{Remember, "Lost Down a Back Road and Lovin' It"}
It was a ride into another country, to a place I'd never been.
I was extremely curious. It features two historic bridges
which are not longer there, the Jonesville Black River Bridge
and the Columbia Quachita River Bridge, both great losses.
Hope ya enjoy it.
I had just published the last article and as usual, Barry wrote back that he'd enjoyed it. I wrote back that I wanted to expand my roaming to the north of Alexandria. He replied that he'd get a route together for me. Not to let an offer go cold, I told him that I was real, real enthusiastic about seeing it, hint! hint! Evidently Barry knew that I could become a nuisance, producing a route the same day. It was a big-un. Especially big if my entire ride from South Louisiana and back was factored in.
If I go up above Alexandria and do any meaningful riding, 400++ miles will have been ridden. I've been averaging my miles per hour on these trips, that is, factoring picture taking time, eating time, pit stops, and lost and exploring time. The average for this one was about 34 miles per hour.
This is the second "Ride by Berry" offered up. I examined this one carefully tracing each link on my map program and darn if the roads he mentioned did exist. I compared his route to the roads I had already ridden, lined them up with my preferred access route to this area (not through Alexandria) and came up with "One you need to do". It ought to be on the state's tourist website. It is so good. But, they're too busy hyping New Orleans and basically South Louisiana. That's why I'm headed to North La. (Louisiana speak for any place north of Alexandria). It needs a little hyping.
For my loyal following in my part of the state, I'll briefly tell you my route up there. So many of my articles have started this way, it is the way to go.
From the Lafayette area go to Arnaudville and then north on La.31. Before Leonville, go north on La.471 through Port Barre, then north on 103 at the Courtableu Bridge.
Soon you will meet La.359. This is one of the best sport touring roads in South Louisiana. Take it northeast to its intersection with La. 10. Take 10 east to Lebeau.
Continue on 10 to Palmetto. Shortly after leaving Palmeto turn onto La.360 north to Bayou Current where you'll meet the Atchafalaya Levee Road, La.105, or as I call it, Easy Rider Rd. Continue north on 105 to La.1 at Simmesport, going east crossing the river. At the base of the bridge, turn north on La.418 until you meet La.15. Take it north and you will be in North Louisiana as if transported in a time machine. Sure beats I-49, but it is not a night ride which is why I take the Interstate home.
La. 15 runs into US 84 just to the west of Ferriday. It has been years since I visited the little town and with my new determination to not pass up something, I turned east and went into town. I was looking for the Jerry Lee Lewis Museum. I did find the Delta Music Museum. This area, and in particular one family, Jerry's, produced a lot of music, shenanigans and a whole linage of characters, mostly very talented.
I wandered around town and not immediately finding what I was looking for, headed back to my
route toward Jonesville. I passed up La.15 and almost immediately saw the Frogmore Plantaion. It is an old one. It was a cotton plantation and probably still is. Before I make any statements about sugar and cotton I better check my facts. I know cotton was grown as far south as Breaux Bridge at one time.
Down the road.
More plantation buildings. This was a cotton plantation.
Page 2
I crossed the old bridge over the Black River, one of my new discoveries. It seems this bridge is doomed to be replaced by a really ugly cement thing. The old steel bridges are dropping like flies. Barry had requested a picture of the Ouachita Bridge in Columbia, which is itself doomed. There would be more in the "old bridge" category as the ride progressed, creating a theme of sorts. I decided to get off the main drag, US 84, and check out a little of Jonesville. It has an old downtown area hidden on a back street. Its appearance is what you'd expect, sadly.
I found La.124 north and headed out of town crossing the Little River. It merges with the Black River here. I saw the old bridge sitting to the side of the one I was on. It's architecture deserved a shot. I exited and saw a city park. A pit stop was in order and the timing and place was perfect. I got a shot of the Little River and the old Little R. Bridge. Do you remember the Little River Band. If you do, You're old. And, there is no connection with this Little River besides the name.
Barry had suggested taking 124 toward Columbia. I'd taken it on the trip to Duty/Enterprise. If there is something new, I usually go for it and the option to take 126 west was there, so I took it. Great choice.
Amityville
Red clover on the side of the road.
Exiting Jonesville on 124, I quickly turned west on 126. I saw the barn or house on the side of a cemetery. Amityville, Louisiana?
Page 3
Breathless, I arrived at Grayson on US.165. There I turned north on US.165 for the 4 mile, 45 mph, ride into Columbia. At the foot of the steep hill there was a group of policemen monitoring the speed on oncoming vehicles, or simply a speed trap. I was speeded out, thankfully.
Thinking Columbia to be a town of old buildings, I spied the old Methodist Church right off the highway. The design was brought from Europe. Wish I knew which country. Europe is a big place.
I went back out onto 165 and saw the bridge. Wanting a picture of the town from the opposite bank, I crossed it. The picture of the bridge is from the east side. What I saw from the east bank was not the expected buildings along the waterfront, but what appears to have been a disaster with the landing. It was torn up badly. The steamboat festival is May23. If so, they have some work to do.
I rode down the one way main street of the old downtown area and up onto the levee. I was illegally parked, but traffic was light and I figured, flashing my press creditials, I could talk myself out of a ticket. Both pictures are from that perch.
Below is the best picture of that bridge ever taken. I am donating it to the Columbia Tourism Council, if there's one? The bridge is a tourist draw. It is a shame they are throwing it away.
I roamed the back streets for thirty minutes looking for historical looking sites and places. I guess I should have hunted down a guide, but real men don't ask for directions. Or lazy ones. So I headed out of town. I had miles of Barry road left and it was after 2:00. I'd been here for 2 hours. Then I saw the cemetery. It was on a hill or hills above the road I'd come in on. I think geologically it is referred to as the Columbian Heights.
I approached and saw a one-way road coming down from the hill with a "Do Not Enter" sign on it.
Please click this picture to enlarge. The cemetery really
reminded me of Vicksburg and the National Cemetery on
the bluff. Don't be out there after dark. There is more below
after you click back.
I looked on the gps and tried to trace the road back to its source. I couldn't find it. I circled and circled, actually stopping to ask some ladies who didn't know if riding though it was possibe. I circled again and saw a police cruiser coming down from the cemetery heights. It could be done. I contemplated running down the cruiser, passing him and signaling him to pull over, making siren noises. This thought passed. On the last run through I found the entrance. At the beginning of the route there is a playground? It is a beautiful place and totally visitable if you aren't weirded out by cemeteries. I ate lunch there and realized it was my hunger and thirst which had broght on the police pullover fantancy. Refurbished and feeling saner, I left and headed back to Grayson where I'd pick up 126 again as Barry said it was a nice country road.
First of all, this page is being forwarded in hopes Marion will send me
his recent shots of the area. If he doesn't, I'll give you his email
address and you can request them.
Ride to Columbia Page Four
Exiting
Grayson, La.126, to the west, was a bit of a let down. I had expected
the same roller coaster diving, climbing and twisting that the road had
exhibited east of US 165. It was just pretty with an occasional twist
and turn. 126 is a beautiful ride through the forest and farm country.
But, I might have over extended myself there. It was getting late and
I'd signed up for 50 more miles of putting around. It was worth it. The
old church I found had been established in 1845. Barry would add more
later.
A rare Royal Crown sign.
Below,
"Please, before burying anyone or thing out here, Call". I'd first seen
those directions at a cemetery up in Arkansas and thought maybe I was a
bit back in the woods where there wasn't a hole lot of law governing
burials. Seems burying is equal to digging, you need to call first if
you do the digging/burial in an organized cemetery. I also see they
spell "cemetary" the same way I do sometimes. Might be the "Old English"
spelling, so check before you criticize.
126
meets 127. 127 goes to Olla, so did I. Olla's mainstreet downtown sits
facing the railroad track. (which I wish I'd shot, now) This is a very
common layout where the tracks were the town's lifeline. Things got
tricky here. 126 had met 127, I was good on that, then 127 meets 125
which meets 124. You can't go out on 165 because if you want to get to
124, you can't, although 125 parallels 165. Or, maybe it was a bit late
in the day.
Barry
and a friend had been camping out in the boonies where La.124 crosses
Castor Creek. "The night was dark and there were noises, not the noises
generally associated with possums and armadillos, cattle, dogs, mountain
lions or other four legged creatures. What was heard as the clock
neared midnight, was the sound of a heavy two legged being thrashing
through the southern forest tangle", his words.
Rumors
of a "big foot" have circulated these woods for years and sure enough,
I've seen reports of local sightings on the internet. Barry was not
joking around when he told me this story. He and his companions did not
get the flashlights and start poking around down the dark trails, they
left.
I approached the campsite and heard a roar. It was what I believed to be
an aquatic "black hole". Water was disappearing, but, where was it
going? I would learn as time went on. The lake which the hole was
seemingly draining was very pretty in the Louisiana tradition.
Big Foot Country? That's your call.
I reversed once again and returned to Olla where I did get back on US165.
Going south toward Urania, that's right, the planet of Urania. I saw
an old highway bridge and a train trestle crossing a river. I had to get
to it. I may have to start considering my urges.
I went through what could have been easily a hobo jungle. It had all the ingredients, train track, water, cover, etc.
Notice that the bank has eroded away from the bridge.
The
bridge was what must have been old US 165. It was blocked off as the
shore was falling in. I crossed onto it over a very shaky bit of
concrete. The pictures were worth the danger. I hope my insurance agent
isn't reading this.
If you've read this far, then you deserve to know where that water was
going back at Big Foot Lake. It was going to the other side of the road
where it emerged in a spectacular vertical lift. That is the first
time I've seen such a contraption and it is well worth the visit.
The Columbia Ride, The Last Page:
Barry had created the loop which was way to big for one day's thorough
investigation unless I decided to wander these hills at night and after
being so close to Big Foot's lair, I was feeling a bit timid. I was
headed home. Barry, in preparing the route, had requested some pictures
and inferred interest in having some others. He really wanted a picture
of the bridge at Columbia as a memento. I think he wanted a picture of
the Big Foot campsite since he's too scared to go back there anymore.
Another one I think he wanted was a picture of the Little River in the
Little River Wildlife Management Area, the first "Route by Barry" I had
pursued but was unable to complete because it was flooded. He had also
mentioned the old lumber mill at Selma, La. So, as I headed home I tried
to check off those presumed request.
I went back in the area
known as Selma and interrupted a gentleman's afternoon beer drinking to
ask him about the mill. A long detailed explanation could be summarized
into, "you can't get back there".
Next stop was the Little River WMA. Still flooded, Barry.
Now
I have half this route to finish, I know I need to pursue the Selma
Mill thing with more gusto. Marion told me he is headed there. Maybe he
can finish that one for me. He said that there was a mill at Urania
also. This is getting overpowering. And, Little River, which looks even
more Big Footy-ish than the campground, needs exploring.
Below is
pretty self explanatory as I'm getting really tired of writing. Below
is a special house and there are pictures of the road into the Little
River WPA and where I stopped, being of sound mind. Remove the comma and the truth be known.
I started the ride at 9am and would finish it at 8pm after 430 miles and darn near running out of gas.
What a great ride! I want to thank Berry for the time and effort he made in guiding me to a before unknown part of Louisiana.
But
Wait! We're not through yet. As expected, when Barry read the article
he had comments to add. I knew he would. This is the good stuff so
please take a look at his additions. I may have changed a few words and
corrected a little spelling which is the product of rapid emailing.
Concerning
the old Hebron Church west of Grayson: "My relatives go to Hebron
Church out in the boonies and never expected a shot of it. You sure
don't miss much.
Concerning
the house {above} found as you looked for the Selma Mill: The yellow
Victorian house you saw in Georgetown (Selma) was one I actually
considered buying 3 years ago. It used to be the pastor's house at the
Baptist Church in Pollock (south of Georgetown) and was moved there and
restored, and quite spectacularily, too.
More on the house:
Inside that old yellow house were numerous pictures of the area back
when it was thriving and was the capital of Southern Yellow Pine, the
kind of lumber you don't see anymore. In the bottom of those lumber
ponds are likely huge logs that sunk 100 years ago and are probably
still salvagable if brought out and dried. My grandmother's house was
made of the stuff and driving a nail into that wood was like working
with concrete and an exercise in futility.
The Search for the
Selma Mill: You may have to give up the ghost on Selma as there really
isn't much to see. One needs to leave the road and walk a little in
order to get to the lumber ponds and it is all overgrown. There are old
cemeteries out there few know of and I know of them only through my
grandmother. Before Selma was razed, we Boy Scouts used to walk the
railroad track down to Selma and go camping in the ruins of the lumber
buildings. It was awesome.
All he had to say about Big Foot: Beware of the rumors of Bigfoot's cousin lurking in the area.
Agreeing
with my thoughts on the old bridges: So sad to know the Bridges of
Caldwell Parish are disappearing, especially at Columbia.
Thoughts
on the 126 to 127 loop from Grayson to Olla: The road out of Grayson is
pretty alright and gets twisty only near Olla. There was a Finger of
God twister that hit that area last November and cleaned the clock there
pretty well.
Now my favorite, concerning the US 165 bridges on
the previous page: Those old bridges you saw, where old and new 165
bridges cross the Little River, brings back a lot of memories. My
buddies and I used to park on the bridge at night and drink beer,
waiting for the trains to go over the trestle. Why? Dunno... The area is
called Rochelle and used to be a thriving lumber mill town like Selma,
but you'd never know it now.
Future articles will include his
insights as I have a bunch "in the bank". Barry has repeated a saying,
"A library burns when someone dies." It is so true, so if you know
something, share it with some younger people like Barry obviously had
done with him. We don't want or need any libraries burning.
That's it, another blast from the past. And, Marion, don't forget, please.