The Void Project, Karaoke, & I Am Old, Drink My Scotch

"Between waking and sleep lies a place you were never meant to wander. A borderland where time bends, shapes twist, and whispers follow you. It’s the layer of night where dreams blur into nightmares—where every culture tells the same stories of shadows, watchers, and figures that shouldn’t exist. Step too far into this in-between, and you’ll discover why some doors are better left unopened."

Friday evening, Ms. B. and I drove the dark, winding backroads up to my first college alma mater, Ferrum College, up in the boonies of neighboring Franklin County. Last year, the newly opened Ferrum Park put on its first haunted trail attraction, the theme of which was to find some missing hikers—without going missing yourself. This year, the event was called The Void Project, described in the passage above. Like last year, the trail setup was not all that extravagant, but it was absolutely a hootin' good time. There were a few roving creatures, some pitch-black corridors, optical illusions, and creepy alien sounds. I hope there will be another haunted trail there next year, and I might consider helping out with the setup, especially if I can be roving monster. Ha-HA!

 

Brugger and I survived the trail experience, and afterward, since it was on the way home, we stopped at Scuffle Hill Brewing in Collinsville, where friends Scott & Jamie joined us for a few brews and some raucous karaoke. Ms. B. and I both hollered a bit, but nobody ran screaming, so we shall have to try harder next time.

 

Friday was friend and fellow writer Richard Dansky's birthday, and each year, to celebrate, he holds a pretty large gathering at his place in Durham. He calls it "I Am Old, Drink My Scotch," and he puts out innumerable bottles of scotch along with a huge spread of Meats and Cheeses™, not to mention veggies, sweets, and other culinary goodies. This year's event was yesterday, and Ms. B. and I both planned to go. I had reserved a room for us at a hotel near Richard's place, but our cat Moose has developed what we fear is diabetes, and he was not doing well, so she stayed home to be with him. I set out yesterday morning, drove to Durham, and proceeded to hunt a good many geocaches, some of which involved some fairly serious hiking (although nothing as extreme as a couple of last week's outings at Wintergreen). There was also a cache at a very old graveyard hidden in the woods ("Leigh Farm Park Cemetery," GC95G2C), which was apt for the season, and probably my favorite of the day.

I settled in at the hotel about 3:30 p.m., showered and got presentable (as much as possible, anyway), and as the event's 7:00 p.m. starting time approached, I ventured out to the grim and morbid environs of East Durham, grabbed a handful more geocacches, and finally arrived at the grim and morbid Chez Dansky, which was properly decorated for both Halloween and a celebration for turning older than dirt.

 

Indeed, there was scotch. Lots and lots of scotch. And so many Meats and Cheeses™. Silly me, I was so preoccupied most of the time that I hardly took any photos at all. The ones I did take are below. Since Brugger didn't make it and Richard was largely occupied with hosting duties, I was pretty much a stranger in a sea of faces I didn't know. I tend to feel a bit awkward in such circumstances, but I did get into interesting conversations with several folks, all of whom were very nice and sociable. It helped that many were writers or involved in various creative businesses. So, I'm hoping that there will be many more Richard Dansky events, birthdays and otherwise, and that in the future, Ms. B. can accompany me.

Thanks, Richard, for being such a perfect host.

A most appropriate card for the aged Mr. Dansky

Chez Dansky, lit up for the season

The tiniest sampling of the cheezes available at the massive spread

Appalachian Horror Story: The Witch of Ferrum Woods

A little while back, I saw the image above posted on Facebook, which immediately piqued my interest. Ferrum College is my old alma mater, about thirty minutes from Martinsville, out in the boonies of Franklin County. During my two years at the college, I frequently explored the extensive woodlands in the area, sometimes hoping to find interesting critters, such as snakes (which I often did), sometimes to indulge in certain substances of not-necessarily-legal status (at least at the time). In more recent years, as an aficionado of hiking in deep woods, I've returned to those old stomping grounds many times, particularly when fellow geocachers have set out new caches.

I had bought tickets for a 9:00 p.m. starting time, so about an hour in advance, Brugger and I hit the dark, isolated backroads that lead to Ferrum. Little about that drive has changed since I was a student there, forty-plus years ago. Once we arrived at the parking area, a short distance from the campus, we found ourselves a little bamboozled — as did several other folks who had arrived at about the same time. The instructions were to park and follow the lights to the registration tent... except that we could find no lights! Eventually, we decided to follow the nearby paved road into the woods, and there, finally, we spied a line of glow sticks along the roadside, which led us where we needed to be, about a quarter-mile down.

The event info indicated that hot dogs, popcorn, and drinks would be available, and since we suffered from the Great Starvation, we destroyed a couple of hot dogs while we waited. I got to talking to a couple of the folks at registration, one of whom was a local author, so needless to say, the conversation turned to writing. Several years ago, I gave a talk to one of the English classes, for which I received a respectable stipend, and I indicated that if such an opportunity should arise, I'd love to do it again. Although I didn't run into him at the site, one of the professors involved in the Friends of Ferrum Park group, who sponsored the haunted trail, was a gentleman whom I'd interviewed for the college newspaper back in the days when I fancied myself a budding journalist. It's nice to know that at least one faculty member from back when is still there and going strong. And the Friends of Ferrum Park's mission is one that is near and dear to my heart, for it is devoted to preserving the natural areas there rather than allowing needless commercial development to destroy them.

The backstory for the haunted event was that a couple of students had gone missing, and that weird, uncanny forces might have been responsible for their disappearances. Our hosts gave us the unfortunate victims' descriptions as well as "special" flashlights to help us find our way in the darkness. Our lights indeed occasionally revealed certain sinister entities lurking in the darkness. Some of them were indeed frightening — at least to our companions! At one point, I ended up behind them and inadvertently startled them. After some screaming, one of them whispered in relief, "Ah, it's just the horror writer." That kind of made my night.

While the trail setup wasn't all that sophisticated, it was sure as hell fun, and the decidedly creepy atmosphere helped scare up some much-needed Halloween spirit. I do hope this event will become a regular Halloween tradition.

Once safely back at our starting point, our party still intact — sadly, having found no trace of our missing hikers — Brugger and I returned to Martinsville (passing my favorite Spooky Place along the way) and stopped at Renewal Brewing, where we topped off the evening with a couple of brews.

This is Halloween, this IS Halloween...

Ferrum, Krakens, and Caches

Beware the Ferrum College Kraken!

It's fair to say that my college days, in the late 1970s, found me at the pinnacle of experimentation with anything and everything that wasn't part of my prescribed conservative, middle-class, sometimes overly protected upbringing. I spent the first two years of college at Ferrum, a relatively small, Methodist-sponsored, at-the-time junior college set in the mountains of Franklin County, VA, about 30 miles from Martinsville, my hometown. Since I lived on campus, free of the shackles of small-town conservatism, for me, drinking, drugs, and debauchery became the order of the day. To this day, I wonder how the hell I survived it—and how I still managed to do so well academically (Dean's list each semester). Still, I can't say I don't hold onto some regret for having been a true jerk and adhering to that kind of craptastic lifestyle. Well, it was part of the learning process, and I suppose I'm a better person for it today.

You're laughing, aren't you?

Back then, Ferrum was an attractive campus, though perpetually in a state of "improvement" (read disrepair). At that time, the distinctly rural life—which could be appealing in moderation—grew old quickly, so on weekends, I often went to Roanoke or Richmond or DC with friends to seek more urban-based pleasures. Still, the picturesque setting, not far from Philpott Lake, held considerable allure for me then, and even more for me now. The campus has grown, which I suppose is an okay thing, but what strikes me is how beautifully refurbished and well-maintained the place is now. It's one of the prettiest campuses I've ever seen, and... there are geocaches.

Since the weather could not have been better for geocaching, I had intended to drive up to Smith Mountain Lake this morning to hunt a few, but as soon as I woke up, I found that several new caches had been published at Ferrum. Abrupt change of plans! And it couldn't been better timed because I'd really been wanting to head back up to Ferrum for a visit.

Looky that shitty geocache!

Three new ones lurked out on the very lovely nature trail in the woods along the campus's western border. Back in college, I'd spent a lot of time in those woods, inevitably partaking of substances and activities that would have landed me in a heap of trouble had I been apprehended. Still, hiking back there brings back some very pleasant memories (at least, what I can actually remember), and on this spring day, it really couldn't have been more pleasant out there. I managed to sign the coveted if actually meaningless First-to-Find space on the logsheet of all three hides, which were very well done, courtesy of Varunner7, a very nice young lady whom friend Scott and I had met on a caching outing to Boones Mill, VA, a couple of months ago. Then, there was an Adventure Lab cache with five stages that led me to some of the most distinctive locations on campus, none of which existed when I was a student (notice the Kraken in the photo above).

Although school is in session, at the time I was there (between 9 a.m. and 11 a.m.), scarcely any students or faculty were out and about. I imagine just about everyone was in classes at the time I was skulking about from landmark to landmark.

After a lovely morning of it, I drove the backroads down to Bassett, VA (which proved very slow, thanks to a lengthy train creeping along at about five miles per hour), where I found a delicious lunch (steakburger) at the Railway Cafe, which I'd never visited before. I recommend it.

So, another special outing to Ferrum, and a bunch more caches under my belt. And many thanks to Varunner7 for drawing me back there yet again.

Schoolfield Hall. Back in my college days, they used to run "drive-in" movies out on the lawn here.

Franklin Hall, the dining hall, now with far more dining options than back in my day

Riddick, Chapman, and Susannah Wesley Halls. I lived in Riddick as a freshman, in Chapman as a sophomore, and got kicked out of Susannah Wesley, the girls' dorm, semi-frequently throughout my career at the college.

All that remains of The House Restaurant, where I often found relief from the school's near-deadly cafeteria fare. Far less remains here than on one of my last trips up this way
("Water Under the Bridge," Saturday, June 1, 2019)

Tricks, Treats, Ghosties, Ghoulies, and Disembodied Heads

Ahh, there's nothing like some spooky Halloween (or in this case, pre-Halloween) geocaching. On Monday, I hauled myself up the thirty or so miles of scenic backroads to Rocky Mount, VA, primarily to hunt an Adventure Lab cache that takes you on a fun little ghost tour of downtown. Before hitting the town proper, though, I detoured over to some nearby woods to hunt a handful of caches I had yet to find. The first of these made my day — primarily because I did not expect what I found. Needless to say, the photo is a spoiler, so for the sake of the geocachers who follow this blog, I'll not reveal the cache name or its location. Suffice it to say that this one pretty well made my day.

After snagging a couple of more hides, I headed into town to hunt the ghostly Adventure Lab cache. It had five stages, each of which took me to a supposedly haunted location. None of these were particularly spooky, but I enjoyed visiting them for their historic significance. The most interesting to me was finding the original law office of Confederate General Jubal Early, under whom my great-great-great-grandfather and his brothers served during the Civil War. I hope that if any of these ghosts are roaming out and about, they haven't remained "unrepentant rebels," as Early himself was reputed to be following the war.

After the geocaching, I found a so-so lunch at a little Japanese place in Rocky Mount and then rode over to Ferrum College for a brief visit to my old alma mater. After that, home.

For the evening's entertainment, Ms. B. and I watched Hocus Pocus, which is one of her Halloween standards. Back when, I never thought I'd particularly enjoy this one, but it turns out that I very much do. Go figure.

Jubal Early's original law office in Rocky Mount, VA

The reputedly haunted "Farm at the Furnace"

Come Halloween morning, I was up early to fire up the crockpot for a big-ass pork butt. I had it cooking all day, seasoned it up nicely, and, come dinnertime, Ms. B. and I found ourselves with a damned good pulled pork feast. Our plan was to sit out on the front porch with the yard decorations blazing in hopes we might get a few trick-or-treaters. Since I hadn't spent Halloween in this house for many, many years, I had no idea what the turnout might be like.

It was considerably more impressive than I'd expected. We'd counted on a handful, at best, but we ended up with something like thirty. The weather cooperated nicely; it rained during the morning but cleared up by mid-afternoon. After the first couple of groups, I had to hie myself back to the grocery store to pick up more goodies. Happily, they'd already reduced the price on most of the chocolate treats, so I got a whole bunch of the good stuff (Reese's Take Fives). We still ended up with a wee bit left. But I found it very gratifying to see quite a few kids in costume — and all very polite. I understand the turnout was good just about everywhere in town. That makes me feel rather less curmudgeonly than usual.

To end the evening, we watched Disney's The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad, which Ms. B. wanted to see. I think I saw this as a kid, but I can't be 100% certain. Anyway, it was fairly fun, with great animation. Then we put on Carpenter's Halloween just for shits & giggles, but by the time we got well into the film, the day's rigors and the evening's drink served to mellow me out a bit before the end of the film (as in snoring mellow, according to Brugger). Anyhoo, at least I know how the movie ends.

T'was a damn nice Halloween. I'll take it.

Appetizers on the porch prior to having trick-or-treaters (Mmm.)

Happy Horrorween!

Ferrum First-to-Finds, The Kraken Strikes, and Pursued by Ducks

There certainly hasn't been much geocaching in my regular routine for quite a while now, due to being consumed by both the move to Martinsville and copy editing my upcoming Deathrealm: Spirits anthology. Brugger and I have been upgrading the Greensboro house to sell and Pleasant Hill to move in, the latter of which is at least very close to being habitable full-time (the former increasingly less so). I moved my two cats here a couple of days ago, and Brugger is bringing her three today. Frazier and Droolie have settled right in; whether Ralph, Rufus, and Moose will be as mellow remains to be seen.

Right about bedtime last night, a couple of new geocaches published at Ferrum College (one of my old alma maters), about 25 miles up the road from Martinsville. So, at dawn's first light, I hopped (or perhaps hobbled is a better term) out of bed, grabbed coffee, and hit the road. There's now a lovely nature trail through the woods near the campus; back in my time there, the only trails were deer paths and meandering ruts through the forest left by drunken or otherwise impaired college students (I might or might not have been among them). There was one standalone traditional cache and two new Adventure Lab caches, which provided the necessary info to locate a bonus physical cache. So, I managed to secure the coveted first-to-find honors on the lot of them. It was nice to be out in the woods alone on a beautiful if rather muggy morning.

After caching, I wandered the campus a bit. There's a sculpture, which I assume to be quite new, in Adams Lake: a canoe being dragged down by what is presumably a kraken tentacle. Wonderfully whimsical, I must say. A massive crowd of ducks were gathered on the banks near the kraken, and when they saw me coming, they all converged, no doubt hoping I had duck goodies to share. Unfortunately for them, I did not. Still, they were generally polite and a pleasure to spend time with.

And now... back to the restoration work!

A lovely but muggy morning in the woods

The Kraken strikes!

Pursued by ducks!

Alas, Poor Yorick!

I spent last night at the old homeplace in Martinsville, working like the devil on a new short story that is past its deadline. I made good progress. But as I had managed to fit in very little strenuous exercise last week, the craving to hike after a geocache had settled heavily upon me. The complication here is that, over the past thirteen years, I have found almost every cache for fifty to a hundred miles in every direction. Still, I thought maybe I could figure out some place to go this morning not too far from Martinsville.

Well, I checked the map and saw a few in the Rocky Mount area, about thirty miles north of Martinsville, one of them in Waid Park, where I have hiked and cached several times in the past. This one, called “Alas, Poor Yorick,” has been live for a few months, resides a good ways out in the woods, and no rain was predicted for the morning. Temperatures are in the high 90s this weekend, but, regardless, I set my sights on Yorick for a relatively early solo outing. I figured while I was out there, I could make a little side trip to visit the Ferrum College campus, my old alma mater.

When I left Martinsville, the thermometer read 83℉, and the humidity hadn’t yet reach its oppressive heights. I ended up taking a back road I don’t believe I have ever traveled before, which turned out pretty cool. I always enjoy exploring unfamiliar backroads. Anyway, when I reached the park, the temperature had hit 90℉, and the air was just turning to soup. I set out on the trail, which, since it was mostly shady, proved not too uncomfortable. But the hike was lovely—not too long, not too short, and in places a bit rugged. I found the cache readily, and this made for a most gratifying morning, I can tell you.

Sure enough, afterward, I drove over to Ferrum, about five miles west of the park on Hwy 40. I cruised around a few of my old haunts, which I enjoy doing every now and again. I must say, the campus is considerably more attractive and well-maintained than it was then—not that it was ever not picturesque. I did happen by the site of my first alcohol-related disaster, which is the reason I don’t drink white wine (see “Why I Don’t Drink White Wine”). Actually, I do drink white wine on rare occasion, but it’s not my favorite. Oftentimes, far from it.

Anyhoo, I got in a lot of writing, got in a bit of caching, and there must yet be more writing. So much time, so little to do....

Wait, reverse that.

Now, who do you suppose that is watching me from over yonder?

Why, it's Yorick! As Yorick is not looking so well, I figured I'd help keep him from spreading
so much death around.

A view of the Pigg River from the trail. I spent a lot of time at the Pigg River in my Ferrum Days,
mostly engaged in unfamily-friendly activities, about which I shall say no more.

Old fellow on the trail. Almost as old as Yorick.

Ah, memories. It was on that very landing, on a frigid cold night in 1977, that I lost the contents of my almost
virgin stomach after chugging massive quantities of white wine. I blew the first salvo on Dr. Ward's dining table,
which would have resided somewhere behind that door there.

Into the Andeleas

Illustration for "Into the Andeleas" by Joe Sheridan

Having recently paid a visit to Ferrum College, my old alma mater (at least for my Associate of the Arts Degree), today on a whim, I paid a visit to Ferrum's website to look up some current info on the school. While I was browsing, I discovered a link to The Chrysalis, the college's literary magazine. Much to my surprise, the site features an online archive of past issues going back to the dark ages — even as far back as my interment in the late 1970s. The 1979 issue features my story, "Into the Andeleas," which, in its way, helped set me on this questionable course as a writer of fictions. It went like this:

From 1978 to 1979, I masqueraded as a studious sophomore, and at some point in the latter months of the former year, I came upon a flyer advertising The Chrysalis's annual literary contest, which offered a cash prize of $25 (not shabby for an all-but-destitute college student) as well as publication in the magazine. One had but to write a short story; submit it to the magazine's staff, which would evaluate the tale; and win the contest to claim the cash and revel in the fame that comes with publication in a college lit mag.

In those days, I was pursuing a degree in fine art (which I eventually earned), but I did have a strong predilection for writing (if not necessarily good writing). So one evening while I and several friends were partaking in substances best not described, I declared I was going to win this literary contest. Mind you, I had supportive friends, who on this night drank heartily to my success; in retrospect, I rather wish there been some wagering on said proposition, that I might have increased my potential take-home rewards. Alas, not. Suffice it to say, I spent a couple of evenings working on a story. I submitted it to the literary magazine and won the contest.

And so, in Spring 1979, "Into the Andeleas" appeared in that year's issue of The Chrysalis, and at an award ceremony just prior to the Class of 1979's graduation, I received a check for $25, dutifully lobbed at me by my favorite English professor and unknowing mentor, Dr. Daniel Gribbin. Upon reading the tale, one can rightly infer I was an avid reader of sword & sorcery fiction back in the day. While the story may have been a pale imitation, I can at least say that it was sincere. Kind of like Linus's pumpkin patch.

The illo pictured above was by one Joe Sheridan, one of those supportive friends who drank to my success. In those day, Joe was more commonly known as "Radical" because, well, Joe was radical. Who knows, maybe he still is. I do recall I regarded him as an awesome fellow.

Somewhere deep in the vault, I still have a copy of that issue of The Chrysalis, but I cannot begin to calculate how long it has been since I have so much as seen it, much less opened it. I had completely forgotten, until discovering it today, that I had also contributed a pen & ink illustration to accompany the tale. As with so much of my creative output from the day, the drawing had potential, but I do rather rue the fact that, in so many instances, I tended to rush things in favor of procuring my next bag of weed, and it showed. Still, the critter pictured in the — unfortunately — rather poor reproduction of the art is the precursor to the Fugue Devil, which sprang from a night horror I experienced in my early teens. The novelette, "The Fugue Devil," at least, captured what I felt needed to be captured from that experience. It is currently available in the Dark Regions Press edition of Other Gods.

Still, that a number of impartial readers saw fit to honor this tale with a cash prize, not to mention publishing it in the magazine, to this day fills me with even measures of gratitude and resentment, since, truly, had I not won this contest, I probably would not have set forth on this rollercoaster life as a writer of fictions, which has brought no end of satisfaction, frustration, pure joy, and something like despair.

I've often wished I had been better at numbers.

Anyhoo, should any of you devoted readers care to have a look at the verbiage that constitutes one of this writers' earliest paid publications, go forth to the 1979 Edition of The Chrysalis and flip to page 23. I suspect you will survive, if not altogether unscathed.

Water Under the Bridge

Old Rodan at Ferrum College with Vaughan Chapel in the background

These days, I spend a great deal of time in Martinsville, where I grew up, helping to look after my aging mom. When I'm there, it's a real treat for me to be able to get out and about on a geocache hunt, especially in the rural areas of Patrick, Henry, Floyd, and Franklin Counties. A month back, there was a nice caching event at nearby Philpott Lake (see "Cachin' Passion in the Parks"), and 20-some caches came out in conjunction with it. I've claimed most of them over the past few weeks, but I still had one of those left to find as well as a relatively new one at Ferrum College, where I went to school somewhere back in the dawn of man.

So this morning, I drove my favorite back roads up to Ferrum to seek "Water Under the Bridge" (GC82ZH8), located under a nice little footbridge on a walking path around the campus. Upon my arrival, I discovered a major to-do happening at Vaughan Chapel, not far from ground zero, so I ended up parking some distance away. However, as it was a perfectly beautiful morning, I enjoyed the opportunity to get in a little extra walking. The campus has always been scenic, but it's far more so now than it was in those dim, distant days, thanks to numerous renovations over the years. Entertainingly, on my drive up, Sirius XM radio was playing a trove of the songs that were popular during my interment. Stuff like Led Zeppelin's "Trampled Under Foot," Pink Floyd's "Time," and the Steve Miller Band's "Fly Like an Eagle." Man, talk about getting into the mood. Upon seeing Garber Hall, where I had several science and history courses, a rush of memories swept over me, for Garber Hall was also used for the student cinema, and it was there that I saw The Texas Chainsaw Massacre for the first time... an experience that culminated in the worst drunk of my entire life (see "Why I Don't Drink White Wine" for whole sordid story).

Not exactly a traditional signature, but in the
absence of a working pen, one must
sometimes improvise.

Once at ground zero, I dove down deep and commenced to hunting. I hadn't been there long, though, when a nice lady on a morning run noticed me playing troll, and asked if I was hunting for something. My response of "a geocache" drew an enthusiastic response. Turns out she works for the college, and we ended up having a lengthy conversation about caches, college, my writing career, dark lit in general, and folks we both knew or had known. Eventually, I found my quarry, only to realize I had discarded my non-working pen and failed to grab a new one. Since signing the log sheet is kind of a prerequisite for claiming a cache, I poked three holes in the log and took a photo of it to verify my find. Fortunately, I had a spare pen in the car for any further cache finds.

On the way out of Ferrum, I stopped off at the site of the old House Restaurant, where, back in the day, I frequently consumed massive quantities of pizzas, turkey subs, and cheap beer. There's very little left of the place, as it caught fire some decades back. A number of years ago, on one geocaching visit or another to Ferrum, I had managed to get inside and explore the ruins, although it's currently so overgrown and hazardous that I wouldn't even consider making such an attempt.

From Ferrum, it's not very far to Philpott Lake. In fact, during my college days, bunches of us spent considerable time at Horseshoe Point, Mines Branch, Ryan's Branch, Jamison Mill, and other recreation areas around Philpott Lake. My destination today was "The Guardian of Ryan's Cache" (GC86WN6), which I managed to find quickly.

Then it was back to Martinsville to run another few errands for Mom. I returned to Greensboro by way of Eden, where I was able to pick up a couple of newer caches. For tomorrow, there's a wee bit of additional caching planned with friends Suntigres (a.k.a. Bridget) and BigG7777 (a.k.a. Gerry). "I just can't get enough," as the song goes....

A frequent view during my Ferrum days. I lived in Riddick Hall (the left-hand building) during my
freshman year; Chapman Hall (the center building) during my sophomore year; and got kicked out of
Susannah Wesley Hall, the girls' dorm (the right-hand building), on numerous occasions.

Garber Hall, where I had several classes. The student cinema was also there, where I first saw
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Gross events followed.

All that remains of The House restaurant, where I once consumed massive quantities of pizzas,
turkey subs, and cheap beer. A few years ago, I went in and explored the ruins, but it's now
overgrown and too-near-collapsing to warrant any further such exploration.

From Ferrum to Saxapahaw

Some nice Geocaching buddies near Ferrum, VA

Closing in on 10,000 geocache finds, I am. Picked up an even dozen this weekend, bringing my total find count to 9,921. I am hoping to make the 10K find... whenever and whatever it might be... something memorable, so I need to start doing my research. It would be great if it involves kayaking and is close to a winery, in which case Ms. Brugger would be inclined to join the fun.

After spending Friday and Saturday looking after my mom in Martinsville, I set out after a few caches before heading home. Three new ones had come out around Ferrum, VA, where I went to college back in the darkest of dark ages, so I decided to target them. They had been published several days earlier, but, surprisingly, no one had logged finds on them. Fortuitously, I managed to claim FTF on all three by an hour or so, as longtime geocachers (and forest rangers) TracksAll & Will Ketchum apparently came along soon after me. I almost feel bad for beating them to the punch, since they don't get to cache nearly as much as they used to. But hey, a smiley is a smiley, and an FTF is a damn near empty honorific, at best.

From there, the Rodan Mobile conveyed me to Fairy Stone Park, where I have spent many happy times and found numerous caches over the years. There was a relatively new one there, which did not appear to involve significant hiking... until I opted to depart the trail and make a beeline for the cache. Making a beeline for the cache turned out to be more like hauling one's self up and over one majestic incline after another, and reaching the cache involved a rather precarious change in elevation just above a creek. On my egress, I decided to keep to the trail, which proved less rigorous but also involved no little altering of altitude.

Hanging out with funky little Tiki Dude

Then it was on to Eden, NC. Here, there were several more to find (two of which I sadly did not), including a wondrous, beastly little hide amid a massive network of roots in a deep, dank ravine, which I found to be a pure joy in the driving rain that had begun to fall. You may think I speak facetiously, but I do not speak facetiously, for I had a grand time of it making this find (admittedly with a modicum of help from friend Night-Hawk (a.k.a. Tom).

Drenched and exhausted, I eventually made it home. Then, this morning, friend Robgso (a.k.a. Rob) and I made another fine day of it, first at Hagan Stone Park in southern Guilford County, then at Cedar Rock Park in Alamance County, and then in Saxapahaw, on a scenic trail along the Haw River. Lunch at the Saxapahaw General Store was, hardly unexpectedly, among the day's highlights. Ms. B. and I have had some mighty good meals at this place over the years, and today the goat burger was the item of choice, and a fine one at that. Caching-wise, we found a couple of particularly enjoyable hides, including a rat in a tree and a funky little coconut Tiki dude. We finished our hunt—successfully—at the edge of the Buckhorn Gamelands, where we have cached on many previous occasions, and then we came home, where I fell over and went boom.

Rodan's Roots?

View of Philpott Lake from the Lake Shore Trail

View of the Haw River

Found along the Haw River Trail

Old, crumbling dam on a Haw River tributary

So F'ing Suave!

C'mon, you gonna tell me you wouldn't
fall immediately in love with this guy?

I have a confession to make. Back in my college days, I was a suave, refined gentleman, yet, over the years, I somehow seem to have gone off the rails.

It was like so:

I was a freshman, only recently arrived at college, and there was this lovely young lady named Lisa I often saw around campus. I was desperate to meet her and introduce myself, but being a total stranger and all, I couldn't figure out a good way to say "Hi" to her. One afternoon, my roommate Charlie and I were sitting on the brick wall outside the cafeteria, and Lisa came walking by along with a couple of friends. Charlie nudged me and said, "Well, here's your chance."

God awmighty, you should've seen me—I was so damned suave you would never believe it. Getting a flash of inspiration, I picked up my spiral notebook and chucked it at her. Without missing a beat, I hopped off the wall, went to her, picked up my notebook, which had hit her in the back, smiled my suavest smile, and said, "Hi, I'm Mark."

I found myself facing the coldest of cold stares. "Yeah?"

"I'm... Mark."

"Okay."

Lisa turned around with her friends, heads all shaking, walked off, and from then on, they all knew Mark. For reasons I have never quite fathomed, she did not fall immediately in love with me.

But hey, I was so, so suave. I just don't know if I can be that suave ever again.

Perseid Rain

In the wake of my friend Pete Wells's passing, I want to put out a call for folks to have a look at the work of another friend of mine, my old college buddy, Stuart Jewell, with whom I used to play guitar, snow ski, and generally share good times. Stuart is an accomplished and enthusiastic musician, and has released an original song titled "Perseid Rain," which is available on iTunes and Amazon.com for only 99¢. Stuart also has stage 3 lung cancer, and getting this song out for the public has been one of his long-held aspirations. He recently managed to get this done via the efforts of CancerCanRock.org, which is an organization dedicated to supporting creative artists with cancer, as well as helping to get their works out to the public.

Please check out this video, which will introduce you to Stuart and his music: Stuart Jewell at CanCanRock.org. And if you can spare a buck, pick up "Perseid Rain." It's a beautiful, personal song, and the back story, which he relates in the video, is also kind of personal to me, since he and I shared at least some good part of our lives as well as creative endeavors, back when we were learning the ropes of life in general.

There is hope here.

"The shooting stars will stream with wishes bound to fill my dreams."

A Christmas Sunset on the Red Trail

Christmas morning, 1968: it must have been around 5:00 AM; I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. In those days, at the height of the U.S. space program, the Major Matt Mason astronaut toys by Mattel were the big thing, especially for this nine-year-old science-fiction and space exploration uber-geek. I was anticipating receiving a Major Matt Mason space station, among other space-related goodies, and adrenaline had been coursing like magma through my weenie little body since early on Christmas Eve. We were at my grandparents' place in Gainesville, GA, and, as always, my folks slept on the pullout sofa bed in the living room — where all the toys lay waiting for us under the Christmas tree. My brother and I had strict orders not to set foot out of our bedroom until 7:00 AM, but come 5:30 or so, it became clear to me that something was wrong with the clock on the nightstand next to our bed. I had been lying there fidgeting for most of forever, and only a measly half hour had passed? WTF? Thinking only of being helpful, I ran the clock up about ten minutes, thinking this would be a much more realistic time of morning. I lay back down, confident I had done the right thing. For the next hour and something I lay there, my body still blazing with adrenaline, my mind constructing all kinds of great scenarios for Major Matt Mason and his buddies Sgt. Storm, Jeff Long, and Doug Davis. When I finally looked back at the clock, it showed that only fifteen minutes had passed. Clearly, this clock was defective! So I ran it up another ten minutes for good measure.

Several more times this happened. I'd lie back down, wait and wait and wait and wait, and only a few minutes would have gone by. Impossible. If I didn't get this clock set right, I figured, I was really going to be in trouble.

Finally. Finally, 7:00 AM arrived. I woke my little brother, and the two of us went tearing into the living room. There it was — the Major Matt Mason space station! Yahoooooooo! It was beautiful, stunning, glorious. Not only that, the whole room was absolutely jammed with fantastic toys and games. Santa Claus had outdone himself! Mum and Dad, of course, stood no chance remaining in bed with all this ruckus and racket, but after a bit, Mum asked me, "Are you sure it's seven o'clock?" Well, of course I was sure. I had fixed the defective clock.

Next thing you know, I'm being sent back to bed, this time till 8:00 AM, since, according to all the other clocks in the house, it was only 6:15, and my folks, in a rare display of poor judgment, believed them.

This was perhaps my most memorable Christmas. If I remember right, Mum and Dad did let us come back into the living when 7:00 AM actually rolled around because they always were, at heart, very sporting and willing to make amends for their errors.

This year, I didn't get any Major Matt Mason stuff, but if your Christmas was half as wonderful as mine was, I expect it would be ten times as wonderful as any other day of your year. The presents were great and all, but it was just a good day all around, spent in the company of Ms. Kimberly, my mum, and our friend Mary Clifton; alas, my brother couldn't be there. We slept in, exchanged gifts during the morning, had a big meal at midday, and then Brugger and I headed up to Rocky Mount, VA, to get in some hiking and geocaching at Waid Park, an extensive area of woodland a short distance out of town, with a decent network of trails and lots of elevation changes. By the time we got there, it was fairly late in the day, and we appeared to be the only human beings for miles around, which we both found quite pleasant. One of the caches was called "Red Trails in the Sunset" (GCH22K) which couldn't have been more apt, since we were, indeed, on the Red Trail, and the sun was setting just as I found the cache. Both peaceful and invigorating, this outing; it could scarcely have made me happier — well, except for not finding one of the caches out there, which I gather may just be plain missing.

From there, we drove around the campus at Ferrum College, where I went to school for a couple of years back in the dawn of man. Ferrum is the model for "Beckham College," which has been referenced in any number of my short stories and novels. I gave it that name, not so much as a play on Lovecraft's Arkham, as some have suggested, but after Ferrum College's founder, Samuel Beckham. Then things got a bit surreal. Kimberly and I didn't really care to have leftover ham for supper, so we ended up finding a Chinese buffet that was open. The food wasn't very good, and the clientele looked not unlike the Walking Dead, but damn, it was kind of a hoot. We quite enjoyed ourselves. To end the evening, we watched Insidious: Chapter 2, which turned out to be a lot of fun. I suppose "unconventional" would be an apt description of the day. And I'm all over that.

Peace be unto ye.

Click images to enlarge.

L: Mary Clifton & Mum; R: A not-so-welcome Christmas Eve visitor

Hell, yeah!

Baby, You Can Drive My Car — Redux

Got up this morning and headed to Ferrum, VA, where I went to college in the late 70s. There's a beautiful hiking trail through the mountain forest there, and it turned out to be a warm, sunny day for hunting caches. Found them, of course, but as I've said before, you never know what other kinds of things are lurking out on the trail....

What you might expect to see on a mountain trail: trees and some dude

What I found on a mountain trail