On the Road. The Rider's Journal

Before setting out on the final leg of my Ecover Mississippi Marathon (New Orleans - Venice, Louisiana), I took a ride around the fringes of the city with a couple of National Guardsmen: Sgt. Major Kevin Allen and Warrant Officer Robin Williams (a Brit from Oxford, with dual nationality). They showed me some of the remaining devastation from the Katrina storm, which is rough stuff indeed, from the flattened houses of the Lower Ninth Ward to the Beirut-like damage on the shores of Lake Ponchartrain.

Some victims lost everything except for a sense of humour. One lakeshore home, which right now you'd be more likely to see in Darfur's 'Property for Sale' ads, has the following words painted across what is left: 'For Sale. Needs Some Work. Slight Water Damage'.

Slight? What was once an expensive and much-desired residence is now a bare concrete shell, piled high with twisted metal.

But little by little, the city IS coming back - recovering from a bruised ego as much as anything else. In downtown New Orleans, the French Quarter, and the leafy Garden District, you'd never guess that Katrina came calling at all. It is business as usual, I'm glad to say.

The major battle now facing America's most European city is one of public perception. One tourist official told me that he continues to get regular phone calls from around the world asking if New Orleans is still underwater. "Now that the newsmen and TV crews have gone, it seems that the outside world thinks of us only from a Katrina standpoint" he said grimly. "In fact, we're up and running as if nothing had happened. All we need now is for the world come and see for itself."

And the world should do just that. New Orleans remains a mystical and magical place - a difficult city to leave.

But leave I must, astride the eZee Torq for the 70 mile ultimate ride to where the road quite literally runs out. Keep going, and you'll end up in the drink. The port of Venice and its surrounding area took the real brunt of Katrina's anger, battering it this way and that, leveling houses and closing down industry. Ever since, cities of mobile homes have proliferated; all the trees stay stripped bare; and smashed-up boats are still piled on top of one another.

This is the sorry vista at the far south of the river. Despite the plethora of 'closed' signs along the way, there is nothing to tell you that this is journey's end - except for two simple roadside words.

DEAD END.

That's it. Beyond lies an industrial marina and the open water of the Mississippi's delta.

Voila. The ride is over and done with, another one in the bag.

I was driven back to New Orleans where, on my final night, I met up with an old friend from my time in residence here six years ago. The Reverend Victor C. Klein, aka Archbishop Lawrence Talbot, is the most outrageous theologist you'll ever meet. You only have to take one look at his business card to see what I mean. Staring out from it is the most menacing picture of a werewolf that you'll ever see. Victor (quite legally) ordained himself as the High Priest of own brand of religion known as Ordo Templi Veritatus and he has a large number of like-minded followers. The philosophy of OTV is simple. If there is good and evil out there, then let's explore both....not just the good. The Reverend Klein will think nothing of calling up the Devil, or getting drunk, or starting a bar room brawl - or writing highly controversial books, one of which tells would-be killers how to successfully dispose of a corpse.

I hope I don't come across as too evil a person myself by saying that I always find his company most refreshing and very, very amusing. Admittedly, I knew him from before, but his oddball ways provided me with an apt finale to my 2000-mile hike down river. For Victor is another eccentric among the many who live along this grandest of rivers.

That's it for the moment. I'm now aboard the 'City of New Orleans', on my way back to the vile north, and on home to the UK.

I wish to offer my sincere thanks to my eZee Torq bike, my very best friend along the way; to Ecover, my sponsors - and to the avid followers of this website. For them, the fat lady hasn't yet broken into song, so it's not quite yet over. I'll be back shortly, ten days or so, with a full round-up of the ride including some hitherto-untold stories and unseen pictures.

Until then, my very best to one and all

Quentin