The Nicsperiment Hikes and Writes a Travelogue After a Stroke

“Will I ever go on a hike again" is one of several questions I asked myself, along with "Will I ever run again?", "Will I ever eat again?", and "Am I going to die tonight?" as I lied in a hospital bed on January 28th of this year. Well, I survived the stroke, so I did not die...that night. I did eat again. It's a struggle, it took nearly two months, and I can't eat everything, but I can eat again. I suspect I can run (I ran my eighth marathon A WEEK BEFORE the stroke), but the feeding tube in my stomach is preventing me from really trying. I have a hole cut in my stomach and a plastic tube jammed into it. That is weird! Thankfully, I can walk quite well, and since I am not quite well enough to go back to work, and the weather is only getting warmer, I decided that it was time to finally try to answer the first question. This is a blog about that. If your short term memory is bad, "Will I ever go on a hike again" is that question. I also asked myself "Will I ever have sex again?" but I'll try really hard not to make a blog about that one if it ever becomes relevant...
Anyway, I couldn't decide where to hike. I knew I should probably pick a quick and easy path, but at the same time, I've wanted to go up to Claiborne Parish, the roof of Louisiana, since my podcast covered The Green Mile late last year. The Green Mile, the film at least, is set in Claiborne Parish, but it was filmed in Tennessee. I had heard that Claiborne Parish had the highest average elevation in the state, and essentially looked like the Tennessee stand-in terrain used for the film, kind of like how I almost look like...whichever male celebrity is currently considered the most handsome...I have no idea who that is right now. Let's see who People most recently chose as their sexiest man...let's Google...er, let's DuckDuckGo this...John Krasinski. Dammit, I don't look like him at all! Krasinski, what is that, Polish? Anyway, forget all that. Back to the hike. I wanted to see if Claiborne really looked like that, but I also have really wanted to go back to Downtown Nutrition in one of my favorite small towns in the state, Harrisonburg, Louisiana.
13 years ago, I accidentally stumbled upon Harrisonburg, a massive set of hills that suddenly rise out of the flat Louisiana swamp, in the middle of nowhere, featuring a giant courthouse that looks like it belongs in a capital city...which Harrisonburg, now a town of 348, was once supposed to be. I had no idea it was there until I stumbled upon it back then, but I returned a few years ago one morning, quite hungry and thirsty, and stumbled upon a new institution, Downtown Nutrition. Downtown features teas "loaded" with different fruit combinations, and features a huge menu...in a town of 348. I couldn't believe something that quirky existed in that small of a town (I'm sure most of my unfortunate school teachers thought the same about me), and also that it was so good. I loved the Leprechaun (infused with pineapple and kiwi), the tea I ordered last time, as I found it incredibly refreshing, so I was happy to find Downtown, and the food place it shares a building with both still kicking...LIKE A MULE ON STEROIDS! Mimi's Deli/Downtown Nutrition was packed! They'd completely remodeled the inside of the building to better meld the two businesses, though the two don't share a cash register. Mimi's menu was completely overhauled and far more interesting than it was two years ago--it no longer just looked like a food stand in a building, but a fully grown lunch restaurant. I ordered a cheeseburger because I hadn't had one since the stroke, and beer-battered French fries because that seemed fancy. I ordered a Sweet Caroline (infused with Pineapple, Strawberry, and Peach) from Downtown this time. Last time I wrote about Downtown, I described the girl running Downtown Nutrition as a "sweetheart," but now that I am single, I will describe her as "a total babe." Last time, I didn't see a ring on her finger, but this time she was sporting a giant rock, so good for her.



I got back on the road, heading vaguely northwest, devouring my burger at the speed I can currently eat, meaning one bite in roughly the time it takes my car to burn a gallon of gasoline...and I drive a hybrid. Vin Diesel lived his life a quarter-mile at a time in The Fast and the Furious, and that is faster than I can eat. The burger last time tasted like it may have just been a reheated patty from the store, but it tasted homemade this time. The fries were great too. I was impressed with the two-year upgrade. As for the tea, it was also great, but I completely forgot to mention the first leg of this trip, which slightly effected the way the tea tasted. You see, when I was still back in the Parish of the Lord, aka Pointe Coupee Parish, and approaching the Northern Border, I stopped at a gas station and I bought an $11 slice of Tuxedo Cake. This enormous and insanely delicious slice of cake was worth more than $11, and I almost ate the entire thing on the way to Harrisonburg, though I almost spit the hole thing out when I saw an enormous gator guarding the exit to the parish, until I realized that he had lost his head. Pointe Coupee really is a magical place.





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Anyway, I ate a lot of that cake, and drove through some of my favorite stretch of highway along and through the Old River Loch System which guides the three rivers, Atchafalaya, Red, and Mississippi, that define all but one of our fine parish's borders, then on and along the levee, until I reached Harrisonburg, then got my food and tea, then drank my tea, then thought, "Why did I get the sweetest tea Downtown Nutrition girl makes when the only thing I ate today was a gigantic slice of cake?" It ain't called the "Sweet Caroline" for nothing. I probably should have gotten one of the less sweet teas. Maybe a "Not Quite As Sweet Caroline," also known as the "Debbie." Sorry, Debbie. Anyway, the tea was still good, even if I risked diabetes that morning. Hopefully, the approximately ten trillion medications, including blood thinners, cholesterol busters, and pain killers that I am currently taking, also busted all that sugar.
At some point during my 90-minute meal, I realized I was heading straight toward Driskill Mountain, and since I've adopted a sort of automatic driving technique to pick my hiking locations lately, as well as the fact that I knew from experience 13 years before that Driskill Mountain's trail was incredibly easy, I decided I would go hike at Driskill Mountain. I then passed the stinky papermill on the way to Driskill Mountain. What does that say about you when someone has to pass a stinky papermill to get to you? Is it bad because they associate you with the stinky thing? Or do you look good by comparison? Are we all just a stinky papermill on the way to Driskill Mountain?
I made it to Driskill Mountain and found the parking lot looked exactly the same as it did 13 years ago. I tucked my feeding tube into my jeans and headed to the path, where I promptly stumbled upon this sign.

The big complaint about Driskill Mountain by hikers for years is that it doesn't feel like you earn the vista at the end--the trail is too short and too easy. The proprietors apparently finally heard enough and decided to create a more difficult trail to the top. Well, I thought, I just had a stroke not even three months ago, can't feel my left side, and have a feeding tube. Better take the easy path as planned. After all, that's why I came here. I promptly took the new, more difficult trail.






I will give the new trail this: it is more difficult than the original, which is still there, and I assume, still used by most visitors, though, as on most of the hikes I go on in the state of Louisiana, I saw no other visitors. My legs told me about five minutes into the hike WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WE HAVEN'T GONE UPHILL IN ALMOST THREE MONTHS! WHAT ARE THESE ELEVATION CHANGES?! WE CURRENTLY HAVE THE CONSISTENCY OF A WET SLIM JIM! Shut up! I told them, which is what I generally tell them when I'm running marathons and they complain. You have to put your legs in their place. It worked. Despite the fact that I've had little exercise and can't feel an entire side of my body, a side which is also weaker than the side of my body I can feel, I made it up to the top in no time. The view is still great. I still really want to go to Jordan Mountain, the other giant hill visible from Driskill Mountain's 535-foot peak, but Jordan Mountain is still in private hands and inaccessible. I added a rock to the rock pile at the top of Driskill Mountain, which I did not do last time. However, there are two things I did 13 years ago that I did not do this time: I did not climb a tree to get a better look, and I did not climb down the sheer side of Driskill Mountain to wander in the woods below like I did last time. I was crazy to do that, but also I hadn't just had a stroke because otherwise I probably would have done those things again.






I headed back down on the easy path so I could get a nice full circle feeling, and lo and behold, I actually saw two other human beings, the male of which asked me wearily, "Are we almost to the top?" to which I wanted to reply, "Your body is a temple, man. I took great care of mine, and now half of it is numb, and I can barely chew. The only thing holding you back is cutting out some Oreos and adding in a few sit ups. C'mon!" but I didn't. Maybe I should become a personal trainer.
I made it back to my car and stopped at a gas station in the nearby Arcadia, which also looked nearly the same as it did 13 years ago. I picked out foods I thought would not choke me, and chose fairly well. Then I drove on to Claiborne Parish. While Driskill Mountain, the highest point in the state, is in Bienville Parish, the nearby Claiborne, as stated, is higher on average, and features several high points that nearly rival Driskill Mountain. I soon reached Claiborne and indeed felt like I was in the sky...the Louisiana sky. Claiborne Parish indeed looks like the setting of the movie The Green Mile. It's a shame that Louisiana hadn't established its tax credit system yet. The movie could have been filmed here...it would have been had it been shot just a few years later, when the credits were established. Then again, the movie might have lost that 1999 magic if it had been filmed in 2010. But forget movies! Well, not like "forget them forever!" but just for a few minutes because this is real life, and I had heard one of the best views in the parish was on top of Garrett Hill Road in Claiborne Parish, and after a bit of searching, I found the road and the view, and while I haven't explored the entire parish yet, and thus don't know if it is best, the pastoral view is pretty excellent...and a great spot for a picnic. Also, I am definitely watching a movie when I finish writing this.





I heard something about a dam at Claiborne Lake having a nice view too, but my map just took me to a residential area on the lake that felt fairly flat, and I started getting tired of driving and started missing my cat for some reason, so I decided I'd had enough nice views for the day and wanted to go home. There are a couple other sites, including Fire Tower Road, that I wanted to visit, but I decided that if I don't have another stupid stroke, Claiborne Parish is high on my revisit list. For this day though, I was done with it. However, I was also hungry and needed to pee, so I decided I'd stop somewhere on the way home to take care of that. I took Highway 518 back toward Arcadia, and passed a lot of houses on hills that not only looked like they were from The Green Mile, but also looked like nice places to retire. Look how close to the moon they are!




I passed through Arcadia and didn't really see anywhere to stop. Then I drove for like two more hours and didn't really see anywhere to stop. Finally, near the fine town of Bunkie, Louisiana, at around 10 pm, I stopped at a gas station to pee. The only part of the gas station that felt alive was the adjoining casino, and it only felt alive in a sickly, jolting and jonesing sort of way. A meth'd out couple looked out their pickup truck window at me and I could basically hear their thoughts:
Look at that guy.

Yeah, let's rape him.

Great idea.

He looks like he just had a stroke.

Mmmm. Wonder if he has one of them feeding tubes?

You know, to get them tubes in, they gotta cut a hole in your stomach. And we could just pull that tube out.

Mmmm.

I picked up the pace, rushed into the restroom, urinated at light speed, then rushed back to my car.
I took my medications while driving the next 30 minutes or so, because I'd packed them, did my vocal exercises, then pulled into the Taco Bell at Port Barre, as the Lord intended because no other restaurants were open. I ordered a Cantina Chicken Quesadilla because it does not have Nic-choking lettuce...

When we pull the tube out, let's make him eat some lettuce...

I then devoured the Quesadilla faster than you can read Tolstoy's War and Peace blindfolded, dipping it in the provided guacamole and sour cream, finishing off the last bite just as I pulled into my driveway, stopping to lock my gate and make sure no meth trucks, or headless gators, or lettuce had followed me back to my house. They hadn't. Homefree!
Yes, I did indeed go on a hike again. Successfully. What fun it was. How great life is. Cherish it. And if you can avoid it, never, ever have a stroke.