Remember how I had told of my girlfriend's ultimatum in Pisa, Italy. That if it was raining the next day, she was catching a plane home? Well, as things worked out, that was the last rain we encountered for the rest of the trip! None, nada; for the rest of Europe, England, and so far, the U.S.. We rolled along the coast, enjoying relatively warm (far January) weather, meeting friendly folks and eating LOTS of local seafood. We were approaching New Orleans and started calling a fellow I hadn't heard of for a long time-Kreikle. His father, for those of you new to the scene, was an old time over-the-road BMW rider, who owned a rather run down city block about four blocks from the French Quarter. Every Mardis Gras, a rally-like encampment called Arnoldville, would spring up in the back yards of these houses. Alas, Arnold was killed just outside Acapulco, heading for the New Year's rally there, before I could meet him. His son, Kreikle, seemed to be carrying on the tradition, in the form of Kreikleville.

We called a few times, no response; so we rolled in, spent a few hours in the Quarter and then rode across the lake to a motel. Finally got a hold of Kreikle that evening. He told us to come on back the next day, "park your bikes in back, strip them down, put all your gear in my workshop: here's the combination to the lock". So, the next day we did just that, wandered out the old parts of New Orleans for the day - great time. We especially enjoyed the drink-as-you-walk-around beer and Daiquiris. As evening approached, we returned, no Kreikle. Night fell, our host was no where to be seen. So, we unrolled the pads and sleeping bag in the workshop on the wood floor. Come morning, still no Kreikle. We finally had to be heading to Baton Rouge so we left a note at his door and headed north. I finally got to meet and thank this gracious host 16 months later when he staggered into the National Rally first aid station in Durango, with heat exhaustion! Just one more example of BMW friendship and hospitality, as personified by our "virtual host".

Stayed with Frank and Frances in Baton Rouge, two very nice BMW riders who have been out west a number of times. More good food and drink, also, a visit to the local dealer, who just happened to be in the middle of parting out a /5. I quickly put in a bid for the front brakes. While in the campground in Istanbul, I had pulled apart the front brake assembly due to a progressive loss of braking. I discovered that the shoe material was totally worn through in a couple of small places, with the aluminum backing showing through. This was at about 306,000 miles. Not a pleasing find in this Turkish campground. I reassembled the unit, adjusted it so the shoe would contact in different places and so it worked for the rest of the trip! Still, it was a relief to properly replace them with a used set with only 60K miles on them. We left Baton Rouge for Shreveport, encountering the first rain since Pisa, Italy, as we neared the city. The storm intensified, turning into freezing rain as we arrived at Vaughan's. He's the older brother of one of my best friends, teaches medical students at LSU. One of the more serious and organized party animals I have ever known. At this point of the trip, my girlfriend decided she had enjoyed as much touring as she could stand and called her parents, who were sunbirding in their RV, a couple of hundred miles away in Texas. As Vaughan and I were preparing to drive back south to Cajon country, she took off with them.

Mardis Gras in places like Crowly, Mamou, Chickapi and other small towns was a four day blur of dancing, parades, hog butcherings and dawn rides chasing chickens across farmers' fields. Even got to meet David Duke at one gumbo party. Lots of men, wearing brightly colored robes and pointy hoods, on horseback. Startling silhouettes against the rising sun at dawn. Good, exhausting time. Vaughan and I drove back up on Ash Wednesday, nice and quiet, as we began Lent. I was ready to head home.

The final two days of the journey that began 18 months earlier, with me riding to the East Coast and on the Europe, went quickly and uneventfully. To cross Texas and New Mexico took three days, I stayed in motels, having sent the camping gear with the lady and her folks. In mid-February, I arrived to a totally trashed house, every plant I owned dead, and my circle of friends. Time to reconnect and resume life at home.

To be continued... Matt Parkhouse

[As real life goes on, halfway though the writing of this part, I got a phone call telling me that Tom, of Tom and Kate, committed suicide in prison this morning. Guess that tragedy has a few more parts of its own...]