Louisiana Ride No._

   I just got back from submerging myself into a little of Central Louisiana. It has rained the last week or weeks, thankfully, but now that weather system is moving north. Clouds and coolness lingered today. I figured that it would be a real good time to take a ride. I left after lunch, full and happy to be able to get out. I went straight north. I wanted a change of scenery. Central Louisiana is a change. I really don't know how other people break up the state, but I'd say that Central Louisiana begins above Washington and Lebeau, above La.Highway 10.
    You can argue that thesis, but you'll have to keep it among yourselves.
    I love Central La. I guess it has a mix of all of Louisiana except the most southern parts, then even some of those traits shine through. Now that we've had a good rain, all is lush. There was no dust in the air and it smelled so good.
    What I'm trying to get around to saying is that after being away from this part of Louisiana for a while, it felt great to be back. I stopped and talked to a lady that was fishing by herself on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere. She explained that being there and fishing relieved all her stress, no pills, no doctors, just fishing. I wished her good luck and she said she didn't need it, "cause she didn't care if one bit or not". It was just being there.
    From that point on into the ride, everything became a little magical. I felt that I was passing through some level of heaven with a never ending supply of new treats. It was just being there.
    My rides I now can now relate to casting that fishing line. What I bring back may be keepers or not. As you know, or not, none are released unless totally uneditable. (it's a pun, Fred). This recent outing filled my tackle box with some pretty fish and some that are not that pretty, but are, nonetheless, a part of the scenic school found in the basin I call The Bayou Wauksha Valley.

Fishing

Exiting east on La.10/182 from Washington, I followed 182 north when the two roads split at Beggs. Immediately the Homeplace presents itself. I have never stopped to look. Isn't that amazing. I amaze myself constantly.

Homeplace Link 1

I knew from the start I wasn't going after big fish on this one. I would be satisfied to shoot a few old barns and whatever came along would be just fine. Mz. Guzzi was just purring along satisfied with the mid-range gas I had slipped into her usual gourmet chow. I had covered her headlight at the station. I often do that so she won't get nervous.

Not on the scale of Homeplace, this was nevertheless, someone's homeplace. It appears that an addition was built at one time as maybe more family moved in. That was an easy guess. Dell will understand that one.

This is one of those "less than pretty fish" I couldn't throw back. We had a horrible drought this early summer and plow unders were everywhere. Earlier, I had seen brown dead corn in a field. Such a shame. But, things are better now.

From the looks of most of the farms, this is good land and the farmers are prosperous, good managers. I don't know if this house is old or a reproduction of an old design. People stay with their past into their futures. Tradition, it's called, I think.

Below is a pictue of a gate opening into a vast field. Thought provoking.

In the past I would have dismissed that hump in the road as a hump in the road. No, thanks to having followed a rail line everywhere, I now must stop and look at the old right of way of which these humps hint.

Imagine a Southern Pacific train coming through. Or don't.

Though not really enlightening without discription, this picture is of trailers full of crawfish traps, one of those south Louisiana traits, shining through.The crawfish pond is drained. I don't think the drought allowed much aquarium agriculture this year where large wells weren't present.

Below is a special motorcycle parking place. St.Landry Parish is one of the most progressive parishes in a state that still designates its divisions in 18th Century jargon.

The parking mini-lot is supplied so you can see this.

The subject was mutidimentional in beauty. I had to back off to get the closer dimension.
The orange flowers, much more vivid at the time of snapping, are some sort of honey suckle, I do believe.
I may go back and change the name of this one to "Green". Green should be the state color. When things are right in our world, this place is the greenist, or right up there with the leaders. It is so green that green becomes a part of our life support system, a mental thing I will not dissertate upon here as it is covered at length on my "mental health" site. OK, it goes like this: "Green absence" among Louisianians causes extreme depression and longing for this semi-tropical paradise we call home. Returning from the beauty that is the West, I felt a wonderful tingling sensation seeing the noticable color change in the foliage that defines the state's boundary.
Some state's boundaries are drawn along longitude and latitude, some historical and some along natural designations. I firmly believe a good bit of our boundary was drawn along a line of color demacation.

Green and pink.

Near the junction with La29 and the end of La182, Interstate 49 can be seen to the west. 29 west heads into VillePlatte. Ville Platte is a very Cajun French town in Central Louisiana. That's cotton. Cotton is Central Louisiana, I rest my case. 29 West also connects with the southern approach to Chicot State Park. A stay at the park should be combined with a ride to Bunkie, Washington, Ville Platte, Mamou and more. Or, just stay in the park and kick back, walk, bicycle. Or fish.

At Whiteville, an old school sits off the road. The design is mid-50's. I went to one of that design in Houma, so I'm an expert. To prove it, Mr.Toups was the principal.
Room intercoms were the new technology. The teachers still yelled into them.

   Whiteville is home to the beautiful Whiteville Falls, formed, I believe, by the distruction of the old train bridge. This is speculative, but without google varification, that is all I can offer. I wanted to get down there and search for archeological varification, but time was short.   Perhaps one of you could for me.
    This is, of course, Bayou Boeuf, my choice for the most beautiful small bayou in the state.
     And the name of this area, "Whiteville", has nothing to do with "race". It was named for Mr.White.

Mz.Guzi was saying, "me next". I don't like the feel of her fidgeting. Back to the fishing analogy, that fidgeting resembles a rocking boat. No, Mz.Guzzi, I didn't call you a "boat". You are a beautiful scooner. Sail on my dear.

Cotton