resembles the architecture of French New Orleans. 
The sun was shining, the spring array of azaleas and tulips was gorgeous, and of course live oaks never hurt any scene. But here was THE live oak, the famous Evangeline oak. I visited the tourist center, went into the old hotel across the street, and then walked in the shade of the Evangeline oak along Bayou Teche. This would be a great place to wander around on a warm sunny day, but warm it was not.I drove on north to Breaux Bridge, another similar town that is known for a crawfish festival. The visitor’s center next to the bridge was closed. I admired the bayou from their parking lot but without the brochures I never realized the neat old house behind it was a bed & breakfast or that there was an interesting city park. I thought the interest generated from the visitor’s center staying open on Sunday for people like me would surely pay the bills for one day. I continued on 31 north to Mulate’s. Wouldn’t you know the band had just finished playing for the lunch crowd and were packing their instruments. But it was no loss as the stuffed catfish topped with their etoufee sauce was divine.
I drove on I 10 a couple of miles and exited to go to Henderson and check out McGee’s Swamp Tours.
For a $10 senior rate I could have a 1 1/2 hour tour of the Atchafalaya Basin. The restaurant there had a great view of the swamp but it sure was no time for another meal. I had known all along that I would be camping at Lake Fausse Point State Park, 30 miles from anywhere as the NPS guys told me. I had planned to go for more Cajun music at the Whiskey River Landing on the levee next door but decided at this point it would not be in my best interest. I noticed various routes recommended but none mentioned the levee road that appeared to be a straight shot from where I was. I thought it must just be too obvious so why would I backtrack to St. Martinville. The lady in McGee’s assured me it was paved all but a little of the way so the 1 1/2 lane, rough asphalt road seemed the way to go. I soon learned how wrong she was.After a short distance the paved road led over the levee and the other route became a dirt trail. As I topped the levee there was an old iron bridge with a Cajun home on the edge of the swamp just past it. I stopped the first pickup and was assured that the dirt road was indeed the way to the state park and the condition depended on how recently it had been graded. But imagine, driving along the bayou at the base of the levee road that kept the Atchafalaya on the other side. So I, of course, took the road less traveled. After about 15 miles of driving 20 mph at times so as not to rattle every bolt on Ziggy loose, I came to a road that led to Catahoula. I thought when they are naming towns Catahoula you know you are in the country. I wondered if wild hogs were near. I asked a guy riding a bike if this were the proper road to Lake Fausse and yes, he thought I could make it through. I wondered at a few of the mud holes where I knew if I slid I would spend the night upside down in the van along the edge of the bayou. After about 20 more miles of this I came to the paved asphalt again that I would travel many times in the next few days. It intersected the road from St. Martinville. Seven more miles led to to a state park as nice as any I have seen. I paid my $12, an exercise I would repeat twice more in the next two days. There were 50 camping spots all in the same circle on the edge of the bayou. All the spots along the water were taken but I had a beautiful view from across the road and could see the eight bird feeders the woman across the way had hanging in the trees. I have never seen so many cardinals in one area. I turned Ziggy around and pulled in with my license to the street as the electric hookups seemed to be on the wrong side.
A woman stopped and asked where my green ribbon was. I look puzzled and she told me that she had spotted my ham radio license plate and that she thought I was part of the solo net. I assured her I wasn’t and after a
short visit she went on. They were all supposed to have green ribbons so they could recognize one another. The lows were to be in the 30’s on Sunday night but on Monday it should begin to warm up. I was glad the weatherman was right and kept thinking it was at least ten degrees colder in Arkansas. I was back into my winter wear and glad to have my hiking boots along. They kept my feet warm as well as out of the mud. On Monday morning things changed quickly. I was drinking coffee and wandered by a van down the way so I stopped a woman outside her van that had solo-net on it. I asked what is this solo-net and she informed me it was a group that meets on a list on the internet. The requirements were basicly that you were single and liked to camp. Well that sure included me. She suggested I walk up and meet the group sitting outside having coffee. There I met Sharon, Don, Bob, Jersey Bob, Pat, and I am not sure of all the names.I then went for a morning bike ride.
I noticed that over the bayou there were two trails: A and B. B was 1.6 miles to the left and A was .75 miles to the right. I was going on the shorter one but after I rode up the hill I forgot which was which and took B. It was a fabulous ride down a narrow and muddy trail that followed the edge of the island. There were a couple of small hills and several obstacles over which to ride. At one point there was a look out deck that provided a nice view of Lake Fausse. I continued to what I felt was almost the end of the circle when I found myself on a flooded part of the trail stepping through the water. Then I wondered where alligators hang out as well as where the trail went. I thought the orange streamers in the trees were to mark the trail but as I couldn’t see the trail it reminded me of hoping the battery would charge by the time I got to Hope. I wasn’t sure what the orange streamers were so I turned back. It was a longer ride than I intended but delightful and what I had gone to Louisiana looking for. I was glad I was on a bike and not walking through all the muddy spots. It is sometimes difficult to ride around cypress knees and you sure don’t ride over them! The sun was warming the day and the jacket finally came off. By the time I stopped by the group having coffee I was quite muddy but smiling for sure. When Don asked Sharon if his cup would get washed if he left it there and I replied, “Only if it rained” they knew I belonged in the group. They were making plans for outings for the day and told me to come to a wine and cheese party that night at Cabin 3.I had leftover catfish for lunch and took off for Avery Island and the tabasco factory. A fifty cent entry fee for road maintenance got me down to the gift shop. Here I bought botttles of tabasco for gifts and got a $5 ticket
for a tour of the Jungle Gardens developed by one of the earlier McIlhennys. I went to the gift shop by the plant where I found the items very nice and very pricey. I was surprised they even have their own jeans. I left with a tiny sample of tabasco, which I don’t like anyway, and went into the factory. I didn’t notice the sign for where the free tour starts but went up from the exit and watched them bottle sauce for awhile. As I left I saw the sign for the beginning of the tour but decided it was time for nature. The drive through the gardens was serene amid the majestic live oaks with Spanish moss hanging over nicely manicured lawns where it was ok to pull off just about anywhere. There were azalea, fern, Camellia, and wisteria gardens. The drive past one sign that warned not to feed the alligators soon provided my only glimpse of an alligator that was lazing on the bank beyond a pond. I soon saw some nutria, swamp rats, that were nibbling about and didn’t seem to be disturbed by my presence. I walked down to the area that McIlhenny had set aside for the breeding of egrets where they and I both soaked up the warm afternoon sun. After all the egrets I observed through the week it is hard to believe they were once endangered, or thought to be.At four I headed back through New Iberia and to my temporary home on the bayou, thankful for the map that listed the different highways I would take. When I arrived at cabin 4 I realized there were more solo-netters
there than I had thought. The ice chest of beer, offer of champagne, and table full of snacks led me to soon know this was my kind of group. We visited and shared stories and laughed and danced for some time. About dark thirty I hopped on my bike and rode home in the pitch dark. I had forgot there would be no street lights for the return trip. One of the guys was Byron, a ham operator; Jane had rented cabin 3 and drove a vw, one was from Galveston, one makes jerky and I got his recipe; and Jersey Bob was from where but New Jersey. It was quite a friendly and fun group. I also found out about other groups, Loners on Wheels, for one. I learned that match making was not part of their intent and that quite a few are full timers, preferring to even sell their homes to live in their rvs. They had all moved their homes to be close on the circle but I chose to stay where I was and view the bayou. That was what I had come to see and they were just extra and unexpected. I had learned that the old Cajun homes on the bayous like you see in the pictures do not dot the countryside any longer. They have done rather well economically, and some very well thanks to the discovery of oil. At night I enjoyed reading Cajun Country, a book I had checked out of the library before I left for the journey. Not to forget, I had a stack of brochures as usual each day.Monday began with coffee and a visit with the solo group. Some of them were going to Avery
Island but I had been there and done that. I had to make hay while the sun shined as they were spending a week and I was running out of time. On Wednesday Mary was leaving for Florida and it was my turn to be home. I drove to St. Martinville and then toured the Longfellow-Evangeline Center a few miles 
north on 31. I had passed it previously and worried that I might be sorry if I didn’t stop. It was a pleasant, warm, sunny day as I drove among the oaks. For $2 I had a guided tour of a home built there in 1813. Then I visited the museum where I learned for the first time that Spanish moss had been used widely for stuffing furniture and mattresses. I pondered at the small Cajun house placed next to the museum and then soaked up some sun down by the bayou.Then it was north on 31 to 10 east and a quick exit to Henderson. I had decided I did want to take a swamp tour. The tour lasted a little long but we had a leisurely tour of the swamp by a cute Cajun with a really cuter accent.
Actually I guess I was the one there with the accent. He told how the families actually had lived in the swamp and traveled by boat, hunting and harvesting both the wildlife and most of the cypress trees. They even had a school in the swamp and had a school boat that delivered the children. We saw several herons and egrets but no other wildlife. It was still a little cool and early for the alligators to be out and about. Water hyacinths were everywhere and I was sure they wouldn’t mind if I filled a couple of trash bags to be transported to the pond. They are like weeds there, clogging the waterways and multiplying profusely. But I still bet it is pretty when they bloom.After the tour I started home via 31 south but knew all along I wanted to drive out to Lake Martin near Parks where I had read there was a bird sanctuary. So when I saw the sign I turned right. This is a place that is hardly advertised at all
but a treasure for tourists in my mind. It was a beautiful lake covered with cypress and moss. There were signs that warned against getting too near alligators. I saw herons, an ibis, egrets, and purple and yellow iris blooming along the shore. I couldn’t resist pulling a couple for the pond. Then I came to a nesting area where the egrets in the trees looked like large fluffy flakes that fell from a heavy snow and settled on the branches of the trees. It was about four and the egrets were coming in to nest for the night. Quite a few herons were also nesting in the area. Of course when I got to the end of the road I turned left instead of right and had to stop and ask which way home. I turned around and soon found the end of the road and 31. The guys at the NPS had left out a little road when they drew in the road to Lake Martin on my map. One of them lived at Parks, a small community nearby and had offered that I could camp in his driveway, but I never found out which one it was because Lake Fausse Point was my place of choice.
I pulled into camp at 5 and Bob from Colorado hollered as I went by that we would have a crawfish boil and hobo stew at cabin 3. I felt bad I had nothing to offer but joined anyway. What a treat! The girl that worked the park office with the turquoise fingernails lived about four miles down the road. Her husband Jimmy had 150 crawfish traps and not only caught, but cooked the crawfish for us. He didn’t have to talk long before one knew he was Cajun. It was a fine evening. Crawfish, potatoes, corn, hobo stew and new friends. I felt I was on the bayou now! On Tuesday morning we reconvened at cabin 3 for Don’s
biscuits and gravy. It is amazing at the quantity of food this group consumed. Jane had rented cabin 3 as her rv was not ready, or maybe she didn’t have one, I forget. The cabins were excellent. They had two bedrooms with four bunk beds in one and a double bed in the other. The screened in porch was nice and the cabin was built over the water. At $65 a day what a deal. After I went back to get ready to leave I couldn’t resist roller blading around the loop. It was part of the original plan but I found the asphalt a little rougher than I had hoped and hard to get going. I also had to go back to the trails 
and ride the other part of loop B and then around loop A. What a fine ride. I had coffee with the next door neighbors and I told them about Hot Springs and the art community. They were excited to learn that and gave me their old Good Sam’s Directory.Then about noon it was a must to head north. By now it was sunny and mid 70s and leave was not something I wanted on the list. But leave I did. I couldn’t find my map of the roads back to St. Martinville, so I missed a turn and wound up in New Iberia. No problem, I turned north and drove through St. Martinville one more time and then stopped in Breaux Bridge where I finally got to pick up the previously needed brochures at the tourist center. I had a lovely crawfish etoufee lunch at the Cafe des Amis. It is a cute artsy place with a good clientele. Then I meandered up 31, crossed 10, and took 347, 103, 743, 49, 112, 121, 28, 8 171, ??, 3229. I traveled beside bayous, saw some older Cajun houses, enjoyed the scenery and the weather. In Leonville a school bus threw a rock into the center of the windshield and when it cracked I felt it was all the non-retired teacher friends having their say. So I laughed and traveled on. I couldn’t make up my mind where to camp. I still had wanted to go to the area near Alexandria with the wild azalea trail in Kisatchie National Forest, but I decided forests are for hot days and I didn’t want to be in the shade so I proceeded with the original plan. The drive among the azaleas and dogwoods was most enjoyable along the back roads most of the way where I arrived at Toledo Bend State Park just before dusk. The park was nice but not so attractive as my home of the last three days. A great place to be if fishing is the priority I am sure. As I pulled into my site the kid across the way yelled, “Look, one just like ours!” There was an 80 vw Westfalia, the same ugly brown as Ziggy. A couple from Austin had bought it for $500 and moved the rats out and were restoring it. Thursday morning we visited and he was exited to take a look at Ziggy and figure out the way things were supposed to be. I had a nice morning walk through the park, water colored some post cards and then decided the trip was all but over. North on 171, around Shreveport, north on 3 to Arkansas, Hope, and home about 2. What a great week it was. And it was beginning to get cloudy and supposed to rain again. What perfect timing! I had been 1371 miles in one week, much of it spent back and forth between nowhere and elsewhere.
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