A Boy and His Bike - Saturday, July 29, 2000

After a month of hearing the claking sounds from under my Cherokee's hood, I finally decide to take the darn thing in to get looked at. I mean, it was to the point where I couldn't park on anyone's driveway due to the massive amounts of oil the beast would leave behind. I decided to take the truck to a mechanic, Randy Heer, out in Kenner. Kenner to me is the extremities of what I still barely consider New Orleans...suburbs.

So I get out there and talk to Randy for a while, and we come to the conclusion that I'll leave my truck there for the weekend. I shake his hand and head out to my truck.

Earlier that morning I had loaded the truck with all the essentials for getting back home from Kenner: water, camera, notebook, wallet, knife, various pens, backpack, three hubig's pies (a locally produced pastry), my little black book (in case of an emergency), and last but not least, the bike.

The bike isn't even mine. It belongs to my former roommate, Jason. He was kind enough to let me borrow the bike all through our days together on the University of New Orleans. I'm not sure, but I don't think he has ever ridden it....

What started out as a routine mechanic visit, ended up a Tour d'Olreans. The tour's only racers were the sun and myself. I can tell you now....it wasn't even close....

Hi, my name is Taylor Lasseigne. This is the story of a boy and his bike...