| Down and Dirty |
| I really enjoy the exploration facet of motorcycle riding. As I have gotten older, the thrill of running into trees, grinding layers of skin off my hands and destroying valuable machinery, which I could ill-afford, has lost a little of its luster. Well maybe a lot of its luster. But I still enjoy pushing into places where I probably shouldn't be, at least by myself. The other day, on the unknown side of Chicot lake, down a muddy and rutted road, I dropped my bike. I was probably going about 10 miles an hour, but it did damage. Not just superficial damage, but functional damage. I carry tools and was able to straighten parts without breaking them. This incident, although initially distressing, has proven to be a liberation. I am no longer worried about scratching it and its worth over a new bike has excelled. So to celebrate this rite of passage, I present these pictures of some of the real back roads I've been on and some of the rewards that chancing fate has brought me. |
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| What started off as a cruise down one of the best twisty roads around ended up as a backroad adventure. Yep, out of the corner of my eye I see dirt. Too much to resist and away down the road I go. I was riding along the natural levee (look it up) of the Little Teche Bayou. When I left its "high" elevation, the land slanted downward to the back swamp. Back swamps are made up of the wetness that cannot get to the drainage of the bayou because the natural levee blocks its access or it is just plain lower.. See. Downhill. Pools of water. |
| Fall is the time of year to be back here. You can see stuff and the stuff that is still green or other colors really stands out. And smells. Rotting swamp really is one of my favorite smells. You'd have to be there to appreciate the musty, warm dirt and palmetto smells. |
| See, isn't that pretty! I was really watching where I was walking. It was a warm day in December and I didn't know who had awakend from their little snooze. I've never been cornered by Mr. Slither. Yet. I know that I have brushed by him and the fact that he may one day take of- fence does concern me. |
| For you music affecionadoes, this could be Hotel Louisiana, if you get my drift. What's the story of the old house back in the Palmetto Swamp? Were they famers, foresters, or just dug the place and called it home? I didn't venture near it. I don't like disturbing anything which has survived without me banging around it. Actually, there were too many "ifs" involved in venturing closer. Would you? |
| Now, on to the next little dirty story. |
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