New Orleans

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Malcolm Suber Speaking at the Anti-ALEC Rally at the Federal Courthouse on Poydras

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Today’s ride took me down to the Federal Courthouse on Poydras, a place that saw a lot of action today. The verdicts were in on the Danziger 7: guilty, guilty, guilty, all 25 counts. I was shocked. I am not used to the police being held accountable for violence against people of color, not at all. Now, I am under no illusions that putting a few individual men in prison fixes a social problem–I mean, we’ve got to reckon with the part where this just might be the system working like it’s supposed to. And I don’t think we should be putting anybody in prison–that’s not the safety I want. But these convictions mean something, that police can’t do these things under the cover of disaster. That is huge, and it is good for all of us. This afternoon the place was the stage for a different show, a protest against the meeting of ALEC, a right wing think tank with a purchased place at the government table. I took this picture of Malcolm Suber as he reminded us that we are in a class war, but it’s rich against poor, and we best start fighting back. And then we walked, me pushing my bicycle as I listened to R. tell me stories about learning to be an activist, talking about how we teach those lessons. Round and round the Marriot we went, so many lessons in this day.

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View of the Swamp From the Cajun Pride Swamp Tour in LaPlace

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Today’s bike ride was a short one, just to the drugstore and back for cash to feed my bagel and coffee habit now that I’m back in Central City–La Playa, you’ve got my number. I am just so tired from these final days of packing and saying goodbye that I just don’t have the energy to do much of anything. But man, I liked the look of my bike locked up with that New Orleans background. a neighborhood acquaintance stopped by, reintroduced himself from that COMSTAT meeting we were both at after Serpas announced they’d be open to the public. “I’d recognize that Surly anywhere,” he said. Yeah, I’m going to miss that small town feel when I move, but I bet I’ll get it back. After another round of sorting, I gasp got in the car and drove out to LaPlace for a swamp tour–didn’t seem right to leave town without one. I was the only person flying solo, but that happens to me all the time. I felt a lot more out of place being the only one who hadn’t seen Swamp People. There were so many alligators, too many, even. I could have don’t with an extra great blue heron or two, though that raccoon family was a total bonus. I snapped this picture while the boast was stopped to let everyone pass around that poor baby alligator for pictures. The swamp is really, really beautiful. I look forward to a return.

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Stay Tuned For Something Special At Louisiana & St. Charles

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Tonight’s ride took me to Carrollton to meet M., K., and J. for dinner. I wasn’t much in the mood for a ride, but I knew that was all the more reason to take the bike. The sky had that look about it, so I wasn’t surprised to get caught in a shower. It wasn’t the kind of rain that makes you have to pull over for safety, more the medium setting on the nozzle at a hotel. And then all of a sudden it eas over and the asphalt was dry. Nice. After dinner I sped down St. Charles as fast as I could, enjoying the feel of the slightly cooler air. I stopped to take a picture of this banner promising exciting new things at the empty hull that used to be Border’s, built with millions in Go Zone dollars, open for about fifteen minutes, and now empty again. But something special is going to be here soon. Maybe it won’t be a big box bookstore or funeral home, but surely it will be something special, which mostly means somewhere to buy something that’s not actually really special at all. For M.’s sake, I hope it’ an H&M. Pedal, pedal, pedal, froyo with S. that helpfully returned my eyes front, and then home. Yep, I needed a bike ride.

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Generators at Chartres & Elysian Fields

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It was so, so hot today, so I spent most of it inside in air conditioned comfort. I rode to the coffee shop to meet M. for a work date, likely our last for awhile. Afterward I made the quick ride to the bar to meet M. for a Pimm’s cup and a little scuttlebutt. She is going to do just fine here. By the time we finished dinner it had cooled off just enough for a ride around the Bywater. I stopped to take a picture of this power station on Chartres and Elysian Fields. It looks eerie at night, with its coils and heft and height. It is imposing, but it has become so much a part of my landscape I don’t even see it anymore. But it’s there, and that part where we all use energy like there’s no tomorrow? That will catch up to us sooner or later, so we best not forget what we started. When the machines rise up, they atent going to look like people, but they are going to have effects we didn’t plan for. And then there’s the part where it’s kind of beautiful. I contined my ride home and thought about what it might be like to ride a bike in autumn.

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Helmetless Head Riding Around The French Quarter

I woke up tired and feeling a little sickly, and I knew it was bad when I left my house with my bike but no helmet. What! I always wear my helmet. I read a story about health officials coming out against mandatory helmet laws, arguing partly that there isn’t conclusive evidence helmets decrease serious injuries for cyclists as a group. I rode my bike a mile and a half to brunch, all naked-headed. Yeah, that just doesn’t feel right. I didn’t even feel carefree, wind in my hair, all that jazz. A helmet on my head is what feels normal to me. I was so tired I went ahead and drove to E.’s house this evening. I can’t really believe people feel so scared to ride a bike and yet so safe in a car–there’s so much heavy metal hurtling through space at high speeds! But we make the trade off for the convenience of the thing to get us more places faster. I wear my seatbelt, or my helmet, neither of which takes the place of defensive driving/riding. And then there’s the faith that the people behind you are going to respect your space. It is totally worth it to get to ride a bike, and the more us us do, the safer we all are, helmet or not.

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People Dancing at the St. Roch Tavern on St. Claude & St. Roch

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After two whole days off the bicycle–a shockingly rare event in my life in the past three years–I was a little nervous getting back on today. What if I don’t like it anymore? Yeah, that’s what my obsessions look like these days. Anyway, I needn’t have worried; it felt so good to just pedal and pedal and pedal. I headed Uptown to see J. and her sangria, and I spent most of the ride thinking about road conditions and the stickers I want to design that will say, “Don’t park in my bike lane; it’s all I have.” I spent a lovely couple of hours and was back on my bike to meet R. and family for dinner. After an ice cream pit stop, I took the bike, and headed to M.’s for poker night. I took Willow, marvelling at how terrible the asphalt was. I mean, this is paved road in only the most technical of senses. After losing my chips and my patience, I got back on the bike and rode as fast as I could back downtown to lay eyeballs on S. I took only smooth roads on this ride, pushing a hard gear so it felt like flying, until I got to the Quarter, when it was time to put eyes on the road surface. A brief stop here and there and then I was locking up the bike for dancing. I snapped this picture after taking a break to watch other people move their feet. I could say a lot about this place, but mostly tonight I thought about the world that’s going on as we move across surfaces. Takea minute, look down. And then all of a sudden it was time to go home, an easy roll back to the apartment. Yeah, I really needed a bike ride.

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Beignets and Coffee at Cafe Du Monde on Decatur

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I haven’t felt much in the mood for bicycling in the past couple of days. Crazy, I know, but as my days in New Orleans wind down, I feel myself moving to walking speed. Yesterday I paced back and forth through the Quarter, picking up $10 in the process. Today I drove around town running errands and shipping the first bunch of boxes to Baltimore. Tonight I walked over to the bar/restaurant for dinner and drinks with friends, some of whom I met too late, but isn’t that always the way. M. walked me homr for some conversation and cat talking with Z. I walked her to her truck and took her offered ride to Cafe du Monde for late night beignets and coffee, a nice walk home to follow. I can see the outlines of the goodbye tour; sometimes the bike ride is simply be too fast. Oh, I miss you already. Sometimes you just need to walk it off.

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Broken Down Shopping Cart at Governor Nicholls & North Rampart

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Today’s ride took me to the Irish Channel to meet K. for dinner at the place where we’ve been having dinner for three years. I’m spending the month in the Marigny, so the ride was uptown instead of downtown, which it was for most of my time in New Orleans. After dinner I headed to J. and B.’s house for a dinner party–I kept it to dessert. Ordinarily I would take Jeff Davis to get there, but tonight I went Piydras to Galvez to Orleans, following the bike lanes and sharrows. I rode home the same way and then through the Treme. I rolled along Governor Nicholls, but not to stop at S.’s place–she moved over to Barracks. I stopped for traffic at N. Rampart and took a picture of this broke-down shopping cart on the corner. I had no idea their front wheels could go flat. I wonder how many different streets this cart rolled down to end up here, waiting for the bus. I mean, I don’t think there’s a Winn Dixie in the neighborhood. There’s the tiny Rouse’s in the corner, but other than that, the area is pretty much limited to drugstore groceries, and I need more than cereal, peanut butter, and Folger’s coffee. That’s what I miss most about living Uptown–easy access to fresh food. This neighborhood must be starving.

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Dita Von Teese As An Orientalist Fantasy at the House of Blues on Decatur

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I had a lovely day, up early, got some work done at the coffee shoppe, and then got a good bike ride in, first to R.’s place for a little bike lesson and a lot of catching up. It has been moons since our last session, and R. claimed to have forgotten everything she knew. I moved the seat down for her so she could sit and shuffle, pumped up the tires, and away we went. After mere minutes she did three revolutions on her own–she can ride a bike! I left her with my two cardinal bike rules: the faster you go, the easier it is to balance, so just keep pedaling, and second, look where you want to go, not where you don’t want to go, which is really a basic life philosophy. She promised to practice and I continued my ride Uptown to meet C. and H. for burritos and cat visitation before speeding back downtown to swap shoes and bag before pedaling back out to meet J. for Dita Von Teese’s burlesque show at the House of Blues. I could go on and on about the show, especially the part where Dirty Martini was there with her twirling tassles…she’s amazing, but you know what? That closing number? The one where Dita is some kind of Orientalist fantasy, from the “opium pipe” down to the hair and the awkward bowing? Yeah, that just kills my buzz. I’m sure I could make a case for it being an interesting mimesis that subverts yadda yadda yadda, but really, come on, can we please get a break from those tired tropes, especially when we’re a bunch of white people? Thanks in advance. After that bout of humorless feminist I was ready to head home, grateful for J.’s offer to drive me and my bike, because it is way past my bedtime.

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Fresh Mint at a Bar on Rampart & Dumaine

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Today is one of those days that just runs away from you, best laid plans be damned. The bicycle rides have been similarly fruitless, first in the middle of a downpour after what otherwise was a positively lovely lunch with new friends I met too late and then this bike ride to the fancy bar on North Rampart to meet M., but it turns out we got our Mondays mixed up. I’m thinking we both have moving on the brain–she’s still in Georgia and I’m still in New Orleans and those facts can leave us a bit addled. Sigh. But that means I get to sit here and have a couple of drinks by myself while watching the place fill up. First it was the hipster couple–he knows a lot about what makes water carbonated. Then it was the woman with the book, waiting for her mess of friends–that table reminds me there’s a whole world of thirty something straight women I don’t know anything about, but I hope the sunglasses-on-the-head lady has a good blind date later, in spite of her headache. Then there were the tourists from New York by way of South Florida who are relating to our just-here-for-the-summer bartender until they started sharing pictures of their cats with me. I can totally play that game. And then the two guys on a date and the other hipsters and now the bar is full. Hi, everybody! Time to ride my bike home cheerfully in the after-rain, toss a salad and heat up a pizza, and watch some TV. Not a bad ending after all.