New Orleans, LA, to Gulf Shores, AL

And so begins my final blog related to our bike trip. This leg would take us from the resurgent city of New Orleans, where we spent three wonderful days in and around the French Quarter and Garden District, through the towns of LaPlace, Hammond, Franklington in Louisiana, then Poplarville, Perkinston and Vancleave in Mississippi; and then finally into Bayou La Batre and Gulf Shores, Alabama.

Yes, there is one more day of riding in store, which we start this Wednesday Dec 1, another 45 miles or so from our present location of Gulf Shores to Pensacola, Florida. But we're close to the end, very close. And can't we smell it.

This leg of the trip was designed to shake things up a bit, to give ourselves a taste of a very different part of the U.S. To that end we haven't been disappointed. As I mentioned above, New Orleans was wonderful. I had been to the city in 1994, pre-Katrina, and I really feel it's a much better city now. It just feels a lot safer and cleaner in the French Quarter, and most of the properties show little if any scares from the hurricane. Of course, tourists can be notoriously superficial and shallow in their judgments of cities, and no doubt that's the case with me. For one, last time I was in New Orleans I stayed in one of the most terribly disgusting motels I could find, one that you literally had to run to each evening lest the muggers catch up with you. Moreover, staying in the French Quarter in a nicer hotel this time around probably helped shape my current view. Suffice to say, we made the most of walking around the city, enjoying plenty of the local food and beers. Budget be blown!

From New Orleans we travelled south by bike through the Garden and Audubon districts, travelling past many a beautiful southern home, cafes, restaurants, all under a seemingly endless canopy of trees through to a bike path that runs atop the Mississippi River levee. This path glided west for more than 20 gloriously serene and car-free miles, at which point we rejoined the traffic on River Road in LaPlace. We had cycled 50 miles that day, probably 8 or so more than originally planned thanks to us getting lost when leaving New Orleans (thanks Google Maps); a couple of friendly car mechanics put us right, pointing us towards a safe way to leave the city. There was really only one legal way for cyclists to leave New Orleans, the way we were doing it to the west, as the many bridges and causeways directly to the north and east of the city have no (legal) room for bikes.

The next day had us heading north along a frontage road next to highways 51/55. This road was wonderful. Very little traffic, large shoulders, and a great view of the swamps (pictured below) that the road was built through. As would become the pattern on most days in this part of the country, we would hit roads with heavy traffic nearer the end of each day. Much of this traffic seemed to build after 3pm onwards, and I guessed it was due to both school finishing and the many blue-collar workers heading home. Whatever the reason, with little shoulder to play with it could become quite stressful moving through some of the towns.

After spending our second night in Hammond, 35 miles north of LaPlace, we headed north until Amite, where we started our trek east towards Florida. We took highway 16 (great shoulder) until we reached Franklinton, 46 miles later, a town situated along the official Southern Tier bike route. We would follow this route until we reached Pensacola, and to be honest it was nice being back on an official trail as set by the Adventure Cycling Association (the same organization who mapped the Great Divide). It can get a tad hard working out (ie. guessing) the best way to travel between towns on bike.

As we would find for most of the way, the roads in this part of the country were consistently rolling; hills weren't overly steep, and we were generally travelling through thickly-forested terrain, punctuated either by swamps or small farms. Some trees were changing colour; it seemed as if we had followed the Fall right across the US. After Franklinton we were determined to start camping again, partly for budget reasons but to also get us away from the often sterile environs of motels. Our first night camping was in Poplarville, 50 miles away, at a charming RV park just outside of town. What quickly became apparent was the amount of dew that would fall each evening in this part of the country. Just a few hours after sunset and the tent's flysheet was covered with water. By morning and you could swear it had rained overnight.

We camped again at our next stop, Perkinston, just 35 miles east of Poplarville, and again the overnight dew was intense. We were also ensuring we got into towns by 4pm at the latest, as the sun was setting by 5pm. Quite a change from our earlier days in B.C., where the sun wouldn't set until 10pm. In Perkinston we met two characters at the local RV park; the first talked at a pace F1 car driver Mark Webber would be thrilled to move at, although with his accent we simply couldn't understand him. Except for the odd reference to his brother, sister, ma or pa...and these odd pauses, which we later established were for him to catch his breathe. Perhaps. The other gentlemen wandered over in the morning, just when we were planning to eat breakfast and get ready to ride. With him was a small dog who had been recently mauled by one of the many (reversing) pickup trucks in these parts...If his dog's bloodied leg, bone exposed and all, didn't put us off our breakfast, the man's non-stop talking certainly did. Almost an hour later he was still there, talking away, totally ignoring our increasingly not so subtle hints for him to leave us. All the while his dog continually licked his wound. In the end we just started to prepare to leave, giving him the odd 'yeah mate', or 'right'...eventually he ambled away, his dog limping awkwardly (the dog was being looked after by a vet we were assured). People in these parts do love a chat. And whilst we generally welcome these chats, we've found they go on, and on, and on, and on....and nothing we do seems to give people the hint to move along.

The scenery was noteworthy once we moved past Vancleave (and a shitty RV Park that had the most disgusting washroom we had encountered), 49 miles from Perkinston, where we stayed overnight, and into Alabama. A highlight was the Pascagoula River Wildlife Management Area, where some of the swamps held your stare for quite some time. The lack of cars also made for some peaceful moments amongst the still waters and Spanish moss, so much so that we managed to spot a number of turtles sunning themselves on a half-sunken log.

The next day, beyond Bayou La Batre, was another highlight, taking us along part of the western shore of Mobile Bay and over Gordon Persons Bridge (with us pictured below at its zenith) and onto Dauphin Island. Traffic was surprisingly sparse, and the shoulders were generous. We had our first glimpses of the Gulf of Mexico, and the first whiff of salt air since leaving Prince Rupert in BC. Maybe it was being out from among the forest-lined roads, and into the open vistas we had become accustomed to in the West of the country that made this part of the trail that much more enjoyable. The climate was also wonderful; around mid-20s Celsius, modest humidity, and plenty of sunshine.

We took a car ferry from the eastern end of Dauphin Island - the site of one of the oldest (French) European settlements in Alabama (then part of French Louisiana), dating from 1699 - to Mobile Point. Along the way Pelicans plunged into the waters, and a small pod of dolphins edged ahead of our ferry. From Mobile Point we rode another 23 miles or so along a largely narrow peninsula, past brightly coloured holiday homes sitting proudly on stilts, to the town of Gulf Shores. The beaches along the Gulf Coast are beautiful - white sand dominates, and we're told the water is warm (too cold for us though!). We've had a relaxing time here, taking bike rides and walks to the beach or the shops, watching movies and reading books and or the newspaper. We also partook in Black Friday, the massive shopping day that immediately follows Thanksgiving. Moreover, we've sorted out how we'll be getting our bikes back to Australia (via a shipping company), and Alia has managed to catch up on some work, and me these blogs.

We've added another 363 miles and eight riding days since leaving New Orleans, bringing the total trip to just over 4000 miles and 95 riding days. Add another 45 miles and one day to these totals, and that's where we'll end it. What a blast, it really has been an amazing adventure. And now our thoughts turn to south of the border, to Mexico and Central America. I'm not sure if I'll do a blog for this part of the trip - I will let you know if we do. In the meantime, take care, and thanks again for reading my musings.

El Paso, TX to San Antonio, TX (via Austin)

We caught an Amtrak train from El Paso to Austin, leaving 8.15am on Nov 4. It seems so long ago now. The train trip wasn't too bad, although it wasn't as nice as I had hoped. Let's just say the type of person we shared the carriage with wasn't great (when the only two words a mother says to her daughter all trip is 'Shud Up", in that accent, makes you sad. Even sadder when, if only the mother had kept her own mouth shut she wouldn't have eaten enough to become the size of a house. Literally - she was HUGE. A lasting memory was of two men, their poor hands straining under her fat-laden butt cheeks, trying to push her up a moderate step back into the carriage).

Yet the views from the train were worth it, particularly near Alpine, TX, the gateway to Big Bend National Park and the Davis Mountains. And, what's more, we weren't having to peddle to enjoy it.

We arrived in Austin, the capital of Texas, the next morning at 9.30am (the train actually splits in San Antonio, with our train, the Texas Eagle, heading up to Chicago and the remainder heading onto New Orleans. Our carriages sit at San Antonio station from 9.30pm through to 7am the next day when it leaves. They allow you to stay on board and sleep in your seats).

Austin was a stark contrast to many American cities. Bike friendly, laden with trees, and a Downtown that engaged its populace and had attracted many even on weekends. The houses, for the most part, were simple one-storey homes clad with timber or Hardie-type cladding products. An abundance of trees added so much to their character; maybe its the drooping branches heavy with leaves that helps gives the place that relaxed, almost lazy feel. Youth pervades most aspects of this city as well, the result of the local university - the University of Texas - the home of the Texas Longhorns football team. Unfortunately (for me) they weren't playing at home this weekend although just seeing the stadium, a monolith on the university campus, showed just how much the team meant to the city.

Austin is also the home of Lance Armstrong, and he has a bike store located Downtown which we visited. No, not to score some artificial 'enhancements' for our own bike trip but to simply see some of his Tour de France yellow jerseys and bikes. We're both big fans of Lance, so we enjoyed the visit immensely. Contrast this to our visit to the Austin capital (parliament), and the portrait of George Bush, former Governor of Texas. Austin may be a liberal oasis but it remains surrounded by Republican Texas.

We spent five days in Austin before commencing our ride southwest to San Antonio, where we were due to catch a train to New Orleans. After consulting with a local bike expert we took the most direct route south, via San Marcos (where we spent the night) and New Braunfels. I have to admit it wasn't an enjoyable ride, as we basically followed Interstate Highway 35 on various frontage roads. The initial part of the two-day trip, through the Austin suburbs, was probably the nicest part. After that the roads rarely had shoulders, were almost always busy, and had countless numbers of trucks due to the prevalence of crushed limestone (used in concrete) quarries along the way. Our entry into San Antonio was the worst part, with us riding the final 20 miles along sidewalks as the traffic was that intense. We may have been tempted to stay on road if we didn't have large panniers on our bikes - at least cars can squeeze past you when you don't have big fat bags making you that much wider.

Despite a solid 54 mile day from San Marcos to San Antonio, we had more riding to do later that night. We just didn't realize it until around 9.30pm when Alia noticed a rather large bed bug making its way for her. This thing was huge. We think it had just brushed its teeth, put on its PJs and was making its way to bed. Further investigation revealed at least another six bed bugs, and a series of bites along my legs and arms (Alia escaped the bites for some reason). Long story short, we obtained an immediate refund from the owners and headed to a nearby motel we knew was better; upon entry to our new room we were careful to keep all of our bags away from the bed. The next day was spent washing everything we had, including our sleeping bags - so much for bed bugs being limited to the north east of the country (for those who aren't aware there had been a major outbreak of bedbugs in, amongst other places, New York City).

San Antonio, once you make your way through the outer suburbs, is a great city. It's famous for its river walk, a beautifully landscaped and pub/cafe heavy walkway along the San Antonio river through the heart of the Downtown, and the Alamo (pictured below with yours truly in front), where the Mexicans defeated a small heroic band of 'Texans' fighting for independence in 1836 (Texas, or as it was known Tejas, was then a part of Mexico). It was to be the last Mexican victory, and not long after Texas became an independent country, the Lone Star state. It wasn't until 1845 that Texas, burdened by the heavy cost associated with running and developing a country, joined the U.S.

Running south of San Antonio is a series of Spanish missions, set up in part to help repel an attempt by the French to grab some of the US for itself. The missions, run by Franciscan monks, also had their religious aims of course, primarily in turning the local Native American population towards God. Self contained, we visited four of five of the missions, riding along the San Antonio river for the most part along a designated 'path' (the path will actually be next to the river from 2011 onwards when they finish construction of a bikeway) for 10 miles or so. It was a pleasurable afternoon, topped off by an unplanned visit to a local bike store that was still (surprisingly) open at 6.30pm on a Saturday evening. My rear wheel had a very slight wobble and fearing some bent spokes, I simply put my head in to ask whether someone could look at it for me. Within five minutes not only had a mechanic fixed the wobble without charge but he had given us two free water bottles to take with us. The bike store's name - S. A. Cycles Bicycle Shop at 1804 St. Mary's. Give them a shout if you're ever in town!

My next blog will focus on the New Orleans, Louisiana to Gulf Shores, Alabama leg of our trip. Stay tuned!