A Life Lived on Two Wheels Took a Powerful Turn In Katrina’s Wake

Photo courtesy of http://www.herring-cycling.com/bellau.html

Ken Bellau’s 2005 cycling season was just winding down when Katrina hit. It had been a good year. The professional cyclist for Herring Gas Cycling Team had won the Tour Le Fleur Road Race in Jackson, MS., and just returned from the Tour of French Guyana, where his team placed third. In the peleton, he is often a feared or welcomed blue streak, known for being helpful to teammates, merciless to those who attack his teammates. His motto: “No one remembers second place.” And yet, he’s one who’s willing to sacrifice it if it means seeing a teammate cross the finish line a champion.

Cycling’s a sport that requires patience, good will, and, at the same time ferocity, determination, guts, and, occasionally, the willingness to put yourself in a situation that can’t possibly turn out nice. It seems, then, that Bellau’s time in the saddle prepared him perfectly for the task that was so clearly chiseled just for him by God or, if you’re a nonbeliever, fate, or luck.

The day after Katrina struck, Bellau’s plan was to go to his house in uptown New Orleans and see if he could clean it up a bit. Maybe he’d help his neighbors find things. He could, he imagined, be a naked eye on the situation and report back to his buddies by text message. Feed a few dogs. Though his best friend begged him not to go, to Bellau, he had no choice but to be there.

Bellau ended up spending weeks in New Orleans, commandeering a Skeeter fishing boat that’d come untied in the storm. He came across hostile gangs who begrudgingly let him steer them away from rising waters, helped the national guard find their footing and even, sometimes, food, and witnessed unspeakable horrors. Bellau is currently at work on a book about his experiences called “King of Uptown,” and the excerpt on his Web site is well worth the read, as is this article about his amazing experience jumping in (to toxic waters, even) with both feet at a time when many were glued to their television sets wondering how they could get involved.

When Bellau’s heroic feats were finished, he tied the Skeeter back where he found it and wrote along its side: “This boat rescued over 400 people. Thank you,” with his name and phone number.

After the waters receded, though, Bellau struggled daily. Perhaps the true story of his heroism is that he managed to navigate the rough waters of grief feeling all alone in the months following the storm. I caught up with Bellau recently, and he shared some of what he went through.

“I think in most of the pictures I have of myself from that time, I’m either smiling or looking a bit serious, but never sad, never ‘depressed.’ And just like the text books tell you, 6 months later, I was basically a shell of a person. I isolated myself with Mexican workers gutting houses,” Bellau says. “I generally consider myself a happy person and I think most people might consider me fun to be around, maybe even the class clown type. But wow. I was in a dark place. A cavern that I didn’t think there was a bottom to. When Mardi Gras rolled around, I was so angry that there were people celebrating on the ground where fellow citizens lay dead just a few short months earlier, that I was like a powder keg with a lit match hovering over it. I ended up in the hospital one night after getting into a fight a couple of guys I thought weren’t showing enough respect. I was a total mess; out of control and completely withdrawn. If I had to be around friends or at a bike race, I faked it pretty well, or I just made an excuse to not show up. I imagine I had text book post traumatic stress disorder. Even good news pissed me off and I was wracked with guilt and I gave my money away freely. I never did seek help. However, I did recognize it enough to research it and reach out to some of the soldiers that were here. I still keep in close touch with them and hearing constantly what a ‘great mission’ New Orleans was, makes me proud.”

He continues, “I was a psych major at LSU and I could almost clinically identify the things I was struggling with. I thought, if I can recognize it in myself, it can’t be that big of a problem. It took a few years and a lot of effort to get through it. I wonder if I did myself more harm. I just keep looking at the people here that have it worse, that lost a family member or witnessed one drown. Those things kind of keep me in check from feeling too sorry for myself. Another thing that really helped me through: the loving comfort of an animal. I rescued a 22-pound cat in Katrina. He swam in a bathroom filled with 4 feet of flood water for seven days. He had nothing but love and hilarious affection for me no matter what. When you’re lonely, a pet could literally save your soul. I rushed home every day just so I could get a big nudge and lay on the floor and speak English to him. Sarge was killed by dogs last year.”

Five years after the storm, Bellau is heralded a hero, asked to speak on behalf of all the rescuers and victims of Katrina.

Bellau with "Sarge"

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