Crossing the Border, Somewhat Illegally
New Orleans, LA
After dodging some heavy traffic and a dozen or so dogs, I blew through the state of Mississippi. My route only took me through a small section of the state. It didn’t take me more than a day to reach this final stretch into Louisiana. You can imagine the feeling that I had as I crossed off my third state. I only had five more to go! Really, it wasn’t much to celebrate, as I would later find out. Both Alabama and Mississippi were a drop in the pond compared to Texas. At over 1,000 miles wide, it would take me two weeks to check that one off of my list. Still, I celebrated this small victory with a fist pump and by helping myself to a cold can of chili.
My route was taking me straight into downtown New Orleans and I thought I would treat myself to the comfort of a cheap motel room for the night. All I had to do, was make it into town. However, I came across a literal roadblock. I had been riding along Route 90 since turning to the West in Maddison, Florida. Here, just before the border, the road was entirely blocked off with concrete barriers and had a very foreboding “Road Ahead Unsafe For Traffic” sign posted. It looked apocalyptic in every sense of the word. Everything was unkept and overgrown, and the concrete had begun to weather away almost entirely in some spots. The metal guardrails that ran the length of the road and along the bridges were rusted well beyond any regulation.
I pulled out my phone to check for alternative routes. My only other option was to get onto I-10 and enter New Orleans that way. Obviously, the decrepit road that was littered with decay and unsafe for traffic was a better option than a busy highway on approach to a major city. So, I did a quick look around to see if anyone was watching and slipped my bike through a small gap in the concrete barrier. For miles, I pedaled down that road and became very conscious of a strange sensation that lingered for quite a while. It’s difficult to explain the feeling of passing through something that was so distinctly man-made. Yet, Mother Nature had easily begun to tear it down. I felt as though I was riding my bike through a movie set that showcased the end of the world.
After riding for some time, I bumped into an older couple that was also riding through the decay. I felt a tinge of relief when the man mentioned that the road was closed to traffic because the bridges were deemed unsafe for vehicles. However, cycling was just fine. We chatted for a bit, and I told him what I was up to. With a look of concern, he asked me where I was staying for the night. I told him that I intended to ride into town and get a room. He and his wife made eye contact with a slight pause.
“You’re better off sleeping somewhere out here.” he said, “Just don’t feed the bears”. I didn’t realize it, but I had been riding into a very rough section of New Orleans. The sun was setting, and I had everything that I owned attached to my bike for the world to see. I thanked the stranger and continued down the road. Only now, I was searching for a place to pitch my tent.
I eventually found a cozy-looking bridge, assembled my tent underneath it, chowed down on a few more cans of cold chili, and began to settle in for the night. Weary of the comment about the bears from earlier, I hiked my food bag to the other end of the bridge and hung it over the side. That night, I was awoken by loud rustling around my tent. That sort of thing is normal. When you camp alone, your mind goes to some pretty dark places. Everything sounds much larger than it is, and you become very aware of the fact that your only protection is a few millimeters of polyester. It was probably a raccoon or a stray dog. Of course, my thoughts were running ramped with all the other possibilities of what it could have been.
Nights like these would really put what I was doing into perspective. Virtually everyone that I knew was safe at home, curled up in bed, with all the comforts and amenities that I had also become accustomed to. Yet, for reasons that I couldn’t quite explain myself, I was huddled under a bridge, alone, and praying that nothing noticed me in the night. I was 1,000 miles from home and had been wearing the same t-shirt for weeks. To this day, I am still unable to fully explain why I put myself through it. Most people that I tell the story to, aren’t satisfied with my usual “because I wanted to” response that I give to their question. To tell you the truth, I’m not all that satisfied with it either. Maybe my next adventure will shed some light and reveal what I hadn’t seen before. I guess we will just have to wait and see.
