Still haven't showered. I'll add some words to this directly, come back soon...

From Ocean Springs I got to Dauphin Island, AL. It was frigidly cold, and the 3 layers of socks on my hands made stopping difficult, so I slowly ran into the closed gate of the ferry ramp and fell down. I camped for the night in the RV campground (rustic!), with the offer of staying warm in the "community house" if it got too cold. This turned out to be a large concrete bunker with a perforated and nonfunctioning wood stove, plastic cherubim, and a vast array of uncomfortable and non-insulating Christmas chintz. You see, the most important thing here, obviously, was to find something to sleep on, since in my excellent and far-sighted packing I brought tent, sleeping bag, and nary else. Which is fine in normal southern climes, but this was like wandering through a drawling, drooling St. Paul.

The end result was something like sitting in dark display room of merry concrete gremlins, discussing which episode of Dr. Who to watch in the back room, while Uncle Gus practices his bowling approach in the hall.

So: could I stuff the child-angels under my sleeping bag? No

Could I burrow into the yards and yards of plastic wreaths, filling the gaps with colored lights?

Maybe, but how itchy.

So, after a hearty dinner of canned green beans (and salt!) I ransacked the room, and found a midden heap of plastic tablecloths. I grabbed 8 of them, and rodent-like, tucked them away with me across the lumpy lawn and into my tent.

The next morning I was accosted by maternal and cackling hens who wanted to know why I was stuffing voluminous amounts of tablecloth under the sink.

This name on the gravestone is just quite good, and deserves immortality, thus I comply.

Aaaaaannd, off we go. Bike trip, Port Sulphur LA to Mt. Pleasant SC.

Only stumble upon internet once in a while, so you too can envision traveling at the speed of an angry bumblebee pulling a pony.

Port Suphur to Slidell, with help from Ricky.

Think my tires are too thin. Ditched extra weight after first flat 5 minutes into the ride, in full view of Subway. Damn their sammiches.

Took Pointe a la Hache ferry across the Mississippi River, the other side is much spookier.
Houses slowly slope into the river bank and the air smells faintly sweet, like a calmly eroding Eudora Welty.

Now just have to deal with shitty, shitty roads. My knees feel like they are 75. God, I hope they won't feel like this when we are 75...

Fixed flat on side of R. 47 in east New Orleans, a barren and sinister wasteland of nuclear twinkie sludge and 3 breasted women. Mutations palpable. Asked guy with dip lip and 4x4 hat for a ride across bridge (no shoulder, 70mph). He left me on side of highway -- I slung on the bags and coasted down the off-ramp.

R. 90 goes through the Bayou Sauvage Nat. Wildlife Refuge, nothing for miles.

Walking along with my thumb out after last flat (out of tubes and no patches) hearing interested and hungry sounds from the rosocanes, darkness falling.

Enter Ricky.

Ricky works for Zatarains (jazzitup!) and points to the logo on his threadbare shirt. I asked him if he ever got tired of eating it -- he said he guessed not, he'd been there 27 years, He drove me about 10 miles to Walfart in Slidell, where we shook hands and swapped names. I naturally, was Jimmy.

Bought 2 tubes and 3 patch kits, and fixed flats on the sidewalk listening to the Salvation Army man hustle. Apparently he drank espressos before they were big, and that all went down in Everett, ya see...

Used first patch kit to mend holes in brand new Walpoop tube.

Hooray then, cheap hotel room with hot water and wafflehaus hammagah. Living large.

Sleep, knees, sleep