It was only a short few weeks ago that I made arrangements to take part in the
Monstrous Books'
group signing event for
James Aquilone's
Kolchak: Eras anthology at
Dr. No's Comics & Games Superstore
in Marietta, Georgia (Wednesday, September 16, 4:00–6 p.m.). I figured that,
since I have so much history in north Georgia, I might turn this singular
event into a much-desired extended trip, especially since Ms. B. had to go to
Michigan to look after her mom and dad for a while. Otherwise, for two weeks,
I'd be on tenterhooks at home in Virginia, alone but for a most intimidating
passel of cats. So... a trip of it I decided to make.
Tuesday, September 15, 2026
I left Martinsville this morning about 9:00 a.m., bound for Gainesville,
Georgia, where my mom was raised, my parents were married, and my grandparents
(Mom's) lived until they passed away in the late 1980s. From the time I was
born until my grandparents died, my immediate family and I spent countless
days in Gainesville with them, especially around holidays. (Here's a
link to my blog
from my November 2025 sojourn).
Traffic was predictably heavy the entire trip down, but thank Yog, there were
no major hold-ups. For shits and giggles, I followed the lady in the phone's
advice to try a different approach than my usual into Gainesville. Typically,
I take I-85 to US 129 straight into town. Google directed me onto Hwy 51,
which took me through the tiny towns of Homer and Lula, Georgia. I'd seen both
on the map since I was old enough to read, but I'd never experienced either of
them up close and personal. So, close your eyes and imagine what a little
north Georgia town named Homer or Lula might look like. Yes, you are right the
first time! This route wasn't a bad diversion from the norm — the scenery was
nice enough — but it was slower, and I'm sure I shan't do it again.
I stopped for only one geocache along the way, and that was because it was
close to where I had lunch (an Arby's somewhere in South Carolina — a tiny
chicken slider and unsweetened iced tea). Almost every cache anywhere near the
main highway is an unimaginative park & grab, and in my old age, I don't
have that much interest in those. On this roughly six-hour trip, I found
myself more inclined to reach my destination than grab run-of-the-mill
geocaches just for the numbers.
My destination was the nice AirBnB where I stayed on last November's trip — a
little house called the Blue Bungalow, very near my grandparents' old
place. Coming back here felt familiar and comfortable, and the owner is
acquainted with one of my cousins who still lives here in town. I'm glad it
was available for the better part of my stay, though for my final evening
here, I'll be at a nearby hotel.
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Home away from home: The Blue Bungalow
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The Shishito Margarita at Taqueria Tsunami
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Once settled in, I made a quick trip to the nearby
Publix
for provisions, and then set out on foot for downtown and dinner. I originally
thought I might visit
Bourbon Brothers Smokehouse, which I'd enjoyed last time, but I ended up detouring to
Taqueria Tsunami
on the Square, as I'd never been there. And holy Moses, how excellent. I
started with an appealing-looking drink called the Shishito Margarita
(shishito pepper–infused Codigo tequila, Patron citronage jalapeno, yuzu
liqueur, ginger liqueur, and lime juice, in a glass rimmed with Korean Five
Spice). I must say, I loved this beast, so I ordered a second one. For dinner,
I killed a Korean pork carnitas taco, a spicy Mahi Mahi taco, and a cucumber
salad. All fantastic, and not entirely unhealthy. I'm fairly certain
Bourbon Brothers will happen before my visit is done, though. If time
permits, I'd also enjoy revisiting
Southern Recess Gastro Pub, another of my favorites here.
I made arrangements with my cousin (also named Mark) to dine with him and his
family on Friday, and I'm hoping to line up a dinner outing after the book
signing tomorrow with as many of the attending deviants as possible. Speaking
of, friend Dave Hinchberger called, and we enjoyed shooting the shit for the
better part of an hour. Then I sat out on the front porch, drank a little
Irish, and composed the mess you're reading right now.
I doubt you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, but if you
enjoyed it half as much as I did, then I am twice as happy as you are. You know how that goes.
Till
tomorrow.
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Bradford Street on the Square
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The house where my grandparents lived way back when
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Nope. No such thing!
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Wednesday, September 16, 2026
I rolled (read stumbled) out of bed about 8:30 a.m., made coffee and scrambled
eggs, and then hoofed it to the nearby post office to mail an autographed copy
of
The House at Black Tooth Pond to my one adoring fan. After this, I wandered around the neighborhood,
much of which retains the mellow character it's had since I was a kid. Of
course, there's also a shit-ton of new development, although most of it is at
least a step above cookie-cutter shoeboxes, the blight of so many fast-growing
communities. I got in my daily requisite steps, and I expect I'll be getting a
good many before I retire tonight. I've put in five to eight miles every day
for about a week now.
Among the provisions I picked up at Publix yesterday were some oysters, so I
made oyster stew for lunch. It's a rare delicacy for me since the supermarkets
back home carry oysters so infrequently. F'ing bastards. It was yummy,
although Brugger calls oysters snot from the sea.
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The house on nearby Park Street where my great uncle and his family
lived when I was growing up
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| Oh, yeah, baby! |
About 1:00 p.m., I headed out for Marietta, giving myself plenty of time to
get in some geocaching before the event at Dr. No's. Every highway was a
madhouse, as always, and there was a pretty nasty traffic jam on I-75, but at
least I was never pressed for time. I went after eight caches (one of which
was in the woods behind Dr. No's) and found them all. I was glad to see a
couple of creative hides among the mostly quick park & grabs. I ended up
one hell of a sweaty mess, I can tell you — quite unfit for civilized society.
Happily, I had brought along a change of clothing and some personal
freshening-up items. So, once I arrived at the bookstore, I availed myself of
their restroom, scrubbed up, and changed. When I emerged, I might still have
been unfit for civilized society, but at least I was clean and almost as fresh
as a wilted daisy.
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That old dude's not TOO sweaty a mess....
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The
Monstrous Books
bunch comprised
James Aquilone,
Cliff Biggers,
Lev Butts,
Nancy A. Collins,
Bobby Nash,
Charles Rutledge, and an
old dude. What a fun crew this turned out to be! Most enjoyable were visits
from some of my old friends from various places in time and space: my ages-old
friend
Todd Wickliffe, originally from Martinsville, and his son,
Richard, both of whom now live near Marietta;
Dave Hinchberger,
overseer of the renowned
Overlook Connection Press & Bookstore and good friend dating back to the late 1980s; and
Alan Hughes,
former resident of Gainesville and co-panelist on the
Lovecraft eZine Podcast.
I signed a slew of copies of
Kolchak: Eras and sold a few books
of my own. Yay! Afterward, Lev Butts, Dave H., Alan Hughes, and Alan's
daughter, Victoria, gathered with me for a most satisfying dinner at
Marietta Fish Market, a short distance down the road from Dr. No's. I sank a couple of very good
gin martinis and
almost killed a huge plate of fish & chips, but it
was so much, a portion of it returned to Gainesville with me.
For
me, this was an all-around good time. I truly value the support of such good
friends, and I enjoyed meeting the folks I hadn't previously. I especially
appreciated getting to know Charles Rutledge much better, after our paths had
crossed only like ghost ships in the night at various cons. The drive back to
Gainesville was no less bonkers than the drive down, but I survived to write
another day. Man, talk about wiped out. That comfy bed calls.
Niters!
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Imagine seeing this visage glaring at you from the placard on the
table...
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James Aquilone, Nancy A. Collins, Cliff Biggers, Charles Rutledge, Old
Dude, Lev Butts, Bobby Nash
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Same crew, different angle
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Butts, Rutledge, Dude, Dave Hinchberger, Collins, Biggers
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You never know who you're gonna find popping into an event — artist
& Lovecraft eZine panelist Alan Hughes
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| Dave and Nancy |
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A big honking pile of fish & chips at Marietta Fish Market
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Thursday, September 17, 2026As soon as I leaped exuberantly out of bed* and downed a single mug of
coffee, I set out to earn my morning mileage — walking rather than running
today — which led me to the town square. I needed more caffeine in the worst
way, so I burst into
Inman Perk, which has provided me with many caffeine fixes over the years, and demanded
a new fix. Since the outside temperature was rising rapidly, I opted for an
iced Vietnamese cold brew, and... oh, yeah... did that ever hit the spot. On
the walk back, Ms. B. and I yakked on the phone about our respective
goings-on. I daresay I'm having the better time of it as she deals with the
rigors of overseeing her parents' care.
*Crawled.
Once settled back in at the Blue Bungalow, I polished off most of the
leftovers from last night's dinner. Not as good as fresh in the restaurant,
but still plenty edible. Then I buckled down for a long writing stint (part of
which included this blog).
Just shy of 5:00 p.m., I ventured back outdoors and into the ungodly heat.
(FOR GOD'S SAKE, IT IS FUCKING MID-SEPTEMBER — "CLIMATE CHANGE IS A HOAX" MY
ASS.) I had narrowed down my dinner choices to
Southern Recess Gastro Pub;
Bourbon Brothers Smokehouse; and
Sizzling Spices, a tempting-looking Indian restaurant. I opted to let my feet decide, since
each place was along my route. As my walk progressed, I ruled out
Southern Recess because, inside the restaurant, it is always louder
than fuck, and I don't like loud. Therefore, sitting outside was a requirement
(in the past, for this very reason, I have
always sat outside).
Today, it was still 90 goddamn degrees Fahrenheit out there, and I was not at
all keen on sitting outside at 90 goddamn degrees Fahrenheit. Then, as I
passed
Sizzling Spices, I remembered that
Bourbon Brothers had
happy hour going on. Therefore, I settled on the latter.
Once ensconced at Bourbon Brothers, I found that happy hour applied to
appetizers (buy one, get one free) or getting a double house drink for a
dollar above the regular price for a single. Well, the house drinks didn't
much appeal to me, so I ordered a gin martini (and a second one a short while
later). For dinner, I went for the smoked chicken wings appetizer — and I
could have gotten an extra for free; however, that would have been way
too much for me to kill, and since I'm moving from the Blue Bungalow to a
hotel tomorrow, and I'm having dinner with my cousin and his family in the
evening, consuming an extra portion of dead bird tomorrow didn't appear
likely. So, happy hour ended up being a bust, but I didn't care; I didn't give
a shit. I drank them drinks and ate them wings like a man insane because, oh
my lord, them were good. I'm going on record saying these were the
best smoked wings I've ever devoured.
Tomorrow, I need to be out of here by 10:00 a.m. I can check into the hotel at
3:00 p.m., so I'll probably either go down to Inman's Perk, drink
coffee, and write for a while before going geocaching; or I'll opt for reverse
order, depending on mood and circumstances. In any event, I foresee geocaching
and writing, in one order or another, between changing my temporary domiciles.
On my walk back to the Blue Bungalow, I took a route that led me past Bell's Cleaners, which was the dry-cleaning plant my grandfather and his three brothers
(Great Uncle Herbert, Great Uncle Mark, and Great Uncle Garnett) opened in the
1950s and owned until Herbert, the last surviving sibling, passed away in the
late 1990s. Though the plant has been closed for several years, it still looks
much the same as it ever was. I understand that whoever bought it after
Herbert's death did the place no credit, but the fact that it still exists in
its almost pristine state feels weirdly deliberate — due to its
historical significance, perhaps? I really don't know about that, but it's
true that the Bell family — Mom's folks — certainly earned their place as a
prominent Gainesville family. I have vivid childhood memories of going to that
plant with my grandfather, and stopping there to say goodbye to him whenever
we were about to head back home at the end of our Gainesville visits. Because
of that personal history, I'm glad it remains imminently recognizable. I'll
wager there aren't many people in this town who remember it as the Gainesville
institution it once was. For all I know, it won't be there much longer, but
for this moment in time, it makes me happy.
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The "Bell's" logo is missing above "Cleaners" on the wing on the right,
but that's about all that's changed.
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After having written much of the above, I realized I could not bring myself to
sit here alone ruminating. I'd been out on extended walks twice today, but
after a big ol' mug of Good Morning America about 7:30 p.m., I found myself
brimming with excess energy. Therefore, I got into some comfy running attire
and went for a late-night jog. It turned out to be a pretty danged long one
too, including a fly-by of my grandparents' old place, and then on to Ivey
Terrace Park, where, as kids, my brother and I often played and rode bikes. I
threaded my way around several of the neighboring streets and was immediately
reminded how freaking steep some of the hills around here are. The night
turned out to be quiet and serene — such a change from the endless bustle I've
experienced thus far here. By the end of the evening, I'd put in well over
eight miles running/walking for the day. If I needed any tonic on this trip, I
found it here tonight.
As I passed so many locations that remain virtually unchanged since my
childhood (hell, even since my mom's childhood), I realized — for the
umpteenth time, but with unprecedented intensity — how precious my memories of
Gainesville are. And I thought, you know, I kind of wish I could become a
ghost at will, to go back and latch onto the little guy I used to be, and see
the world as I saw it back then, to relive those most beautiful memories
without the baggage the intervening years have dumped on my body and mind. No,
I wouldn't want to go back and stay there; life has taken me on a journey that
I often haven't appreciated, but it's undeniably been to where I belong.
Still, there were many periods in my youth when I knew unadulterated joy, pure
love and warmth, without cynicism or even the objectivity of maturity. Once
one reaches a certain age (at least, for me), that's no longer possible, and
this feels fucking tragic. But life is life, and as they say, wherever you go,
there you are.
Tomorrow is my last full day in Gainesville. I foresee geocaching before
dinner with my cousin and his family. Maybe a lot of geocaching. We shall see.
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Ivey Terrace Park after dark
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Friday, September 18, 2026
Once up and about, I cleaned up the Blue Bungalow, got myself packed, and
headed down to the Square to procure more coffee and get some writing done at
Inman Perk. It started out mighty warm in there, but after a while,
they finally turned on the chillers, and pretty soon, it became more
tolerable. The place isn't quite as conducive to writing as
The Ground Floor
back home, but it was still a nice diversion and a good way to be productive
before checking in at my hotel.
Before heading out geocaching, I stopped for lunch at
Zen Ramen & Sushi Burrito, just off the square. I got a soft-shell crab sushi "burrito," and it was
the first thing I've had since I arrived here that didn't much impress me. The
"burrito" is nothing more than an oversized
urumaki roll, too big to
hold together and eat comfortably. The flavor was okay, but I've had such
better rolls. Alas.
Then I went out geocaching north of Gainesville proper, mostly along the banks
of
Lake Sidney Lanier, at a couple of different parks. I targeted four caches, and found three;
one of them is clearly missing, as several previous hunters' logs indicated,
but Masochistic Mark went out to give it a look anyway. Alas, no success for
me either. Despite the morbidly hot temperature and oppressive humidity out
there, I enjoyed the hiking — well, mostly. The woods here are full to the
brim with Joro Spiders, which have built webs between just about every pair of
trees, and it's well-nigh impossible to avoid walking through the webs and
taking the spiders with you. I had several hanging off the brim of my hat at
one point, and despite my earnest pleas, they didn't much want to vacate the
premises. Some of them were pretty good size, but by and large they had
roughly 1- to 2-inch legspans; not terribly menacing, these little folks, but
their web is so sticky and strong, it's a bear to get the threads (and the
spiders) off of you.
Finally, I made my way to the hotel for my final night's stay — the
Hometown Studios by Red Roof Gainesville
on Jesse Jewell Parkway. Check-in wasn't exactly a treat; the lady in the
office spent 15 minutes staring at her computer before finally giving me a
key... which appeared not to work once I went up the three flights of stairs
to the room. So, I hoofed it back down, and she told me that with some of the
rooms, you have to pull the handle upward rather than use the more traditional
push-the-fucking-handle-down method. That might have been helpful information.
So, I hoofed it back up again; glad my leg muscles are in good shape. Anyway,
the room is comfortable and clean, though once I got in, I found the TV
blaring, and it took a while to shut it off — because, as I discovered, the
battery compartment on the remote is busted. Oy. Ah, well, First-World
problems. Anyway, it's a far cry from the Blue Bungalow, but
it's only for one night, and it was cheap as hell because I had a bunch of
Expedia reward points.
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Heat. Humidity. Spiders. Yes, this is what we do for fun.
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Do you see a geocache in there? Nah, me neither. It's gone.
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| Fun fungus |
After I'd made myself reasonably presentable and written the above, I got
myself ready to head over to Cousin Mark's place. He and his wife, Sylvia,
have a lovely house on the north side of town, and their son — yes,
another Mark — and his wife, Lauren, came to dinner as well. We each
started out with a Cousin Mark Old Fashioned, which was lovely, and for
dinner, Sylvia made a delicious lasagna. I'd taken along a bottle of Amarone, which complemented it nicely. I don't think I've seen Mark III and Lauren since they
got married, sometime in the 1990s. On their honeymoon, Mark & Lauren
rode in the 1949 Hudson used in the film, Driving Miss Daisy, which belonged to my Uncle Herbert. Herbert had a huge collection of
antique cars, and two of his Hudsons appeared in the movie back when.
Interestingly, both Mark & Sylvia noted that, when I came in, they were
struck by how much I resembled my grandfather (Mom's dad). For some time
now, I've thought that, when I look in the mirror, I kind of see him. I
obviously wasn't imagining things. Over the next few hours, we enjoyed much
conversation, especially about memorable moments we've shared in the past.
These cousins are about the last family I have in the world, and the times we're able to get together are both rare and truly valued. I hope
we'll all be around for a long time to come. I'm working hard at it, I can
tell you.
Afterward, I drove down to the square, parked, and put in a few laps just to
get some additional mileage on foot. I considered stopping off at one of the
many bars for a drink, but I decided it wasn't really necessary. I've got some
booze with me, and I certainly didn't need to spend any money on overpriced
drinks.
Tomorrow, I plan to get up fairly early and hit the road. I don't want to be
late getting home, for there will be anxious cats. I must say, at the end of
it all, this trip could hardly have been better. Good times, good
accommodations, good friends, good food, good drink, good book signing,
just... good. I think that, sometimes, "good" is the best there is, and you
know what? This week, it really, really was.
Till later. Good night!
