(Note: Be sure to read the prior blog on the history of Mardi Gras if you aren’t familiar with the history of the Mardi Gras Run.)
Our day started innocently enough. We headed out on our morning ride about 7:30 am, as usual. However, as we looked west when we reached the intersection of Hwys 91 and 14, the sky looked really threatening, as if heavy rain was headed our way. Undecided, but really wanting a ride, we pulled into the Lougnon’s parking lot to think things over.
As we dithered back and forth, we became aware of the horse trailers and folks in Mardi Gras costumes, and we realized that the Mardi Gras Run must be starting at the Duck Festival grounds. Chelsea was really clear that she wanted to at least go see it get started, so we changed routes and went back out toward the Duck Festival grounds.
Duck Festival grounds, before the start
Once at the Duck Festivals grounds, we leaned our bikes against the chain link fence and asked the ticket takers if we could wander around and take photos. The grounds were loaded with trailers and RVs, horses and riders, and huge floats attached to everything from pickup trucks to Mack trucks to tractors. Nearly everyone was in some kind of costume and the energy in the air was palpable. Beer cans were visible everywhere and it was only 7:45 a.m. when we got there.
Wandering near the pavilion, we spotted a sheriff’s car, and headed over to see who was in it. The deputy inside rolled down his window and called out, “Y’all lost again?” Turns out it was our buddy from the day we got lost out on the roads north of town, and the one who “apprehended” us in town the night we got “busted”. We finally got his name – Rick.
We’d taken our photos, but we really, really wanted to go on the run! We had less than a dollar to our names, so we couldn’t buy tickets, but we thought it might be worth asking if we could somehow tag along. Meanwhile, we felt like fish out of water.
Everyone else was in Mardi Gras costumes, and we were kitted out head to toe in our bike clothes – our lime green Ex Officio shirts, our cycling shorts covered by our black Danskin tights, our helmets, our cycling shoes with cleats, and our Camelbak water packs covered with our hi-visibility orange netting safety vests. We did not blend in. As we walked by two guys, I saw one nudge the other, gesture at us, and heard him say, “Well, that’s original!”
We decided to ignore the stares, and see if we could find someone who could give us permission to join the run. After several conversations, we finally met Bennett Scott, the twin brother of Benton Scott (Capitaine of the Krewe).
Bennett’s response was immediate when we asked if we could tag along behind. “Just stay out of the way of the horses”, he cautioned us. Famous last words, as it turned out…
Getting some bling
Now that we had approval, we needed some bling – we wanted to wear some beads and be in the spirit of the day. After approaching one float with beads, and being unable to get the attention of the people on the float, we approached another bigger one (a huge purple trailer the size of an 18-wheeler, pulled by a Mack truck) and asked if we could have some beads. They were delighted and threw down a few great colors and sizes, including a green necklace for Chelsea loaded with little alligators, and one for me with one big alligator.
Still feeling like fish out of water, we headed out to recover our bikes and get lined up. We figured we’d wait till everybody had left, then we’d fall into place. As the floats and horseback riders flowed past us, they hollered and waved. Then our buddies on the huge purple float passed us and started yelling, “Here, catch it!”
They were throwing us two wonderful big fuzzy flowers – a yellow rose and a white broad-petaled flower. I had to get up close to the float while the float was moving, as I pedaled up a small hill, balance my bike, and try to catch the flowers, at the same time as keeping out of the way of the next float and more folks on horseback.
If we thought the beads were great, the flowers really put us in the mood. They were big and fuzzy and had fuzzy green wire stems so we could wind them around our handlebars and look truly festive – talk about happy Mardi Gras cyclists!
I admit I didn’t want to wait till the tail end of the parade, so when I spotted a big lag between two floats towards the end, I urged Chelsea to slip in behind me, and we took our place, decorated with our new bling.
We can’t miss this!
As we headed east out of town on Highway 14, we passed by Jaimie Snoddy’s house, and there she was in front, watching everything go by. I knew she couldn’t miss seeing us, and sure enough, I heard her holler across the distance, “Y’all still here!!” I cupped my hands and hollered back, “We can’t miss this!!” I swear I could hear her laughter over the sound of the music on the floats…
Floats and riders
It’s worth taking a minute to describe the run/ parade participants. First came the multitude of horses and riders. Most riders were dressed up in some way with traditional Mardi Gras costumes, but many wore high visibility orange-net vests like we wear, and acted as parade safety marshals.
Next were the floats, ranging from a small covered wagon pulled by donkeys to huge floats pulled by trucks, with several floats pulled by tractors and pickup trucks. All the floats carried beads, cups, and toys to throw to bystanders. Several of the floats looked like rolling bead stores, they were so organized and well equipped!
Nearly every float had at least one porta-potty, and most of them had barbecues (the cooking started before we rolled out of the Duck Festival grounds). All of them had ice chests loaded with beer, soft drinks, water, and jello shots.
Most of the floats had music, too, some with only a boom box hooked up to an iPod, but others had huge speakers and a PA system. The music ranged from Cajun, to country, to Zydeco, to old country rock, and one float even played some songs eerily similar to rap. Some floats were so big the riders danced to the music.
Each float was sponsored by a different Krewe. We weren’t sure of most of them, but we do know the Duck Festival of Gueydan had a float; we saw the Krewe de la Peace, a krewe from Lake Arthur (the members were all dressed up in really funky early-to-mid 1960s hippie outfits); and the Le Krewe du Oringnals et les Enfants (the krewe that had the Capitaine of the Run); the Krewe de Chu Rouge; a McGyver’s-sponsored float hauled by a tractor carrying a wooden outhouse complete with half moon in the door (McGyver’s is a lawn mower sales and service company from Rayne); and a huge old garishly painted school bus missing its front wheels, being hauled by a pick-up truck.
Along with the horses and floats, we had a number of folks riding all terrain vehicles (ATVs). These riders also acted as parade marshals.
Getting underway
As we meandered along Hwy 14, one of the parade marshals on an ATV cruised alongside us and introduced herself as Jessica. It was fun to feel like she was interested enough to introduce herself, and we came to realize that she was a harbinger of things to come… A few minutes after we turned off the highway, back came Jessica, with a wicked grin on her face and a stack of beers in her hand. Holding them out to us, she slid over next to us so we could grab one.
Now this is definitely not our usual bike ride – sharing a beer at 9:30 in the morning, cruising along in a parade! And here came Jessica again, about fifteen minutes later, offering us jello shots (we’d never had a jello shot!), with that same big grin.
Our first stop was about forty minutes out of town, along the back roads south of Gueydan. As we stopped in line, Bennett Scott waved us up with big arm gestures, so we made our way up to the front. Benton Scott, Bennett’s twin brother, was on horseback for the Run in full costume (he’s Capitaine), and was throwing the first chicken while everyone gathered around to watch and yell encouragement.
Food and drink
We happened to stand by one float that had tantalizing smells of sausage cooking. Mind you, we’d left thinking we were going on our regular ride, and all we’d had to eat was half an energy bar. When we were offered a classic Cajun sausage (venison and pork) hot off the grill, we quickly accepted.
Holding our beer in one hand with our sausages in the other, we heard, “Hey, can we have our pictures taken with you?” We looked up to see two guys about Chelsea’s age, wearing cowboy hats made of Coors beer packages, with devilish smiles on their faces. After posing for photos with them, they offered us jello shots, tucking them into my hands. Suddenly we heard the warning for leaving, so I grabbed my bike, holding the sausage I hadn’t finished, stuffing the jello shots in my front pack as fast as I could, and passing the beer off to Chelsea.
The Run continued on down the road, winding its way around the back roads on the south side of Gueydan, stopping periodically for chicken throwing, with a longer stop for lunch. At each stop, Bennett would see us and wave vigorously, motioning for us to move to the front. Instead of being left behind to watch from afar, we immediately got absorbed into the life and mainstream of the party, shifting our position up and back and around as things changed or as we felt like seeing something else.
At every stop we were offered more beer and jello shots, and often in between stops. We’d catch up to a float, and invariably there’d be conversation, offers of sausage (we had two that were the size of huge bananas!), or offers of more beads.
Just as Chelsea and I were wondering how we’d get some real carbs (we were rapidly approaching our annual ration of protein) a young couple on horseback rode up to us and handed us two big meat pies wrapped in paper towels. Those meat pies were awesome – homemade and still hot, each was a big pastry shaped like a calzone, wrapped around a meat filling. (That was another challenge –staying upright on the bike, reaching up and over to get the meat pies from the rider on horseback, separating out Chelsea’s and handing it to her, all while riding and keeping my place in line…)
Riding conditions
Meanwhile, even though the floats kept their positions in line, the riders on horseback and the ATV riders were wandering from front to back and back to front and everywhere in between. Staying away from the horses was no longer a possibility; in fact what we were more concerned with was staying away from the horse droppings, which were frequent and prolific.
The bike riding itself was extremely challenging. The overall pace of the run/parade was very slow, and our average was about 2.5 mph. It was so slow that we had to concentrate on staying upright, and we couldn’t tell when a horse would get in front of us, or when the floats would slow and stop, or an ATV rider would be in our “lane”. We ended up “riding” clipped in with one foot, with the other foot pushing off on the pavement, similar to a scooter, because that gave us the most control.
By lunchtime our calf muscles were screaming, and our wrists were really sore and tender from having so much of our weight on the handlebars. The weather, which started out warm and humid, had quickly changed to cold and windy, and we found ourselves shivering in the wind with no jackets or windbreakers.
We were having to pay attention to the riderless horses whose riders were taking potty breaks; watch for the ATVs coming up on either side; dodge the constant and amazing amounts of horse droppings; pay attention to when the floats were slowing or stopping; watch for horses that were everywhere; and carry on any number of conversations with people on the floats, horseback riders, and ATV drivers; all while riding our bikes at two and half miles per hour.
One of our favorite moments was a point when we were just dodging fresh droppings from the horses in front of us, a horse had just come up on Chelsea’s right side, and an ATV came up on my left. I could hear the ATV driver cautioning us sternly “Y’all keep those bikes in a straight line now, girls!” It was our buddy Jessica, she of the beer and jello shots fame.
Lunch break
Lunch was a welcome chance to get off the bikes. All the floats pulled off onto a huge gravel and dirt area off the road, circling around like a wagon train. The food staff were already in place, with tables set up for jambalaya, hamburgers, and drinks.
We had a chance to mingle a bit, and we got a chance to see more costumes up close, including one woman with false eyelashes in the Mardi Gras colors of gold, purple and green, and another person with a hair mask.
By this time we’d met so many people I had to start taking written notes, and the lunch break gave others who’d seen us an opportunity to come over and introduce themselves.
We’d already met a woman from a newspaper in Lake Charles who ended up on the Run by accident, as we did (though she rode a float the whole day). She’s writing an article about Mardi Gras events for the Lake Charles paper, in the Shadows section; it should be up in March sometime.
We met some wonderful people we’d never seen before (they didn’t seem to be from Gueydan), and it was at this point that we realized that this event was a joint effort with krewes from Gueydan, Lake Arthur and Lake Charles.
After spending most of the lunchtime talking, one of our new acquaintances asked if we we’d had lunch, and treated us to the jambalaya (we still had only the change we’d left home with, so it was much appreciated). We had enough time to eat barely half our meal before the call came for the chicken throwing.
Chicken throws
Chasing chickens was an hilarious part of the day. Every forty-five minutes or so, the floats and riders would pull off to the side of the road and all the participants would gather around the Capitaine. The Capitaine would hold the chicken over his head while the children gathered around, ready to run. He’d then toss the chicken, and the race was on.
In the first few chicken throws, the chicken was captured so fast that the Capitaine threw it several times. Then at lunch the man who’d brought the chickens brought out a guinea fowl instead. The Capitaine went out into a huge plowed field after lunch, held the guinea fowl up, and threw it. That bird took off like nobody’s business, darting in and out around the kids chasing it. It dived through small openings, in between legs – that thing was fast!
Then it shot right through the legs of the spectators, with the kids intently focused on it, and leaped into a small ditch of water. The kids lined up on either side of the water, chasing along the ditch next to it. After only a minute or so of this, one enterprising young man, perhaps eleven years old, simply threw himself full length into the water, right on top of the bird. By this time the spectators were howling with laughter.
The young man captured the guinea fowl, but emerged from the water soaking wet, muddy, and minus both his shoes. He found one of them while we watched, but we never did find out if he’d ever found the other.
We learned later that the guinea hen and the chickens were being ferried around in a cage on the back of one of the ATV-like vehicles; the steady humming noise and motion of the vehicle was causing them to fall asleep, and their sleepiness was causing them to be slow. I guess the guinea fowl had had the whole lunchtime to wake up!
Horse stories
The beer and water and soft drinks had continued to flow prodigiously throughout the day, and it was obvious early on why each float was required to carry its own porta-potty. The challenge was greater for the horse riders, who had to have someone else hold the reins of their horses while they dismounted, ran to catch a float, hopped on and did their thing in the potty, and then had to run back to get their horses and remount.
By lunchtime, the numbers of riders needing to have a bathroom break was so great that it started slowing up the floats. At one point, we were behind one float that had four horses lined up next to each other, all “missing” a rider.
Our favorite was shortly before lunch when one rider, who was clearly RUI (riding under the influence) by about 8:30 a.m., attempted to get off and head for the porta-potty. He made it that far but then his horse took off without him, and had to be captured and brought back. The other ongoing entertainment was watching the riders try to remount when they were clearly tipsy.
The vast majority of horseback riders were men, but there was a scattering of women, and a small number of kids. It was truly magnificent watching the horses and their riders. These were no beaten-down tired old hacks impervious to noise and slow as can be. These were gorgeous horses, highly spirited, and clearly unused to the noise and commotion coming off the floats.
The kids were really astonishing – the way they rode was impressive to watch. Most of them were no older than twelve. We saw one youngster that couldn’t have been more than about nine. We heard later that a guy on horseback had ridden up next to one of the floats, and this youngster simply crawled out the float onto the horse, while both the float and horse were moving. When we saw him he was solo on the horse, riding with the skill of someone many times his age.
One of the funnier and more whimsical sights was Laverne Scott. Every year she participates in the ride on her “horse”, which is actually a comfort bicycle with her grandson’s toy stuffed horse head on the bike handlebars. We rode with her for a good hour or so, wandering in and out of the floats and horses.
After lunch, heading toward the Gueydan Cemetery
We had many offers at lunch to ride on a float, as the run participants couldn’t believe we were riding the whole route. We were the only human powered transportation on the twelve-mile run (the floats and horses stretched out over nearly a mile). We kept hearing “Y’all are ridin’ the whole thing? Git on this float! We got room!”
By the time we were only a mile from the cemetery, we finally gave in to the suggestion of one of the parade marshals. Rather than stop the parade, they simply threw our bikes in the back of the nearest float behind us, moving the porta-potty to make space.
We landed in the Gueydan Duck Festival float, driven by Ronnie Lougnon of Lougnon’s Market. Who should be there but the same two characters in the Coors beer cowboy hats that we’d met earlier in the day. We all introduced ourselves – they are Bobby and Ashley, and the first thing they did was get us a beer, and get us seated on an ice chest (full of beer, of course).
Bobby and Ashley were non-stop entertainment. Wearing camo shirts saying “Peace”, “Love”, and “Jello shots” in high-vis orange, they were lively and funny, with quick wits and a devilish sense of fun. Just watching and listening to them was enough fun, never mind the fun of watching the world of the parade/run from the relative safety of a float. They fed us more jello shots, and we had a standing order, “Y’all go get you a beer, yeah?”
As Chelsea and I sat quietly on the ice chest, enjoying the respite from the bike riding, Ashley suddenly started undoing my helmet buckle, while Bobby undid Chelsea’s. I was convinced they were taking a stealth photo of us with really bad helmet hair, but they simply swapped our helmets for their Coors cowboy hats, while they wore our helmets. They wanted a photo of that! We’ll have to make sure we get a copy of that photo.
Final chicken throw
After we passed the cemetery the caravan stopped for one last chicken throw. It took us a bit to get off the float, so we missed the chicken throw. As everyone milled around, we asked who got it, and found out that that the infamously fast guinea hen had been thrown again, since it provided so much entertainment at lunch. This time the wily thing had gotten into the nearby barn. One bystander commented, “There’ll be no gittin’ that thing now!”
The Capitaine finally got everyone sorted out and back on the horses and floats – the effects of the full day of beer, food, music, and jello shots were really kicking in by now – ready for the final section into downtown Gueydan.
Funeral
You can imagine the noise level of the run. Music was blaring from each float, people were dancing, talking, laughing, and just plain partying, and had been doing so for hours. As we all got back on the floats, word came down the line that a funeral procession was passing, and we needed to move the floats off to the side of the street to make room for the hearse and the cars in the funeral procession. Then the word came down the line to kill the music.
Within moments, all the music went off, every single partier went totally silent, including the children, and every man, including every horseback rider, took off his hat and held it over his chest with his head bowed. In a matter of moments, the loud raucous party atmosphere went to total silence in solemn respect for the funeral procession. The silence held throughout the entire time it took for the procession to pass us, car-by-car, float-by-float.
Chelsea and I have never seen anything like it. We were so impressed that we both got teary. And then a few moments after the last car cleared the last float, the music started clicking back on, and the caravan resumed its journey into town.
Parade
We slowly wound our way towards downtown, then turned off on the back roads, heading out towards the east end of town. We’d been following one float frequently throughout the day, and we finally realized that they were the folks who had given us the awesome beads and flowers at the start of the day.
Chelsea and I had grabbed our bikes off the Duck Festival float, as we wanted to ride in the parade; Bennett told us to ride our bikes either behind him or just ahead of him (it was the huge Mack truck). These were prime spots, since those two floats had great music, were loaded with people, and had lots of goodies to throw.
The float with those who had given us the flowers and beads was right ahead of us, so we chatted with them while we waited, meeting Jules Thibodeaux. Jules lives near Lake Arthur and is in the Lake Arthur krewe. We each swapped our abbreviated life stories in our few minutes of waiting.
Jules was great fun, as was a woman on his float (his wife?). They gave us cups during the break so we could balance our fresh beer in the cups, putting them in our front bags in preparation for the parade through town; they offered us more sausage; and gave us more beads. We never did find out the name of their krewe, so we just called their float “the Jules float”.
As we rode through town, Chelsea spotted a blue rose on the Jules float, and asked Jules (shouting over the noise of the crowd and the music), if she could have it. He quietly undid the rose from the float and tossed it at her. So of course I asked about the red poinsettia I’d had my eye on, and sure enough, he tossed one to me. We added them to the increasing bling on the bikes.
By this time I had so many beads around my neck that I couldn’t turn my neck, and I had rows of beads on my bike, in addition to the flowers. We added a beautiful zippered bag to the mix, along with some general frou frou, and then added two pom poms. We’d run out of room on the bikes so the pom poms went in our helmets.
Riding the parade was even more challenging than riding in the run had been. People were throwing beads and goodies at us; we had to dodge beads and cups and toys that were being thrown by the floats; and we stopped frequently to pick up and toss beads and cups and toys (the ones that had fallen just out of reach) out to the spectators.
Meanwhile we were waving to everyone, trying to ride the bikes, and trying to keep up with the pace of the parade (remember that we were the only people-powered “float” in the whole day). Just as we’d stop to throw something, or wave to someone we knew, Bennett Scott, driving the big Mack truck behind us, would let loose on his air horn – the one that sounded like a train whistle (think “loud”).
In the midst of all this, we were trying to watch the parade and the spectators. We’d heard stories of people getting hit by beads, cups and toys, and that day we saw it with our own eyes. One woman was looking down at her kids and looked up just in time to get a face full of beads. Another guy glanced up in time to get nailed on the head with a cup. All I could think was “Ouch!”
Jane Hair from the Gueydan Museum was there as usual. She’d told us about her strategy – having an umbrella to catch the beads. Sure enough, there she was, as elegant as ever, standing in the median holding out her umbrella. We passed on the first side, hollering our hellos to her, then came back around on the return side.
Just as I was ready to holler at her again, Jane held her umbrella up to get another set of beads from a passing float. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back – her very full umbrella simply turned inside out, dumping all the contents on the ground. True to form, Jane looked at the mess on the ground, calmly turned her umbrella right side out, and held it out for more beads. As I looked back, she had several folks bending down and helping her pick up her beads.
We continued on with the whole parade, though as we passed our house on Main St. I looked longingly over at it, thinking how nice it would be to sit down and get off the bikes. We’d been on them for the better part of nine hours, at two and a half miles per hour. Tired? Oh yes… But we kept on with the parade, going all the way back to the Duck Festival grounds with the rest of the floats.
Dance
Back at the Duck Festival grounds, we stayed long enough to use the bathrooms. Bennett Scott had told us that he’d cover our admission to the dance, and wanted to be sure that we’d be there. We told him yes and then headed home.
Once home, we could hardly move. Our feet hurt, our voices were sore, our calf muscles were screaming, and the weather which had been threatening rain all day, finally started in with a light drizzle. We unloaded the bling from our bodies and bikes, and sank into chairs.
We only stayed home long enough to get our cycling shorts off and to wash our faces and use the facilities. We grabbed a tarp for the bikes, and I unloaded two handfuls of jello shots from my front bag – I knew we couldn’t possibly drink all that we’d been given, so I’d stockpiled them in the front bag. We headed back to spend a night dancing, but I admit that the saner part of me whispered “Wouldn’t it be nice to just stay home and watch a movie?”
It was well worth going back. Both Chelsea and I danced a fair number of dances (with patient dance partners), and Chelsea met a great guy a year older than she – Josh. She and Josh spent a lot of time together during the evening, while I met and talked to any number of other folks – Nathan and Pat Hebert, Tony and Benton Scott, Bennett Scott, Larry Hoffbrauer, Ricky and Cindy Thibodeaux from south of Lake Charles, and Steve and Stacey from Lake Charles, with their son Steven. Kenneth and Heuetta came early and stayed for a few hours, giving us some much needed chairs to use.
There were two bands during the evening, with an auction during the break. Though the crowd was light (many in the Run were from out of town, and likely as tired as we were), the dancing was steady, including a number of looong line dancing songs. I can’t get over how much I like watching the line dancing, and how much I’d like to learn it. Chelsea and I have committed to learning it before we end our trip.
The weather was getting really cold – a bitter wind blew unrelentingly through the open pavilion – and we were both really hungry; we hadn’t stopped long enough at home to eat. But true to form for the day, Tony Scott brought me a windbreaker (which made the difference between misery and comfort) and Josh loaned Chelsea his coat. Then Steve and Stacey treated us to hot gumbo. Ahhh…our outlook improved immeasurably…hot gumbo and warm jackets…
There were a few funny stories for the evening – the sister of one of our Gueydan buddies showed up wearing an awesome fuzzy lime green hat. When I complimented her on the outrageous hat, she replied, “It was my ex-boyfriend’s. He’s an ex-Baptist pimp.” As I absorbed that answer, she added, “Does that make me a pimpette?”
Later Chelsea related a great story to me – she’d been standing with Josh talking when another guy came up. He introduced himself to Chelsea and said, “Y’all are the cyclists, right? I saw you today. Boy, you and your mom have great butts! That’s the first thing I noticed about y’all!” She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so she simply laughed and said. “Well, thank you!”
For those who don’t know what jello shots are, they are alcohol mixed with jello, and the jello is put into small plastic one ounce cups where it sets. To “drink” it, it’s necessary to get your face right into the little cup, run your tongue around the edge, and slurp out the jello.
Being neophytes with jello shots, we hadn’t a clue about how to eat/drink them, nor what was in them in the way of alcohol. We found out that night that there are jello shots, and then there are jello shots. We’d been offered some late in the evening at the dance, but Josh saw them and said, “Y’all don’t want those, y’all want these.” Going to another cooler, he pulled out a big Ziploc bag full of jello shots and picked out one for each of us.
Whooee! I got my face close to the cup and my eyes started watering! It turns out that the shots are made in lots of different ways – some will use a liqueur, some will use tequila, some will use pineapple rum, and so on. These particular shots were made with Everclear, a very high proof alcohol (it tasted close to moonshine). So now we’re jello shot veterans…
I spent a long time talking to the various folks who’d created and managed the whole day, and I came away completely impressed. Back in the 40s and 50s, French was driven out of the local language, though it was the main language spoken in homes and in commerce. In school the children were beaten if they spoke French, so the French language is gradually disappearing. Adults my age usually understand a great deal of French, but most can’t speak it, and younger generations don’t speak or understand most French.
When I talked to Benton Scott – he is Capitaine of the local krewe – about how much work it must be to put this on, he simply said “We lost our French and we aren’t losing this!”
Throughout the evening I was asked constantly if we’d had fun during the day. What struck me was how much each person meant it – these weren’t empty polite words – they came from the heart. Everywhere we turned all day there was someone to offer us something, and there were people who wanted to hear our stories. We were told a half dozen times how much we’d be missed – how awesome is that?
Though we were “outsiders”, we’d been taken into the hearts of the locals.
If more of the world was this way, the world would be in great shape.
We got home about midnight, riding our bikes home just in time to miss a series of big thunderstorms. Our muscles were aching, especially our calf muscles, and that night I could hardly walk – everything hurt from the hips down (thanks to the whole day of riding and the whole evening of dancing). I lost my voice almost completely.
As Chelsea and I processed this amazing day and evening, we realized that it was hard to describe the impact the day had on us. Perhaps all we can say is that we have dreamed of this while on the road – of seeing and experiencing new and different cultures, and becoming so acculturated that we become part of the life.
I had a wondrous epiphany halfway through our day, cycling out in the southwest Louisiana countryside amidst the horses, the floats, the music and the people – we are living our dream.