go through with a backpack on. Chatted with an old dude 100 miles from burmingham about how it's called the magic city. He doesn't think it's magical, I still have yet to find out. He also went on about how it is the top five most dangerous cities. As I drove into town I saw a broken down car with its wheels taken off so maybe it is. Good for it. I made it around the city, 20 minutes south to a state park. Pretty excited about that find. I'm going to spend two mights here. Hope I get my brain back together. 

Born on the bayou.

The trip down to New Orleans should have been easy. But I fucked up. I wanted to take 55 south to stop at a Waffle House, but I got turned around and 25 miles later I got to the wrong Waffle House, as in the one an exit north of the one I planned on.  But it was so fucking good. I hadn't had a good meal since who the fuck knows. Still though, I was in Mississippi, the next leg of my trip. Mississippi is beautiful down 55, trees line the highway the entire way. The entire way. 

I had to stop in Jackson to fill up which lead to a huge disappointment. 55 south looked lined up with showers so I figured to go west and down, eventually through Baton Rouge. It was the Natchez Parkway, which turned out to be a state park highway, something I had never heard about before. Too bad the storm I was following (too closely because I got soaked) turned out to be marked with hazards. The first was a BMW that went off the road and deep down a hill into a tree. The sheriff there wasn't so happy the tow truck blocked the road and said I could go around it off the side of the road.  It had still been raining hard.  I went past and followed the road a couple miles until I saw some more police lights. This time it was a tree crossing the entire road. A chat with a ranger, and I figured I was better off going back onto 55, as this stretch had enough problems. It was another 100 or so miles to the border to Louisiana. All together today I wasted at least 60 miles of being lost, and that is time could have used in my next stop, New Orleans. 

Sidebar: I saw an armadillo, it was dead. I also saw two wild dogs earlier too. 

The entrance into New Orleans is fantastic. I am a big believer that bridges are the best entrance to any city, but New Orleans takes the cake. 20 miles through swamp, river, and ocean. Little shanties were everywhere along the water. And then the city, which is a mess, got me real lost, through cemeteries, slums, abandoned old buildings, random rainstorms, business buildings, and traffic. None of that mattered after I found my way to the French quarter. So much shit going on! But then I had to find a hotel, and as a brain dead road warrior as myself that was difficult. In the end I found one not too far from the quarter which was perfect. After a long hot shower while stuffing a blow dryer down my boots, standard practice, and I was ready to hit the streets. Bourbon street is your average college party spot meets tourist destination, but no holds barred. Strip clubs were every four spots through the street on both sides, separated by "to-go" bars, live music joints, and high price restaurants. Maison bourbon was my spot. No food, just live music and drinks, perfect. I later got an oyster po-boy from some place only to return to Maison. But now I must sleep so I can go to Birmingham tomorrow.

Beep bop boo bee bop

There is a lot more than just Bourbon street in the French Quarter, but at night it is lit by gas lamps and is dark and sketchy. 

Bourbon street, with it's multi tiered balconies, passed out drunks, and church groups trying to save souls.


Whiskey


Somewhere in New Orleans as I was getting lost not realizing google maps had flipped around on me.


Outside of Jackson Mississippi: "You shall not pass!"


I was worried about the rain, but it all pretty much cleared up by the time I hit it.

Walking in Memphis

I had a big long post about how Missouri was lame half the way, Arkansas was lame, and Memphis was beautiful but it got lost. I have lost feeling in part of my thumbs and it's hard to do much of anything with my left hand because it is either weak or numb. My ass is barely feeling everything through the seat anymore so that's good. No one cares. I made it to Memphis. What a fucking city. So much history. I drove around a little bit seeing a big ass pyramid and a sports stadium, Beale street and such. After I got to the motel that I am guessing was at some point important, as the sixth floor was locked off and half of it was glass. It was a beat up old Super 8 just south of where 55 enters the city. I'm sure it has an impressive view of the river, as even from the the 5th floor balcony had a wicked sight. 

I was three miles from Beale street and decided to walk. First I entered an old neighborhood called "French Fort." After going through there, over a bridge across 55 I entered a the manufacturing area of the city. Out of that then was then crossing over EH Crump BLVD into a kind of nicer area where 600 condos were being built.  I walked up and down through the cities hills until I caught up with south main, which was half of an urban renewal and half established high culture area. Walking towards Beale I got really hot as there was no breeze, until there was a grassy area where I stopped to cool down. After half a minute I looked down the hill and it was the Lorraine motel where Dr. Martin Luther king was shot. Having thought of Beale street as just a place for bars and live music it really changed my attitude of Memphis. It kind of dampened my experience of eating a catfish poboy. Along the street there are historical signs of major events that happened on the street, and how it turned into some strange touristy hot spot. I headed back to my motel at about 7 before the nightlife kicked up, and also before the freaks crawled out of the sewers because I was staying in a slimy part of the city. Near the motel there was a residential neighborhood and half a block away a man raised his hand and said "how's it going?" This wasn't the first time in Memphis that someone had said hello to me but it was the most outgoing. Just goes to prove that Minnesota nice is bullshit. I tried to catch the sunset over the river but it was too cloudy. As of yet riding towards St. Louis between a storm and the sunset is the winner.                

This was an old abandoned army reserves barracks right behind the motel.

This is the view of the Mississippi just to the right of the shot above. Everybody wave to Arkansas!

I saw zero metal heads hanging out.

This was one of the manufacturers I strolled past, there was a vent by street that was releasing sugar dust.

A bridge under a train track or road or whatever bridges are for, I am surprised there weren't more bums.

BEEEEAAAALLLEE SSTTTREEEEETTTT

Old house with an immaculate yard.

Meet me in St. Louis.

So this morning I left for St. Louis Missouri at approximately 7:30. That was it, no turning back now. I caught up with highway 61 somewhere north of 494. Instantly it provided incredible views, gentle turns, and was often four lanes, so I wasn't held up by traffic. It took two hours to hit red wing, and let me add that I have never been to any of these places on this trip, so it's all exciting. After that somewhere I crossed into Wisconsin, and no surprise the first town there stank like beer, thumbs up. I stopped twice for gas through there, both towns had zilch for cell reception. In one town, filenstinershire or something, one lady thought I looked like a parachuter, and some dude thought that after I put my helmet on was a good time to ask me about my gear for his nephew or something, oh I also saw an old mad driving around on a lawnmower.

Roll out! To Iowa, which is where I found out that was seriously fucked on scheduling, as it was 2 or 3, and i had only reached davenport which is only half way through the state bordering Illinois. That's where the real fun began. It rained there right before I showed up, or I went around it, or whatever. I filled up on gas and said screw 61, it would take me four years to get anywhere! So I headed to the freeway towards Peoria Illinois. And then instantly (15 miles or so...) took the wrong damn road and wound back up in Iowa. Frustrated, I stopped thinking and almost binned the bike by hitting a painted damp white line on an off ramp. If you have never ridden a motorcycle, those painted spots on on the road can be the most slippery things ever. When the front tire slides three or four inches it feels like a foot. Thanks to Michelin for a tire that is ultra grippy on the black stuff. I stopped for fifteen minutes being angry at myself for losing time and nearly the whole trip. Whatever, I had to move on and get over it. So the next stop was to be Peoria, 80 miles away and the start for the trip to Missouri, and the freeway I55 that I would become very acquainted to. About 20 minutes from Peoria I ran into rain, rain unlike an other. I was alright with only being able to see 100ft in front, as I was cruising at 70, and not being able to see if a semi was charging up my exhaust, but lightning is an ol' sumbitch, and I don't care for being high speed Bar-B-Q. After following a hunch off the freeway for a chance to find a gas station to hide at, I went the wrong way again. I made it to a gas station thanks to the waterproof phone case I invested in. I was done. Just so sick of everything, I wanted to dump the plan down the drain just like the water I poured out of my boots. But of course, it is good to have friends on your side to remind you that at the end it will be worth it, and not to be such a sissy. That brings me to this hotel I'm at in St. Louis. The last thirty miles were hell, hand cramps, back aches, water sloshing through the boots. My feet still aren't quite dry, and the boots probably won't be for a month. I didn't make it here early enough to party, so I'll have to make it extra worth it in Memphis tomorrow, TCB! Oh also when I came into the hotel lobby and pulled out my wallet from my jacket pocket one of the guys behind the counter thought I was about to pull out a gun and he was about to tackle me.

First pic is of my hand after sitting in wet gloves from Peoria to Springfield. 

Second pic is of lake Phalen, outside of Lake City: the birthplace of water skiing

Third pic is of the odometer after filling up before leaving. I did 700 miles. My butt hurts.