HISTORY HUNTS WAREHOUSE: Escape from Melanchonasia.

The TV is off, my wife is watching Grey's Anatomy's season finale in the other room and finally I have time to admit to myself that I'm an idiot. Actually, between you and I, I'll use a few choice adjectives to accentuate that description.

More on that later. Here's the outing:

I left about 1:00 in the afternoon. Immediately, I realized that I had no lust for the ride.

Nevertheless, I continued on.

It had been a while since I'd gone down True Friend Rd., my route between the west side of St.Martinville and the west Bayou Teche Road. It is a pretty cruise through farmland with no traffic. I guess "Melanchonasia" best describes where I was. Melanchonasia is not a bad place to be. It is a very undemanding and resigning location. The only downfall is that your attention span drops almost to "0" there.

West on the Terrace Rd., then west on Duchamp Rd. and I was at Old US 90, north of Cade. I needed gas so I headed to the casino that has good prices if you don't go in.

On the way here came the container train with all the multicolored boxes. I, as a rail photographer, like it as a subject. A time lapse shot of it passing would be the bomb. The blurred colors transitioning in intensity from one to another would be interesting if not a little reminiscent of a few rides I've taken in the past. {In downpours on city streets, what were you thinking?}. Alas, Lady Melancondra had paralyzed my trigger finger and I couldn't get off a shot. Later, I discovered it was because a flipping switch on the camera was flipped the wrong way. The train was headed north to Lafayette. I didn't care. Usually, I'd do a bat turn, raise the front wheel of the bike off the ground and scream Geronimo as loud as necessary until I lost control flying into a ditch or flipping over backwards. Lust has its price. None of that would happen for a while.

I ended up in New Iberia and wondered why I was there.

To end this wonderment, I left and headed north for no other reason but to not be in New Iberia. What was once a fun place now isn't.

My train radio is an amazing tool. It wakes me up

when Lady Melancondra has me seduced. It did its job again.

Was Wil Smith on the mike? I could see his droopy eyes.

To be mothers, do not take Qualudes during pregnancy.

1503 was headed out of the gate at The Yard and barreling south.

I had time to make it to Alligator Point. Yes, I did a wheelie and crashed into the ditch.

There he went.

Realism is not my forte' dealing with photography.

I say divorce reality and the possibilities are endless.

Some may even call blurred pictures of mundane trains, "art".

My thoughts on artists:

"Artist colonies" are colonies because artist cannot operate in reality so they create their own

little cadres where they feel more worldly, accepted and appreciated. The movie,

"The Matrix", comes to mind.

Oh, Charles, isn't that an amazing picture! Yes, it is dear.

I do believe it's an early Steveneaux.

Indeed, it has all the right headache producing blurred colors

and surreal levitation for which his work is known.

We must ask him to join our commune.

Ok, I had the camera in high digital zoom which is good for nothing but art.

I am extremely proud of the one below.

At the Lafayette Yard I found the container train tied down.

For those that don't know what "tied down" means, let me explain.

When the train crew gets tired, they go to sleep. Before they can go to sleep

they have to physically tie the train to a post so it doesn't roll off.

See the post next to "45" . "45" is the number of minutes they are allowed to sleep.

The Lafayette Yard has a limit as it is a busy place.

It is sorta like a "room by the hour" deal but in their case, it's a sleeping car for 45 minutes.

That is their sleeping car. See Bill bartering for the backseat?

Looks like he bought himself the bench. Nite Bill.

I moved west and waited for them to wake up.

There must have been a time zone continuum because I lost 2 or more hours under
this bridge, location, a secret.

I finally gave up ...... so here it came when I had retreated to Rayne.
This was a case of patience vs "the clock".
"The clock" tag represents, in this case, my inner feeling that I've been in
one place too long and my outing could be in some sort of peril if I remained stagnant.
I have several pictures of trains so that was no loss, I tried to tell myself.
Then my life long monkey, competitiveness, jumped on my back.
A U-turn was made and the front wheel came up.
After I picked up the bike I was on my way.

The Geronimo holler done, I was in hot pursuit.

Below is when I almost fell off. Spurring 27 horsepower in the ribs can have consequences.

In Mermentau, I caught it. I love the old Santa Fe red design. She was heading up 5 engines.

But, the container train was not led by an ex Santa Fe engine. I just figured that out.
Wrong train. How had it gotten past the Container?
Probably on another track .... but I can't get technical right now.

The Mermentau bridge is a very slow speed deal. Top speed across that span may be 25mph.
That is why I caught her. She was doing a real 55 plus out on the prairie.

Yes, this would be a repeat of the last ride on Tuesday, or was it Monday? Anyway, the ride

to Iowa Junction is what I'm referring to. I was again on the Old Spanish Trail.

Ghosts of Conquistadors ride this road. It is a heavy place.
You can hear the wagons and hoofs of the frontiersmen parting the gravel where
the grader had formed a mountain range of 4 foot deep rock that is impossible to navigate.
If you try to ride on the scalped dirt along the edges of the road you will slide into the
ditch as it is talcum in consistency.

People have been out here chasing one thing or another for 400 years.

How long had I been there? I'm still wondering what happened to those 2 hours.