Sans helmet and barefooted, he sported basketball shorts and a neon green construction shirt.
Where ya'all headed? Where ya'all from?, were the first words out of his mouth as he pulled up along side of us on a solid looking steel framed mishmash of a bicycle with bar end shifters. Deep in Southern Louisiana, fellow bicyclists are a rare sight and Spencer was the first we had seen in hundreds of miles.
We're from Seattle and headed to Georgia, I replied as I tried to match his robust pace.
Hell yeah! he exclaimed, I'm fixin' on doing the same soon as the crayfish season is up.
We don't see to many cyclists down here, Jen remarked as Spencer buried me and pulled along side of her.
Hell man, this is Louisiana! Only poor folks ride bicycles down here! he yelled over his shoulder as he sped off into the distance. Ya'all have yo'selves a real good trip now, ya hear!
She continued to smile, but an immediate deep sadness fell over her visage and the corners of her eyes welled as she fought back tears. I wondered what I had said wrong.
I understand there is a nice plaque at the park in honor of my son. He passed about a year ago now, and I just haven't been able to go over and have a look quite yet. Things are still pretty fresh. I am told they planted a nice tree there by the tennis court as well. He was thirty-seven years old.
I didn't know what to say, parents shouldn't bury their children and and I don't have the capacity to understand this type of pain. I am sorry for you loss ma'am, I'll make sure to go and have a look at the plaque in the morning.
That would be nice, he was a really great guy. God bless you. She turned and rolled her cart to the car.
It's not the heat, it's the humidity.
Hot wet sticky sweet, from my head down to my feet…yeah...
I doubt that Def Leopard was trying to describe a sleepless night in the bayou with these timeless lyrics, but the lines of Pour Some Sugar on Me keep rolling through my head as I lie awake, naked and suffocating in the sweltering heat of the Louisiana night. Mosquitos as big as hummingbirds swarm hungrily outside the mesh of the tent inches away from my cooking head. The fact that it is raining and 85 degrees defies everything that makes sense to me and I just wish that I could sweat. No way around it, Southern Louisiana is a hot swamp and I simply cannot imagine riding through here in August.
Several days of pedaling across the Gulf Coast of Louisiana under dark skies into stiff headwinds indicates that our endless summer is drawing to end. It is easy to forget that it is mid-November when most of your days are spent under blue skies and you haven't worn shoes for months. All good things must come to end though, and as we close in on New Orleans it seems the winter of the Northern Hemisphere is finally catching up with us. With less than 1000 miles to go before we reach the Atlantic Ocean, Jen and I are laying out the next several months of our life and very much looking forward to escaping south of equator for the New Zealand summer.