Oooh LA LA!

The drawbridge welcomes riders to the Trace from the Slidell/Carollo Trailhead.

St. Tammany Parish, Louisiana.

It's day 24 of Biker Buck's Southern Comfort, and time for the last ride in this 11-state adventure.

Perfect weather,

the renowned Tammany Trace,

and no deadline.

Care to join me?

Homes and boats on the Lake Pontchartrain inlet.

The rail trail is nestled in the bayous on the Lake's north side, across from New Orleans.

Bayou Lavcombe

The Mandeville Trailhead is a complete playground with fun tower, and an important community gathering place.

There are concerts and educational activities at the Trailheads as well.

Heading for Lake Pontchartrain from the harbor at Fontainebleau State Park.

Rest stop for runabouts.

Kalin enjoys the playground at the Tammany Trace Trailhead.

BikerBuck met the Trace's Director, Lisa Pratt Maddox, at her iconic office.

A beautiful little cemetery borders the Trace near Carollo.  Above ground crypts are the norm in bayou country.

The guys all thought that Theophile Prudhomme was just an ordinary Joe.  RIP, Mr. P.

Tammany Trace was truly the perfect wrap up ride for BikerBuck's Southern Comfort section of his 50-50.  The ridin' is easy. The bayous, lake, trail heads and gentle neighborhoods that host the Trace are all delightfully laid back and accessible. The trail surface and shoulders are immaculate maintained and the security presence is conspicuous but professionally warm.


While Tammany does not display its supporters' trade names in the manner of Longleaf Trace and other community bike trails, there is no doubt that the Trace is the result of an effective public/private partnership that knows how to get things done.  If only BB's home town could do something even remotely similar!


So the Buckster stretched his ride to 60 something kilometers to simply enjoy the moment on a perfect trail, in perfect weather and perfectly no more cotton pickin' rides on the calendar until he AND the cotton are ready for pickin'.


Thirty three states in the bag. Seventeen left for the 2012 plan, with the notion of riding number 50, Deleware, on my 70th birthday in early October. The beauty of BB's "expedition style" planning is simply taking what the moment gives.  Of the eleven rides in Southern Comfort, just six happened at "pre-planned" sites and that's being generous. It's mainly about getting out there - being in the moment as I love to say - and picking the highest hanging fruit you can find.


This is a philosophy with legs.  Biking, shmiking, it doesn't matter what your moment's activity is.  Could be art, sightseeing, music, food, or nation-building for the sake of Pete. Whatever you feel it is that needs more of your attention just up and do it, by cracky.


Mahalo for joining BikerBuck on his Southern Comfort segment. He hopes that your virtual tour of America's southland has been a pleasant distraction.  Thank you coming along. Now he feels like reciprocating the gift of your time.  Hmm.  Could he...........................


Bayou a drink?


((he's spent the last 24 hours trying to figure a way to work that line in, so humor the old fart would ya?))

***

After the ride BB beat feet to Lafayatte LA to get a little closer to IAH where he'll depart. And also to check out the promised "Oooh la la" at the Lone Star Cafe, the legendary tonk made famous in Paul Simon's "That Was Your Mother" from his Graceland album. 

Well here's the scoop, listeners. The Lone Star Cafe was recently razed to make way for a big white building about 4 stories tall that's under construction. Bummer. No idea what the Cafe looked like, or even if it really was the place that Simon wrote about.  Guess we'll never know. But supper at the Texas Roadkill was pretty good.

There will be a Southern Comfort wrap up story on this blog in a few days. This morning is for reverse logistics and getting on the plane to Portland to link up with Donivee and Thad, Jessica and Jackson in Beaverton.

Meanwhile BB is eager to get any questions, comments or corrections about the 50-50 blog, Southern Comfort, or whatever.  You can make comments on this blogsite, or email BikerBuck at laird@lava.net.

Now, get out there and enjoy your ride. (Don't forget your helmet.)

Mississippi Magic

So who hasn't heard of Southern Hospitality?

Well BikerBuck is here to tell you that it's very much alive and well in bustling Hattiesburg MS, home to Southern Miss Univ. and the outstanding Longleaf Trace, a Rails-to-Trails Conservancy Project.

The Gateway is located right on the Southern Miss campus.

I drove straight to the Gateway from Orange Beach AL and popped in to get info and change into my riding togs. I recognized Mr. Herlon Pierce from the Trace's website and he welcomed me to his pride and joy. We exchanged greetings and I told him a bit about BB's 50-50. After I changed and came out to start my ride, Mr. Pierce and a very nice staff member, Kellie I believe, presented me with a handsome tee shirt.

What a lovely way to start my ride!

 Take a moment to enjoy these shots of Longleaf Trace.

Beaver pond. Sign said so.

I encountered these local ladies when one had left her water bottle at the scuttlebutt and I returned it to her.  They ride frequently - the Trace is a regular part of many people's daily routine.

Yo, Jackie! Here's that vine you've been looking for.

There are scores of these  identity signs along the lush sides of the trace.  I suspect that the University assists with identification and well being of the lush surroundings. 

Apparently the region is vineyard-free.  Hey, no sour grapes.

Can someone help me identify the car model that inspired this design? Looks imported.

The homes near the Trace are fun to inspect.

This place really is full of winners.

The miles flew by today on the Trace.  The riding is effortless, the experience is refreshing in a makes-you-feel-good-inside sort of way.  Apart from some logging in progress here and there, the normal cycling distractions such as curbs, cars and crap are simply not a factor.  This kind of riding is rather like a leisurely hot bath.  Lots of time to let your mind unwind.  And you're damp.

Mahalo to the supporters and stewards of Longleaf Trace.

A hui hou!

'Bama Buildup

BikerBuck simply could NOT leave Pensacola without a visit to the legendary U.S. Naval Air Station there. It was 08:42 and they must have known I had just come on base, when overhead I heard........

....yeah, baby, the Blue Angels.

They continued with their practice routine as I drove through the base and arrived at my destination....

....where I found pilot wannabe heaven.

 Planes.

 Plane.

And more planes.

Many of BB's blog readers know that he was in the U.S.Navy after college for officer training plus 3 years of active duty in Supply Corps school and then aboard a Pearl Harbor based warship. One of my on board duties was standing watch in the main battery director, which usually entailed long hours of what we called "plane guarding". That means following 1,000 yards astern of aircraft carriers 24/7 for many days at a time.  The bottom line of this piece of BB background is that he witnessed well over 1,000 launches and arrested landings of aircraft on the decks of aircraft carriers at sea.

Fortunately, the mishaps were few.

Hence the museum experience was overwhelming for me. The recollections of course, but also continuing to grasp the immense body of world history that is literally being written in the skies by our planet's war birds. It was a morning of big moments.

Mere minutes from departing Pensacola the minivan crossed into Alabama.  The change of scenery on the 'Bama side of the line was remarkable - with AL physically and visually outshining the Sunshine State.

My destination was Orange Beach. It was easy to find.

But hard to absorb.  BB and a Navy buddy had driven this coastline from Panama City FL to New Orleans in 1965. So OK that was like Ancient Egypt time.  But my memory of this coast line, building-free for several hundred of miles, just didn't jive with what passed my windows this morning.


Mind you I'm not complaining.  The joint is first rate in drama and scale and apparently there has been a market for it over the past 20 years. It seems to work.

 The biking plan was to ride around and through the state park, which happened with incident. BB made a wrong turn early, and it took a while to "re-calculate" using a manage a trois --- Maps --- I had three different maps with me and they were all for the same place but all different. Like a manage. Of three. Trois. Oh for heaven sakes stop it.

 The bike paths were handsome and all kinds of fun.  There was about a 2 mile stretch in woods that was "closed" for logging ops, but the Buckster blasted through it, to the chagrin of some loggers.  Sorry, no photos.

I vant to be alone....

The Novara took a well deserved break after the ordeal.  

One final observation to share...the fishermen around these parts are like, serious angler dudes.  Plus they probably bet pretty heavily on fishing derbys.  All I know is that there are some mighty fine watercraft in the Orange Beach dma.


Finally, a big mahalo to Cody and his fellow spokesters at Infinity Bicycles who helped BikerBuck put Alabama in the 50-50 family.

Florida Panda-Monium

As soon as I completed the last of the Georgolina rides on Saturday morning in St. Simon's Island, I snapped to attention for the the next state, Florida.

There were several ideas on the table...er, dashboard,  but in a burst of Gatorade-induced brilliance I phoned my college roommate who keeps a home in St. Petersburg and basically invited myself to spend the weekend with him and his gracious wife. They said yes.

So I peeled out of Georgia at noon and made it to their place at Isla del Sol in time for a delicious supper.  Meanwhile, my Cornell classmate (who reluctantly answered to the nickname "Panda" around our Collegetown apartment) had researched the biking options nearby and I had my route penciled in before the first bottle of wine was drained.

Sunrise over the water is blissful, along with the cool breeze, hot coffee and the Sunday paper.

Noel put me on to Fort De Soto County park, a wild and wonderful place with miles of ocean, great bikeways, and glorious weather.

The National Ensign tells you there's a stiff breeze ashore.

The bridge in the distance spans Tampa Bay.  Does that architecture look familiar? Think Charleston, Savannah and Brunswick GA.  Same guy.

Just in case the cycling is not enough exercise, the trail is festooned with these self-administered torture devices. I'm not quite sure what you'd do with this innocent looking contraption, but I bet it makes you hurt.  Just thinking about that got me really worked up.  I started yelling at the devices and cautioning other riders to stay clear and not risk serious injury....I was frothing at the mouth and swearing... and finally, a guy stopped me on the path, grabbed my by the shoulders and said...

and said...

are you ready?

Settle down, 

!

(OK, YOU try to figure out how to work this hilarious sign into a blog posting.)

The sugary sand is sheet-white, endless and well used.

The old fort is a family attraction.

This wouldn't be a 50 - 50 blog entry without a golf course shot, now would it?

Mahalo, Noel and Catherine

Bright and early Monday morning I headed north for the Florida panhandle and a chance to visit the Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola.  The drive was a no brainer until I decided to drop down to Panama City for a quick tour of the place where I lived in 9th grade.  I'll spare you the details, but let's just say that the side trip was the "monium" in this blog. Never did get to drive through my old neighborhood.

But got checked into the Courtyard, had a swell dinner at an Irish Pub, and have a plan for the Alabama ride tomorrow after the Museum.  Y'all come back now, heah.

Georgolina Part II: Savannah Sampler and St. Simon's Sojourn

Following the fabulous Charleston experience, BikerBuck was in a hurry to take the waters of Savannah and also to wrap up the requisite  kilometers for Georgolina.  Arriving in Savannah in mid afternoon on  Friday 10/21, a quick decision was made to forego an overnight there and to do the TIVO version of a Savannah tour.

Hence a trolley tour was the perfect solution.

It was not, however, the perfect platform for photography. Thus the Garden of Good and Evil place remains a pleasant blur in mind and camera.  Nonetheless I was humbled by the history and preservation efforts in that town and perhaps one day Biker and Mrs. Buck may have a chance to go there together and really savor the sights.

Don't Shoot!

With daylight beginning to excuse itself, BB fairly raced down to Brunswick, GA and on to St. Simons Island with the mission of revisiting the scene of the Buckster's most elaborate teenage prank.

Confessions of a teenage dufus.

BikerBuck has been very clear about his attachment to Georgia and South Carolina and his lucid recollections of places and events - the "hallowed ground" of his grade 10 and 11 years.  As it happens, Georgia's petite St. Simon's Island and it's little sister, Sea Isle, are particularly memorable and required a visit (and the requisite bike ride) to refresh, remember and relinquish the memory of the Young Life outing to The Cloister during Thanksgiving weekend of 1958.

The Palmetto is the state symbol of South Carolina. It's generous use on Sea Island, GA is just one more ingredient in BB's "Georgolina" concoction.

Coastal Islands are way flat. The lamppost design is meant to be part of the "understated elegance" of the Islands' real estate developments in the last couple of decades.  Yeah.

Now here's where they combine the practical with the absurd.  As I rode past this bastion of Coastal higher education, I was treated to the sound of a barrage of shotgun fire.  Fact is, it instantly took me back to a  Saturday afternoon near Aiken in 1959 when my girlfriend's father and brother invited me to go quail hunting with them and some other friendly chaps.  I had only meager experience with a shotgun, but I got into the spirit of the hunt and actually bagged a couple of quail - OK maybe they were chickens - it was a long time ago.

I have one or two other recollections of my girlfriend, in golf course settings, but those stories shall sleep with the fishes - if you get my drift.

Honest to Pete, BB remembers the '58 bus ride over the causeway and the boat dock on Sea Island.  There were no fancy homes there then.

OK, so here's the story.  In Aiken SC and many other Christian centric communities in the 50's, there was a very popular organization called Young Life.  Several dozen of us would attend the bi-monthly meetings in the evening at one of the adult director's home.  The meetings were a great diversion from studying at home and was a chance for boys and girls to hang out together in a well supervised and wholesome setting.


An optional event was a retreat to The Cloister over Thanksgiving Weekend, when the room rates were at rock bottom and the kids had the Friday-Sunday time to fill.  And so we piled into a bus in Aiken and they drove us down to the Georgia coast and we all settled in to the beautiful Cloister Hotel.

Honestly I remember the place as beautiful then as it is today.  Mind you, a substantial community of elegant town homes and villas has been developed at the destination since 1958.

So we all checked in and the program started and we guys hung in there and did our best to behave and the girls were all proper and responsive to the leaders' program yadda yadda yadda.  That was Friday.

The girls were in rooms with little bitty windows, but had balconies, so they could hang out and the guys would call up to them and all that.  The only time that the boys and girls were together was in the meetings, and chapel.  The chaperones had been trained in nearby Paris Island as I recall.

By Saturday afternoon the boys were getting bored as hellllO, I mean heck.  After supper, my two roommates and I decided to slip out and walk into the village on St. Simon's and see what kind of mischief we could get into.  Well, the aforementioned chaperones positioned themselves near the bridge and immediately turned us around and sent us back to our room. I'm not certain of this, but I think they actually locked us in.

I kid you not, that is our actual room on the second floor next to the tree.  The windows then were wood frame and we swung them open and escaped to the roof.  I remember crawling over that Spanish tile and managing to get down to the ground on the roof's drain pipe.

We were smart. We didn't go near the bridge.  But we DID go near the bus drivers.  They were bored and feeling cooped up themselves, so we gave them some dough and sent them into the village to get us some booze. Now we're cookin'!


The drivers came back with the hooch and the three of us teens polished it off behind the swimming pool area just as the meeting was letting out.  Time to parr-tee!


Well, the girls were shocked and the other guys didn't know what to make of us.  I tried to get the party into high gear by jumping off the diving board into the pool fully dressed, but all that did was get me dragged out by an adult and rounded up with the other two and sent to out room to sober up while they called our parents to come get us.

We managed to get ourselves together well enough to talk them out of calling our folks.  Each of us was given a task to demonstrate our apology to the group and seek forgiveness. In all honesty, the Young Life folks handled it very well and to this day I wish I had not been so stupid.

This nice guest was out for a walk and noticed me taking the photos of the hotel.  We introduced ourselves and it turns out that she is an architect by the name of Jenny who lives on Kauai!  












And now, good readers, you have learned more that you could possibly care to know about BikerBuck's teen years in the Deep South. The good news is that I'm pau with the autobiography-therapy that my analyst put me on and now I can just go back to being my old broken down caption-writer self. Thanks for your support.


Georgolina indeed.