Adventure

I recently met a very interesting man at work one day in the French quarter.  I work at an information center.  Most people come in to ask about various attractions around the city.  This man was more interesting than most of the tourists from around the world.  His name was Adam, and he had some interesting questions. Usually, it’s just “Where’s the bathroom?”  

      “Do you know of any wooded areas around here?”  I must have shot him a look. He could sense my confusion and added, “I’m just looking for a free place to camp out for the night.” 

      “I don’t really know of any places near the city that are too rustic.  You have to get pretty far out of the quarter for anything like a campground.”

      “What about a big park?” He seemed very eager to find a place to camp for the night.

      “The biggest park around here would have to be City Park, but I don’t know if you would want to camp there.  I don’t know how safe you would be.”  Part of the job included telling tourists how to stay safe. I traced a route to the park on a city map and gave it to him. 

      He told me that he was biking cross-country.  I was really impressed by this.  He was by himself on a bike sleeping in a different town or wooded area between towns every night.  I greatly envied the adventure he was having.  It was my turn to ask him a few questions.

      “Where did you start out?”  I was amazed that someone was traveling this way. 

      “Chicago.” 

      “Damn, how many miles have you biked?” 

      “About nine hundred fifty or a thousand.”

      “Holy shit! Did you train or anything before leaving?” 

He was about five-foot-eleven and two hundred sixty pounds.  He didn’t look like lance Armstrong or anything, but he was a relatively fit man.

      “Not at all.”  He took a step back and held his hands palm up at his side. “Do I look like a world class athlete?”

      “No.”

      “I lost about twelve pounds so far,” he added voluntarily. 

      “What is the farthest you’ve gone in one day, and how long did it take you to get all the way down to New Orleans?” 

The more questions I asked the more amazed I became. Adam’s means of travel and exploration seemed like something I would enjoy.

      “It took me about four weeks to get here, but the farthest I’ve gone in a day is probably around sixty miles or so.” 

      “Have you ever biked cross-country before?”

      “Once, but I had three others with me last time.  I’ve also hitchhiked a lot.  I once hitched back to Chicago from Atlanta because I couldn’t afford a ticket.  I’ve also hitchhiked to Alaska and all around Australia.”

      I was captivated by Adam’s adventurous spirit.  “Man, you’ve done some traveling.  You’ve inspired me.  I hope I can travel like you one day.” 

      “All you have to do is be willing to sleep in a tent for a long time.  When I need money, I go back home and get a job.  I like to travel as often as I can; you just need money to do it.” 

      I couldn’t believe he approached everything so openly. “Do you ever worry about your safety?” 

      “No.  Most people who have picked me up are just driving a long way and want some company.”  He told me he never got into a car with just one person.  There were always two people traveling together. Some were just sharing a ride through Craig’s list, Rideshare, or a similar website.  Other people picked up multiple hitchhikers. 

      “What about your cross-country bike trips? Do you worry while you’re camping in a random wooded roadside?”

      “No. Would you be scared if you just went camping in the woods near your house?” 

      His question reminded me of a childhood experience. 

      When I was about twelve-years-old or so, all I did was ride my bike.  To me two wheels were the peek symbol of adolescent exploration.  I rode all around Thibodaux with the neighborhood kids.  We would bike to each end of town and back.  Some days we would cover as many as fifteen or twenty miles.  We would bike along the bayous and through the sugarcane roads improving our personal map of the town.  One day, we even biked far enough to find a swamp behind a subdivision called Twelve Cedars.  

      Once we had explored the entire town, we sought adventure beyond the city limits.  My group of friends included Will, Nick, and Anthony.  Will was two years younger than me, and Nick and Anthony were three years younger.  They were all less adventurous than me.  They preferred playing basketball or street hockey to the exploratory cross-town bike rides.  Although he was less adventurous, Will was completely on board when I pitched my new idea.  I told Will that I wanted to ride to a lake past our turnaround.  My plan was to camp next to the lake for the night and bike back the next day.  The lake was only about half a mile outside of town, and almost six miles from our houses.  It was completely feasible. All we had to do was act.

      Will and I, determined to pack some bags and head to the lake, lied to our parents to hide our plans.  We told our mothers we were sleeping at each other’s houses.  As we were leaving the neighborhood, we ran into Nick and Anthony.  Nick was as enthusiastic as we were.  Anthony mistakenly asked his mom for permission.  She told him no so he took a page from our book.  He told his mom he would be at Nick’s for the night.  Lying to our parents added to the sense of adventure.  We were rebel explorers in our own minds. 

      I had my dad’s tent, a sleeping bag, and a box of graham crackers.  My friends copied my pack except William brought Pop tarts.  Nick brought a sandwich and chips.  Anthony couldn’t live without candy and brought a large bag of it with the words party mix on the side.  When we saw his rations, we all laughed.  My dull survivalist instincts made me to question Anthony’s food choice.  I had to say something.  “You’re going to get hungry.”

      “That’s why I brought the big bag.”  He held up the large bag above his head and slapped the bottom.  “Anyone got a piñata?”  We laughed some more and set out for the lake. 

      First, we took the left onto East Seventh Street, biking past the high school to the entrance of the park.  Then, we took a shortcut through a field and passed through Nicholls State University.  Once we reached the sugarcane road past campus, we took a break to chew on some of the raw cane.  The sugarcane tasted very sweet it must have been ready to harvest.  We also collected some pieces to chew on later by the lake.  Anthony had to be escorted away from the cane field, and I had to promise to carry twice as much since he didn’t bring a bag.  He had his sleeping bag on his back.  We had to listen to his giant bag of candy shaking around from inside his rolled up sleeping bag.   When we reached the end of the cane field, we saw our last signs of civilization.  A small subdivision named Acadia Woods, which was basically a large cul-de-sac.  As we reached the far end of dead end road, we biked along a whit shell road eerily named Devil’s Swamp Road.  There were woods on either side of the road, but suddenly the woods turned back to sugarcane and we knew that we were close.  We took a turn on a cane road that paralleled a canal.  About half a mile from Devil’s Swamp Road, we reached our destination.  The lake looked great with the evening sun bouncing off of it. 

      We set up the tent, which could barely fit all four of us, but we were comfortable enough.  We could escape the mosquitoes and that’s all that mattered.  We gathered wood for a fire.  Will was smart enough to bring matches, and we soon felt like genuine outdoorsmen.  We sat around the fire chewing on sugarcane until the sun went down. 

      What happened next is still fresh in my mind.  The temperature dropped and thunder clapped resoundingly.  The thunder got louder, and suddenly it began to pour.  We packed as quickly as we could.  When we were done, the rain had already drenched the fire.  We headed back to our bikes and started back down the cane road. It was pitch black out.  We had trouble keeping track of one another.  Nick led the way and ended up falling into the canal along the road.  Fortunately, there were enough plants near the channel’s edge to keep him and his bike from sinking.  Luckily it was raining so that the mud didn’t cake onto his body.

Somewhere along the way, we took a wrong turn.  We came to a point where two canals met at a ninety-degree angle.  Will spotted the white shells of Devil’s Swamp Road on the other side of the giant ditches.  We made Nick and Anthony cross first, so Will and I could toss the four bikes across.  One by one Anthony and Nick fished our bikes out of the mud.  Once we reached Devil’s Swamp Road, we knew we could be dry back at home shortly.  We got home at around nine.  It had only been dark a couple of hours.  We all saluted one another’s effort ceremoniously and returned to our houses. 

Most of us got punished for lying about where we were, but it was worth the adventure.  That was also the start of a new favorite neighborhood game, one without a name, but great appeal to the explorer in each of us. 

I told Adam the short version of my failed camping trip outside of Thibodaux.  As I explained, he became interested my hometown.

“I haven’t seen any sugarcane fields, I might have to head out that way.  I’ve been trying to take more scenic routes.  “Do you have a map, like a state map?”

“Yes.” Again I outlined a route and handed him a map. This time it was a Louisiana highway map.

      “Great. Thank you.  Do you think I could leave my bags here a while, so I don’t have to worry about them getting stolen?  I just want to check out more of the city before I leave.”

      I told him that would not be a problem as long as he was back before I closed up.  Adam proceeded to bring his bike inside the information center.  His road bike was typical, but it had a bunch of custom luggage racks.  I had never seen anything like it.  He had some specifically designed bags made to fit each of the racks.  Adam had six bags that attached to his bike plus a backpack.  I stored his seven bags in a corner in the back room.  He thanked me several times and headed out to take in some sights of downtown New Orleans. 

      Adam came back to the information center around four thirty, and I talked to him until I closed the building.  I exchanged e-mail addresses with Adam.  I asked him to let me know if he was ever passing through New Orleans again to let me know.  I told him that perhaps I’d be in a position to join him on a future cross-country tour.  I first needed to finish school and would certainly need to purchase a new bike before venturing out cross-country. 

      He was happy to hear that I was interested in traveling with him.  He told me he was always looking for new people to travel with.  He was around thirty-years-old and had several friends who were tied down with kids and other responsibilities.  He also believed in the truth of “the more the merrier.”  I asked him about his next major destination.  He told me he didn’t know. “Just west I guess.”  As I watched him bike away, I admired his audacious spirit.

      One day, I hope to bike cross-country.  Since meeting Adam, I have researched prices of tents and luggage racks for bikes.  Besides being a cheep way of traveling, I believe biking cross-country would be quite the experience, especially for an aspiring writer.  I can only imagine what it must be like to travel so unrestricted.  I have not traveled much at all school has gotten in the way my entire life.  I am determined to test my limits after graduation.  Hopefully, my tolerance of a hard rainfall has increased in the past ten years.