cajun comforts

Bree looked over her shoulder—terror widening her eyes and pursing her lips. She swerved across the two-lane highway. I shifted out of the bike lane just in time to avoid a 5-ft alligator—his right arm extended to the white line, and his tail stretched back to the gravel. I immediately noticed his entrails next to him and complete lack of movement, which emboldened me to jump off my bike with my camera; Bree, on the other hand, screamed from 200 yards away, “Are you sure he’s dead?!”

I couldn’t hold any delusions against her. The night before our campsite might well have been inches from a very active railroad track. We had hoped to make it to Oak Alley Plantation, but the bridge over the Mississippi loomed like Everest, and after 60 miles from New Orleans in the 95 degree mug, I had nothing left…

After the gator scare, the next morning, a 40-mile push brought us to Baton Rouge and the rustic mansion of my paternal third cousin and his Cajun wife. Having never met them and knowing nothing of their home the king-sized bed, adjacent bathroom, home-cooked shrimp crepes, yoga class, top-notch sushi, Whole Foods groceries, and glittering pool with a lake-front view were a welcomed sight to sore eyes and rears.