High Above the Cane Creek Mountains

Today was a geocaching day for me, and a hot one at that (the heat index hit over 100 degrees out there). I headed down early this morning to meet a couple of the No-Dead-Weight Irregulars—friends Debbie (a.k.a. Cupdaisy) and Scott (a.k.a. Diefenbaker)—at the Cane Creek Mountains Natural Area, a few miles south of Burlington, NC. There were six newish caches on the hiking trails, which range from moderate to rugged; we managed to find them all and put in a little over three miles on the trail.

For me, the highlight of the hike was reaching the relatively new Monadnock Observation Tower, which rises 80 feet above the treeline at the summit of the mountain, offering some stunning 360-degree views of Alamance County. At first sight, the tower doesn't look all that tall, but after a 1.5-mile, semi-strenuous hike, plodding up those hot metal stairs took some doing. I hung out up there taking pictures as long as I could stand it—about ten minutes—for that sun was blazing. At least below, we were mostly under tree cover.

 

Once done at Cane Creek, we drove up to Mebane to have lunch at Catrina's Tequila & Taco Bar, our favorite Mexican restaurant in the area. The steak and chorizo street tacos with diabla salsa are to die (or maybe even kill) for. And the margaritas are mighty good (unlike so many places, they have a decent amount of tequila in them).

 

After lunch, we went after a handful of nearby park & grab caches, and I finally headed home. And now I'm gonna sit back, have a beer, and wilt, for the heat is hot.

Pre-Dawn Muggle Madness and More

Since Ms. B.'s folks have reached that age where they need a bit more help from time to time, she heads to Michigan regularly to visit them. Sometimes I go along too, but this week, she made it a solo trip. Her flight out from Greensboro was at 6:00 a.m. yesterday morning, so we had to get ourselves up at 3:30 a.m. to hit the road by 4:00 a.m. We made it to the airport just before 5:00 a.m., and rather than turn right around and drive home, I decided to head eastward from Greensboro and snag a handful of geocaches.

My first stop was Burlington, a few miles east of Greensboro, where there is a newish Wherigo cache, courtesy of friend Ranger Fox. Despite the 25º-degree temp, I hoped  I might make my way through the stages without becoming an icicle. But after fifteen minutes, I still had a pretty good way to go, and even though I was reasonably bundled up, the chill and the brisk breeze convinced me that trying again at a later (warmer) time might be more prudent.

However, stopping here offered me yet another chance to experience the single-most inevitable geocaching experience of geocaching experiences: the fooking muggle sitting in his fooking car. At 5:15 in the fooking a.m., a muggle (one of the non-geocaching persuasion) drives into this otherwise totally deserted parking lot, parks his fooking vehicle, and proceeds to fooking sit while I'm going from stage to stage. It never fails when there is an otherwise totally deserted parking, does it? In this case, not necessarily a complication, since muggles will be present at this location on a regular basis. However, under these circumstances, it just reinforces the notion that there is no empty parking lot into which a muggle won't insinuate himself at precisely the wrong time. Go fooking figure.

From there, I headed farther east and snagged a handful of caches. My favorite was one in the woods along the Eno River, just east of Efland, NC. A lovely location just downriver from a dam, which was visible in the distance from the cache site. So despite the pre-dawn muggle madness, I enjoyed myself no end.

A now a week of bachelorhood, writing, and, hopefully, more geocaching.

Sunrise is imminent...

The No-Dead-Weight Irregulars Strike Again

 

While I’m not at all sad about having left Greensboro, I am sad that gatherings with the usual geocaching crew, known as The No-Dead-Weight Irregulars — friends Natalie (a.k.a. Ms. Fishdownthestairs) and Scott (a.k.a. Diefenbaker) — can be problematic. Not to mention we lost our friend and regular caching partner, Rob, some months ago. But yesterday, circumstances came together for a nice, day-long outing in Burlington, which I’ve been itching to do since a bunch of new caches published there over the last couple of months.

There were some fun and challenging hides in this batch. The first one we hunted required a fair change of altitude to reach, as you may see in the photo on the left (and when Natalie took this picture, I still had a little ways higher to go). There was one under a bridge that required some physical dexterity to negotiate, and I’m pleased to say I managed it without any problem. I may be old, but I’m not decrepit! (Not yet, anyway.) And there were several with interesting field puzzles that we managed to conquer, some by not-quite-prescribed means.

For lunch, we found a BBQ joint called Smokehouse at Steve’s, which I’m going to recommend for the fantastic pulled pork. They had a mean-looking brisket, too, which I’ll need to try on a future visit.

It was a fun day indeed, pretty much like old times. May the old times with this crew happen again and again.

Notice a creepy old figure hiding in the shadows up there to Scott’s right...

Back on the Geocaching Trail

Here you see Two Old Farts (Old Rodan, left, and Old Diefebnaker, right) wondering what the hell kind of curve balls life has been throwing at them. Our longtime third wheel, Old Rob, is facing a profoundly critical time, and another of our best geocaching friends, Night-Hawk (a.k.a. Tom) is in a different but potentially equally serious place. All of us are struggling to come to grips with these facts in our own ways. All this comes amid the biggest life change Brugger and I have willfully undertaken since we decided to share space in each other’s lives going on fourteen years ago.

Change comes hard.

During the month of May, I made exactly four geocaching trips, two no more than quick jaunts, and this constitutes the least amount of caching in a month’s time since the genesis of my geocaching days back in 2008. For all these years, caching has been an ongoing and what I would call the most immersive and invigorating activity of my adult life. For both Old Rob and Night-Hawk, geocaching has been a defining aspect of their personalities.

Anyway, today, Scott and I ventured forth to the Cane Creek Mountains Natural Area just south of Burlington. A new trail system has opened up (the Oak Hill Trails) adjacent to the original area (Pine Hill Trails). Eventually, the two will connect. Anyway, four new caches recently came out on the Oak Hill Trails, so Scott and I took it as our task to go out and hunt them. We did this thing, found two other newish caches in Burlington proper, and then did the Simply Thai lunch thing in Elon, as tradition demanded.

Ms. B. and I have plenty of tasks piled up to conquer, so this evening, we’re conquering them. Well parts of them. Big parts. Or at least medium-size parts.

Parts is parts.

Lovely little picnic area in the foundation of an old cabin

The Giant Claw

A little dam and reservoir hiding in the woods near the trail

View from below the dam

Happy Diversion

Today, our usual Sunday morning geocaching outing consisted solely of the Old Farts — Old Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott), Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob), and Old Rodan (a.k.a. me). Our initial plan was to see if we could snag a few in Mebane, about 25 miles down the road, and then a few in Hillsborough, another 15 miles or so farther on. However, just as our aging gang was hobbling out of the house, notifications popped up for a series of six new hides in Burlington, which is several miles closer than Mebane. So, we altered our course and diverted to Burlington Springwood Park, which is a fairly large — and this morning, a very busy — facility. By the time we arrived, around 10:00 a.m., there were already several softball games in progress on the ballfields, and a disc golf tournament was just getting going. Muggles coming, going, in, out, up, down, and all around....

Undaunted, we parked the Rodan Mobile and set out on foot after the caches — five traditionals and one mystery cache. Each traditional contained information necessary to unlock the final mystery cache. The heat was hot, we hiked about three miles, and we had trouble finding a couple of the caches, so by the time we found the entire bunch, the evil day star was on the verge of getting the better of us. In the plus column, we met a family of cachers, whose team name — Phersjm — we knew from their many geocaches in the area, but this was the first time our paths had ever crossed in the field. Actually, our paths crossed twice, which was nice.

Happily, the No-Dead-Weight Irregular Old Farts scored six of the almost-maybe-kinda-sorta coveted first-to-find honors. And we met a very friendly black rat snake, who slithered by to check us out for a bit. He let me get quite close to him to take a few pictures, which I appreciated.

After all this, we headed on over to Mebane, where we found four more caches and an excellent lunch at Catrina’s Mexican Restaurant, which has become one of our favorite lunch destinations when we're caching over that way. Great food, and an extensive selection of it. The Rodan Mobile arrived back at Casa di Rodan about 3 o'clock and disgorged a bunch of weary, sweaty, filthy-dirty old men. Well, I'm not saying dirty old men, except, well, maybe, there's Scott....

Bye for now.

Dude just keeps on slithering out of the greenery.

He's easily a six-footer, if not more.

"Hello, Mr. Man, I am ready for my close-up."

Memorable Memorial Day Weekend

Never do I forget what Memorial Day is actually about. Every year, I welcome the reminder to reflect on how those who gave their lives in the service of our country have helped shape the quality of life I enjoy every day, regardless of the trials and pitfalls that being alive inevitably brings. I expect few of us have not known someone, or multiple someones, who died in the country’s service. As a student of history, particularly military history, I believe it is paramount to understand the ideals and sacrifices made by those who have come before us.

That said, I feel no compunction about relishing life and the opportunities for joy on this day — or any other, for that matter — and this weekend has offered a welcome respite from numerous stressors, most specifically the brutally sad job of dealing with my mom and brother’s deaths. The resolutions for both estates are progressing in their ways, and the depth of grief, if not truly diminished, is generally more manageable than it was for some long time. Still, this is the hardest, most stressful time of life I’ve ever known, and the accompanying fatigue, both emotional and physical, has at times thrown me for unexpected loops. Add the stressors of the pandemic — now somewhat lessening, thank Yog, since I opted to bear the unthinkable risk of taking the COVID-19 vaccine (yes, that is a dig at you, some of you unconscionable fucks) — and it is fairly safe to say that, at the very least, life is not boring.

As for My World and Welcome to It, I did something on Friday evening I haven’t done in ages: stay up till the wee hours watching movies without falling asleep halfway through. These days, I tend to be vigorous until about 8:00 p.m., zonk for an hour, then get a second wind that lasts until about midnight, give or take an hour. But for whatever reason, the other night, 20-year-old Mark saw a resurgence, and somewhere around 11 p.m., I started John Carpenter’s Prince of Darkness, which I have not seen in at least three decades. It was about as I remembered: intriguing in its way, but not nearly as polished or engaging as Carpenter’s films that came directly before or after. Once Prince of Darkness was over, undaunted by fatigue, I took to searching the Roku for something entertaining and, eventually, settled on Splinter (2008). This one struck me as the perfect late-night (roughly synonymous with “drive-in”) horror flick. This ran until damn near 3:00 a.m., at which time I contemplated starting something new. Alas, by then, the old body had begun to argue. I shuffled off to the bedroom and slept till almost 9 the next morning, which is not an “Old Mark” thing to do, not by a long shot. Generally, I am up far earlier, despite my most fervent hopes, wishes, and dreams.

Saturday morning, a couple of new geocaches awaited my attention, one of which was dedicated to friend Old Rob (a.k.a Old Rob), placed by devious friend Ms. Fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie). This one took some serious hunting, in difficult terrain and oppressive heat and humidity. But find it we did, and thus earned the ever-dubious first-to-find honors. Afterward, I found another of Ms. FDTS’s new hides before returning to Casa di Rodan. Toward evening, Brugger and I drove Burlington way for another nice cache, and then we settled ourselves for wonderful dinner at Simply Thai in Elon. Following, we watched the 2009 remake of The Taking of Pelham 123. We had just watched the original, an old favorite of mine, a while back, so we wanted to compare. The new one wasn’t bad, not by a long shot, but it remains inferior to the original 1974 classic.

American Gothic, the Creeple People edition

Yesterday, the No-Dead-Weight Irregulars — this weekend’s incarnation comprising the aforementioned Old Rob and Ms. Fish — headed to Winston-Salem, first and foremost to put the finishing details on my brother’s house so that it can be listed on the real estate market this coming week; secondly to hunt geocaches. Most happily, we avenged a couple of DNF (Did Not Find) attempts from a while back, and we discovered a loverly trail system in historic Bethania that includes an old mill and a scenic, serene graveyard dating back to the early 1700s. We had lunch at Village Tavern in Reynolda Village, which has, historically, been one of our favorite destinations for mealtime on geocaching days. The food was its typically good self, but service was S.L.O.W. beyond the bounds of reason, considering the place appeared to have more than adequate staff for the number of patrons. Now, I am willing to give any establishment the benefit of the doubt for the occasional unsatisfactory experience, and given the number of places needing help, I wonder if there wasn’t some training of new folks happening at the time. That being the case, I am very understanding of the situation, and I just hope things will improve. No, Village Tavern has not struck out with me, not by a long shot.

This morning, a single Old Rob cache lurked out on the Owl’s Roost trail near Bur-Mil park, so Ms. FDTS and I met at 10:00 a.m. and hiked out to it. We managed to find the little bugger after a relatively brief search. Then we headed over to the nearby Palmetto Trail so I could perform maintenance on one of my really old hides (“No Dead Baby Jokes, Please” [GC2YVWF].

And that brings me around to where I am. Remember why Memorial Day is what it is; get yourself vaccinated, if you haven’t undertaken this ungodly monstrous risk; and try to treat your neighbor better than I do. That can’t be very damned hard.

Old dude’s playhouse? Old dudes will play, after all.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter.

Old feller with one foot in the grave

No wonder the British lost; Cornwallis’s road peters out after just a couple of hundred feet.

Zooming in the New Year

 

It wasn’t quite the way Brugger and I have typically ushered in a new year — or hoped to usher in this one — but one could hardly characterize 2020 as in any respect “typical.” For some time, we had dared hope the pandemic might have abated sufficiently to hang out with friends for New Year’s; mais alas, it most assuredly has not. So, in our typical undaunted fashion, Ms. B. and I made our own little New Year’s celebration, as we have a few times in the past, and actually had a damn fine time of it. I was pleased beyond pleased that a new geocache had published early in the day, over in Glen Raven, near Burlington. I went after it just before darkness fell and, as I was leaving, ran into friend Night-Hawk (a.k.a. Tom). Thus I got to wish one of my favorite fellow geocachers a miserable, socially distant new year. I’m sure he will take it to heart.

Not unlike our private little Christmas holiday, our New Year’s Eve proved intimate and mellow. Brugger had selected a couple of mighty fine wines for the evening, and I made Chicken Vindaloo for dinner, which turned out respectable. We watched Logan’s Run, which I hadn’t seen in many years and which she had never seen, and Liar, Liar, which she wanted to watch again after quite a few years. At midnight, friends Terry and Beth appeared on our computer screen for an impromptu bit of long-distance whooping and hollering via Zoom. Unlike most years, fireworks (and gunfire) from around the neighborhood was sparse. 2020 may have taken the bang out of more than a few folks.

I can’t say 2020 didn’t bring some good things, such as the publication of my third Ameri-Scares novel — Ohio: Fear the Grassman! — and Borderlands 7, which includes my story, “Escalation”; having my work published in Borderlands has been among my primary literary aspirations for many years. Working at home has been a godsend. But in the grand scheme of things, 2020 was a miserable spell, most notably because I lost my mom to COVID-19 back in July. Pandemic aside, having to deal with estate affairs has dominated a massive portion of my life, and I will be so ready to move beyond it, hopefully later this year.

No, there won’t be any immediate, miraculous changes on the horizon, but I do hope, over the long haul, 2021 brings about some much-needed healing — physically, mentally, and emotionally — for so many in this nation. We cannot continue on our dark, gloomy, divided path without totally coming apart. Maybe sooner than later. I don’t think many of us want that.

Happy happy happy. K?

Can’t Hold Me Back

Thingummies overlooking my parking spot across US 70 at Haw River. Nah, I’ve no idea.

Why, yes I did need a rigorous geocaching adventure for today. There was a relatively new cache — “Can’t Hold Me Back” (GC93Y4W) — along the Haw River in Alamance County, just north of Burlington that looked promising, so I decided to make my way over yonder. The cache listing shows a set of parking coordinates, but they are quite remote, and I knew that legitimate roadside parking exists nearer the trailhead. However, that area turned out to be so muddy I feared I might end up needing AAA if I dared plant the Rodan Mobile there. When caching in this area a few years back, I had parked along US 70, near the southern end of the Haw River Trail, so I drove down to that location to see whether it appeared usable. It did, so I went for it. Across the road, there were thingummies watching me. No idea what they are about. Anyway, parking there shaves a wee bit of mileage off the hike, but what I saved in distance, I more than made up for in terrain difficulty....

Do you remember drought? At times like this, I recollect it fondly. The Haw is running high, fast, and hard, and there is flooding all around the trail. Before I even reached Boyd’s Creek, a fair-size stream that intersects the trail — today quite swollen — I had achieved the rank of Major Muddy Mess. The creek looked to be about waist-deep, so I went upstream a quarter mile or so and found a big log to use as a makeshift bridge. I stayed dry, but given the added distance, I resolved that, on the way back, I would attempt the water crossing. 

My makeshift bridge across Boyd’s Creek

At ground zero, I found the cache in good order. My pen didn’t much want to write, but I managed to get my signature on the log. About the time I started back toward the Rodan Mobile, I saw several deer grazing nearby. Then began the gunshots at frighteningly close range. I hadn’t thought to wear blaze orange (something to consider in this area during hunting season), so I made my egress from the area wildly waving my hiking stick and whistling Ennio Morricone’s “Ecstasy of the Gold” from The Good, the Bad, & the Ugly soundtrack at very high volume.

Back at Boyd’s Creek, I bit the bullet and made the water crossing. Someone had been kind enough to tie a rope across the creek, which is the only reason I didn’t end up totally submerged, for those unseen rocks down there are slickery. Happily, the water was only knee-deep, rather than waist-deep.

Boyd’s Creek water crossing, outbound; nice that someone has tied a rope across the water

Boyd’s Creek water crossing, inbound: chilly!

I was relieved to finally reach the Rodan Mobile, although it was not at all happy to see me, since I was covered in more mud than Lon Chaney as the mummy after sinking in quicksand at the end of The Mummy’s Ghost.

So, this outing proved rather more invigorating than I had expected. Although I did let loose a colorful metaphor or two along my trek, I can’t say I didn’t have fun. So, to the cache owner, all my appreciation for the new geocache and the opportunity for another adventure!

The Haw River: very high, very fast

An awful lot of this...

...and very few of these.