THE MONARCHS Now an Audio Book

The Monarchs is now available as an audio book from Audible.com! Narrated by the venerable Chet Williamson, The Monarchs is a tale of nightmarish intrigue, set in the Great Dismal Swamp of North Carolina. The audio production is unabridged, with a running time of 8 hours and 27 minutes. The novel is released by Crossroad Press and can also be purchased in hardcover, paperback, and e-book formats. You may listen to a sample at Audible.com or read an excerpt here at my website.

"I would recommend The Monarchs to anyone who enjoys their horror intelligently written, character driven, and bloody. Without giving too much away, I can say that The Monarchs has one of the most exciting endings to a novel that I’ve read in the last year. You really shouldn’t pass this one by." —TT Zuma,  Horrorworld

Sorry About the Paint

Well, that was amusing.

Ms. Kimberly and I headed out to Yadkin County to visit a couple of wineries this afternoon, and — surprise, surprise — I stopped to look for a handful of caches. At one of them, you had to go under a bridge to get to the trail through the woods, and we came upon the message you see at left. It was to chuckle. And what not. Never did find that cache, alas. It's probably still there, but the place was poison ivy central, so I may go back when it's not in full blossom.

Our first winery stop was Flint Hill Vineyards, near East Bend, NC. It's a scenic spot along a little country road through Yadkin County. Last time we went, there were people skeet shooting across the road, which made it a wee bit less than tranquil, but this time we had no such disruption. Though it was a bit warm, we enjoyed sitting on the expansive front porch — though there was an abundant amount of wildlife, namely bumbly bees, that just would not leave us alone. Flint Hill has several dry reds that I'm particularly fond of; the Chambourcin and Cabernet Sauvignon were the standouts, and they had a red-white blend (Syrah and Chardonnay) called Synergy that was pretty fascinating.

Next was Hanover Park, about 15 miles southwest of Flint Hill. Kimberly and I had been there once before and quite loved it. The winery is in a hundred-some-year-old farmhouse, not very large, but picturesque and very comfortable. Their best wine is unquestionably their blend called 1897 (the year the farmhouse was built), though it's understandably a bit pricey for a bottle. They have several other standout wines, including a Mourvedre, a Chambourcin, and house blend called Michael's Blend, after the owner. I quite enjoyed the glass of Mourvedre I had there, but I opted to bring home a bottle of Michael's Blend. The folks there are very friendly, and we quite enjoyed talking with the staff as well as several other guests. The front porch here can't be beat for sitting and enjoying a glass or two.

Be good.

Ol' Rodan and nice lady rocking at Hanover Park

North Carolina's state plant

A Completely Random Chicago Story

For about half of the 1980s, I lived in Chicago, and on the whole, I really loved it. The traffic could be hell and the winters were frigid, but it was rarely dull. Before getting married and moving to Des Plaines, a northwestern suburb, I shared an apartment with my friend Bill Gudmundson in Logan Square, on the near northwest side of the city, in an aging, three-flat building on Kedzie Avenue. One night — or I should say morning, as it was about 3:00 AM — I woke from a sound sleep to serious hollering from somewhere outside. I went to the window and saw, pretty far down Kedzie, a white dude in a tuxedo stomping up the road in the direction of my apartment. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, "You all eat shit! Every last one of you! You all eat shit! This would never have happened to me in Cleveland! You all eat shit!"

I didn't quite know what to make of this, and in my neighborhood, a lone Caucasian dude issuing insults at an insensitive volume might find his troubles compounded. So, after a bit, I yelled out the window, "Hey! Shut the hell up!"

"Hey, you eat shit!" came the response.

The dude kept walking and hollering, and after a while, he wandered out of sight and out of earshot. I went on back to bed.

I've always kind of hoped he made it back to Cleveland and that it proved to be a happier place. As for me, I ate no shit but gave folks aplenty.

Binding Time and the Blustery Book Festival

Cold, cloudy, and windy. Just the weather for an outdoor book festival in Martinsville, wot? One might not think so, but a decent-size crowd actually did show up at Binding Time Cafe & Books for the event — even better than proprietors John and Bonnie Hale anticipated, so I was informed. The festival ran from 10:00 AM to 2:00 PM, with 20 authors, there or about, on hand to sell and sign books. I did quite well, I must say; I moved enough product so that my stock of available books is now running very low. Before any future events, I'm going to have to re-order some because I surely do not want to be shy of hellish scares for the unsuspecting.

My space beneath the sometimes perilously billowing tent was next to Dr. Stan Gravely, who grew up in Martinsville about the same time I did, though we didn't know each other well at the time. He was promoting his new book, This Is It!, which is something of a motivational guide to personal growth. I quite enjoyed the opportunity to get to know Stan a bit better, as we have a lot of shared background as well as ideas about living life (and the afterlife) in general. It was also cool that a few geocachers of my acquaintance stopped by, as did one of my most personally influential high school English teachers, Mrs. Linda Pulliam.

A fairly random sampling of some of the other attending authors include James Wayland, who wrote Trailer Park Trash & Vampires; Mary Helen Hensley, daughter of the late Dick Hensley — Martinsville High School principal as well as head coach of the Martinsville Bulldogs football team back in my day — who debuted a book of her father's wisdom, titled The Pocket Coach; former Ferrum College professor Becky Mushko, author of Ferradiddledumday, an "Appalachian retelling of Rumplestiltskin," who once had Elizabeth Massie — my writing parter on Dark Shadows: Dreams of the Dark — and I give a presentation on writing to some of her classes; Guy Andrews (whose wife Becky works with Kimberly and I in Greensboro) with his book, Dare to Summit, a guide to tackling the entire Bible, which he likens to "climbing Mt. Everest"; and Kristin Paige-Madonia, an award-winning writer of Young Adult fiction, author of Fingerprints of You, her first novel.

There will be a fall book festival at Binding Time in October, which I hope to attend as well. Guess I'd better get those books in....

Mary Helen Hensley autographing a copy of The Pocket Coach, a book of "her father's wisdom,"
for which she gives him writing credit.

James Wayland, author of Trailer Park Trash & Vampires, with books and two of his ex-friends

It's a dog's life! The Martinsville-Henry County SPCA's info booth, complete with mascots

Award-winning Young Adult author Kristen Paige-Madonia (center), author of Fingerprints of You.
To her left is Ms. Kerry Tillery, my 7th grade US History teacher.

Putting on the charm! Dr. Stan Gravely, non-scary, and Dr. Damned Rodan, scary.

Birthdays Suck, Except They Don't

Mum in front of The Third Bay Restaurant in Martinsville, VA

Mein Gott, how can another birthday have come and gone? I hate, hate, hate the ever-accelerating passage of years because, as each one falls away, the already complex tapestry of life grows only more complicated and often sad, as too many people close to me depart this life or suffer the inevitable infirmities that come with advancing years. Make no mistake, I'm still pretty damn spry for a middle-aged curmudgeon-in-training, and I have far more to be thankful for than to bitch, moan, and complain about; needless to say, this fact has never stopped me from bitching, moaning, and complaining, and I'm sure it never will. (And I don't care what you say, I happen to like my semicolons, so push the hell off.)

But even a grumpy old fart like me knows a good thing when he sees one. I tell you this, I've got the girlfriend to end all girlfriends, a fine family of cats, a mom that came straight from heaven, a roof over my head, and, at least for now, a pretty clean bill of health. All things considered, it was a mighty pleasant birthday yesterday. Most years, I take the evil day off from work, but I reserved that for today so I might have a slightly longer weekend. Last night, Brugger presented me with some nice presents and treated me to dinner at Sushi Republic on Tate Street — which proved why it's won best sushi in Greensboro for several years running — and, today, I geocached my way up to Martinsville so Mum could spend some time attempting to set straight the ornery cuss she birthed all those many years ago. Just for spite, she treated me to dinner at The Third Bay Restaurant, a very small but superb establishment that, back in the darkness of my youth, was actually a Sunoco gas station. As far as dining goes, it's the best Martinsville has to offer, though their hours during the week are sadly very limited — they're open on Friday nights but not on Saturdays, which has often knocked us out of going there for dinner. The meals I've had there I have rightly enjoyed, and tonight's was no exception. Their wine list is anything but extensive, though they do have a few decent dry reds; I was rather taken with the Shiraz I tried. I probably should have gone for the grilled halibut, like Mum did, but I opted for the filet mignon, medium rare, which was absolutely el perfecto. Hey, it's my freaking birthday dinner, and I'll filet if I want to. For dessert, The Third Bay specializes in chess pie, and if you haven't had The Third Bay's chess pie, then your dessert experience is dazzlingly incomplete. I'd go there just for a single piece of that stuff (but preferably more).

Tomorrow is the Spring Book Festival at Binding Time Cafe & Bookstore, just up the way, so I'll be there selling and signing books... as long as there's some poor schmuck willing to have his merchandise devalued with an old grump's signature. If you're that kind of brave soul, please do come on around.

Well, much as I hate them, I hope I'll have a few more birthdays coming round to punch me in the face. It's better than a slap across the belly with a wet trout.

I reckon.

If You're Not Drinking From a Droolie Cup...

...then you're just not drinking! It's here: the official Designs by Droolie^® coffee mug. With the merchandising push now on, certain young home decorators are dancing for joy in the streets... or at least in the living room. There's a whole array of stuff you can get with the Designs by Droolie^® logo — T-shirts, drinking glasses, tote bags, water bottles, mouse pads, coasters, refrigerator magnets, and more — from Café Press. Your critters will surely be inspired. Visit Droolie's page here: Designs by Droolie at Café Press.

Here's how it it all started...

Stairs can be dull, boring, and strictly utilitarian — at least, until a creative mind offers a new take on the concept. That's our specialty at Designs by Droolie^® — home decorating tips that are novel, inexpensive, and occasionally dangerous for Dad. Our line is sure to please the felines in your home and perhaps inspire them to try their own paws at adding new challenges to your life. That's us, here at Designs by Droolie^®.

Binding Time's Spring 2013 Book Festival

A couple of months ago, I did a book signing at Binding Time Café in Martinsville, which proved quite enjoyable (see "Binding Time Book Signing," Friday, March 8). A fair number of folks came by so that I might devalue their books with my signature, and the cafe food was superb. After the signing, roving reporter Ben Williams, accompanied by photographer Mike Wray, conducted an in-depth interview with me, and the resulting article was just featured in the Sunday, April 27 edition of The Martinsville Bulletin. Unfortunately, it's not included in the online version, but I was quite impressed by Mr. Williams' presentation. It was factually correct, and I was even quoted properly — a rarity indeed.

Saturday, May 4, Binding Time is hosting the 2013 Spring Book Festival, at the Druid Hills Shopping Center, 1115 Spruce Street, Martinsville, VA 24112, from 10:00 AM to 2:00 PM. I'll be among the many local authors participating, so if you're anywhere near the area, please come by. I'll devalue your stuff, too. You see if I don't. I will have copies on hand of The Monarchs, Blue Devil Island, Other Gods, and The Gaki. Join us.

Authors attending include Kristen-Paige Madonia, Dr. Mary Helen Hensley, Louise Lester, Avis Turner, James Wayland, Laura Wharton, Angela Harris, Donna Smith, Karen Hall, Oma Boyd, Stacy and Robert Moody, Carol Nolen, Betsy Ashton, Mary Dalton, Arnetta Hairston, Becky Mushko, Sally Roseveare, Franz X. Beisser, and Guy Andrews.

Chicken City

Gainesville, GA, is often known as "The Queen City of the Mountains" and sometimes "The Poultry Capital of the World." This weekend, as we discovered, the latter epithet was succinctly condensed to "Chicken City" and plastered all over town because it was time for Gainesville's 9th Annual Spring Chicken Festival. Kimberly and I were in the midst of it, at least for part of the day yesterday, being as we took my mom down there for her class reunion at Gainesville Country Club. Mum grew up in Gainesville, and, as kids, my brother and I spent lots of time there visiting our grandparents. The poultry industry was indeed Gainesville's economic lifeblood in the mid 20th century, and it's still a fairly prominent business, as evidenced by the big turnout of both vendors and attendees at the festival. Dozens of local restaurants and other businesses set up booths to sell their unique chicken concoctions — and compete with each other for the best recipes — in the Great Chicken Cook-off. Brugger and I sampled quite a bit of the available fare, which ranged from hickory smoked wings, Korean barbecue wings, chicken egg rolls, a variety of chicken salads, roasted garlic-parmesan wings, grilled orange-sesame wings... you can just about name it. I rightly enjoyed it, though I do believe Kimberly has had enough chicken to last her for most of this life. I must confess, it bothers me not a whit that that we missed out on the Chicken City Parade and most of the subsequent live entertainment.

Brugger lurking at a hidden, iron-gated stairway
just off Gainesville's downtown square.
Eerie screams were heard wafting down from
the darkness — hence the nice lady's smile.

Still, we spent a crapload of time, on numerous separate excursions, wandering about Gainesville's downtown square — an appealing, thriving little mecca of shops, restaurants, bars, and geocaches. Last year's visit (see "Let's Do the Time Warp Again," April 9, 2012)  was the first opportunity I'd had to spend much time in Gainesville since my grandparents died in the late 1980s. This year, our schedule was considerably tighter, since we devoted a fair amount of time to taking Mum around to places where she had spent so much of her youth, but hardly less enjoyable. Mum's reunion was last night, and she had a great time, which more than warmed my heart to see. Kimberly and I had several decent meals in town, the easy winner being last night's at Re-cess Southern Gastro Pub, which we had discovered on last year's trip. Unfortunately, it's louder than hell inside, but they have a few tables in a covered area out front, to which we availed ourselves on both our visits. Honorable mentions go to Poor Richards, where we had dinner with Mum's first cousin, Mark Bell, and his wife, Sylvia; and 2 Dog, a nice little hidey hole right next to Bell's Cleaners, the dry cleaning plant that my grandfather and his brothers ran for the better part of the 20th century. Kimberly and I also enjoyed sampling some drinks at Scott's lounge (where, again, the sidewalk seating proved most enjoyable) and at Luna's lounge, in Hunt Tower, formerly the grand Dixie Hunt Hotel.

Since last spring, the new, scenic Midtown Greenway has been added to Gainesville's numerous beautiful outdoor settings. (Yes, there was geocaching.) Ivey Terrace Park and the adjoining Wilshire trail system remain my longtime favorite places to hike and cache. When I was a kid, my brother and I loved to explore those woods and ride our bikes like mad fools down the trails, which back then were just dirt and rocks; nowadays, they're all nicely paved (though I kinda preferred the natural trails) and there's a gorgeous overlook built into the very steep, densely wooded hillside.

Unfortunately, the trip back today was miserable, for the blinding, driving rain never once let up, making me exhausted and cross (especially since it knocked me out of finding all but one of the caches I might have otherwise targeted). All in all, though, returning to Gainesville — the site of so many of the best memories of my life — was a pure joy, and I can't wait for another opportunity.

We're done here.

Reproducing — more or less — last year's pose at Re-cess Southern Gastro Pub

The photo is a bit blurry, alas, but at 2 Dog, the walls are paneled entirely with wine corks.

Nice lady taunting the photographer on the new pedestrian bridge over Jesse Jewell Parkway

Nice she may, but there are, in fact, times that Brugger does need a little adjustment.
Sometimes I am obliged to haul ass after the fact, but one does what one must.

Grave site of my great, great uncle, Congressman Thomas Montgomery Bell, who took no
guff from anyone. Once, sometime in the 1930s, when a driver cut him off on the highway,
Uncle Tom pursued the miscreant and shot his tires out.

Just a-swingin' at Ivey Terrace Park. Notice that the trees have grown completely
around the ends of the iron rod. (Near "Pole in a Tree 2," GC2WVCJ)

Designs by Droolie®

If you visit me on Facebook, you've no doubt met Droolie. Droolie is my home decorator. Back in December, he came round to my front porch and wouldn't go away, so, after a good faith but ultimately futile effort to find him a decent home, I took him in, fed and clothed him, got him his shots, and had him properly fixed. In no time at all, not only did he begin to redecorate my home, he inspired Chester, Frazier, and Dusty to help out. These days, coming home from work is always a new adventure. Sometimes I can't even get in the house because they've bunched up a rug and used it as a wedge behind the front door. More often than not, the tablecloth on the dining room table is just plain gone, and occasionally the floor is littered cat toys and other paraphernalia that I haven't seen since 1994. An industrious boy, this Droolie.

And so began Designs by Droolie^®. This line of innovative, uniquely feline, and occasionally dangerous (for Dad) home decorating tips and ideas is frequently illustrated by stunning photographs of the house cats doing what they do best. There's no shortage of creativity in this household, I can tell you, and after much poking and prodding from his Facebook fans, Droolie has decided to try his paw at merchandising. We've uploaded the Designs by Droolie^® logo you see here to Café Press, and you can get it on coffee mugs, water bottles, tote bags, t-shirts and other apparel, and even mouse pads. Here's a link to his page: Designs by Droolie^®. By all means, stop by and have a look at what you can get.

Droolie and his capable staff will certainly thank you. Enjoy.

Sometimes subtlety is most effective. Here, our young master decorator presents a fringed, patterned rug
in front of the back door, tastefully angled, with one end slightly rolled up for effect. It's easy, affordable,
and only marginally dangerous for Dad.

Fox Den, CITO, and the One That Got Away

At least a couple of times a year, I get with a bunch of geocachers to help clean up an area that needs it — a "cache-in, trash-out" (CITO) event. Today's gathering took place on the Richmond & Danville Rail Trail, in Ringgold, VA, sponsored by Norman & Lynn "Spring1" Dillon. About 15 geocachers from all around Virginia and North Carolina showed up at the trail head at 10:00 AM, and within a few minutes, we had two separate groups attacking two different trail heads and working toward each other. A couple of hours later, there wasn't a speck of trash to be found between the trail heads at Ringgold Depot Rd. and Shawnee Rd. Done, done, and done.

Afterward, the lot of us converged on the Corner Cafe in Ringgold at a meet-and-greet event, sponsored by proprietors Keith and Laura McCoy. On Friday evenings, their dinner special is meatloaf, and they were kind enough to save me some because they know I'm ga-ga for the stuff. Really, it is the most awesomest meatloaf, anywhere, ever. Check it out for yourself, and you see if it's not.

Following that, I headed down through Caswell and Alamance Counties to the Shallow Ford trail system to pick up a relatively new hide and then over to the Haw River to check out an older cache. That one is actually meant to be accessed by boat, but when the water is low enough, you can get to it from the river bank. Today, however, the water was not even a little low, so I did not attempt to make my way out to ground zero, which is a couple of very cool, very old bridge supports. Hopefully, I'll get a chance to go after this one, and its nearby neighbor, the regulation way.

The big mean cache of the weekend was yesterday's... a new hide, called "Fox Den," in Greensboro that entailed crawling into a huge, hollow, fallen tree and snagging an ammo can placed some ten feet deep inside. There was a lot more to it than that, but I won't go into detail and give too much away. Mr. Rob "Robgso" Isenhour and I managed a nice first-to-find, occasionally in the pouring rain, late yesterday afternoon. Suffice it to say I came home wetter and filthier than I probably ever have from a caching trip.

Jumpin' Jehosaphat, the things some of us will do to get a smiley.

The CITO group after working over the Richmond & Danville Rail Trail in Ringgold, VA

Yep, there's a cache there, but without waders, I wasn't keen on attempting to ford the river.

From Forest of the Elves to the Domain of Dwarves

Ol' Rodan homing in on "Shields of the First Age" (GC2NTA9)

Needed exercise. Got exercise. Tired. Sore. My feets have warned me they will walk me no farther this day.

It started early. Headed out to Burlington to meet Mr. Robbin "Rtmlee" Lee so that we might snag a number of geocaches we both needed — two in particular — first at the Caswell Game Lands up the road a ways, and then over to Danville, VA. Out of a fair number of hides in the expansive game lands, we both lacked only one: a puzzle cache called "Shields of the First Age" (GC2NTA9), based on certain Elvish lore from Tolkien's The Silmarillion. (See "Middle Earth in Caswell County," Sunday, March 12, 2011, to read about our first adventure out there.) I had labored long and hard to decipher the runic symbols on the cache page, and after a nudge in the right direction from a friend who'd solved the puzzle, I finally got the hang of Elvish math. Upon reaching the game lands, we had a mile hike out to ground zero, the latter part of which offered a fair incline to negotiate, but that was naught, naught I tell you, compared to the mental challenge of this cache. Fortunately, the container was easily found; we slapped our monikers on the log, made the hike back to our vehicle, and set out for Danville. Along the way, we received a call from our geocaching friend Larry "HDJP" Roach, who was coincidentally heading for Danville at the same time from a different direction. Thus, we made plans to meet him at our other main target cache — "Dick's Downer" (GC3NVM4)

Before the next big one, Rob and I stopped for a couple of hides near the Danville Riverwalk, and who should we stumble upon but another of our geocaching buddies, Mr. Keith "KeithandLaura" McCoy. He was also keen on heading over to Dick's Downer, so after we finished our business at the Riverwalk, we hit the road for Dick's. The cache description gave us the crucial information about prerequisite equipment — things like bright flashlights or headlamps, waterproof boots, and maybe a change of clothing. Sure enough... once we reached ground zero, we saw that it clearly presented us with the expected terrain challenge. Just before we made our way into the subterranean darkness, I spied something in the water that looked rather familiar. No way, I thought... I mean, it just didn't seem even a little bit likely. So I let the thing be, and on into the dank darkness we crept. Now, I've got to tell you, I've enjoyed some caches of this type, but this one required a few interesting physical challenges that really made it stand out (imagine the old man playing Tarzan deep in the underground). It wasn't long before Mr. Lee spotted the hide, but it was... how you say... incomplete. Blimey! That thing I had seen out in the water — it sure enough was a piece of the cache! So, Mr. Keith and I backtracked, and he went out to see if he could find the thing. Happily, he soon did. So after putting in a new logsheet, he brought the container piece back in to me, and I relayed it to Mr. Lee at the cache site. Finally, we managed to get it all back together, as it was intended to be. Clearly, I should have just recognized the thing for what it was at the beginning, but that would have deprived us of half the trip's adventure. In the end, Dick's proved an enjoyable highlight of the day, and it was also a mini-milestone for me — cache find #5,800.

There were several more caches to be found over the course of the day — after a superdynawhoppin' bison burger at Ham's — so, yes, at the end of it all, my feets were uttering the uncooperative stuff I related up top. They did get a nice break this evening when Ms. B. came round so we could watch The Evil Dead II, which I've not seen in years.

Done. Ripped. Fini.

Rodan cooling off at the entrance.

Nothing satisfies one after a long hard day on the trail more than a big old burger of bison.

Railing against the man, is that it? Found on the Cane Creek Parkway, Danville, VA. Left it as found...

Twelve Years Ago Today...

Mom and Dad before I was even a glimmer

...My dad passed away. Complications from severe diabetes, which he'd had for most of his adult life. If he'd been able to avail himself to the refined medications and general expertise we have about the disease today, he'd likely still be with us. He simply could never control his blood sugar, no matter how precise his regimen. His dosage of insulin and  diet might be exactly the same every day for a week, but his blood sugar still fluctuated madly day after day. I remember some of the violent insulin reactions he had; they were terrifying. Worse than epileptic seizures. Violent. Horrifying. Frequent. Thank ye gods, Dad was able to retire from a 30-year career with Dupont at age 52 — younger than I am now — and have some quality of life before the disease destroyed his body.

If he were alive today, Dad would be 82 years old, and I confess I find it difficult to imagine him at that age. He was relatively young when he died — just shy of 71 — but those last few years barely counted as living. He suffered a rapidly progressive debilitation that by all appearances rivaled AIDS. I've always believed diabetes has been an "under-rated" disease. It doesn't get the attention that cancer, HIV, and heart disease command with the media, but I saw up close and personal how devastating it can be. Fortunately, medical advances in the past few years have reduced, if not eradicated, the kind of suffering my dad went through. Till the end, his mind remained sharp, and while in hindsight there are so many things I wish we could have shared during those last days, at least from my view, we parted without words left unspoken. For that, I feel blessed.

If there's any lesson Dad left me, it's to treasure the moments... the people... the experiences... that life offers us. My mom is still alive and doing fairly well. I talked to her just a while ago, and though it was all about nothing earth-shaking, it was a memorable and, yes, precious exchange. Life is short. A blip. You know, at the end of the day, what I really want is to make my little blip count for something. The way my dad did.

Mother F—!

Have you seen the bridge?

The geocache description said it was a "pointy tree." We're talking a honey locust here, so let's try a gnarly, smug, smart-ass, ornery tree boasting clusters of 3-inch-long briers on thick, whip-like branches.

My log: "Out for a beautiful day on the hunt with Suntigres. Upon reaching for this one, I made a very naughty utterance. Thanks for the cache... I think."

Bridget Langley's log: "When I heard Mark repeatedly calling for his mother, I knew he had found the cache."

It was an ultra-beautiful day to be out on the caching trail, so Bridget and I made a day of it in Randolph County. I picked up 36 caches; she claimed a few more, since we stopped for some I'd logged a while back. The bridge you see in the pics was at one cool stop along a tributary of Back Creek, on Heath Dairy Road. We had a kind of hairy but ultimately entertaining moment when some community-spirited neighbor (who looked to have no front teeth and drove a thirty-year-old, noisy, exhaust-belching pickup truck with a chainsaw in the back) took it to heart to pursue us, no doubt curious about our efforts to dislodge a magnetic nano from a section of signpost alongside the road. Happily, Bridget is apparently a bona fide Bond girl, for we soon lost the unsavory character without having to engage any of our lethal gadgets.

In any event, it was an excellent trip out there, but for the excruciating pain of reaching into the pointy tree. I tell you this, if I ever need an implement to inflict serious injury upon someone who has annoyed me, I know from which particular botanical specimen to clip a few branches.

It's not my photo, but here is a nice shot of your typical honey locust tree.

Done.

Where's that confounded bridge?

Just a Travelin' Fam

The better half of TravelinFarmFam and Ms. B. at old Tobacco Barn, just off the
American Tobacco Trail in Durham, NC

A couple of years back, my next-door neighbors and good friends, Paul and Jamie Workman (a.k.a. TravelinFarmFam) moved to Durham to be closer to their respective jobs. To be sure, without all that commuting and a new house in the bargain, their quality of life has taken a step up — damn it all, since, from my purely selfish viewpoint, life on the home front has been all the more drab for it. They're not all that far away — about an hour — but with hectic work schedules and seemingly endless social and business commitments for all of us, finding time to get together has proven painfully elusive. Finally, though, the TravelinFarmFam, Ms. B., and I found time to get together at their place over in Durham. Yay friggin' damn, it's about time.

Paul and Jamie were my first honest-to-god geocaching partners, and we had more than a few screaming great times together that first couple of years of it. Back then, all any of us had to do was holler next door, "Hey, you wanna go caching?" And the people in the other house would holler back, "Like, yeah." So, off we'd go on some wild adventure. More often than not, we'd head out in the evening and be gone till until way past our bedtimes. We'd usually find some place to have dinner and drinks, or we'd cook at one of our respective houses. Sometimes on nice evenings, we'd wander over to each other's back decks and sit out under the stars drinking wine and yelling for the sake of it. We watched out for each other, and if I'd go out of town for a weekend, they'd take care of the cats and make sure my house didn't burn down. In return, I'd go over to feed Lucky, their dog, and keep their bunny on the straight and narrow. Ms. B. and I took a couple of the most memorable trips of our lives together with them — one to Jamie's family's citrus ranch down in Florida (see Florida's Outback, March 16, 2010), and another to Williamsburg, VA (see A Williamsburg Kind of Weekend, October 23, 2011). When Peg and I were going through the worst of our marital breakup, Paul and Jamie were there for the both of us, and I really don't know how either of us could have managed without them.

Yesterday, Kimberly and I hit the road after work, headed to Durham, and soon enough were darkening the Workmans' doorstep. (They even let us in, the blind fools!) After a spot of wine, we made our way to one of my favorite establishments in that area, Ted's Montana Grill, where they turn great big bison into these breathtakingly awesome burgers that — after a bit of work — fit cleanly in your mouth. There was more wine, game playing, and general shenanigans until sometime very late. This morning, Jamie made a delicious egg/ham/cheese scramble, with some killer Iguana Joe's hot sauce that they picked up in Aruba. Then it was out to the American Tobacco Trail for some hiking and caching, where we discovered an old tobacco barn that is evidently haunted by a giant spider (see photo for a shot of the interior). About halfway through, the ladies left us to go shopping, while we men put in about four miles and snagged a dozen or so caches. After all this, lunch was late, but quite decent at Los Portales Mexican Restaurant. I had a right tasty cevichile, with shrimp and octopus, and a cielo rojo, which was Corona beer with tomato juice, lime, hot sauce, topped with a shrimp. It was pretty good, but it doesn't beat a good old Red Eye made with Corona, lime, and Zing Zang bloody mary mix.

Finally, we had to head out, so Kimberly and I hit Chapel Hill for a bit more caching (for me, at least), a stop for some groceries at Trader Joe's, and a drink at the Weathervane restaurant in A Southern Season. It was an all-too-brief but more than welcome gathering with some of the best friends I've ever known. It can't be so long before our next get-together. It just can't.

So says I.

Inside the old tobacco barn... We never saw any giant spider, but I'm sure it was lurking nearby...
watching and waiting. We managed to escape with our lives.

Ms. B. and ol' Rodan, unaware that a giant, bloodthirsty arachnid might be watching.

Bigfoot Motel?

"Bigfoot see a shiny light
In the middle of the night.
Bigfoot see a neon sign.
Bigfoot reach for his credit card....
OH NO! Bigfoot Motel! Bigfoot Motel!"

That's a few lyrics from The Jazz Butcher for you there....

After an enjoyable, mostly relaxing weekend at Mum's in Martinsville, Kimberly and I headed back to Greensboro via a number of back roads through Rockingham and Guilford Counties that I might hunt a few geocaches en route. One never knows what one may discover in the field, and it's always most satisfying when you happen upon a cryptozoological wonder or two. "Bigfoot" (GC47472) was the most enjoyable of today's discoveries, chief reason being, well, it was Bigfoot. Not only Bigfoot but a few rather intriguing carved totem figures were watching from the nearby woods. As you can see in the photo at left, my feetz ain't the bigfeetz.

I'm currently hard at work on my next novel, which is a tale of horror involving... geocaching. It's tentatively titled The Night Cache, and while it's a long way from being finished, I think it's shaping up so that it will be equally engaging to readers whether they know (or care) diddly about caching or are fanatics about it. That's my aim, anyhow.

While I'm at it, allow me to mention that my creepy, deep, dark horror story, "Beneath the Pier," in Lovecraft eZine issue #21, is still readily available to check out, and it's free. You read. You enjoy. You scream, run, and hide. Is here.

G'wan.

A happily haunted little spot not far from Bigfoot Motel

Picturesque — and possibly haunted — tobacco barn, also not far from Bigfoot Motel

A couple of the fun little totem chaps that chuckled madly as Ms. B. and I hunted for Bigfoot

Fresh Air

The inevitable portrait from the day's caching trip

The best thing one can say about the days getting longer and the weather warming up is that it's a bit easier to fit the geocaching into the schedule. At the office, Good Friday is one of those days during the year you can take a floating holiday, and so, being as the caching was calling me and all, I took it. Spent most of it over in Alamance County, hunting for a few hides around Graham and Burlington. There's a fairly expansive natural area in north Burlington called Oakdale Town & Country Park, which runs along the always gorgeous Haw River. Much of my time out there was spent on a couple of hides that I ultimately could not find, but I did not care; it was just a great day to be outdoors. I love finding old, forgotten, and unusual things out on the trail, and there were several out that way: what might have been part of an old set of weighing scales hanging from a tree; a busted-up toy racing car stuck on a metal post; a portion of brick column in a creek that came from who-knows-what old structure. Perhaps the most interesting was discovering a new, unused can of Febreze out in the middle of woods, not too far from a cache. I figure I can always use a little extra fresh air in the house, so I took it home with me.

Today, Ms. B. and I popped up to Martinsville to see Mum, detouring through Eden to go after a four-stage multi cache called "Murdered by State of NC," after the inscription on the gravestone of a convicted murderer who proclaimed his innocence up until he was executed by the state. His mother had the epitaph put on his stone to protest the ostensible murder of an innocent man. A fun hide in a neat location, at which one discovers quite a bit of local history as told by the stones at many of the grave sites.

And that is all. For now.

A very green portion of the trail along the Haw River, on the way to a cache aptly titled "Emerald"

This little racer must have hit this pole pretty danged hard.

I think this came from an old set of scales; if you know, please weigh in.

No telling what this portion of column came from; I saw no other remains nearby.

Restored cabin and well at Graham Municipal Park

A New Freebie — The Gaki

I figured it was time to offer a new piece of free fiction on my website, so... tis here. It's "The Gaki," the headliner of my short fiction collection, The Gaki & Other Hungry Spirits from Dark Regions Press. I rarely look back at my older works of fiction unless I have reason to re-edit them for new publication or some such — or if I consider making them available on my website. After all these years, I still have the dickens of a time looking at my stories and novels with any sort of objectivity; more often than not, the best I can say about them is that they bring back vivid memories of the times that inspired the tales — sometimes good, sometimes bad. When I recently gave "The Gaki" a look-see, I actually rather liked it, above and beyond the years-old memories it conjured up.

Dark Regions is running all kinds of specials on their products, and both The Gaki and Other Gods may be found amongst them. I cordially invite you to check out the short story, and if you enjoy it, please venture over to Dark Regions, or Amazon, or what have you, and pick up the book. It's available in trade paperback and e-book formats — and Dark Regions may have a few signed hardback copies left.

Check out "The Gaki" at my website here. You can read it free online, or download a PDF or MOBI file for your Kindle. Enjoy (or run away in mindless terror, whichever best suits you).