Susan B Anthony 1896: "Bicycling has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world"

Week 4: Fredericksburg TX to DeRidder LA 469 Miles. 16,000ft elevation 1967 Total Miles

Word of the week: wildflowers. Hundreds of miles of them. Blue Bonnets, Indian Paintbrush, Calliopsis, Desert-Chicory, Evening Primrose. Patches where it looked like someone threw a paint can out of a car window, ribbons of them in different colors sometimes so thick it was just a carpet, and then entire fields of them. Sometimes the flowers were so prolific and the traffic so light that we could smell the flowers. Other times the reverse.

Nice shot of Bill hanging with the big dogs. Random shots from this week that I couldn't bring myself to leave out.

Just me and the flowers

Gravel was the pits, sweaty lenses was one result

B-team herded by Dennis, still on the gravel.

Tuesday March 28 Fredericksberg TX to Buda TX Elevation: 702ft

Temp: 58f - 65f Ascent: 5026ft Distance 88 Miles

Flags in Texas are as plentiful as they are elsewhere in the country, but here there is an almost 1:1 ratio of US and Texas flags.

Big climbing day—third greatest ascent of the trip. And tough winds to boot.

"Live oaks and dead oaks" What's a live oak and why do they seem to be dying? Live oak or evergreen oak is any of a number of oaks in several different sections of the genus Quercus that share the characteristic of evergreen foliage. The name live oak comes from the fact that evergreen oaks remain green and "live" throughout winter, when other oaks are dormant and leafless. The name is used mainly in North America, where evergreen oaks are widespread in warmer areas along the Atlantic coast from southeast Virginia to Florida, west along the Gulf Coast to Louisiana and Mexico, and across the southwest to California. Since they are oaks, live oaks are obviously not true evergreens. They will drop their old leaves in the winter and regain new ones in the spring. The leaf drop usually occurs over 2-3 weeks. During this time, some live oaks may begin growing new leaves as the old ones fall off while others will begin growing their new leaves after the old ones have fallen. So the answer to the question is probably "They are not dead, leaves will reappear shortly." That said, leaf drop is also a symptom of disease or death. Common live oak diseases include oak wilt, fungal leaf spotting, root rot, and insect problems.

Double photo op. We passed a huge carcass and could not figure out what it was, but a half dozen black vultures were hard at work making it disappear. We passed a property called Donkey Oates. We passed a pair of scissor-tailed fly-catchers towing their distinctive long tails as they cavorted around the telegraph lines. And finally there were pump jacks, aka nodding donkeys, though only one of them was actually nodding. First of several sightings.

Yes, I'll stay this side of the fence if you promise to stay that side. Just outside Austin a lovely piece of bike path followed Highway 45 for several miles at a very civilized distance until it dumped us out unceremoniously at the rotary leading to another shoulderless highway.

. Budaful. Sign outside town, reminding you how to pronounce it. With perfect timing, we pulled up at a railroad crossing just as the gates closed and then had the pleasure and and very-close-up view of an entire train slowly rolling through.

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Dinner was at the Hat Creek Burger Company (I got the plastic mug) Dennis apologized for the burger-joint choice not being up to standard, but variety is the spice of life. It was actually better than average because everything was cooked to order, and the foam on the beverage was that they served beer, and not only that they had a local one on tap. It was a good job it did not take long though, because the one thing we were really not prepared for was how cold it was both inside and outside the restaurant. I lent Dave-the-Younger my extra jacket. It also started to rain. That's the second time it has rained, and the second time we were already done by the time it started. Shortest dinner and then I think we all pretty much bundled up in bed as soon as we got home.

As I've been writing up this adventure over these many weeks I've been struck by how infrequently some names come up, and how frequently others do and I've been wondering how much of a problem that is? I think this is partly a testament to how well the team acted as a team, and partially because I'm not very chatty on the road so I did not have many memorable conversations. So when I affectionately refer to the big dogs or the B Team, I really did think of us as a unit rather than individual players. When Dave-the-Younger came by with Doug on his tail and Betsy on Doug's tail, it was just the big dogs going by. Maybe Keven and Steven were right there with them, maybe they were a few seconds behind. Another time, another order. Who cares. And when we sat for lunch or supper everything was random. Names, individuals, do not matter. It was the whole crew. The whole family. It was tremendously reassuring.

More powerfully, the team changed up, with Top Gun Craig leaving as planned, to be replaced by Shelley a "much slower rider" who has therefore been assigned to join "The B Team" (myself and Dave-the-Elder, who bring up the rear). It is a tremendous act of courage for her as she is picking up where she left the 2022 ride after two of her buddies were knocked down by a hit-and-run driver in Austin. One was seriously injured, but the other died of his injuries three days later. They have never found the driver. Half the team gave up on the spot, understandably, and Shelley swore she would never ride again. But here she is, facing her demons. We do not ride through Austin any more.

In my head, in hindsight, writing this much later, this was a watershed moment, not just the team but the whole trip changing up:

• Rough tough brown desert replaced by green rolling hills
• Rough tough accommodation (loved 'em) replaced by Holiday Inns and their brethren. The array of (sometimes extremely) humble but clean motels and hotels in the west provided a constant reminder that hospitality comes down to the warmth of human connection, not the Egyptian cotton thread count.
• A steady routine, not figuring stuff out day by day
• It's not that I was ever "alone" or lonely. But Part 1 was more varied, in Part 2 the B Team now became inseparable. We rode every mile together, and the crew just felt like a well-oiled machine ...
• ... and improved immeasurably by adding Shelley to the mix

Wednesday March 29 Buda TX to Giddings TX Elevation: 505ft

Temp: 56f - 70f Ascent: 2864ft Distance 74 Miles

"Much slower" Shelley is no such thing. This was clearly a big deal for her and though she put on a brave face, she was equally clearly pretty vulnerable. She was just a perfect fit for the B-Team, loving to stop to take photos, then riding hard to the next opportunity. It was a huge privilege to be riding side by side with her with support and encouragement.

This was a lovely day with much lighter winds, and half the climbing. Betsy was so happy to have another female in the group she hung with us all day. I was even goaded into racing her up one of the longer hills, a major tactical error I discovered as I glanced back to see the big dogs gaining on us, so there was zero possibility of me pretending I wasn't trying. Nobody caught up. A serious waste of energy but a necessary save of face. Of course as soon as I stopped at the summit the big dogs blew by and sailed off into the distance.

At one not so lovely pitstop at the corner of a major junction, Bobby sent me up the side road to occupy me while I waited for the B-Team to be released. I crested the hill about 150 yards up the road and there spread before me as far as the eye could see was the Circuit of the Americas. If you've been living under a rock, or perhaps more likely, over a saddle, you might not know that this is a major motor racing circuit, famous to me anyway as a sometime host of the US Formula 1 Grand Prix, including on October 22 2023, a year when it will be one of no fewer than three US Grand Prix. What a treat. Bobby was watching me as I returned. He said nothing but just gave a little shrug to say "I told ya." I gave him a big thumbs up and he nodded and turned away.

We stopped at Bastrop State Park for lunch, and a bunch of folks bought their cycling jerseys, then we headed further in to the picnic spot. By then Bill was missing. About halfway through lunch he finally rolled into view, already most of the way through one of two of the biggest doughnuts I've ever seen. They would have had to be stacked on a dinner plate.

It was a long day, and Dennis made an executive decision to keep us on the main road for the last 10 miles into town instead of the planned (but much rougher and slightly longer) country road. About 9 miles on, when we stopped to take pictures of the town sign, Bill turned around to go the way he wanted, even though a group of us, including Bobby were right there, and riding into town together.

It may have only been Day 1, but we already knew about Shelley and her Dairy Queen habit. So when I spotted one about a mile from home, I suggested we got started the way we intended to go on. One slight flaw with the plan was that it was on the other side of a four lane not-divided highway. After a huge amount of time and a similar amount of good sense, Dave-the-Elder gave up on the chicken dash and headed home. But that's the story of how I got to try my first small dipped cone, hosted by Shelley the DQ queen herself, (Betsy recording the moment) and thereby accidently starting a daily tradition to hunt down a DQ in which to end the ride. Los Patrones was a classic, typical, Mexican restaurant, with unremarkable but vibrant Mexican decor, and outstanding food, only outclassed by the margherita smoothies served in pint beer mugs. I had Carnitas Mexicanas (sliced pork tossed with guacamole, jalapeños, tomato/onion salad, beans and rice) and remember it clearly. But not as clearly as remember those margheritas.

Shelley's first DQ of the trip. My first DQ ever.

I'm enjoying every day, and the fact that every day is different, and that no matter how long, how crazy the wind, how steep the grade, my legs just keep providing the power. So it doesn't matter about pushing up a big hill early in the day, because in a few minutes I'll be back to full power. And I'm amazed that I still have not yet had a flat (others have had as many as four) and that it has still not rained on us. But every day we all stress about the direction and strength of the wind, and now to add to the challenge, whether or not it is going to rain.

So the thing I look forward to most when this is all done-and-dusted is not worrying about that. About enjoying the fact that it is pissing with rain and it does not matter, I don't care. Likewise the monotony of the breakfast, ride, beer, dinner, rinse, repeat likewise has a spiritual rhythm to it that is wonderful, and I look forward to starting out on each day's adventure, but I look forward to not doing it. To having a beer at the squash club or True West, my familiar stomping grounds with my familiar drinking buddies. To the pilgrimage in the rear view mirror. And it truly is a pilgrimage. Life before it is a bit of a mirage, kept alive by the wonderful encouragement and support of Where's Wally the family WhatsApp group, my daily check-ins with Claudia and the incredible voyage made by my bros and Grimmy, which the team is still talking about.

Thursday March 30 Giddings TX to Navasoto TX Elevation: 213ft

Temp: 64f - 75f Ascent: 3481ft Distance 81 Miles

This morning, we started off the ride on a 3-mile gravel road. We watched deer jump over fences and passed a ranch with exotic game. This ranch is one of many that we’ve passed, where exotic animals are caught and imported into the ranch for hunting purposes.

An old man (even by our standards) in the breakfast room chewed Dave's ear off, wanting to know who we were, where we were going. He reminisced about a huge US / Canada trip he had taken himself, but on his Harley. Sorry to say he told us the model of the Corvette he was currently driving which clearly should have impressed us, but it went right over our heads. Or it did until he started it up a few minutes later. The entire hotel vibrated and rattled.

It was extremely dark, with low black clouds threatening to open up at any second. Twenty miles down the road we bumped into someone who had just driven from Giddings (so set off an hour later) and indeed it was now raining cats and dogs. But once more, not actually raining on us until about lunchtime when a shower came through, giving us a reasonable soaking, but we were only 20 miles from home by then, and with the temperature in the 80's it was a non-issue.

Armadillos! Roadkill of course. Texas speedbumps as they are known locally. The emus we saw were alive and well, as were the white-tailed deer which cleared the 5ft fence on one side of the road, crossed in front of us, and cleared the similar fence on the other side then kept going towards the line of trees on the other side of the meadow.

Another nodding donkey was this time accompanied by a gas release pipe sporting a three or four foot flame.

We stopped for lunch at Old Baylor Park in Independence, TX. This is the site where Baylor College and Baylor Female College first opened their doors in 1846 and was the precursor to modern-day Baylor University, now located in Waco, TX. It was clearly a very meaningful spot for most of the visitors who dutifully read the various plagues and gazed at what was left of the old college.

It would have been a lovely spot if we were not all watching the black clouds accumulating ominously none more so than the crew. In fact for once I didn't really enjoy my lunch, resenting every second that we were not on the road beating the rain home. I don't think I could even sit down.

A tough day for Shelley and Dennis. Last year Shelley tagged along in the van while trying to sort out her flights home. This was as her final day, and tragically the day her friend Keith finally died. She and Dennis had arranged for us all to meet at her favorite, Dairy Queen, for a ceremonial ice-cream and remembrance.

In typically tone-deaf fashion, having dragged his feet to make sure he was dead last to arrive, Bill keeping everyone waiting long enough that we were basically done by the time he showed up. He managed to cap off Shelley's lovely and impassioned little speech with a flippant remark to the waitress that was so completely inappropriate in topic, tone, and volume that I thought Bobby was going to deck him on the spot, client be damned.

Tomorrow Shelley is finally on new ground.

Friday March 31 Navasoto TX to Cleveland TX Elevation: 150ft

Temp: 74f - 84f Ascent: 2756ft Distance 75 Miles

Once again it rained overnight.

I've never seen anything like the parallel-to-road cracks we encountered, sometimes with a two or three inch drop from one edge to the other, and generally with a gap between them just the right width to drop a bike wheel into.

The Texas Hill country got less and less hilly every day, until they were truly rolling: so steaming down one side got you two-thirds of the way up the other before any gear change, and the new abundance of trees helped hugely to protect against the wind. We finally entered Sam Houston State Forest—trees!—a towering and endless corridor of fragrant pine, cedar, magnolia, and deciduous trees on either side of the road. We passed itty bitty fires in the State Forest that for the most part we could smell rather than see. The trees provided almost total protection from the usual cross-wind until we broke cover to cross Lake Conroe, the largest body of water we'd seen since the Pacific. Furious at the futility of its efforts for the previous several hours, the wind blasted across us, catching me so by surprise I nearly went down. Dave saw the correction and noted: "We are pretty good for a bunch of sweaty old geezers."

Classic Texan gas station pit stop.

Classic gas station snack for two pizza hounds.

Lake Conroe

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At one water stop we noticed these curious mud towers in the grass. They looked for all the world like worm castings except that they were huge—some were two or three inches tall. "Crawfish mounds" a local who'd stopped to chat assured us. Apparently they build mounds to protect themselves from predators and lay their eggs in them. Such holes can be 2-3 feet deep or more, depending on the water table. They dig down for safety, and to get to water by pushing mud and sand into place with its claws, then smoothing it out with its tail into what looks like a chimney. It turns out they are considered something of a pest: some of the other sites I looked up gave advice on how to get rid of them. Our chatty friend regaled us with tales of his travels, and provided me with a quote for the day when he described one location as having a population with "too many sticks in the mud." It seemed particularly appropriate next to our little field of crawfish mounds.

Dave was very excited to show me his find because he was sure I'd want to write it up. Yup.

B-Team+: RT; Betsy; Shelley; Dave-the-Elder.

Now that's what I call a long vehicle

Ranch Hand Cafe was a long way out of town and had neighbors whose decor was so creepy I couldn't even bring myself to take snapshots. Toilet bowls, half buried mannequins, foot-wide spiders dangling from the trees ... but I digress. The restaurant had rustic, cowboy-themed décor that covers every square inch of the walls. From mounted animal heads to old Coca-Cola signs to the obligatory license plate wall, "everything about this place screams 'Texas'". We spend a lot of time reading and photographing all the memorabilia on the wall. They were famous for their chicken fried steak and a bunch of people had that, but I'd learned weeks earlier that that was an acquired taste I was unlikely to acquire in this lifetime. They were also famous for their portion sizes and that definitely was well founded. Every serving was hanging over the side of its huge platter. Even the sandwiches and salads looked like family-style servings set down in front of a single individual.

Saturday April 1 Cleveland TX to Ingram / Lumberton TX Elevation: 59ft

Temp: 75f - 87f Ascent: 764ft Distance 69 Miles

More pine forests and underbrush burns today but much more ambitious, so that the smoke and ash as choking at times. Eventually we passed by a site that wasn’t just smoldering, it was burning up into some of the trees. The guy setting it was still there. He turned his 4x4 around and caught up with us: “This is called a controlled burn … … that is not under control.” He seemed totally unconcerned so we pressed on.

After a foggy start, as shown in this morning pic of the Trinity River, it climbed to high 80s. Fun fact about the Trinity River is that at 720 miles it is the longest river with its watershed entirely within the State of Texas.

Somewhere in here I developed an Achilles problem. At lunch Dennis and Bobby helped me prop the ankle up in an ice pack and this kept me going for the afternoon. I developed a routine of filling my room's ice bucket as soon as I got home, making a large drink of ice water in my Rudy's Bar-B-Q 32oz plastic bucket then used the rest to ice my ankle. I finished the drink before heading to cocktail hour (a rule), putting the remaining ice in the refrigerator. This normally kept the ice cold enough for some to be left to ice the heel again in the morning, and always left enough to cool off my gin night cap if I felt like one.

Oddly though I remember Tia Juanita's Fish Camp very clearly, I do not remember what I ate. But looking at the menu now I'm fairly confident that it would have included the char-grilled oysters and gumbo.

L to R: Billy-Bob; Dave-the-Younger; Kevin

Clockwise from my orange jacket: Bill; Shelley; D-t-E; Steven; Betsy; D-t-Y; Dennis; Doug; Kevin; Bobby

Sunday April 2 Lumberton TX to DeRidder LA Elevation: 203ft

Temp: 63f - 74f Ascent: 1112ft Distance 82 Miles

The rivers seem to be coming thick and fast now. This one is the Neches, which will eventually join the Sabine River at Sabine Lake before emptying into the Gulf of Mexico. The Sabine, as you will no doubt recall from kindergarten, is the river that divides Texas from Louisiana so we have that to look forward to today also.

One couple we talked to (I couldn't resist) were actually from Wisconsin, but were in town for the Texas Quick Draw competition (hence the attention-grabbing outfits).

By far the most popular vehicle was a pickup. And most pickups were pulling a trailer. If they were not pulling a trailer, but did have custom wheels, and particularly if they were black, then statistically they were most likely to be driven by an asshole (stomping on the gas, not leaving us enough room even when they had plenty, swerving into the hard shoulder in front of us and so on and so on).

In a classic move, Billy-Bob pulled out of a donut shop parking lot right in front of us. Of course he was steering with one hand while he held a donut with the other.

I don't have any notes on the ride so it must've been pretty humdrum. Certainly the elevation profile looks vanilla, wavering from 50-200ft and there was a significant amount of divided road work, which is rarely much fun. As we approached Louisiana, the route became a flat as a pancake. As it got flatter it was also getting hotter. By far the biggest excitement then was crossing the Sabine River (above) into Louisiana after 17 days of Texas. Louisiana has parishes instead of counties, due to early white settlers being Roman Catholic under French and Spanish rule. Boundaries generally coincided with church parishes when the U.S. bought the Louisiana Purchase in 1803. At a gas station water/pee stop, for once I went inside to use the facilities. A couple of guys were sitting in the back chewing the cud with the woman in charge of the store. One of them was quizzing the audience: "what is the most important medical advance, ever?" There was some speculation and I loitered unable to leave without knowing the answer to this fascinating question. When no one could stand the suspense any longer, the quiz master made his triumphant announcement: "cotton underwear!" I couldn't help laughing, but sadly I also did not feel I had enough time to wait for his defence so I left the store determined to research the idea when I got home. As I suspected, it has only become important since the invention of non-cotton underwear (no underwear is surely perfectly okay). Slightly less surprising is that it is much more important for women "because it allows the vagina to breath. I so wish I'd been around to hear whether he had included that little clarification to his (very) conservative-looking audience. Ironically, our last meal in Texas was Cajun, and our first meal in Louisiana was steak. Oh well. We walked kitty-corner across the street to the Double D Steakhouse for dinner. Arnold Palmers because the county is dry on Sunday (not the first time we've fallen foul of this misguided rule.) A whole bunch of fried starters: "trails tumbleweed" (aka bloomin' onion), fried mushrooms, fried pickles and then I had a filet mignon with okra and tomatoes. Normally this cut is so tender that if it accidently missed the grill altogether it would still be great, but for the first time ever this one seemed too raw. It was certainly too tough. Of course I ate it anyway thank you very much. Another week done and dusted.

L to R: Dave-the-Elder; Shelley; Betsy; RT

Monday April 3 DeRidder LA Day Off

It was hot. My Achilles problem was at it's height, and I felt very rough after last night's steak and / or the typically greasy, fried starters. I'm thinking the Blooming Onion was a prime suspect. But the result was a tough day of sore stomach, and regular doses of Pepto Bismol.

Meanwhile I continued to nurse the sore Achilles tendon with regular ice packs and the diclofenac sodium cream Dave-the-Younger lent me, which applies the pain killer / antiinflammatory directly through the skin. Together with the brace I found at Walmart I seemed to keeping things from getting worse.

Yes, I ventured into a Walmart! My first time! Our hotels were so often right next door to one I began to wonder if it was more than a coincidence. Anyway I bought new water bottles to replace the totally scuzzed out ones I'd brought from home (the black tea stains were the last straw—now I couldn't tell the difference between them and black mould) and my own tube of the diclofenac sodium cream.

I had the time and the parlor was just across the street. So after all the rave reviews last week for the rejuvenating effect of the team's massages I figured I needed to give it a shot. The lady in the foyer spoke almost no English, and naturally I didn't speak a word of whatever she was speaking. Add to that that this was my first time, so I had no idea what the questions might be, or how to answer them and we had a problem. She solved it by asking the questions into a translating phone app, and we got by. We agreed I would have the shortest time, a 30 minute session. But by the time I was ushered into a small room with a small towel I still had no idea how undressed "please undress" meant. What did I have to lose? I decided on the full Monty. Then as you know, you lie face down on the bed, so I can no longer take visual cues.

Eventually the masseuse came into the room. I have no idea if it was the same person or not. Somehow we agreed I would have a "medium," again having no idea what I was doing I did not want to risk either extreme. I knew I would be disappointed if it was too gentle, but how hard is hard? Medium would be quite lovely thank you. She definitely used her elbows in places that made me wince. She went all the way up one side, and down the other. From the tops of my thighs to the back of my head. I was rather grateful that I had not paid enough to be turned over to have the same coverage on the front. I was oiled and toweled and it was altogether a more "complete" experience than I expected for my entry level package. After a very pleasant exactly 30 minutes she quietly left the room (I assume it was a she, but do I really know? Does it really matter? After a decent interval to make sure I really was done, I rolled off the table, dressed, paid, and wobbled off.

All my chores done, and if not feeling 100%, I was determined to at least take in The Hanging Jail, the main (only?) attraction in De Ridder. So I joined a gaggle of volunteers to walk into town. Both Daves, Shelley, and Bill.

The Town Hall ...

... and right next door the jail.

There was a rather complicated process for signing up for a tour of the jail involving chatting to the ladies in the Tourist Center (fortunately right across the street) signing several different registers and coughing up the princely sum of several dollars apiece. Honor satisfied, the ladies assured us that if we were on the steps of the jail at the appointed hour, we would be met by the afternoon guide. But that gave us over an hour to waste. Lunch. Cecil's Cajun Kitchen had been recommended several times, and we could see it from the Tourist Center. Sold. Except for Shelley who had set her heart on a Dairy Queen hit. Ungallantly nobody had stomach for the additional half a mile of walking, so off she went. Perhaps we should have joined her because my Fried crayfish po boy was interesting but absolutely no match for the pickle and oil drenched deliciousness that I'd experienced in New Orleans. Undeterred I couldn't resist trying a shot of the Pickle Vodka that was being advertized on the table. Ugh. It might have worked in, say, a Bloody Mary (which in its defence was probably how it was mean to be consumed) but it was so nasty I would not have wanted to risk spoiling the BM. Still I would have felt worse if I had not tried it. Shelley returned, looking very smug about her choice, and then it was time to head to jail.

On the dot of the appointed time, our guide showed up to meet us and another couple who had been milling about with us. Of course the guide was one of the women from the Tourist Center.

The Hanging Jail DeRidder's Gothic Jail, built in 1915, got its name from the “Collegiate Gothic” architectural style of the building which was popular at the time: pointed Tudor arches, dormers and bay windows. It got its more popular name "The Hanging Jail" after a brutal murder and double hanging in 1928. The Beauregard Parish Courthouse and the jail, which are next door to each other, were designed by Stevens-Nelson of New Orleans as a non-matching pair, and completed around the same time at a cost of $168,000. There is a lighted tunnel connecting the two buildings. It was incorporated into the design to facilitate the transfer of accused or prisoners to and from the jail to stand trial while maintaining public safety. A 1923 article in Popular Mechanics compared the building to a “Grand Mansion” rather than a jailhouse. There are three floors. The bottom floor housed the Jailer’s quarters, where he lived with his family, as well as his office and a temporary holding cell for prisoners not destined for a longer stay. The second and third floors each hold four cells, all opening out onto the spiral staircase that sits in the center of the building. Each cell features a separate bathroom and skylights on the top floor of the building - amenities that were unheard of at the time. However, the jail still maintained some standard practices of the era. Hard steel bunks accommodated about a dozen inmates in each cell. It was no surprise to learn that the place earns a good living as a haunted house. If it wasn't creepy enough with its cramped central spiral staircase and each room guarded by heavy steel or barred doors, and / or a large cage in the middle of the room, the fact that all the plaster and insulation had been removed to eliminate asbestos and other contaminates so every floor, wall and ceiling was just bare concrete finished the job nicely. Oh and the hangman's noose still hanging in the middle of the staircase. The ghosts responsible for the haunting, the notoriety, and the nickname "hanging jail" are the two men hanged for the slaying of their taxi cab driver. The story goes - Joe Genna and Molton Brasseaux hired taxi driver Joe Brevelle, killed him, stole $14 (not considered a "murderable amount of money" even then, and dumped his body in the old Pickering Mill pond. However, the body was soon found, and taxi records led to the men’s arrest, confessions and convictions. They were hanged in the Jail on March 9, 1928. Brevelle is buried in nearby Woodlawn Cemetery. Neither convicted man was buried in Beauregard Parish. Today, visitors and our guide have sworn they’ve seen and even captured photos of ghostly beings.

It was a long, hot, drag home on the sidewalk-less road back the hotel nursing my stomach issues, and I could not wait to get back to my room, bathroom, AC, and bed. I slept through the call to join volunteers for dinner, and the next thing I knew it was reveille and the beginning of a new week.