Word of the day: TRIUMPHANT

Other than the early morning wake up call from the friendly tugboat captain, the finish to the journey went more or less according to plan. Though most of that last 22 miles were fairly hot, slow and boring. I still had the stress of the possible chain break weighing on me, and I think I had spent all of my adrenaline stores in the previous few days, so now I was just feeling tired and slow and ready for the end.

The tugboat captain that gave me that last gallon of water told me to be careful, as I got closer to New Orleans the traffic was only going to get worse. I found the opposite to be true. There was a 3 mile stretch with several parked barges and tugs, but there was little movement. There were some big ships passing that put out some sizable waves, but my resolve to stay on the left bank and out of the main channel took any threat away from them. I did get several comments, well wishes and thumbs up from the marine workers. One ACBL barge worker said to me, “There he is! Man, you’ve got balls of steel; ain’t no way.” I felt excited by the “there he is” comment, like there’d been some communications amongst the commercial marine community and he had been expecting me. And he walked a fair distance across a few barges to get a good look and comment to me. And though the day to that point had been very mundane, his comment on my bravado was uplifting and affirming, and it came at a good time. As I turned the corner, I passed a large park and then was into the long and lonely ‘red zone’.

I had my lunch break near the start of the red zone. I had exactly 4 slices of bread left, and just enough peanut butter and jelly for two sandwiches: one for me and one for the side dishes at the finish. It was odd how emotional I felt about this last lunchtime act. The final PBJ, final hole dug, final stealth camp, final time worrying about fending off nighttime critters with my Clue weapons,… it all sunk in a little at that moment. Then it was onward into the red zone.

It took me a little time, but it became apparent why this stretch is marked in red this way on the Army Corps map: probably 4 miles of that is wrecked piers and boardwalk, I assume damaged from Hurricane Katrina and not yet repaired. With the extent of the damage, it’s hard to imagine this area ever being returned to some sort of useful service.

When you’re counting down the miles and they’re only passing every 20 minutes, it gets pretty monotonous. I thought: I have about 2 hours to go today, and at 100 steps a minute that’s 12,000 steps. How about singing 12,000 bottles of beer on the wall? But, each chorus was taking about 15 seconds to sing, so I would need to count down by 25’s – 11,975 bottles of beer on the wall… 11,950 bottles… This was a nice distraction for about 5 minutes, then I couldn’t take it anymore.

As I was reaching the end of the derelict boardwalk and reaching the highway 90 bridge, I knew the end would be in sight around this bend. I paused for a little bit to reflect and consider what’s been done. My eyes welled up slightly with tears, and I gave a little yell. I had a mile to go and thwomp or not, I knew I was going to reach the desired destination. The feeling of accomplishment did not come rushing over me, but the desire to be done was strong. Christin texted me at that point to say they would be awaiting me on the stairs by the park where we agreed to rendezvous. So, back on the pedals for one last stretch, the home stretch.

As I came around the bend, I saw the steps a mile away. I paused briefly for a few photos of the city. Then, as I got within 1/4 mile, they literally struck up the band! I was cruising in to a bold brass fanfare, organized by Mark Lecy. And I knew Christin, Chad, David and Mark were all awaiting my arrival. Now the accomplishment was starting to sink in. I hit bottom or some other obstruction while I was still 100 feet from shore, so I pulled out the pedal drive and paddled in; I didn’t want to deal with ‘beaching’ on the rocky shore, so I bailed our in water that I didn’t know was waist deep, but I really didn’t care.

In what seemed proper fashion, I was initially greeted by two homeless guys who reside around the stairs. The older gentleman wanted to tell me what a fool I was for leaping into the gator infested waters, “There’s 6 big gators right on the peninsula there!” I saw no sign of gators, and in my confident mood I think I would’ve been more danger to them than the other way around.

My crew then ambled down the rocks to greet me, and it all felt fairly surreal: I was actually finished, where and when we planned a few weeks ago. I was separated from the kayak, and no longer reliant on all of the gear and provisions traveling with me. There were plentiful hugs, congratulations, and pats on the back from strangers who were in the area. I now felt energized, the heat and challenge of the day were gone, and now on land I was refreshed.

Only two tasks remained: 1) Empty the boat and throw the contents haphazardly into the back of our Honda Pilot, which everyone pitched in to accomplish quickly. 2) Portage to Pat O’Brien’s for a round of hurricanes and start of the revelry. This was an easy walk, and almost too short in duration; I felt my final elation ended too quickly, and the challenge of the portage was insufficient, but it was glorious.

We stood around the kayak with our drinks. The brass band from the steps was playing on the corner as an ambient addition to our collective celebration. A street poet on the corner, Sam, was fascinated by my adventures and said, “I would like to write your story.” I told him to read the blog; but I answered some questions for him and was happy to chat for a bit, though I was relieved when he got a request from a paying customer.

As we finished our street corner celebration, the brass band was wrapping up. The drummer, Chris, also wanted to know more about my journey, and the tuba player, Joel, invited us to join him on his 36’ sailboat on Lake Ponchatrain the next day. I guess what has been completed is fairly rare, and impressive, but I never really thought of it in this way; I just knew this was something I had committed to do, and now it was done.

I had a shower at the hotel, the first in 9 days; even after two full washings of head and limbs, I still had fine traces of sand in my hair. We went out for dinner, I chose a burger and fries over traditional Louisiana fare, then we went out in search of live zydeco music. We stayed out for a few rounds of Miller High Life at a few music venues until midnight; at this time the 20 hour day was ready to be put to rest. But, not until we stopped for ice cream on the return to the hotel.

I slept fitfully; I still felt the stress of the approaching day, like this was just another brief layover before returning to the river. It’s gonna take some time to return to normalcy, but I was looking forward to doing so, and a week of vacation with my favorite person will be the perfect way to re-enter.

Today’s playlist addition, I’m going to bend to the zydeco flavor that we hope will continue to flavor our celebration: BeauSoliel – Bye Bye Boo Zoo

Note: I do plan to provide a final epilogue in the next few days, and a recap of days 36 & 36 which were spent off the river with the Ten Hakens and Mudds around Hannibal. So, this isn’t quite the final post; I’ll go out with a whimper soon.