Cycling-wise, a pretty leisurely day, I hoped. 65 miles.  I slept well last night, had a full breakfast and hit the road at 7:30am.  Rush-hour wise, all traffic was coming in as I was heading out. The wind was finally in my favour and it felt really great to crank it up and go for long stretches at a 20mph/30kph clip.

Rain threatens, but I'm able to stay ahead of the drops by picking up my speed for brief stretches. The rain behind me. 

I pass one of many road signs that have been used for target practice (a common sight during this trip). 

I have the choice of rejoining Hwy 90 or taking a parallel road also designated as the Spanish Trail.  I peer through the sparse trees to see lots of trailer homes.

Given my past experience with the Scenic Spanish Trail (not scenic, not very Spanish looking trailer homes) plus road conditions, I opt to stay on the main highway. 

Plus, I'm tired of perpetually being on the look out for excitable mutts and having to outrace them.  In fact, I don’t think I have another dawg-sprint left in me.

Throughout the last couple of days casino billboards had become quite numerous. The upper part of the billboard was the excitable “Win! Win! Win!” language with pictures of happy people flashing blackjack cards.  The bottom 6” was a black strip with a gambler addiction hot-line number in big white letters.  It reminded me of cigarette packs with a stylish logo and the Surgeon-Generals message across the bottom.

Swamp Tours were becoming popular

Airboat with the big fan on the back

Then, one of the last great waterways before the Mississippi:

I'm struck by an interesting fact as my cycle trip winds down – despite the fact that more than half of my bike survival gear was patches, tubes and tires, and my bike had taken a beating through potholes, broken asphalt, stones, metal bits and glass, I had not had one flat on this entire trip. 

In fact, the last time pumped my tires was back in Toronto when I was packing.  The tires are now a bit soft, but I didn’t want to chance bending a valve stem by trying to top up the air with my small hand pump.

I say my final goodbye to Hwy 90 and head down Hwy 52 to the Mississippi.  No shoulders on this road, which descends quite sharply into a deep ditch.  A number of yahoos in their big pickup trucks blow their horns at me – where am I supposed to go?  Finally, I gain protection from two black overweight grandmas in a huge beatup and rusty Cadillac – afraid to overtake me, they act as a shield for the last two miles down to the levee with a huge parade of pickup trucks behind them.

Then, a short jaunt over to the I-310 and the Luly Bridge, the first major cable-stayed bridge in the United States.  There are no “no bike” signs and the shoulder is fairly wide. 

It was like climbing a mountain, and soon I was high above the Mississippi River. For a larger version of the view, click here:

I’ve been over some amazing bridges this trip – this one was another heartbeat-skipping experience.  Down the far side I go, looping around some interesting concrete spaghetti,

and then it was onto the bike trail on the top of the levee that would take me to downtown New Orleans 22 miles away.

Wind was in my face, but I didn’t care – I coast along, looking at the sites.  Another Huey Long Bridge of a multiple truss design that stretches to infinity in both directions owing to the fact that it was also a train bridge, with gentle grades required for trains.

Barges and tugboats

A New Orleans suburb (complete with recycling boxes) that reminds me of Mississauga, Ontario

Finally, the end of the bike trail and by the zoo with bemused giraffes:

through Audubon Park

and onto St Charles with its trolley cars and mansions

All those beads I had seen over the past miles now hung from every tree and lamp post – Mardi Gras necklaces.

I arrive at my home for the next two days – Creole Gardens, a short trolley ride from the French Quarter.

Before I shut down for the day, I cycle off to Bicycle Michaels on the other side of the French Quarter – they help me out with a cardboard shipping box, plus help me detach my pedals which had become quite tightly screwed on as a result of previous heavy duty standing-on-pedals-while-howling-at-the-wind experiences.

After a taxi ride back to the B&B, time to clean up. I'm welcomed into the courtyard by this friendly native:

Time to be a tourist.

Miles	Hours	Dawgs in Pursuit
70	7	zero - Hooray!