Days end yesterday found us at the Arlington Hotel in Hot Springs Arkansas, a fabulous “Grand Dame” of a Hotel, once a haven for the rich and famous (or notorious) including Al Capone and Lucky Luciano in the 1930’s.
It is also famous for being haunted, something some of our people can attest has some substance after unexplainable happenings with elevators and rooms.... Unfortunately, as evidenced by peeling paint, rusty aircon units and worn carpet, the owners of this great establishment obviously have not spent a cent on much maintenance or renovations for years (probably since the 50’s) and it shows. Perhaps most annoying - the check in process was incredibly tedious! One wonders why this great old monument is being treated so shabbily. Having said all that, there is no where else in town I’d have preferred to stay, and if we were ever to return, we’d inevitably see how the old girl was bearing up. Today was more of the same weather wise, mild enough for a few hardy bikers to start the day in short sleeves, with others following suit at the first stop. It was here that a few comments were made regards a woman who appeared to be the archetypal poster child for “Hillbilly Heroin” - meth is apparently prevalent here, and users (including aforementioned woman) can often be identified by extremely rotten teeth... Doc decided on Clarendon for lunch, one of the many hamlets we encountered today, and because it boasts a population of 1664, it is one of the larger communities we passed through (many showing populations of between 80-300), large enough in fact to support a small gas station, a tobacco shop and a couple of other seemingly struggling enterprises. We chanced upon Bendi’s diner, like so many, an unpretentious building and very little signage that scarcely encourages passing trade, but what a gem it proved to be. The menu was extensive, and the staff extremely efficient (a mother and two daughters operated front of house). My BBQ sandwich was without a doubt one of the best I have ever had - and that’s something. Other than Monica’s cherry pie coming to an unfortunate end after being delivered to the wrong table, everyone seemed very content. The next leg took us into the heart of “Cotton Country” - thousands of acres in every direction, thankfully harvested nowadays by huge machines rather the the forced labour of days gone by. As our petrol gauges indicated that we were about to revert to fumes, we again crossed the Mississippi, this time farewelling Arkansas for Memphis Tennessee. The Hampton Inn is our residence for the next two nights (laundry day tomorrow), so a sleep in for those who enjoy it, and a trip to the Harley Dealer as part of the pilgrimage (and to try for a warranty replacement of Mike C’s dodgy boot). Hopefully the buggers making a hell of a racket in what could be a stadium across the road (evidence that bad music played loudly only makes it worse) will tire and depart before much longer, but as there are earplugs in a packet beside the bed, I suspect this may be a regular problem. Because Natchitoches was such a hit, a slightly later departure time was agreed upon, so early sight seeing around this extremely historic and wee town. Some wandered, a couple trotted (quite foolish in my view), and one or two tried in vain for a sleep in.
Mike C’s flash new Harley sneakers shed a sole, and in an effort to effect repairs he found the oldest general / hardware store In Louisiana - talk about a treasure trove of all that is old and wonderful. I would bet that have a pallet of buggy whips or carpenters awls (used in barn raising) out the back, just in case. Nev and Yvonne led us out of town and for the first leg of the day - a nice change in the order of the pack. Our first stop for coffee proved to be a false alarm - you just never know until you walk through the door, and this was a definite no, so a few miles up the road, Doc led us into the car park of a small supermarket in “Ringgold”. Oddly named, ironic and sad because there were absolutely no signs of any prosperity with empty stores in abundance, with the pharmacy next door about to join them. That being said, the people, most of whom looked fairly run down and hangdog, were without exception hospitable and cheerful. The only enterprises that showed any sort of prosperity are the mills (lots of logging trucks loaded with long, stringy trunks, some very young, others obviously quite old), and as mentioned previously, the Churches that abound - some very modest, others, despite the very poor communities, surprisingly large and elaborate. As the day passed, another day of fabulous back roads riding, more abandoned homes and commercial properties flashed by (some obviously quite large employers), but that is the lot of rural Louisiana. Occasionally a roadkill raccoon or doe would flash by, some quite ripe.... Back on the road, next stop the Cross Roads Deli in Shongaloo - another very humble establishment that it would be easy to take one look at then move on, but the two girls behind the counter hardly blinked as they catered for us all - the sort of place that really adds character (in the best way) to our journey. Chilli (spicy mince), subs and pizza were served quite promptly- other places spin out of control as 18 rowdy Kiwis descend upon them, but not these two. The car park at the Crossroads was an abandoned gas station (complete with rusty old pumps), with yet another abandoned directly across the road - seems they have a life cycle, eventually falling foul to the passing of time, and are then left.... Across another border and into Arkansas, more great roads and scenery, but little improvement in local prosperity - noticeably fewer campaign hoardings though! After gassing up 5miles from day’s end, one of our number managed to ride off without his dear wife, leaving her to be rescued by Doc - I suspect Mike C will have some making up to do, both with Jacqui, and at tonight’s fine session. A much cooler start to today’s ride, with an over night mist helping to bring the temperature down - with that in mind we were all rugged up, wondering what the day would bring.
Within minutes of leaving the hotel we recrossed the mighty Mississippi and found ourselves back in Louisiana, and almost straight away come across a couple of places flying “Old Dixie”, perhaps better known as the flag of the Confederacy, not particularly PC anymore, which I personally find disappointing. History is what it is and inevitably there are some pretty awful things which can be remembered or forgotten- pretending they never happened seems like a cop out to me. On to less contentious matters - It is apparent that the Deep South has a very religious foundation, with the Baptist’s prevalent by a country mile (sometimes two Baptist churches within 100 metres of each other), the Pentecostal’s a distant second, with whatever souls remain spread thinly between Catholic and Lutheran. I jokingly wondered if we’d come across a Louisiana Prison chain gang working on the backroads and today we came fairly close - we saw a few guys in what was very obviously prison garb (baggy britches with thick black and white stripes), filling up ride-on mowers at a gas station - so much for hard labour. Our morning stop was at a tiny hamlet quaintly named “Jena” and what a treasure trove the nondescript wee coffee shop proved to be. Operated by two Cambodian sisters (complete with baby in a cot watching Baby Shark in the passage to the loo) they’re open from 5am till noon, 7 days a week and had nearly sold out when when rocked up at 11:30. At $5.07 for two donuts and coffees you have to wonder how they make any money, but they seemed very pleased, and the food was astounding- very much an American staple. Next stop Taboo Harley Davidson in Alexandria - very welcoming and gracious hosts and they did very well out of us with few leaving without spending $100-$200 on shirts and bling. Walmart for lunch (just next door) is a reminder of America as seen by the lower socioeconomic end of the spectrum- a Mecca of all things for those on a budget which, in these tired and often struggling towns, could include a large portion of the community. Whilst early into the tour it is apparent that like many other places we have visited in the US, once you’ve left the cities most vestiges of wealth quickly disappear, with properties and failed businesses seemingly unsalable and often abandoned to eventually collapse under their own weight. Abandoned properties eventually cede to the County (or in Louisiana, The Parish) in lieu of unpaid taxes, and rather than fund the expense of demolition, they’re left to rot. The ubiquitous “trailer homes” are everywhere, obviously built to a simple plan and mass produced in the 10’s of thousands, with many obviously well past their intended life, quietly rotting away, typically in less than salubrious surroundings. At almost every stop we’re approached by friendly and curious locals keen to find out who we are and what we’re up to. A group of 18 Kiwis on Harley’s does tend to attract a certain amount of attention. The day’s ride was again spectacular with a mix of semi highway and quite rural riding which keeps things interesting, but nothing “technical “ yet - a reminder that New Zealand roads tend to have much tighter corners than anything we’ve come across so far, with wide, sweeping turns being the norm. One further observation for today - it is election time here in the South with every County and Parish littered with hoardings (thankfully most are small) for want to be Sheriffs, County Clerks, even Tax Collectors - Election Day is Saturday 12th some by next week all this palaver should be over. We have arrived at a very nice hotel (The St Denis) in a town with the unpronounceable name of Natchitoches, Louisiana. My first impressions of this small town is that it is about as diametrically opposed as it is possible to be to the French Quarter of New Orleans, an in the best possible way, spotlessly clean, nice restaurants, and without the noise and trash (human and otherwise) found in the big city Even after only two days on the road, we’ve been reminded that there establishments which are organised and very customer savvy (as is The St Denis), whilst others, typically chain hotels, appear to be operated by chumps....thankfully Tour leader Doc manages to unearth some absolutely stunning hotels which makes up for those who could learn a lesson or two... Nearly time to track down the rest of the crew for drinks and nibbles, and of course to relive the best moments of the day. New Orleans is like most cities in that it is known for a very small part (and in this instance, famous for the French Quarter), just as Auckland May be known for the Viaduct precinct.
Of the millions who throng to “Nawlins” each year, few would give a moments consideration to the lasting effects of Hurricane Katrina in 2005 - there are still “no go zones” where the devastation was almost complete, the few remaining houses uninhabited and uninhabitable, the previous occupants dead or departed, not too far from the hype and hedonism of Bourbon Street. It is apparent that the pressure builds day on day (night on night) as the week progresses, with Sunday being the day worn out revellers head home. Each morning lack lustre crews sweep up the detritus and drunks, trying but failing to emulate the Parisians in washing the streets before the process is repeated. As day turns to night the noise builds, more adolescent buskers beating plastic buckets every 100 metres or so, more brass bands wandering the streets, and as the icing on the cake, the bars crank up the volume to ear shattering levels. The groups of of what we’d call “stag” or “Hen” parties go for it, and as was evidenced through the fairly thin walls of our respectable hotel, more than a few of these new relationships are consummated in time honoured fashion. So, All our team were ready to leave, especially those who arrived nearly a week ago, and so it was that at 9am we were off - yahoo. Out of the city and onto the freeway, miles and miles of raised roadway (on legs over the swamps and marshes), no obstacle too difficult for American engineers and road builders to master. An obligatory stop at the Harley dealer in Baton Rouge for those in need of a Harley Bell, bling or T shirt, then on to Zachary (still in Louisiana) for burger lunch. Half an hour into today’s ride, Sheriff Baldric had to make a detour back to the hotel, remembering that the room safe still contained passports... bugger. one of today’s highlights was a Jaguar, apparently new and very expensive, ablaze on the side of the freeway, it’s once proud owner 200 metres away desperately calling for assistance on his phone. As we passed by two lanes away, we could feel that the heat was intense and any chance of a good outcome long since passed. So, day one on the road was not super long, but an initiation of things to come, the quite oppressive muggy heat tempering what we know will be magnificent scenery and riding in the back blocks and hinterland of these southern states. We have arrive in Natchez Mississippi, keen for a beer and shower (in no particular order) There are those who can always be relied upon to exceed expectations, to go well above and beyond the call of duty, and for us it is our techie and in house MacGyver, Neville.
This morning he handed out the data sticks that provide all out navigational needs for the trip, and not only that, he added several hundred songs that will play along the way - a great effort and much appreciated. So, it was with excitement that we awaited to be collected for the trip to Eagle Rider to claim our bikes, and after a little too-ing and fro-ing this happened. Over the past 7-8 years it has been a lottery as to what we’d end up with- despite the cast iron assurances and promises from various bike providers that our machines would be in good Knick, this has often not been the case. This year, Doc has excelled himself, with Eagle Rider New Orleans restoring our confidence by coming up with magnificent machinery for everyone. So, documentation completed (free coffee and donuts provided during the process), navigation sorted, and starting to cook in the intense heat, we were off, trying to avoid the worst of “Game Day” traffic, back to the 4 Points Sheraton. We all arrived intact, and in my case, straight into the pool. Tomorrow morning and with a marginal weather forecast in the mix, we will depart “The Big Easy”, for Natchez Mississippi, with our first planned stop 100 miles hence, a Harley dealer.... Don The dates were set in stone nearly a year ago, the airline bookings made 8-9 months ago, so why is it only a few hours from departure that packing of bags commences - sure, piles of stuff have been scattered about for days, but the countdown in earnest is short and rushed, with the certainty of critical items being forgotten absolute, but there is no way to change what is hard wired. Out to the airport, thankfully to car parking close to the terminal at one of my offices, through Customs then upstairs to the lounge for a light meal and a drink to calm the nerves before the long trek to gate 16... Unlike others (particularly those who snore long and loud) I don’t normally sleep particularly well on aircraft (as I was reminded during the 36hour trek back from Poland two weeks ago), so a well loaded kindle and a couple of drinks were required to pass the 13 hours between Auckland and Houston. Whilst the front of the aircraft was chocka, a little further back was not, allowing the petite Yvonne (a fellow traveller) the luxury of space to spread out. Yvonne had more optimism in her transfer to New Orleans than we did, opting for the next flight 1,5 hours hence. While we waited the additional 2 hours for the following flight, she and our bags where on their way, but ever cautious, we had plenty of time to kill - the flights being at over 100% capacity meant any delay was to be compounded, but the end result was that Yvonne arrived earlier than we did. We were also reminded that to have seats near the front booked all the way through did not include access to lounges - FFS!!! Thankfully we received a message from Yvonne (while still languishing at Houston) that our bags were on the carousel in New Orleans(a long way from the carousel our flight was eventually allocated).. thankfully another dilemma avoided, because in my experience trying to get airline staff motivated to give a shit is just about impossible, we’d have been waiting at our specified carousel for bags to appear for hours....Phew. So, New Orleans - first impression is LOUD!!! It is one of those places that thrives on the notoriety of its reputation, but in reality probably suits the 2-3 day stays of most visitors - there is a limit to everything, including the booze, the clubs and the carousing. A young guy passed out on the footpath outside our very reputable hotel is evidence of “too much of a good thing”, with nary a cop, at least not one on foot, to be seen (plenty in patrol cars though). Having said that, there is history, not the least being the significant aftermath and legacy of Hurricane Katrina (check out Wikipedia), but the rebirth continues. In addition to the hedonistic pursuits for which “The Big Easy” is famous, attractions like The National WWII museum are an absolute must. Doc arranged a tour for us today, out into the hinterland to get a taste of the local Cajun scene, into the bayous on a boat with skipper James, who spoke with an accent and dialect almost indiscernible to us (as no doubt ours were to him). James was an extremely sardonic and funny man, an ex Marine and a the real deal. We now know that to attempt to kiss an alligator on the lips (without proper precautions), or to put a hand down its throat, is to invite a bad outcome - quite obvious I would have thought. In addition, we know that they appear to have a real fondness for the dozens of marshmallows her tossed during the tour - remarkable. Off to “Spuddies” for a genuine Creole meal, Gumbo, Jambalaya, and real home made smoked sausage - Spuddie a host of the highest order, and very passionate about his heritage. The old adage of not asking too many questions about what we were eating remained throughout, but most of the fare, especially the smoked sausage was well received received. Last stop was a tour of Laura’s Plantation- again, the “real deal”, history that was brought to life in the telling, hardship, family quarrels, disparate views, duels and bastardry, slaves living in squalor, again, the realities of times long since passed. Tomorrow we collect our bikes - everyone is itching to get underway. |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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