Editor’s note: Here’s the first post from guest writer Whitney Mackman. Remember, the only way to get a NOadventure tshirt is to write a guest post. Share your NOadventure!
Today Noelle and I decided to bike west on the Mississippi River Trail to the Destrehan Plantation. We didn’t have all day, so we drove to the Kenner airport and parked in one of the neighborhoods below it. These houses are right on the river and the streets dead end into the levee. After pushing our bikes up the grassy hill, we were greeted with pleasantly smooth blacktop. I instantly wondered if it would be good for skating and wished I had brought my longboard with me. Oh well, another day.
Once we started pedaling, we both agreed that had it not been 80 degrees that day, we would have been underdressed and slightly chilled. Regardless, it was liberating to be alongside the largest river system in the US with no concrete wall next to us. The wall might have helped with the headwind though, which was challenging at some instances and quite lovely on the way back.
With river on our left and buildings to the right, we passed by St. Rose, the Jefferson Memorial Gardens, and La Blanche Plantation. Other than that, the scenery switched between humble houses with picket fences and ridiculous mansions inside gray walled complexes. The Mississippi River was wide as ever, and I could see the remnants of a recent surge on the banks. I was surprised by the amount of moored storage barges along both coasts of the river, and the huge shipping tankers dwarfed us on our tiny contraptions. All was dandy until we reached the Shell plant. The air got heavy, the path got bumpy, and everything was suddenly filthy. We were riding by humongous factories and under their crotchety bridges while catching the unknown spray of whatever was cooling whatever they were making.
It wasn’t long after those two bridges that we came upon Destrehan Plantation. Well, we got excited and landed at the Destrehan Plantation Business Center, but the plantation was right next door and you can most definitely see it from the trail. According to Wikipedia, Destrehan Plantation was completed in 1709 and is one of the oldest homes in the Louisiana Purchase. It was jarring to see the plantation home right in the middle of the oil refinery.
After taking some pictures we decided to head back – right before seeing a bald eagle soar past us. We didn’t believe it was one, but the internet tells me it’s possible.
Editor’s note: There are more than 100 breeding pairs of bald eagles in the New Orleans area. Our total birds of prey population has surged since Katrina.
I’m excited about exploring more of this trail. I want to recommend this bike ride, but riding under and near that refinery was gross. I guess I can say I wouldn’t do that section again, because all in all it was a really great ride.
Many years ago, I actually went rock climbing in Louisiana. The problem was, it was with an ex-girlfriend before digital cameras were really common, and to make a long story short – I don’t have any pictures. Sorry… jeez.
The climb is one 12 foot rocky face of an outcropping on the summit of a scenic mesa vista. It can be found in the north central Louisiana hill country of the Kisatchie Ranger district on the Longleaf Trail Scenic Byway.
AS I HAVE NO PHOTOS, I will refrain from writing about the breathtaking 12 foot climb. Instead, let’s focus on this Wolf Rock Cave that I’ve been researching.
As I expected, the floor of the cave is littered with Busch Light tallboys. Nice touch.
The great thing about the link I’ve posted is that there are GPS coordinates(30.97196, -93.19324) AND directions. Check it out.
On the link, you can see the following photos taken by climbers. It’s important to note that this is NOT the climb I made in 2003, but a different one. At post time, I’ve never seen a cave in Louisiana(although I have been spelunking in New Orleans).
If you’re in the area, you might as well do the trifecta of Louisiana rock climbing, caving, and whitewater. Kisatchie Bayou has some Class II rapids.
Only waterfall in Louisiana?
If anyone has been anywhere near this part of the state, hit me up!
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Editor’s note: This post is a non-fictional account of going to jail in New Orleans. This marks the first contribution to NOadventure from guest, A. Finely.
“You Down With O.P.P.?”
Yes, I know the song means “Other Peoples’ Pu**y,” but for this, let’s just agree it stands for Orleans Parish Prison. Hopefully, a once in a lifetime trip to Orleans Parish Prison.
1 Take a left, where there is clearly a “no left” sign, on St. Charles.
2 Do not pass go.
3 Do not collect 200 dollars.
4 Proceed directly to jail.
I was in the back of a squad car in less than 5 minutes. No field test, no breathalyzer at the scene, apparently I appeared so heavily intoxicated I had to be carted off immediately. I’ve never had any brushes with “the law” so I had no idea what to expect.
We hopped in the car and my buddy asked if I’m ok to drive. I told him “sure” and drove off. It was really dark and there was a light mist that would soon be rain. As I’m headed towards St. Charles, I saw a police officer on my right and thought nothing of it. We came up to St. Charles and I put my blinker on and turned left. Suddenly, I saw lights behind me. I pulled over and said aloud, “well, I’m going to jail.”
Rain started gently sprinkling on St. Charles as I was handcuffed with my back to the Delachaise. “Damn, I really like Delachaise, why didn’t I go there tonight?” The officer put me in the back and closed the door. I saw him walk over to my buddy, who was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. At this point, I thought the cop was going to arrest him as well. When he reentered the car he grumbled something about drunk idiots. I’m sure, everyone says this, but seriously we weren’t drunk…
The car took off to the police holding area next to the Walmart on Tchoup. As soon as we got there, the mood changed drastically. The officer started making small talk, asking me if the cuffs were too tight. When he opened the door to let me out, he held his clipboard over my head, “Don’t want you to get sick, buddy. Let’s get you out of this rain.” Where the fuck was shithead cop? I was used to him, this nice guy thing was more frightening than being yelled at.
Two other officers were in the holding area when we walked in. They were filling out paperwork on this older guy, the pallor of his skin displayed his affection for wine. Dude sounded hammered. At this point I questioned my sobriety. Was I that guy? Then I did the sobriety tests and I felt confident that I was fine. Sure, I know the law; was I over .08? Yeah, probably. So then it came down to the breathalyzer.
As far back as I could remember, people said NOT to blow, but I just wasn’t sure. I was trying to do the math of how many drinks over how many hours against body weight, but I had no clue. I just figured that I probably should just go ahead and refuse. The officer seemed aggravated and put me in a cell after that. After what seemed like forever, he pulled me out the cell and walked me out to the car. He drove off, and talked about how this was his job, and how the city is blighted with violent crime. “Was I a part of this rampant violent crime? What are you trying to rationalize?” I wondered.
Right before we entered the prison, the officer said to me “Hey, whatever you do in there, DO NOT let them take your wrist band, OK?”
ME: What wristband? Someone is going to try to take my wristband?
HIM: When you get inside they will give you a yellow wristband which is a traffic band, if a guy in an orange band comes up to you, he is going to try to get your wristband.
ME: Why?
HIM: Well orange bands are felons and yellow bands are traffic incidents, if they take your band you may not get out.
ME: May not get out? What do you mean?
He walked me through the front door and handed me over to the officers on the other side of the huge steel door.
It was another world to say the least. After a thorough body search, they told me to proceed to the waiting area, and to only sit on the front row. This was around 1 a.m.
It seemed purposeful that everyone moves at a snail’s pace. After maybe an hour or so I was called up to the “medical” desk. The guy asked if I take any medications, if I’m under the influence of any narcotics, history of mental illness, etc. I hoped that once I talked to him this would begin the process of booking. Nope. Then I was sent back to my chair to wait. There was a huge ruckus when a guy came in shithoused, argued with the officers, then pissed on the floor. After that, the guard made everyone sit in the front row. Random thugs looked at me like I woke them up. I tried my best to look like a hard ass. Two hours after that I got called up to be fingerprinted. Two hours after that I had my picture taken. I was finally booked at around 6 a.m. After I was booked, I was finally allowed to make a phone call. I had been pulled over at 10:45 p.m.
From other inmates, I learned that a guard might let you get numbers out of your cell phone. When given the chance, I jumped on it. Fun fact: phones in the prison can only call landlines. Do you know anyone with a landline? If I would have known this I might have been able to get someone’s landline number out of my cell phone, but I had no idea. After I tried my three numbers and none worked, I saw there was a small sheet of paper with several bail bonds company’s numbers. I called. A woman with a familiar New Orleans accent answered. She asked me some information then the phone chimed “You have 60 seconds left.” What the fuck?! “Hey I only have a minute the phone just told me!” “It’s ok just call me back.” To be honest I thought I only had one phone call and thought I had just spent it. I quickly rang her back and she told me my bail, and that I could pay right now over the phone if I had my credit card. So I run back over to the “Property” desk and ask if I can get my wallet out, the officer pulls my property and says there’s no wallet in here. Then I remembered when the officer asked for my driver’s license I pulled it out and set my wallet on the center console of my car, where it stayed. “Shit!”
I called her again. “Here are three cell phone numbers. Somebody will pay the bail.” She wrote down the numbers and said, “You’ll have to call me back in twenty minutes to confirm.” I said “okay” and hung up, and then thought to myself, “I don’t think I can just use the phone whenever, can I?”
When I first entered the prison, to the right was a large holding cell with around 20-30 people in orange jumpsuits. They were constantly yelling, talking shit, being rowdy. I just hoped I could avoid being put in there. Nope. The guard told everyone in the waiting area that we had to go into the holding cell because of a shift change. Me and a couple other guys told the guard that we had to make phone calls to confirm our bail. Too bad.
I’ll just say this. I am not looking for sympathy in the least. I know the law and I know that I broke it. I’m well aware of the consequences, but being innocent until proven guilty is a fallacy and being treated like some dumb animal is frustrating and unnecessary.
Once in the holding cell, there are two phones. One is broken, the other is on its last leg. Also if I hadn’t memorized the bail bond company’s number, I would have been screwed. I looked around and now there were around 40 people in this cell, on the floor, pacing, sleeping, and talking. Two guys kept talking shit to one guy who just talked shit back. The wino from earlier was whining the whole time, “why am I still here?” Jesus, someone was about to get hit.The argument escalated and since I was standing near the scuffle, I scooted my way across the bars before anything went down.
I had been freezing since I entered the place and somehow this holding cell was 10 degrees colder. I stared at that damn blue phone for what must have been an hour trying to think of someone, anyone with a landline. BOOM! Out of nowhere my aunt’s home number from ten years ago popped in my head. Did this number still work?
Dialing. The phone goes through this whole thing about how you may be recorded, the receiving party has to accept the charges, whatever. It rings and rings, then “click” – a robot voice thanks you for using the service. I looked at the phone wondering if that was it when I finally hear my aunt’s voice, “Hello?”
I told her the whole deal about jail and bail. My aunt told me she’d take care of it and that I should try back in 30 minutes. After people saw that I got through to someone on the phone, everyone asked me to call my aunt and get her to try their families cell phones. I felt bad, but there was no way I was going to do that. I said that she left the house as soon as I talked to her. I let 45 minutes go by before I tried her again.
This time the phone call wouldn’t go through. I’d later find out that my aunt would try to answer the calls but that it would disconnect each time. I tried three times and gave up. I looked at the clock and saw it was now 9 a.m. I started to wonder how long the process was once bail was met. Then an officer came to the door and started calling names. I noticed the names were all guys who were still wearing their street clothes. Fuck. I hoped they wouldn’t call my name. I figured once I put on the jump suit it wouldn’t be coming off till Monday morning.
After the officer carted off the first 10 guys, another officer came and gathered another 10 guys in orange jump suits and cuffed them all together. I assumed they would be leaving for the main part of the prison. That was the last fucking thing I wanted to experience. Another officer came back and started reading names and I knew I was fucked. Somehow the names were called and the people went, but I stayed.
At 11:30 AM a guard came and called three names, the first was this tall African guy wearing a sweater from the 80s, I’m not sure how I hadn’t noticed him before, then it was the wino, then it was me. Hell yes! Wait. What if we’re not leaving? What if we get jump suits? The guard brought us through a door, where he said we would pick up our property. Yes! I was getting out of jail.
On the outside, the wino was met by his attorney in a green Jaguar. The African disappeared like the mist from the night I was apprehended. I had no idea where I was, but I knew it wasn’t the kind of neighborhood I’d like to relax in. My iPhone became a lamp with a genie inside it. “Dude, come get me right now,” I said to my friend over the phone.
Jesus, I hoped my car wasn’t towed. Still there! Unfortunately, the driver’s side window had been left down with laptop and wallet inside while it rained all night. Sitting in my wet driver’s seat I realized It could be worse. I could still be in O.P.P.
“Difficulties are just things to overcome, after all.”
– Ernest Shackleton(polar explorer whose ship Endurance was slowly crushed by pack ice).
Despite huge online interest totaling to thousands of hits, participation in the inaugural meeting of the New Orleans Polar Bears was limited to a tight pack of brave men. It’s difficult to rally a team into figuratively uncharted waters(the waters were literally charted). For some reason, a lot of people travel or have other plans on Xmas day that don’t involve freezing your ass off in America’s largest seawater lake.
Our crew:
Stephen(as game as it gets).
Dave(keeping our coasts clear one Starbucks straw at a time).
Clayton(totally sponsored).
Kennedy(side-sipper).
Chris(the British dude: for diversity).
Jason(dropping towels like it’s Christmas).
Pedro(ready to f some s up with his d)
Beck(photographer and “cold expert”).
All pioneers share one ideal. Their potential for success outweighs their fear of failure. This endeavor was not for the meek. In fact, the meek did not attend. The bold swimmers were joined only by carfuls of spectators that came to witness history.
We convened in the parking lot by the “tailgates” of our vehicles in the same way that fanatics of professional football contests are known to do. Before the celebration ritual, we consumed icy cold suds that bore a semblance to the frothy winter sea in which we would soon be baptized.
Stephen surveys the coast. Words on a sign are meaningless to us if they stand in the way of freedom.
The preparation is over. Now comes the moment when a switch is flipped and the past cannot be rewound like so many DVR’d episodes of Repo Games. Dave gestures “WTF?” as if to say, “World Taekwondo Federation.”
The time is nigh. For centuries, man has yearned to bathe in the brackish waters of Pontchartrain on the Yuletide feast, but has lacked the stones to actually get in the drink. All change happens in one instant. It’s the decision making that leads to that one instant that is challenging.
ATTACK!
I’m no stranger to frothy waters, but these salty waves tingled my skin and heightened my senses. I cannot help but feel that I was not alone in my sentiments.
The sea encapsulated us like a Snuggie™ crafted from new fallen snow. Nothing else existed in the world during our brief time in the frigid waters.
Back safely on land, we rejoiced in the spirit of Noel and shared a brotherhood that would last for hours.
The bone-chilling experience not only brought several wayward men together, it also launched a tradition as deep and storied as the birth of Jesus himself.
Make this New Year count.
Happy Holidays from NOadventure.
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Editor’s note: this is the 2nd guest post from NOadventurer Tara. Check out her other post on NOLA Paddleboards.
My weekend was spent trucking through mud, canoeing in the muddy waters of the Spillway, and biking through 2 feet water.
Yes, I loved it!
My interpretation of an adventure race is “A triathlon meets the Amazing Race”. Each consists of 3 sports: canoeing, trekking/running, and mountain biking. The courses also require navigating as well as mystery challenges. For example, in this last race, we had to work as team to build a bridge walkway using wooden bricks.
If we fell, we had to start over and every teammate had to touch the bricks at the same time. Other races have included ropes courses, swimming through the swamps, and carrying bikes through 4 feet of water. It’s always an adventure!
Editor’s note: These guys are CARRYING their bikes while they’re SWIMMING!
If you have never done an adventure race and enjoy the above, you need to try it. Gulf Coast Adventures holds a series of 7 races each year. Races are in New Orleans, Baton Rouge, St Charles, Alexandria and Mobile. While some are rural races that require you to navigate through the woods, others are urban that take through the city streets. Personally, I enjoy the rural races because you are forced to bushwack through trees, swim in murky waters, and get just plain dirty.
Editor’s note: It’s called teamwork, holmes – look it up.
From paddling…
to dry biking…
to freaking wet biking…
It’s good to see that the Spillway hasn’t been trashed from the spring’s opening of the floodgates. Haven’t been to the Spillway since Warrior Dash, but as you can see, it looks great.
It’s ironic that we go through our first 25 or 30 years of life trying by all costs NOT to get pregnant, then do a complete 180 degree turn. Procreating is not as easy as you might think. A normal couple has a 20% chance of conception at any given time.
In a way, for years I was a bit envious of my friends who had accidentally got pregnant at 21 years old. Think about it – having a baby at that age forces you to get your shit together immediately. How cool is it to drink a beer in a bar with your adult kid in your early forties? The downside is that you miss out on the fun of your twenties and it’s possible to be more of a peer to your child than a parent.
I’ve been a dad for 4 days now. I know this is only the beginning. When Sharky(yes, his real name) was born, I was surprised at how easy the labor was. I know that humans have been birthing kids for millennia, but sometimes all the doctor and hospital preparation makes the whole process seem fraught with peril.
Me and Sharky 33 years apart. We both have the reddest nutsacks allowed by law.
The staying up all night isn’t as bad as people make it sound. Both Rebecca and I frequently got up in the middle of the night anyway for work before we had a kid. Eventually, both you and the kid are exhausted at the same time and everybody gets some rest. There’s also the great parenting games like, “Guess if this is milk or pee?”
The most important thing is obviously the diet. Breastmilk is free and great for the kid, so that’s what we chose. I never knew that plain water was forbidden for 6 months of the newborn’s life. I was told that WATER(the thing every plant and animal on Earth needs from blue whales to single-celled organisms) is not needed for human infants.
WHAT?!
That’s why we have been letting Sharky snack on crushed peanuts and Sprite Remix. It’s high protein and just enough hydration/sweetness to get him through a long day of being a baby. This will help him bulk up in between uncorking a fresh boob.
He was already born with washboard abs, but my goal is to have Sharky straight yoked by 1 years-old.
NO Adventure 