A short while back I mentioned my new career as a tour director. You say, "duh, you've been doing that". No dude, a real nutz and bolts tour director, like "live, in your face" riding around with a gawking individual "in toe".
I awoke at 4:AM with some problem, probably thinking about the lack of preparation I'd done for the trip. I pulled out the maps, figuratively, since they are digitalized. I'd wanted to go to Comrade, Hutton, Kurthwood and maybe Alco, all old RR&G RR stops. Don't make me explain it. There were also places on the T&P line that I wanted to see again and in one instance, actually for the first time. I realized it was going to be slow going since my customer was bringing his own bike this time.
When he got here I told him where to park it and placed him upon old faithful, Mz Guzzi. I heard her moan, and no doubt, she is saving up retribution for a later time.
Back to the early morning planning debacle. Everett wouldn't be able to attend the Christening of his new child, Black Beauty (my name which should never be associated with reality). I've been in similar situations and wanted to at least get him a few shots of the occasion.
Mike has contributed some short stories about his railroader father and I felt compelled to do something in return and, of course, fill my treasury with shots to put the whole thing together in a joining of pic and prose. I actually made up 25 maps for the ride, none of which were pulled out of the tank bag. The ride took care of itself, thank goodness, because my dehydrating brain wasn't much good.
My coffee ladened customer, let's just call him "Dave", showed up an hour early which was great because I was already four and a half hours into my day. I was thinking "lunch".
We rode up Wilderness Trail in the cool green tunnel next to Bayou Vermilion. Then I turned us up the Old Arnaudville Road, crossing Bayou Fuselier, an important link in the irrigation of this part of the country. Not everyone knows that.
We were headed toward Grand Coteau when I saw that the road was blocked ahead with police this and that. I knew a detour. It was horrible riding and endless. This road has not changed in 30 years and is a disgrace to St.Landry Parish. There must be no government there. These people must have to take tractors to Walmart.
We crossed a lot of limestone which all motorcycle riders know as "gray hell".
"Dave" did OK and in his reflective post ride note, noted that.
The detour brought us to Leonville where we took 31 north and did the Texaco station short cut over to I 49, don't make me explain.
We landed in Lewisburg. There's a lot on the site picturing Lewisburg, but being there is better. The neighbors were home and out working in their yards. I approached a few and asked if they remember the railroad train passing behind their houses. They did but that was about it. I would have surveyed the entire population but I knew, even with our early start, time was moving faster than we were.
Still I felt, since we were close I should take one more look at Church Point, the end of the line for the T&P branch that Mike's dad worked.
"Oh, no, this one is going to be another drudge through page upon page of pictures of grass". NO, but I do have a following that is oriented toward the stuff.
That's the line going into Church Point and an important introductory picture, so there.
Mike has mentioned that the train had stopped at the now defunct Canal Refinery, never pictured in this rag before and its time had come. "Dave" and I sang the Canal Song, "Canal Canal, Economical" while fondly thinking of Cody Dupre, their spokesman.
Next, almost causing a rear end collision, I did a bat turn for a shot of this trestle. Thank goodness I can tell you how excited I was. Would there be more?
Yes, but I felt trestlely fulfilled with that one.
I drug my new customer through the staggering heat of downtown Church Point, a town rich in history of yesteryear's railroading glory. There are beautiful warehouses and a restored depot. Alas, I hadn't seen this in all my rides through here.
I was now the one gawking. The old signals were still there, beautifully preserved. The people of Church Point have my praise.
Now, feeling completely rewarded, it was time to make hay and head north. Up 35 we roared landing in Lawtell. I really need to do more reporting on Lawtell.
West we rode on 190, and then north on 103 to meet 104 at Prairie Rhonde. Fontenot's Store is not to be missed. It might have been open? More on the Fontenots, later.
From Prairie Rhonde west, 104 is fun.
But, I had work to do and left it, headed for Frilot on 1167. The customer was now lost. I stopped and explained why we had just done 115 90 degree turns. Deal's Gap in the Smokies is child's play, Come ride 1157 after the folks have mowed.
At this point let me explain my tour business. It's like taking passage on a freighter. The customer has no input. In a disagreement the customer is always wrong and can never be an anchor. For reservations, call 555-HEPLESS.
Reaching Frilot Cove, I knew the rails were there. This time they were in use still connecting to Opelousas, I presume.
Here's the crossing "set".
Next, it was onto Ledoux, on La.103, just down from Frilot Cove. I was in the neighborhood and couldn't pass up another crossing. Don't make me explain.
This one featured a side track and switch. Don't get too excited out there.
I love being an eccentric old man. At least I now have an excuse.
Look at the customer's face, priceless.
This is looking toward Opelousas and what Mr. Wilson would see on his runs. There lies the interest, I will explain. All this historic railroad stuff is noise without the ability or will to place one's self in the past while firing up the imagination. There's a real time movie going on out here if you will just tune the dial until you find it.
Then we headed into Ville Platte and up Railroad St. to 3042 that takes you by Chicot State Park and the Arboretum. It is a beautiful ride through that green tunnel on the north end past the park. Hey Michael B, remember taking our bikes up there and trail riding? You had that pretty 250 BSA.
We ate lunch by the lake right there. Nice spot.
Up to Turkey Creek and over to Glenmora and then Longleaf.
Next are the pictures taken there. I'm tired of hammering on why you should get your fannies over there and discover this place. There should have been 2000 people there, but there was almost none. You are missing an experience which no Dolly Disney Doodoo can replicate. If my 8 year old grandson can go wide eyed, yours will too. Don't be a couyan, go.
Here's their website, call your kid in and then turn your speakers up all the way.
"Daddy, what's that noise?"
You need to explain.
Two industries inhabited Longleaf. Lumbering and railroading were important building blocks used to assemble this country. A visit could make your kids appreciate today a little more. Maybe even you. The list of positives this place can spawn is expansive. It's a great tool mom and pop.
On the last page I said I'd tone down the rhetoric a little. So I will.
"Dave" and I arrived at the museum/lumber mill about 2:30 and it was about 230 degrees. The place erases any minor environmental concern. Not exactly, it was hot. Do come in the heat of the day and walk into the forest down the track. The heat and humidity, the smells, and the mosquitoes are the start of this trip back. Actually, there were no mosquitoes but I'm still checking for ticks just to be on the safe side since "Dave" and I went where few go. It really wasn't that hot, my customer remarking that the humidity was less than where we'd come from, the Venus that South LA can be.
We parked at the store/commissary which is where you'll start your organized visit. Emily sat out in the golf cart waiting for customers. She approached us and I made my goofy attempt at dropping names and looking important. That failed. Nevertheless she was extremely friendly and took us to the shop where the bus had been painted so I could take some pictures. She basically gave us free reign to look around. I explained that I wanted to show "Dave", my customer, a few things, no problem. So, I spun, not knowing where to start. Bob, our guide of years past, had done such a great job of interpreting it all I felt mildly qualified.
First, I took the shots of Everett's bus.
"Dave" had looked at the engine and pegged it for a Ford Flathead. I'd added the I thought it was a '49.
Everett wrote back explaining the situation in full.
"Actually it's a 1936! It runs, too! Car runs, clutch works, transmission shifts.
Seats are being reupholstered in Oberlin.
Problems:
No brakes hooked up,
No hookup for separate forward/reverse gear box,
no other interior.
no gas tank,
no dashboard, speedometer etc
Needs air brake compressor and hookup
Fixes:
We can hook up the emergency brake and probably the separate gearbox.
The biggest problem is the air brakes, andI don't want to run her on the hill
until we have those and they work.
We have plans for the interior and all of the doors,so by next spring we will have
it so that it is weather tight, with opening windows for ventilation, gas tank we
can get made and new dashboard will be easy if we can locate the instruments and get it wired up".
And you thought you had projects.
After getting the do-fer shots done. It was off to explore.
I having seen it all before, wanted to see something I'd wondered about.
There's a page out there on the web with pictures that Everett had contributed.
One showed the rails disappearing into the woods.
I was looking at the real version and had to follow them, now.
About that time we heard a train whistle coming from the forest.
I was spooked and grinned a big one.
I wanted to just hurry and find what we could find, but "Dave", being the mechanical nut he is, stopped and looked at each pile along the way. I'd let him read Everett's upcoming article on the other steam engines that had served Longleaf. "Dave" recognized the piles which had been pictured in the article and gawked.
Hey Steve, need a piston for your locomotive?
Need a cross track for your railroad?
He even correctly identified this stuff:
Need an engine?
We walked further into the woods.
There were more train noises.
Then the rails began to fade.
We were now close to the main line.
Again "Dave" pointed out this poignant scene.
A new rail lay on top of one of the old Gulf and Red River's rails.
I don't really know the message, but I'm sure there are many interpretations.
Walking back, "Dave" wanted to play with the switch and understand how it worked. We both looked and looked but it was obvious it was past us.
Then there was more noise.
Gerald was explaining how the thing worked to these young guys. Later, as he passed, he asked us if we needed a ride. I was tempted.
Everett sent me this on the motor car pictures:
Come next time when I am there, and we can go for a ride in the Yellow one (its faster and bounces more on those rails) (and yes, they really are that wavy, especially behind the planer mill), I like the picture of the motor car as it approaches the switch. The whole hill is a 2% grade which makes it the steepest grade in Louisiana with rails still on it, but the picture really shows that it is short stretches of over 3% with flat spots in between, and the 3% is a heck of a pull for the motor cars.
I have a load of other pictures, but I want you to go there so I'm holding back.
This is just one of the building.
This is another:
And there's stuff like this:
I had to stop while "Dave" figured out how it worked. Every piece of machinery we looked at he had to rewrite the manual on it. The grease zirks were all identified and governors explained. I have warned the guides to run if they see him coming.
And you train buffs, take an aspirin before you come.
We left and headed for Lake Kincaid and then into south Alexandria on Twin Bridges Road, a nice ride down the hill.
I wanted to take US71 out of town and we did. It was late but so what. I wanted to take Dave through LeCompte and out to the cemetery on the hill. Going in I went straight instead of my usual right. The road was raised, straight and flat. Duh, I was on a rail bed headed for the bayou. Could it be?
There's the 3 trestle pilings that seal the deal.
I would have jumped up and down but I had to preserve my professional tour guide pose. This was where the Red River and Gulf had crossed Bayou Boeuf.
That's it for the children oriented page. Consider the rhetoric renewed.
So, you're still wondering about Grandmama?
We left the LeCompte Cemetery. I was still dazed by my discovery of the rail crossing. I would soon have to de-daze as the convoy was headed to the Interstate for a brief ride down to US 167 and then back to Turkey Creek and Chicot where we went east toward St.Landry where I had decided our next stop would be. I write run on sentences to make Miss Lee crazy. There is a boat landing on the east side of Lake Chicot that was a must stop. It is a beautiful place hidden far off the road. Sorry, the directions will have to end there.
Why? Don't make me explain.
I wanted to show Dave. He is a fishing guide of sorts and the main character in the Couyan and Commodore articles, thus a fishing stop had to be made. I also wanted to take a picture of Mz Guzzi here as it had been the location of her first and absolutely best picture ever. I love deja vu moments. This one would be disturbed.
Winter, 2000
Summer, 2008
I heard the little DL belly aching so I shot her too.
And a last shot before what would happen next.
A little background first: Motorcycles have become so popular that the public's general view of bike riders is changing. "My cousin or my brother in law has one...", I hear all the time. People approach me and start conversations centered around the bike. They rank with dogs as talk starters. Riders are no longer seen as members of the Hell's Angels as much as they'd like to play the part, sometimes.
"Dave" came up to me and kinda whispered, "I just heard those guys talking about you taking pictures of the bikes and they are wondering if you are wanting to sell them".
Enter Dwayne and Jeff.
Dwayne stated off the conversation asking about the Guzzi. "I never saw one like that". "Dave" pipped in that it was an Italian Harley, I suppose to try to relate to a common brand. Mistake one. Never bring up "Harley" in a conversation. I cringed. Dwayne fired back, "That ain't no Harley, I have a Harley". I cringed. Jeff, who was half Dwayne's height and girt and who had his upper and lower front teeth piped in, "I had a Harley and thank God now it's gone. That was the biggest piece of --it I've ever owned". I cringed.
At that point, I had to do something so I introduced myself. "Hi,I'm Steve from Breaux Bridge. We're running late and have to leave."
"Nice to meet you, I'm Dwayne Fontenot from round here".
Then, when I thought I'd opened the fire escape, I heard "Dave".
"Hey, we're probably related, my Grandmama was a Fontenot".
I cringed, the fire escape had just slammed shut.
An hour of debate over the history and genealogy of the Fontenot clan or clans, depending on whose point of view, ensued. In the middle of the fray, Dwayne, in a raised voice pronounced, "That is all hearsay, that is all hearsay". I immediately envisioned the Hatfields and McCoys on Court TV. I stood back and thought of making a run for the bike. Nowhere in my tour director contract is there anything mentioning customer disputes with possible relatives joined in some 17th Century bond or there being a non bond.
Jeff fled. We figured he knew Dwayne and knew better.
Then, the real Dwayne emerged. Jokes were told and laughs were had. Dwayne went into a long explanation of what his plans were for his Harley, forgetting about the family feud that had just occurred. We discussed passing trucks and so on. Finally, even Dwayne realized the conversational well was running dry and we parted, Dwayne, even apologizing for talking so much, explaining that it is a Fontenot trait.
I now take "Dave's" side of the argument, they are related being that both their grandmamas are Fontenots. And then there's that talking thing.
My customer, upon returning back to the office made only one negative remark, "the ride back was kinda long".
I wonder why.
I suggest that if you are traveling in south Louisiana and in a hurry, even if your Grandmama was a Fontenot, just keep it to yourself.
The End.