COME AS YOU ARE, LEAVE DIFFERENT

Words and photos by Miranda Miller, 3-time Canadian National Downhill Champion and 2017 World Champion.

Winter in Squamish shrieks “time to head south,” and we were happy to follow the migratory pull. Tucson had become our go-to to kick off for training season, but this year, the thought of returning to climb Mt. Lemmon for the 10th time no longer excited me. Routine and working hard had become a safe place, but there's been a bit of a personal seismic shift in this past year. I still craved the challenge, but I was tired by the format. I needed somewhere new, a “place-for-no-reason,” a place offering the opportunity for each day to be unique. Rumblings of the levels of cool for Austin, Texas had reached me and these, combined with memories of Tom Robbins’ book ‘Jitterbug Perfume’ had New Orleans on my mind...

In Austin, the more people we told about our trip the more our excitement curdled into fear. Fear, it seems, is a powerful and popular tool. We learned of the group of cyclists that were plowed by a truck not far from our route. We were warned trucks would buzz and roll coal on us. We were advised the following: The locals might not like you. If anyone confronts you, don’t talk back. You need more lights, more reflectors, and maybe consider buying a gun. I lay in bed that night wondering, “Have we made a terrible mistake?” But off we went with our lights flashing a weak warning.

We had what would be our first and only coal rolling experience just outside Bastrop, but fortunately it was just as we turned off the highway and into the state park. We were now on a quiet park road where we didn’t have to worry about traffic so we could pin it through rolling hills next to one another. It was exactly what I needed to relax and regain my belief in how awesome this trip was going to be. 

A few hours later, we toasted the day with a Shiner Bock at a bar named Beerz about 10km from La Grange. The locals were friendly and laughed at us when we asked for water. We were doing it. This was Texas. 

Day 2: 169km La Grange to Lake Conroe

We got to the continental breakfast before 6am so we could get on the road at a more timely hour. It was at this breakfast that Myles would discover the Honey Bun, a sweet packaged treat that boasts 590 calories with 70g of carbs. Available at almost all gas stations, this magical bun would fuel Myles for the remainder of the trip. 

This was the day we learned, through a sad sandwich, that it’s pointless to stray from tacos from lunch. They’re always more reliable. 

This was also the day I had a “moment” when our route forced a hike through a muddy construction site, resulting in me tearing a huge hole in the butt of my new Rapha bib, while simultaneously filling my road cleats with mud. I wasn’t feeling hot or skinny enough yet to have my butt hanging out, but I quickly got over it. Why waste the energy when there’s no choice?

In the convenience store by the hotel, we met Dave, a local member of the US Army who had just returned from Syria. He laughed at us for knowing nothing about the military. He had joined up to secure the benefits to look after his family, and he told us he’d love to move to Canada one day. His idea of fun was going to Lake Charles to hunt and fish. New Orleans didn’t excite him too much.

Day 5: 145km DeRidder to Opelousas 

Opelousas was one of the bigger towns we stayed in, and we rolled in fairly early again, allowing time for a little exploration. Arriving by bike allowed us to see all parts of the town. You’re not on a freeway and choosing your exit based on your destination. Instead, you approach from the back roads and you get to feel it. 

We hadn’t booked a hotel, so after entering Opelousas, we pulled over to formulate a plan. We stopped at a gas station where a car with a busted up window was parked outside and an old man struggled to stay upright on his bike. A truck pulled up in front of us, loud music blaring. I waved at the guy inside. Next thing we knew, the truck door flung open and a big man climbed out calling, “Y’all need some water?”  He opened up a cooler in the bed of his truck and fished out four waters, apologizing that they weren’t colder as he handed them around.  He introduced himself as Melvin Chambers from Opelousas and told us all the good places to eat in town. In return, he wanted to know all about us.

This generosity and curiosity really exemplified the way everyone approached us. It was amazing. Everywhere we went, people wanted to know how we ended up at their gas station? How’d we get to their town? Where were we going and where’d we come from? 

Day 6: 170km Opelousas to Baton Rouge

I woke up feeling the dread of the trip coming to an end, and so did the others. Having discovered the speed at which you can move through mountain-free terrain, we added an extra loop to our day. We were comfortable in our journey, and the day's final destination was no longer the highlight to us. 

We ate lunch in a town, New Roads, which felt like a California beach town but in Louisiana. We rode some punishingly bumpy roads as well as perfectly paved and windy ones through a golf course community. We caught our first sight of the Bayou and the mighty Mississippi. 

Approaching Baton Rouge, it was obvious we were in a more industrial and rough part of town, and indeed, a lady slowed her car to call out a warning to be safe. We kept constantly moving, loving our ability to see all the facets of the place and found that no matter the ‘part’ of town, it was rare not to receive a nod or a wave in return to our greeting.  

Day 7: 190km Baton Rouge to New Orleans

I had surpassed my longest ride by this point and done back to back 100 mile days. So what was 190km?

Our route followed the Mississippi the entire way. It was not the scenic tour we anticipated but rather an industrial park of oil refineries, steel, and coal. It seemed that it was only these industries that were keeping the communities we rode through alive. 

We stopped to eat at Mikos Seafood, and for $9, we enjoyed easily the best lunch of the trip! As we sat on the sidewalk, Poncho, who was helping out his daughter with the sale, came over and joined us to find out where we’re from. We learned that his brother had started Mikos after he returned from the Vietnam War, but it wasn’t doing very well, so they were trying to make some extra cash by adding lunch trade. Poncho himself had been the fourth employee hired at the Marathon Oil Refinery down the street. Before he retired, he had traveled around to help other locations. He grew up speaking Cajun French, but not many speak it anymore. A dying language. He was soft spoken and keen to tell us about Louisiana. He also warned us of the dangers of New Orleans.