New Orleans Mardi Gras

Festival Location: New Orleans, LA, USA

Festival State: Louisiana Festivals

Festival Type(s): Carnivals , Mardi Gras , Parties

Festival Photos of New Orleans Mardi Gras: gallery 1 gallery 2

Festival Video: New Orleans Mardi Gras

The Road to N'awlens

by © Sherry Brody 2008

"What the hell are we doing in Georgia?" Kevin roared from the back seat of the rented '86 station wagon. "We're driving from Florida to New Orleans...there's no Georgia involved in this trip!"
"Well...you know ...we're not that far from Atlanta. Maybe we should just go there instead. It's Spring Break, we're going to have fun no matter where we go," I said, trying to convince him and Stacy that the detour was intentional. "And who told you to fall asleep anyways." "Yeah, we can stay with my brother at Emory," Stacy added. "Forget it," Kevin soberly advised us. "We made plans to go to Mardi Gras, Trevor is expecting us, and that's where we should go. So, who wants to admit to missing the turn?...and how come you guys didn't notice the welcome to Georgia sign?"

Two hours off schedule, and back on the right road, we head west on I-10 towards New Orleans. "If nothing else goes wrong we can still make it in time for dinner and drinks at Pat O's," Kevin says, as he glances at his watch. "I can't believe we missed the exit. How do you miss an exit and not realize it for an hour? You girls kill me."

"Why are we slowing down?" Stacy asked with a quizzical look on her face. I too, noted that cars were passing us as if we were standing still. "Oh man...don't even tell me....come on, don't do this to me baby...." Kevin chanted to the car as if he were a scorned lover. He veered off to the side of the road and the next thing I knew we were at a dead stop. Something was wrong with the car, and none of us had a clue as to how to remedy the situation.

"We'll just have to wait until a cop drives by and ask them to send a tow truck," Stacy said, trying to keep an air of cheerful optimism. "We saw plenty of state troopers, I'm sure one of them will be by any minute." After thinking for a moment she added, "well, we'll just have to wait...and we're not going to focus on the fact that we're in rural Alabama, okay?"

After an hour of waiting for anyone to stop, and no sign of a police car in sight, the panic began to set in. We were all starting to lose enthusiasm for Mardi Gras and our weekend of drunken debauchery . Stacy and I sat in the front seat while Kevin tried to flag down anyone who would assist. Suddenly, I heard the roar of an approaching motorcycle, and took notice of what I assumed were members of the local Hell's Angels chapter.

A burly man, specific age indistinguishable, and his leather clad female companion had pulled over and were approaching the car. "We're going to die. First they're going to rob us, then they'll cut our throats," I quipped. Although I said this sarcastically, I wasn't so sure it couldn't happen. "Don't forget about them leaving us for dead off the highway," Stacy added to my fears.

The large bearded man climbed off his motorcycle and approached Kevin near the hood of the car. Stacy and I watched through the windshield, and cracked the window just enough to hear what was going on. "Hey there, looks like yer havin' some trouble," the biker mumbled as he slowly drew closer. "Yeah, the car broke down, but we're just waiting for the cops to get here," Kevin nervously replied, as if to warn them of the imminent police presence. "Ain't no cops on this stretch of the highway. Me and my wife ride it all the time," he confidently replied. "My name's Bart, and that's my wife Angel over there." As the biker peered under the hood, I took close notice of a character that I had only previously seen in movies and television.

Bart was stout and ornery looking. Most of his face was covered with matted dark brown hair, and his eyes were squinty and deep set. His stomach poured out over his brass belt buckle, and his faded t-shirt was tight and creeping up, revealing what looked like a long scar. His arms and hands were covered with multi-colored tattoos that had faded from the sun. Bart's jeans were worn and soiled, and I couldn't approximate his last encounter with a bath. As he spoke to Kevin, I noticed his teeth, or lack thereof, which were dark, almost greenish, and pointy. They protruded from his mouth when he spoke, and looked like they could fly out at a moments notice. I had never seen anything like this up close, and my fear had quickly turned to utter fascination.

"Oh my God, what is he...." Stacy stopped herself mid-sentence and covered her open mouth with cupped hands. Bart's face was inches from the engine and his mouth was covering an oily tube. He grabbed the hose with his teeth, and proceeded to slurp as if he were enjoying a chocolate shake. He then began to spit out the oily gunk he sucked up from the line. We were awestruck, and I couldn't imagine what he was doing, not to mention why. He repeated this process several times before he came up for air and wiped his greasy mouth on his sleeve. "Ya got a clogged fuel injection line. I had to clear it out. Problem is, now ya got no more gas......I drank it all up!" Bart laughed out loud, and we assumed we should laugh with him, since this was too surreal to take seriously.

Sure enough, the engine started but indicated a low fuel warning. I couldn't believe what I had seen. This strange man stops to help us and winds up sucking our fuel line clean. Stacy and I got out of the car to thank our road side friend, in amazement of his unselfish and kind act. "You folks are gonna need some gas, so Angel and me will go see what we can find," Bart said as he climbed back on the Harley with Angel holding on behind. There were garbage bags filled with what we assumed were their belongings, tied to the back of the bike. Bart and Angel were clearly living on the road, and this was just another day's outing for them.

"You think we'll ever see them again?" Kevin turned to me and asked. "All they have to do is get a tow truck. Avis guarantees us a new car," I responded. The anger and frustration from the delay was overshadowed by this extraordinary act of human decency. We knew we'd get to Mardi Gras sooner or later, and this would be a great road story to share with our friends.

Twenty minutes later, Bart returned but Angel was not with him. He carried a small red can filled with a gallon's worth of gas. "I didn't have anything to put the fuel in, so the station loaned me this can. All I had to do was loan them my wife, and this way they know I'm comin' back," Bart happily informed us. Biker Bart had left his wife at a gas station so that he could get us enough gasoline to drive there. "What can we say, but thank you so much," Stacy humbly declared. Bart quickly added, "Aw, that's all right, she's eight months pregnant and could use the rest." At this point I was numb, thinking you just don't meet people like this in the suburbs.

The car started and we were on our way to the station to contact Avis. We offered Bart some money which he could clearly use, but flatly denied. After minutes of pleading, he finally accepted the cash as a token of our gratitude. We followed the motorcycle to the service station where we thanked them once again. As we watched Bart and Angel ride off into the sunset, it occurred to me that this was the perfect ending to our larger than life story. We were ashamed of ourselves for assuming the worst, and enlightened by what goodness prevails in the most unlikely of characters. Biker Bart was our guardian angel, and we now believed in small miracles.

Avis informed us we'd have to bring the car back to the Pensacola Airport, their closest office, in order to swap the car for a new one. We had already detoured to Georgia, encountered a three hour delay by the side of the road, and were now heading back to Florida once again. Destiny and luck were not in our favor, and not bringing us any closer to New Orleans. This was a long day, getting longer by the minute. We turned the car around and drove to the airport; we were on a mission.

Kevin handled the paperwork, while Stacy and I transferred our bags into the Ford Escort. The day was quickly coming to a close, and we desperately wanted to be in New Orleans. Feeling the worst was behind us, we headed west, once again. We could now laugh about our road mishap, and eagerly anticipated telling the saga. Sometime past midnight, we arrived at Trevor's apartment complex.

Exhausted and frustrated, we unpacked our bags and headed upstairs to crash for the evening. Reality was harsh and unforgiving, as we were informed of the sleeping arrangements. "Sorry, guys...my roommate has friends in from out of town and they grabbed the extra beds and couch. Looks like you'll have to sleep on the floor," Trevor sadly notified us. "Oh, and you'd better grab some blankets now because the concrete gets real cold at night."

"Did you guys bring my bag in from the car?" Kevin asked. "I didn't... did you Stacy?"
"Nope, why you can't find...?" Kevin runs out to the car to discover no sign of his luggage.
"I'm assuming that one of you transferred my bag at the airport. Am I correct in this assumption?"
After a pointless round of "I thought you got it" we soon realized our nightmare was not yet over. His bag was sitting in the station wagon at the Pensacola Airport, and we were about to sleep on a concrete floor with a dozen drunken strangers. I paused, letting this all soak in, smiled and said, "How does Murphy's Law go?" We laughed and simultaneously declared, "If something can go wrong, it will."
"I need a drink, a stiff one...Trevor, what exactly is the drinking age here?" asked Kevin.
"Dunno."
"Well then gimme a liter of something fierce. And they'll be no limit to my consumption this evening. If I'm sober, I may actually have to think about what's happened."
We walked to the French Quarter, and were immediately greeted by hordes of drunken co-eds. Representing all walks of life, and every region of the country, young and old revelers crammed into the numerous bars and restaurants. The bartender leaned toward us with a wide smile and yelled over the boisterous crowd, "Welcome to N' awlens...ya'll are in for the experience of a lifetime."
Were we ever.

by Sherry Brody

Festival Photos of New Orleans Mardi Gras: gallery 1 gallery 2

New Orleans Mardi Gras Dates and Location

New Orleans Mardi Gras runs for two weeks culminating on Fat Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. Check http://mardigrasday.com for more information