Riding the Mounds
December 2024
I have no idea how ya’ll do it.
The concept of having to park the motorcycle for four or more months and wait for ridable weather to return is an unfathomable thought to me on two levels. Obviously, the idea of having to wait that long to ride a motorcycle stands on its own as undesirable. But for me, the more pressing problem would be the self-imposed penance away from the adventure. For Pants, the motorcycle is the tool of choice to the unknown. The vessel that navigates the uncharted water. I see it as a crutch to an amazing addiction. A worldly man sees the world, and you can’t do that from the sofa. For my northern friends, the winters must seem like an eternal imprisonment.
None the less, we got a small taste of that earlier this month. For an agonizing five days, it rained, the wind blew, and the sun’s warmth would not penetrate the clouds. Not a severe event by any measure. Just enough to piss you off, and hold you within the walls of the box. Just enough to remind you that while the deep south in the winter is quite enjoyable, no place is immune from mother nature’s occasional bad mood.
But like any good virus, it passed and when it did, I looked with optimism at the forecast to see several good days ahead. Without saying a word, my good friend Mike P. saw it too. I knew he’d be itching as we both have little tolerance for Cabin Fever. A three-minute phone call is all it took. We’d go for two nights and it ended up being about 700 miles. We opted to hotel it, as overnight temps in the lower 30s are just a smidge outside of our camping comfort zone. My wife practically kicked me out the door. When Pants is bored, no one escapes the wrath and for a few days, I’ve been up her ass unnecessarily.
We invited the three others who are our “local riding buddies”. All five of us are retired and enjoy riding together very much. Tom was getting over strep throat and wisely passed. Alex claimed other obligations and none of us were surprised. Alex likes a bit more than 12 hours’ notice for these things. Randy, who is most recently retired only a few months, jumped at the offer and that made three of us. Randy moved to Keithville a few years ago, about 200 miles from us. But for riders, that is no big deal. We will meet him somewhere in the middle, and go from there.
While I sat in the box and watched it rain like some kind of dribbling idiot, apparently Mike put his boredom to good use. He studied and searched for adventure ideas. Surely a three-day ride in the sunshine to anywhere would be good enough, but Mike looked for an enticement hook and found it. In the northeastern section of our State, there exist quite a few mounds from the indigenous people that have been linked together to form the Louisiana Ancient Mound Trail. I’ve long known about and have seen Poverty Point, a World Heritage Site in this regard. But I didn’t realize that there is more to it than that.
And so Mike drafted us a route, and we set out to learn something new. I hope you enjoy the pics.
Day 1: Lafayette, LA to Vicksburg, MS, approximately 300 miles.
I packed the motorcycle the day before and decided to leave the top box at home. Preparing for temperatures ranging from 30-70 deg. F. is quite a challenge, but this ain’t my first rodeo.
No matter how much I do this, I always get REALLY excited at “go time”. No matter what happens, it’s gonna be good and I can’t help but look very forward to it.
Mike was on time at the gas station and shortly thereafter, we were on our way. We ran about an hour north to our first stop.
In general, the indigenous people of this region lived here between 500 BC and 1,000 AD. Surprisingly, they were hunter gathers and did not farm, despite there being evidence that they knew how to farm. At the time, and to this day, there were many rivers and bayous from which to harvest all matters of fish and shellfish. Supporting that were bountiful forest of hard and bottom woods, and I suppose there was enough to eat without bothering oneself with the labor of a farm.
We also learned that all of these mounds were ceremonial in nature.
I was disappointed to find out that the museum and visitors center here was permanently closed. I guess no one cares anymore about where we came from.
We had a snack and then continued northeast, crossing the mighty Red River.
This section of Highway 28 is essentially a levee that runs through the Dewey Wills WMA floodplain. At a whopping 10 feet, we are the highest thing in the area.
What a great day for a ride!
Randy was right on time as expected at the lunch stop. I had a BLT and a side salad. It made a turd, but that’s about it.
After lunch, we continued on Mike’s route to see more ancient mounds. The floodplains of northeast Louisiana are pretty desolate this time of year.
But occasionally we see a field of cotton not yet harvested.
Surprisingly, it’s not easy to spot the mounds as they are overgrown and the way finder signage is not very good.
Randy is having fun.
Most of the mounds reside on private farm property, so we just stop to read the sign and respectfully move on.
The mounds are of varying sizes, but most are rectangular at both the base and the peak. Archeologists know that the pottery found in this region is similar in style to that found in the Mid-west, but they don’t know if that is coincidental or not. They also know that many of the mounds had some sort of shaded covering on top of them, presumably for the highest-ranking people to conduct the ceremony from. I imagine that from up there, these people looked rather large, and perhaps that was the point.
We continued on some nice roads that follow the Tensas River. Out here, there is NO traffic to worry about and with the fields cleared, visibility is excellent. I was quite content to just enjoy the ride.
Now it’s mid-afternoon. The temperature is barely 60 degrees and the wind is howling unrestricted in these fields. And yet, I’m still craving ice cream – go figure. Unfortunately, there will be no ice cream today in this desolate area.
We find the Mississippi River flood plain and turn north toward one more set of mounds on Highway 65.
Mike and I speculate that perhaps the equilateral triangle was to aid in using the stars at night for various reasons.
I started thinking about what this place might have looked like 1,000 years ago. I would imagine it was vastly different than Europe was at that time (Think: Roman Empire). Frankly, I had a hard time thinking about which side of the world was more “civilized” at that time.
We intended to go to Poverty Point, as Randy has not seen that yet. But it’s almost 4 pm now and the days are short. I was surprised to find a strong cell signal out there in the middle of nowhere, so I started looking for a room. As we are three, finding one room to accommodate us for a reasonable price was a challenge, but I did find a “suite” (2 queens and a sofa bed) in Vicksburg, about an hour away. That sealed the deal for Poverty Point – we will have to do that another time.
I took the lead and off we go toward Old Man River.
Our big bikes make small work out of the miles and in no time, we were crossing the river into Mississippi.
The room is clean and we enjoyed happy hour in comfort. The clerk recommended Billy’s Italian Restaurant for dinner, as it was within walking distance from the hotel. Having concerns about the quality of Italian food at a place in Vicksburg, MS called “Billy’s”, I played it safe with the hamburger sub and homemade onion rings. It was just fine.
Bunch of biker rebels….
I had a couple of nightcaps at the hotel and turned in before 10 pm. It was a good day.
Day 2: Vicksburg, MS to Rosedown, LA, approximately 200 miles.
I slept well but the hotel room was too quiet. I prefer a little white noise when I sleep but didn’t mention that as I didn’t want to inconvenience the others. None the less, the free continental breakfast was decent (we got our money’s worth) and the hotel coffee was actually not too bad. It was 30 degrees when I woke, and we were not in too much of a hurry to go anywhere. The clerk was nice enough to let us keep the bikes under the front entrance covering, so there was no frost on the seats this morning.
We loaded up and rode only a mile to the Vicksburg Civil War National Memorial. Mike and I have been here many times, but Randy hasn’t seen it.
The memorial resides on the land where the Battle of Vicksburg was held. This battle is significant because it essentially ended the war for the confederates. The visitors center does a good job of explaining the history.
The park is a road tour. The union states have their memorials where they fought the battle, and the confederates are the same.
We stopped twice to take it in. I found myself chilled by more than the weather this morning. Our people fought and killed each other on this ground. I hope we learned our lesson for eternity.
George Santayana was a genius. All history is worth knowing.
The confederate troops were stationed on the bluffs of the Yazoo and Mississippi Rivers, employing the traditional war strategy of utilizing the “upper hand”. That would prove to be their ending. With Union boats in the river behind them, and Union troops on the other end of the battlefield, it was just a matter of waiting them out to starve and die from injuries. I’ve read about this before, but standing there on the bluff, seeing it in three dimensions, it was so much clearer to me.
A worldly man sees the world, the parts he likes, and the parts he doesn’t. All of it.
December 2024
I have no idea how ya’ll do it.
The concept of having to park the motorcycle for four or more months and wait for ridable weather to return is an unfathomable thought to me on two levels. Obviously, the idea of having to wait that long to ride a motorcycle stands on its own as undesirable. But for me, the more pressing problem would be the self-imposed penance away from the adventure. For Pants, the motorcycle is the tool of choice to the unknown. The vessel that navigates the uncharted water. I see it as a crutch to an amazing addiction. A worldly man sees the world, and you can’t do that from the sofa. For my northern friends, the winters must seem like an eternal imprisonment.
None the less, we got a small taste of that earlier this month. For an agonizing five days, it rained, the wind blew, and the sun’s warmth would not penetrate the clouds. Not a severe event by any measure. Just enough to piss you off, and hold you within the walls of the box. Just enough to remind you that while the deep south in the winter is quite enjoyable, no place is immune from mother nature’s occasional bad mood.
But like any good virus, it passed and when it did, I looked with optimism at the forecast to see several good days ahead. Without saying a word, my good friend Mike P. saw it too. I knew he’d be itching as we both have little tolerance for Cabin Fever. A three-minute phone call is all it took. We’d go for two nights and it ended up being about 700 miles. We opted to hotel it, as overnight temps in the lower 30s are just a smidge outside of our camping comfort zone. My wife practically kicked me out the door. When Pants is bored, no one escapes the wrath and for a few days, I’ve been up her ass unnecessarily.
We invited the three others who are our “local riding buddies”. All five of us are retired and enjoy riding together very much. Tom was getting over strep throat and wisely passed. Alex claimed other obligations and none of us were surprised. Alex likes a bit more than 12 hours’ notice for these things. Randy, who is most recently retired only a few months, jumped at the offer and that made three of us. Randy moved to Keithville a few years ago, about 200 miles from us. But for riders, that is no big deal. We will meet him somewhere in the middle, and go from there.
While I sat in the box and watched it rain like some kind of dribbling idiot, apparently Mike put his boredom to good use. He studied and searched for adventure ideas. Surely a three-day ride in the sunshine to anywhere would be good enough, but Mike looked for an enticement hook and found it. In the northeastern section of our State, there exist quite a few mounds from the indigenous people that have been linked together to form the Louisiana Ancient Mound Trail. I’ve long known about and have seen Poverty Point, a World Heritage Site in this regard. But I didn’t realize that there is more to it than that.
And so Mike drafted us a route, and we set out to learn something new. I hope you enjoy the pics.
Day 1: Lafayette, LA to Vicksburg, MS, approximately 300 miles.
I packed the motorcycle the day before and decided to leave the top box at home. Preparing for temperatures ranging from 30-70 deg. F. is quite a challenge, but this ain’t my first rodeo.
No matter how much I do this, I always get REALLY excited at “go time”. No matter what happens, it’s gonna be good and I can’t help but look very forward to it.
Mike was on time at the gas station and shortly thereafter, we were on our way. We ran about an hour north to our first stop.
In general, the indigenous people of this region lived here between 500 BC and 1,000 AD. Surprisingly, they were hunter gathers and did not farm, despite there being evidence that they knew how to farm. At the time, and to this day, there were many rivers and bayous from which to harvest all matters of fish and shellfish. Supporting that were bountiful forest of hard and bottom woods, and I suppose there was enough to eat without bothering oneself with the labor of a farm.
We also learned that all of these mounds were ceremonial in nature.
I was disappointed to find out that the museum and visitors center here was permanently closed. I guess no one cares anymore about where we came from.
We had a snack and then continued northeast, crossing the mighty Red River.
This section of Highway 28 is essentially a levee that runs through the Dewey Wills WMA floodplain. At a whopping 10 feet, we are the highest thing in the area.
What a great day for a ride!
Randy was right on time as expected at the lunch stop. I had a BLT and a side salad. It made a turd, but that’s about it.
After lunch, we continued on Mike’s route to see more ancient mounds. The floodplains of northeast Louisiana are pretty desolate this time of year.
But occasionally we see a field of cotton not yet harvested.
Surprisingly, it’s not easy to spot the mounds as they are overgrown and the way finder signage is not very good.
Randy is having fun.
Most of the mounds reside on private farm property, so we just stop to read the sign and respectfully move on.
The mounds are of varying sizes, but most are rectangular at both the base and the peak. Archeologists know that the pottery found in this region is similar in style to that found in the Mid-west, but they don’t know if that is coincidental or not. They also know that many of the mounds had some sort of shaded covering on top of them, presumably for the highest-ranking people to conduct the ceremony from. I imagine that from up there, these people looked rather large, and perhaps that was the point.
We continued on some nice roads that follow the Tensas River. Out here, there is NO traffic to worry about and with the fields cleared, visibility is excellent. I was quite content to just enjoy the ride.
Now it’s mid-afternoon. The temperature is barely 60 degrees and the wind is howling unrestricted in these fields. And yet, I’m still craving ice cream – go figure. Unfortunately, there will be no ice cream today in this desolate area.
We find the Mississippi River flood plain and turn north toward one more set of mounds on Highway 65.
Mike and I speculate that perhaps the equilateral triangle was to aid in using the stars at night for various reasons.
I started thinking about what this place might have looked like 1,000 years ago. I would imagine it was vastly different than Europe was at that time (Think: Roman Empire). Frankly, I had a hard time thinking about which side of the world was more “civilized” at that time.
We intended to go to Poverty Point, as Randy has not seen that yet. But it’s almost 4 pm now and the days are short. I was surprised to find a strong cell signal out there in the middle of nowhere, so I started looking for a room. As we are three, finding one room to accommodate us for a reasonable price was a challenge, but I did find a “suite” (2 queens and a sofa bed) in Vicksburg, about an hour away. That sealed the deal for Poverty Point – we will have to do that another time.
I took the lead and off we go toward Old Man River.
Our big bikes make small work out of the miles and in no time, we were crossing the river into Mississippi.
The room is clean and we enjoyed happy hour in comfort. The clerk recommended Billy’s Italian Restaurant for dinner, as it was within walking distance from the hotel. Having concerns about the quality of Italian food at a place in Vicksburg, MS called “Billy’s”, I played it safe with the hamburger sub and homemade onion rings. It was just fine.
Bunch of biker rebels….
I had a couple of nightcaps at the hotel and turned in before 10 pm. It was a good day.
Day 2: Vicksburg, MS to Rosedown, LA, approximately 200 miles.
I slept well but the hotel room was too quiet. I prefer a little white noise when I sleep but didn’t mention that as I didn’t want to inconvenience the others. None the less, the free continental breakfast was decent (we got our money’s worth) and the hotel coffee was actually not too bad. It was 30 degrees when I woke, and we were not in too much of a hurry to go anywhere. The clerk was nice enough to let us keep the bikes under the front entrance covering, so there was no frost on the seats this morning.
We loaded up and rode only a mile to the Vicksburg Civil War National Memorial. Mike and I have been here many times, but Randy hasn’t seen it.
The memorial resides on the land where the Battle of Vicksburg was held. This battle is significant because it essentially ended the war for the confederates. The visitors center does a good job of explaining the history.
The park is a road tour. The union states have their memorials where they fought the battle, and the confederates are the same.
We stopped twice to take it in. I found myself chilled by more than the weather this morning. Our people fought and killed each other on this ground. I hope we learned our lesson for eternity.
George Santayana was a genius. All history is worth knowing.
The confederate troops were stationed on the bluffs of the Yazoo and Mississippi Rivers, employing the traditional war strategy of utilizing the “upper hand”. That would prove to be their ending. With Union boats in the river behind them, and Union troops on the other end of the battlefield, it was just a matter of waiting them out to starve and die from injuries. I’ve read about this before, but standing there on the bluff, seeing it in three dimensions, it was so much clearer to me.
A worldly man sees the world, the parts he likes, and the parts he doesn’t. All of it.
