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| ...I continued on cautiously. The quiet was awing. |
| The place was holy. So much so I've decided to remove the directions. It's a shame that people cannot coexist with Nature. I walked on. |
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| I was there. |
| I ventured across the little bridge and the road went up hill. Then I saw a house, uh oh. There was a truck in front of it and I turned and ran. What would they have thought of an old man running throgh the woods with a black leather jacket on and a full coverage black helmet. Little Foot? I thought nothing could be down there. I turned the bike around and started it quietly. I had to cross some narrow streches with mud and swamp on either side. It was tense but I made it out and around the gate. I hit the main road and picked up the pace. I continued home through the forest until I got to La. 112 going into Forest Hill, my old haunts. Then it was onto I-49 to let the dogs out. It was a great trip until I got home. |
| Arriving at the house after a completed ride is like Christmas morning. It is time to unload the camera and check the GPS to see just where I really was. I was happy with the pictures. The tracks on the gps varified that I had hit the Boeuf, but, the bayou continues north and is not formed by the little streams I thought I had found on the previous trip. The bayou skirts Kincaid Lake and crosses La.28 at Gardener. It then crosses La 121 above Gardener. That is where the blue line which is the Boeuf begins. I know the place and the souce is pretty amazing. Next trip. Stay tuned. Next takes you Home. |
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