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| After crossing the frightful Atchafalaya, I turned due north on La.418. It follows the waterway, manmade or natural, that connects the Mississippi to the Atchafalya and Red Rivers by way of some locks. The two rivers are the same water, almost. Atchafalaya does not mean "Red", though that rumor has run rampant for years. In actuality, people in North Louisiana, Oklahouma and Texas can't say "Atchafalaya", always wrestling with using the silent first sylable. Therefore they call it the "Red". If they would just relax and say, "Cha-fa-lie-ya", like we do south of Alexandria, they would have a much more interesting sounding river. "Red" does nothing for me, but, Atchafalaya is dark and menacing, full of stories and stories of stories. Now this was not the "further information" I was promissing you. Next page, maybe. |
| I saw it! Immediately I leaned hard against the rushing pavement smelling rubber as the bike drifted acoss the road producing a low moan as the six ply tire fought against a probable crash. Then, I turned around, backtracking to find a good angle to frame the picture. Shots like this just don't happen every mile. The Dark Castle of Simmesportia loomed ahead. A giant bell atop the spires tolled, calling who knows what. I proceeded with caution. |
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| A paved driveway crested the levee. I had never, in all my rides passing this spot, chosen to investigate its terminus. Topping the levee, the canal lay out before me. A tug was docked, maybe with a barge. It was waiting to carry something away or to bring something here. My investigative skills were zinging. |
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| Re-cresting the levee, the grouped cylinders that form Castle Simmesportia stood against the blue winter sky. The ringing ceased and a methodical chanting could be heard. Maybe it was the tugboat starting up. Somethings can be left a mystery. |
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