The whole thing started when I was asked to gather some
information. Skip forward because everything from then
to this writing is classified. I do not disclose secrets even
though doing so may enhance my fortune and fame. I am
Mr. Reliable. Nevertheless, a structure was mentioned,
a high trestle of great length spanning a rushing river.
The contact had said that it was inaccessible. That's all
it took. I contacted Professor Barronnett of the School of
Trestleology at the local college, and Mark D'Gull, noted
radio man and high trestle expert, and Al, who is
always ready to provide security.
For weeks the 4 or 5 of us (depending on Al's extra
personality kicking in) studied maps, talked to old people,
talked to younger people and theorized on how we could
get to the trestle that was so impregnable.
Saturday morning I emailed Al (gatorman@duhhouse.com)
I told him I was willing to forget about the last incident and we
could meet with Dr.Barronnett at Mark D'Gull's place
somewhere northwest of Opelousas, La.
From there the 4 or 5 of us went to the classified place.
We began our trek. Mark, also a noted GPSologist, tried
to lead the way, but Professor Barronnett kept going into
the lead, repeating over and over, "It's shorter this way",
and Mark would yell, "You are wrong, wrong, wrong".
This went on for miles.
Finally, we arrived at the tracks. I felt like Lawrence of
Arabia trying to find Acaba.
Mark said our goal was down there. Professor Barronnett
yelled that it wasn't. I was worried about a confrontationand asked Al to maintain
order and to please not go overboard with his gun.
Yes, it was a ways.
And, we certainly were not going to sneak up on anyone with
those two continuing to go at it.
Al, being driven crazier by the two others fussing ran ahead.
It was the first time I'd ever seen him flustered.
As he passed he swore, "never again".
I, with an inner grin, reflected on some of our outings.
Professor Barronnett turned around and was walking back home.
I caught up and pleaded with him to stay since we needed
him desperately. Yes, I lied, but that's what you
have to do with tightly strung intellectuals.
I told him he could walk with me.
I didn't offer my hand when he reached for it.
He started noticing materials that could be linked to trestles
or at least the railroads that run atop them.
Next, 4 wheeler tracks were evident. We could be under
surveillance, possibly through a scope. A certain
old movie came to mind. I tried to forget about the tracks.
Suddenly the trestle appeared.
I angled for the best shot, but it would be difficult because of the steepness of the ravine.
It sits 10.9 miles from a classified main line.
I worked my way down the ledge.
The river seemed to be at low tide.
I worked with various angles. The bright sun was a hindrance.
Professor Barronnett began his inspection.
The river had run wild at times.
Looking up at the high trestle, I gauged its height at nearly a hundred feet.
Professor Barronnett was indeed getting "engaged".
He jotted down information to be run through the Trestle-Logical
Calculator back at the university.
I thought I caught him in a moment of contemplation.
Then he yelled that he'd gotten a splinter in his "damn hand".
The professor us usually restrained and never cusses.
I think he was teetering. I could easly see an air-vac situation on the horizon.
More drift wood.
The professor starred at the incline. I suggested not causing a rock slide.
Which he did.
High above, D'Gull assessed the height of the trestle.
He signaled, "500 feet", over 5 times what I had estimated.
Of course there is more height when measured from the
top of a height. Or maybe he was giving me the Vulcan peace sign
for "Live Long and Prosper"?
Or maybe he meant the length?
The river as seen from those heights.
An adjoining flooded rice field.
Geologically we were on the edge of the Kisatchie Wold.
Flat tilting land is to the east, uplands to the west.
That number again.
D'Gull again.
The river again. I think the projector is stuck.
Ah, D'Gull and Dr.Barronnett had finally made up and were
working together. They motioned me over to take a look
at the rails. Barronnett, in his deep German accent, muttered,
"Look at the clickity clack crack. It also seems there is
some maintenance needed here".
This trestle and priors have seen hard times.
Like catching on fire hard times.
There were also twisted rails.
We heard noises from down the line.
Then they were gone and we continued surveying the
refuse on the side of the bed.
One last look before we leave.
Then the noises we had heard made sense. It was Al.
He was doing his ritualistic Claiming Dance. He had claimed
the trestle for all times in the name of King Louis XIV of
France. Next would be the 21 shot salute with his Glock.
We were just about to leave when a forest official appeared.
He wanted to know why Al had painted the tree. Al patiently
explained that the area now belonged to France, that
the paint marked the boundary and that the forest official
had better step back or get a visa. Obviously the official
has dealt with this situation before and merely asked Al
for a visa which Al handed over as they shook hands,
Al welcoming the visitor to French Louisiana.
On the way home we made several stops.
The lake was low, also.
Down La. 106 we stopped at the Whiteville Methodist Church.
Then on to even more beautiful Whiteville Falls.
Then down Horichey Road to Bayou Wauksha.
Then to Rosa where the Lady Bugs about carried us off.
One of my favorite angels is there.
That's it, here's a recap.
This is D'Gulls map. Somewhere in there is the confidential
trestle. I can't tell you where. For 50 bucks I will and a lot more.
Ok, here's a coupon.
