Chilly Willy Weather Ride

As, I'm just getting over my seasonal head & chest cold - cough, cough, - from my last ride (Another Busted Trip), I figured it was time to hit the water again. The only rider to answer to the call of "wet & cold" was Cody Reulet, so it would just be the two of us. Cody, a fellow Green Hulker, had just gotten his bike dialed in after having picked it up from a custom mod job - plus, he had recently purchased his first wet suit, so you could say he was itchin' to go. Cody seems to be a hard working, open minded, young man and is easy to get along with. He had also told me he wasn't quite thirty years yet, so I was hoping I could keep up with him.

We met at the St. James Boat Club on US 61 at a little after 11:00AM; both of us having run a little behind schedule. We departed the ramp at 11:30 after finally discussing our route for the day: I had been wanting to make the L. Maurepas Loop, which is 60 miles, but starting from St. James would add on an uncertain amount of additional miles. I approximated the extra distance and figured it would be a maximum of 85 miles, round-trip. Our main concern was having to refuel, but that was covered with the ten additional gallons I was carrying on the rack. Our secondary concern was L. Maurepas - as the moss had started to sway, we figured on some wave action. As we were ready to leave, Cody announced his O-2 sensor crapped out. No worries, he could run without it and I figured we just had our glitch for the day.

Our first stop was just a few miles east of the ramp at the only church I've ever known to be accessible by water only: Our Lady of Blind River. While I'm not sure of the denomination (I think it's Catholic), I have heard of the odd couple or two that have been married there. As the church proper is only about 200 square feet, "petite" would be a good local word to describe it. By the time we made the I-10/Blind R. bridge, Cody was ready for his face mask & gloves. At eight miles from the ramp, we passed the Petite Amite, which meant we had now entered my sixty mile established trail. That made me feel better as our route would now be no longer than eighty miles. We finally made the Blind R. Bar at the Diversion Canal where Cody stopped to step into his farmer-john. With me loaning him my spare pair of ski goggles, we must have looked like twin ninja skiers.

Heading out to the end of the Blind, we passed only a couple of deer hunters, traveling via air-boats. Reaching L. Maurepas, it was evident it would not be smooth sailing. We headed out and upon reaching the 2nd buoy, I looked back for a thumbs-up, or down, from Cody. I got a reply of "up" and off we went: We spent the next 20 minutes battling the two-to-three foot white caps - with eight miles of lake crossing, you could say we managed to get a full body work out. Checking the view behind me in the mirrors, I found Cody on the leeward side of my bike and just on my wake. I think he was trying to let my lead knock down as much wave as possible for his ride. Had he been in the lead - I would have done the same. Half a mile later, I noticed one of my external gas tanks had fallen over sideways. While stopping to right the tank, I managed to nearly lose a glove overboard and saved it at the last minute. Now both of my gloves were soaked and we still hadn't made the half-way point. By the time we reached the Amite, all of my fingers and thumbs had gone numb.

With the lake finally behind us, we carved up the water for twelve or so miles when my bike suddenly lurched and cav'ed. Damn! Two miles past the middle of no where and now trouble. I figured it was only an intake block, but I was not looking forward to getting wet. Luckily there was a backyard ramp nearby and although I was able to work in shallow water, I found nothing on the grate. Cody and I discussed the issue figuring it was either trash on the pump, or time for a new wear ring. Although I was upset about the mild cavitation and vibration, the bike's speed and RPMs all seemed in place.

Keeping on our southwest track, we traveled for a dozen or so miles until we made the weir at the Diversion Canal. Although I was cav'ing the whole way, the bike still seemed fine, and I had no error codes or beeps come through the 'Doo's cluster. Heading east, half way down the Diversion, I crossed a passing boat's wake and, a few bounces later, the pump cleared and the cavitation disappeared. -problem solved! It must have been trash...

Reaching the north end of the Pet. Amite, I reported to Cody our milage thus far, and, after checking our gauges, we decided to not refuel and head for home. Not too far into the curvy bayou, Cody checked up to relieve himself and I continued on for about five hundred more yards. I cut the engine and turned around, wanting to catch a few shots of Cody sweeping the curves. The atmosphere was completely silent, except for the occasional bird song coming out of the naked swamp. Then, it happened: Cody started up his bike - with the thru-hull exhaust and modified water box, I could hear that deep rumble from almost half a mile away.

Dashing for home, we carved up the Petite, and in no time was back in the Blind. Once we cleared the I-10/Blind R. bridge, I opened up the ponies to check my speed against my RPMs. I hit and held the limiter at 8100 while the GPS clocked me at just over 66 mph. Cody matched me, but I know better than to think he pushed his engine (I think he's in the 80 MPH club...).

Making a final few curves, I looked ahead to see the parking lot when my low fuel warning beeper started talking - perfect timing.

It was a great day for riding, again: Beautiful weather, good friends, and no major problems. We ended up turning the screws for 74 miles, and although I feel good now, my lower back may remember the lake crossing tomorrow. By the way, Cody, you did a good job of keeping up with an old man...

Another Busted Trip

Yet another PWC trip logged onto the canyoneering board...

With a new year, it was time for a new ride; once again it was GL and myself trying to push trails in to some new waters. We had already established a short list of rides that we wanted to punch out for the coming riding season(and up through the next few years) - mostly one day, ass-haulin' 200 plus milers, a few possible one - two day trips, and one 1K mile, 5 night trip.

After a little debate we decided to log the trail from his house across to the west side of the Spillway up to Butte La Rose. This is the "bottom" leg of a run we have planned that goes from Alexandria, LA all the way down to our river homes just south of Pierre Part. Butte La Rose, a small community perched on the western boundary of the Atchafalaya Spillway, is the only chance we would have for fuel on the water. We had noted two routing options for coming home, and today's ride would insure the trail we would take - our only major obstacle, for this portion of the ride, would be the Bayou Sorrel locks. This lock is used to permit travel between the two water ways of Belle River and the Atchafalaya ICW, which are separated by a common levee.

With the bikes, fueled up, and the racks loaded with extra fuel, we departed GL's home and idled out the canal to Lake Verret. I noted that the air temp. held at 46 deg. and the water temp was 51. The two would meet for a brief moment later in the day for a high of 55. We were both layered in full wet suits, a life jacket, and then a full thermal suit to top it off. With a front passing through the day before, Lake Verret was being buffeted with a fair breeze straight out of the north. We tacked due east in the lake before making our turn for the north. By attacking the waves head-on, our ride was quite bouncy, but easier to handle. Working the one to two foot chop, we crossed six miles of open water and arrived at the Hwy 70 bridge in no time. We continued up the Grosbec, and finally made Belle River in less than half an hour from leaving GL's place. We continued due north, passing through the isolated community of Bayou Pigeon, LA, and finally making it to the Bayou Sorrel Locks.

Although our original plan was to cross over to the Spillway side, luck was not with us. We noted that no less than three barges were in line

and waiting to use the facility. GL, being a ship captain, informed me that two of them were carrying hazardous materials which would mean we could not "lock through" with them. In other words, we were looking at a possible two-three hour wait... trip busted: We couldn't take a chance of getting on the other side, then have to deal with another traffic jam on the return trip, and risk spending the night on the levee. After a few minutes of debate (and picture taking) we opted to continue north in the Belle and make a run for the end of the river at the locks in Port Allen, LA. We were hoping to get off the skis and have a pic. of us with the I-10 Mississippi R. bridge serving as a back drop.

We continued our trek north, passing through some more secluded and unnamed river communities. Travelling along, I noted a store or two that sold fuel, if needed, although a short portage would be required. At about 1:00 PM, and approximately 41 miles north of our starting point, GL signed for a restroom break. Just off the east bank of the river, we found a small island with an old house sitting across from it, along the river side. Unknowingly, at the same time GL was dumping some "juice", so was his PWC battery... crap - dead battery. Now "Plan B" is sunk... We tried to revive the battery via cables hooked up to mine, but to no avail. Although we had pushed some new water, we realized we would have to turn around, and end the trip just twelve miles short of our goal.

With GL in tow, I headed south at a leisurely pace of 28 mph, soaking him in the tow rope's rooster tail for the entire trip back - luckily, for him, his outer shell was water-proof. GL had made a phone connection before we began operation "KawiTow" and had a friend en route to Jack Miller's landing eight miles to our south. Once we arrived at Jack Miller's, GL confirmed that his friend was on his way and at that point we parted ways.

While not nearly as dangerous as exiting a cave or canyon, I was a little apprehensive about travelling the thirty-five plus miles back home, solo. But there was nothing to debate in the matter, so I promptly left GL and headed south. With the exception of two deer hunters, I was totally alone on the water ways. Although I initially took my time cruising home, once I passed the By. Pigeon bridge, I let the ponies loose and kept the bike at a steady 55 to 60 mph pace. I felt much relief upon reaching the Pierre Part Bay bridge; at least a solo break down would now omit a hike-out... GL and I had agreed that in the event of my bike failing, I would try to call him, cell to cell, and, if that wouldn't work, I'd hail him over the VHF radios that we travel with.  Feeling better, I looked forward to battling Lake Verret, only this time I'd be travelling over the back of the waves, running before the the wind.

I made GL's house in less than an hour from leaving him, and within ten minutes, he and his friend pulled up, with his Kawi on the trailer. While the trip didn't turn out nearly as successful as we'd hoped, we still pushed some new trail and managed to post just over eighty miles on a fair, winter day.