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When wandering with the guys, sometimes, no usually, the trip to the trailhead is part of the adventure. This was definitely true when I joined the team in New Orleans before our foray into the bayous of southern Louisiana to explore the ruins of Ft. St. Philip.
Davis often drives to the trailhead because he has a suitable vehicle - a Jeep Cherokee that's seen a lot of wear and tear but is still an amazing vehicle. I arrived in New Orleans to find the guys and the Jeep, plus five kayaks ingeniously strapped to the roof. This effectively doubled the Jeep's height, and had a couple positive side effects: it got us a lot of weird looks, but it also made Davis very easy to follow in crowded parking lots because it looked like a giant fin cresting over the parked cars.
The morning of our expedition, the five of us climbed into Five Fin - the Jeep's new nickname due to the appearance of the five kayaks - and five grown men, plus backpacking gear, plus five kayaks had an amazing, but totally expected effect on the poor vehicle's suspension. We settled in for a three hour trip through the country of deep south Louisiana, I knew it was going to be interesting. Five guys in a Jeep plus gear was bad enough, we had to breathe in turns to make sure no one got squeezed out a window, but the three of us in back also got to experience every minor dip in the road when the suspension bottomed out with a rump jarring "THUD." Amazingly, or not considering the city, the roads in New Orleans were worse than the country highway we took to get to the fort and Davis was a considerate driver, but more than once I looked back over the mountain of gear, confident that I'd see the muffler and chips from my backbone tumbling along the road.
However, we are strong in the wander-fu, and after only a few hours of spinal trauma we arrived at the trailhead. Except in the bayous of Louisiana trail is synonymous for river, and trailhead roughly translates to storm ravaged boat landing infested with flesh eating abyssal fire ants. Again our indomitable will persevered, we offloaded the kayaks and prepared to begin the real adventure.
I'd never kayaked in my life before the moment I climbed in, and in very short time I was going to have to paddle across the Mississippi River. I was nervous, but thankfully the little inlet we launched into was calm and let me get a feel for paddling. Of course my education was over far too rapidly - the inlet let us out in the mighty Miss, and BIG ships, that don't notice and can't stop for little crazy kayakers, travel up and down the river. We started out twice, only to halt and pull back because of river traffic, but it was eventually our time to prove our mettle.
I started paddling and never stopped to rest, something about the thought of a 20,000 ton cargo ship bearing down upon me gave me a lot of incentive. I pulled and pulled on the paddle, it was never going to end, and the current and my inexperience didn't help. Charged nerves aside, I couldn't help but take in my surroundings. The Miss was only a mile or so across where we traversed, but being in the middle of a mile wide stretch of water while I was in a small kayak sent a shiver of awe down my spine.
Then it was over, my kayak grounded on the bank I had been staring at for a tense eternity. I climbed out, pulled the craft into the high weeds, and turned to look back at the Mississippi River with the Wandering Men at my side.
than the country highway we took to get to the fort and Davis was a considerate driver, but more than once I looked back over the mountain of gear, confident that I'd see the muffler and chips from my backbone tumbling along the road.
Then it was over, my kayak grounded on the bank I had been staring at for a tense eternity. I climbed out, pulled the craft into the high weeds, and turned to look back at the Mississippi River with the Wandering Men at my side. 
