A Late White Christmas

Morning snow in Midland

It wouldn’t be Christmas without spending time with Kimberly’s parents, but at the best of times, traveling over the holidays is an exercise in madness and fury. So, for several years running, we’ve avoided the rush by celebrating with her folks later in January. Michigan weather can always be dicey this time of year, but so far, we’ve managed to make it there and back again without getting stuck somewhere in transit. This year, the pandemic added yet another complication, but our mutual consensus was that we should go forth, continuing to take all possible precautions. We’ve all been vaccinated and boosted, we have avoided other gatherings for the past several days, and we have KN-95 masks, for whatever extra protection they might offer. Fortunately, we were able to get a flight into Saginaw (MSB), which is considerably closer than Flint, our typical port of entry to Michigan (Saginaw is usually more expensive, but this time we found a decent flight deal).

Unfortunately, our regular house-and-cat sitter had come down with COVID, which we took as no good omen. Fortunately, we were able to engage a close and highly experienced friend to take on the task. Thus reassured, we began the next chapter in our ongoing series of Mad Midland Adventures.

Pilot, what the hell, man?

Friday, January 14, 2022

We had a 5:10 p.m. flight out of PTI, so Brugger and I both worked until three o’clock and then left for the airport. There, at one of the terminal taverns, I found a damned good Bloody Mary (my customary traveling spirit), which properly set the mood for the journey. Our flight to Chicago O’Hare took somewhat longer than usual, given a strong headwind and fairly serious snowfall in Chicagoland. But it was when we landed that I wondered whether our pilot was drunk or simply lost. Because of my longtime affinity for aviation, I’m pretty familiar with ORD, not to mention aviation protocol in general. Our taxi to the terminal from Runway 9R took 30+ minutes, due to our route from Point A to Point B extending to Point ZZZ before circling back on itself (see my GPS track log on the left). Fuck a duck, man! The main problem at this point was that I had to pee. All kinds of badly. It took every ounce of effort in this body to hold back the tide, but at last, we were freed. (Thankfully, we were sitting near the front of the plane, so we were able to disembark quickly).

With an hour and a half before our flight to Saginaw, we took the opportunity to grab supper (and another Damned Bloody Mary for me) at Chili’s (burgers and fries; not necessarily the greatest but reasonably satisfying). The flight to Saginaw took a mere 40 minutes — but due to the precipitation and frigid temperatures, the plane had to be de-iced prior to take-off. This is usually not a lengthy process, and getting to the de-icing bay didn’t take too long; but, for whatever reason, once de-iced, there we sat — for a long time (considerably longer than the duration of the flight itself). To my dismay, it was damned hot in that plane. And yes — you guessed it — after that much time, I had to pee again, so as soon as we landed and that cabin door opened, I fucking bolted.

In the terminal, we found Del & Fern waiting for us (they had arrived at the airport a little early, so their wait for us had been a long one). Happily, from MSB it’s only a 15-minute drive back to Casa di Brugger. A steady snow was coming down, with about 4 inches of accumulation, but the roads, as is typical in Michigan, remained relatively clear. So, once finally ensconced in Kimberly’s family home, we promptly crashed and burned for the night.

Saturday, January 15, 2022

Brugger enjoying hot coffee inside a warm car while old man ventures into the frigid cemetery on an
ultimately ill-fated geocache hunt

The first full day of any Midland trip is when we make the traditional provision run to Meijer. And so it was today. While Meijer, like just about every retail store, is currently shy of a lot of items, in general, we were able to find decent stocks of the staples we were after. Whenever we’re here, it’s my pleasure to provide at least a dinner or two for the family, and this time around, I’ve put Bolognese (a.k.a. Ragu) on tomorrow’s dinner menu. Kimberly brought some Paccheri pasta she picked up on our trip to Italy, which I hope will be a good match for the sauce.

This afternoon, Ms. B. decided she would accompany me on a coffee/geocaching outing, despite a little snow still falling and temperatures in the very low teens. Me, I cared not a whit about the temperature; it’s geocaching. Caching in the snow can be invigorating, though oftentimes one is limited to finding “winter-friendly” caches (meaning they’re placed so they’re not likely to be buried by ice and snow). Today, after stopping for coffee at Live Oak Coffeehouse, I found mostly a bunch of readily accessible park & grab hides, though I did have good fortune seeking a few for which snow and ice augmented their natural camouflage. The sole cache I failed to locate was in a cemetery — much to my chagrin, since I love cemetery hides. I think I even found its hiding place, but a heavy coating of ice rendered it inaccessible. I expect I’ll be able to verify whether my suspicion is correct on some future cache hunt when the weather is more cooperative.

While we were out, we noticed a massive dark cloud that stretched from horizon to horizon. We realized this was not just a cloud but a sizable emission from the Dow Chemical complex a few miles to the south. Unsure whether this might be a normal issue from a smokestack or some dire accident, Brugger decided to drive us down to Overlook Park, which occupies relatively high ground and offers a panoramic view of the Dow plant. Sure enough, we soon discovered that the massive cloud was, in fact, just a big old belch from a row of smokestacks. Fortuitously, I managed to snag a couple of more caches at the park.

Once back at Casa di Brugger, we enjoyed a fairly light dinner, drank a little wine, and spent a typically pleasant evening with the folks in the basement in front of the TV. A pleasing end to a pleasing day.

Big old belch from smokestacks at Dow, seen from Overlook Park. The massive plume went all the way
across the sky to the far horizon, which was darkly spectacular.

Sunday, January 16, 2022

Back home in NC, everyone is bracing for Winter Storm Izzy, which promises to dump considerable snow and ice on the southeast. For the cats’ sakes, we’re seriously hoping the power doesn’t go out at home for an extended period. After last week’s fallen tree debacle next door, we’re also hoping our place escapes any similar issue. At best, travel is going to be impossible for a day or so. Here in Midland, there’s no significant snow in the forecast, but last night about midnight, the thermometer read a brisk 0℉, and it was the same when I woke up this morning. I had initially considered getting in some early geocaching, but I suspect I’m going to wait until this afternoon, when the temperature is supposed to reach a balmy 29℉.

Noonish, I began prep on the Bolognese Paccheri for our midday dinner. It’s semi-authentic Italian, in that I use all the traditional ingredients but customize it a bit by adding mushrooms, green olives, and hot chili pepper. We had been shamefully remiss in our wine purchases on yesterday, for we had neglected to pick up Italian wine (I blame Brugger). In its place, I used a decent Zinfandel, which worked quite well. Having never cooked Paccheri previously, I wasn’t sure how long it would take to come out properly al dente; for our four servings, eighteen minutes, it turned out. It was, in fact, just right. And no one attempted to axe murder the chef, so I must consider this dinner a grand success.

Bolognese and Paccheri, cooking and almost ready

Plated, with fruit side and wine

Kimberly’s cousin Jeannie came by during the afternoon and brought us a beautiful, handmade gift for our wedding this past year. A delightful lady she is, and we quite enjoyed spending time with her. Kimberly and I then ran a few necessary errands, which took us to the Midland Mall, which put us close to a couple of geocaches. Afterward, despite the temperature of 15℉, we navigated to them and I slogged out into the cold, snowy woods (a good twenty feet or so) to make the finds. I tell you, caching in this kind of environment is certainly different from typical caching back home, and despite the discomfort, it’s all kinds of enjoyable.

For the evening, the customary gathering of the family in the family room. It’s a mighty fine place to be.

Monday, January 17, 2022

Tis a tad brisk.

From the intel we’ve so far received, it sounds like, back home, Winter Storm Izzy spared us its worst. We’re definitely hoping this is, in fact, the case.

Here, it was a comfy 22℉ this morning — perfect for heading out for a nice, long geocaching ride in the snow on the bicycle. Okay, not really, not for the bike, but fine for borrowing the family vehicle and going after some winter-friendly caches. I headed out into one of the few remaining areas of Midland I haven’t cached out and picked up an even ten, mostly of the park-&-grab variety. One in particular proved to be singularly impressive — one of the most deceptive hides I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen other caches similar to this one, but this one was the best. I’ll not identify the specific cache, but I will divulge that it was video camera attached to a large sign in front of a business. The hint on the cache web page was a few lines from The Police’s “Every Breath You Take,” so I when I discovered the camera — bolted in place with a real electrical connector — I knew I must have found the cache. Still, it looked so authentic I couldn’t bring myself to mess with it. Since the business was open and the cache page indicated they were aware of the hide, I decided to go in and ask the proprietor if he knew about the geocache on the property. He did indeed, so when I asked whether I had actually found the cache, he laughed and assured me that I had. He clearly appreciated that I made the effort to check first. I would have felt horrible — and been liable for damage — had I fucked with something I ought not have.

I gave this one an easy favorite point. And such are the joys of geocaching.

Come dinnertime, Ms. B. and I ordered Japanese — spicy tempura shrimp and a spicy crab roll for me — from Maru, which we had visited some time ago, pre-pandemic, and rightly enjoyed. It was pretty good. After that, the family settled in and watched a number of episodes of M*A*S*H, as Ms. B. had brought along a few DVDs from our full set. That, and a nice red blend occupied us until bedtime.

Nemesis

Tuesday, January 18, 2022

I woke up this morning after anything but the best sleep ever, my brain preoccupied with all kinds of worries, some valid, some needlessly exaggerated. The Rogue Brain at Night syndrome, or something such. Once fortified with a breakfast of egg, sausage, mixed fruit, and a shit-ton of coffee, out I went to look for a cache I had failed to find on a previous trip — which the cache owner swears is in place. It’s supposed to be an ammo can in a triple-trunk tree along a little-used road at the edge of town. Well, there is only one triple-trunk tree that I’ve managed to spot anywhere near the posted coordinates. It’s a great big one that matches the descriptions from both cache page and previous finders’ logs, and there is most assuredly no ammo can — or any other container — in or around this tree. A query to the CO indicates I must be looking in the wrong place. Somehow, I never thought I was that blind, and, to be honest, I still don’t. Nemesis, this cache is.

On a positive note, once I gave up on Nemesis in frustration, I noticed a new cache on the map not too far away. So, I made my way over to it — little more than a mile — and managed to snag the first-to-find. It’s kind of nice to log an FTF when I’m somewhere away from home. And from there, I found one other cache before heading back to Casa di Brugger for a much-needed refill of the hot coffee.

The folks and Ms. B. headed out on a shopping trip for the afternoon, so I watched Godzilla Raids Again for good measure and made some forward progress on my newest Ameri-Scares series novel, Georgia: The Haunting of Tate’s Mill. It’s been more or less on hold for too long a while as I’ve been working diligently on a couple of other new, exciting projects, one of which I’ll be posting about in the very near future. Stay tuned!

Our traditional evening gathering in the family room rounded out another pleasant day at Casa di Brugger.

Wednesday, January 19, 2022

Pour les bon moments

It was one year ago today that my brother, Alan (a.k.a. Phred), passed away from leukemia. Hard to fathom such a rush of time; it was just the other day, really. In some ways, emotionally, today feels like a rocky ride; in others, it’s easier now to remember the better times, much as it is with Mom’s memory. Here’s my tribute blog that I wrote shortly after he died: The Universe Takes a Good One, January 19, 2021

This morning, I went on my customary early geocaching outing — which started out frigid, for that wind was bitter. Fortunately, it died down after a relatively short while, and then 30℉ felt all nice and comfy again. Caching-wise, things didn’t start on a very promising note, as the first couple I hunted appeared to be missing. But once I headed farther north on some of the secondary roads, my fortune improved. I think I snagged thirteen total, and a couple of them were challenging. One was a magnetic nano on a light pole — about 18 feet up — whose retrieval and replacement required some creative improvisation. Another was one I had hunted while bicycling on a previous trip here, but it’s in a metal sheath around a power pole, too high to reach without something to boost you. The bike didn’t work for that purpose, but the car did. So I was able to turn that DNF frownie into a nice big smiley.

The family went out for their typical afternoon shopping excursion, while I got some writing done. Promo writing. My favorite kind of writing — not! Mercy, I hate promo writing. Kinda gotta do it, but I hates it.

Come dinnertime, Ms. B. and I wended our way to Whine!, which has long been one of our favorite Midland destinations for food and spirits. On this trip, we really haven’t been out for dinner and such, figuring the less exposure to the world in general the better. Unfortunately, it seems like, no matter where you go anymore, masks are a thing of the past. On the good side, while there were a fair number of patrons at Whine!, they had tables spaced out very well, and the air circulation seemed quite good. In the past, I’ve been fond of the martinis at Whine! — dirty gin — so I stuck with that tonight. It was excellent indeed. Ms. B. went for a Smith & Hook Cab Sauv, which I would call decent, if utilitarian. (There is not so much as a whiff of snoot going on here, is there?). She ordered Hurricane Shrimp — excellent! — and I decided to stick to a theme and have the Bolognese on Pappardelle pasta. And you know what? It was the best Bolognese I’ve had this side of Italy. Possibly better than mine, maybe as good as friend Beth’s. I mean, shit, it were dingy dang good! Compliments to the chef at Whine!, to be sure.

A final night with the family in the family room, and we could hardly have asked for a better time of it.

L: Ms. B. and wine at Whine! — something you never, ever, EVER see; R: Old dude oblivious to the threat of
wine barrels toppling on his unprotected head

Thursday, January 20, 2022

Chicago just out of O’Hare, on our way back south

The quilt Kim’s cousin Jeannie made for us

For the final day of our trip, we opted to stay in and spend the better part of the day with the family (the sub-freezing temperatures outside had nothing — nothing, I tell you — to do with this decision). I have much, much writing to do, so a little down time this morning to make some forward progress turned out to be a good thing.

Every trip to visit the folks in Midland is memorable, as this one has been. It was a bit more mellow, with fewer outings in public, since hardly anyone in the area appears to acknowledge there’s still a pretty ugly disease roaming the wild. Daily, I see reports of more and more friends coming down with COVID-19 — mostly mild cases of Omicron, fortunately. I feel certain that both Brugger and I — like virtually everyone — will end up with it, since at this point it seems pretty much inescapable unless one completely shelters in place, and I don’t think any of us are willing to go that far. But we do intend to continue taking every sensible precaution for ourselves and others. To quote friend Patrick, who is currently suffering a bout of COVID: “Fuck literally every human being whose decision tree made this more likely, and thank you so much to everyone involved in creating the things that make it more likely that my case is mild.” Hear, hear.

Au revoir, for now. Oh, and here is a little preview of coming attractions:

Art by Daniele Serra

Midland With a Twist...

Saturday, September 12, 2020
 ...a pandemic twist, I suppose. For two weeks, Ms. B. and I have been in relatively strict quarantine, venturing out only for groceries, which we’ve ordered in advance and picked up curbside. Her parents in Midland, Michigan, have done the same thing. So, figuring we’ve all performed our due diligence, safety-wise, Kimberly and I hit the road for Midland to spend a few days with her folks, whom we have not seen since January. For us, it’s the first time we haven’t flown on a Michigan trip. The drive took just over fourteen hours, including several pit stops, a picnic lunch, and a handful of geocache stops. Not nearly as many caches as I generally pick up on shorter trips, but I didn’t want to prolong what is already a lengthy drive. A few of the hides proved memorable, at least.

Entrance to Big Walker Mountain Tunnel on I-77 northbound

We set out about eight in the morning, under very gray skies. Rain spat on us several times along the way, but at least we didn’t have to contend with any massive gullywashers. Cache-wise, we came upon The Hotel California (we were living up it up... AND we managed to leave); a birdhouse — or so it appeared — that turned out to be a tiny cat’s outhouse; a benchmark that was not a benchmark; and a few more or less traditional hides of varying difficulty.

At our pit stops, we found that, in Virginia and Michigan, most people took the sensible precautions — wearing masks, maintaining social distance, scrubbing up thoroughly, etc. I was unimpressed at our couple of stops in Ohio, where masks were mostly unseen; at least one unmasked, disgusting fucker did his business and didn’t bother to wash his hands before wiping his slobbering mouth; and one slovenly couple made a brazen show of coughing their lungs out inside the rest area. It’s not charitable of me, I know, but I am far from above wishing karma would visit these useless asses with a vengeance. For the most part, though, the trip was mellow enough, the weather not too shabby, and the caching fun.

Once settled in at the Bruggers’, Kimberly and I opened the inevitable bottle of wine and sat up with her folks until sometime in the wee hours, enjoying good company and conversation.

Abandoned motel in New California, OH, the setting for “Hotel California” (GC8JR05)

Unfortunately, the cache wasn’t in the tower.

Sunday, September 13, 2020
I crawled out of bed before too late this morning, had a bite of breakfast, and then took off on one of Del’s bicycles to hunt some of the neighborhood caches that have popped up since our last visit back in January. Michigan weather is nowhere near as hot and humid as North Carolina’s, but even so, a long ride, both on and off road, damn near melted every bone in my body.

After returning to Casa de Brugger, I scrubbed up the melted remains and joined the rest of the gang on a drive to Sanford, a few miles to the northwest. Back in May, after massive rainfall, the Tittabawassee River, which runs through Sanford and into Midland, swelled to epic proportion and smashed through the Wixton Lake dam in Edenville, just north of Sanford, and the Sanford Dam, which resulted in a massive flood that devastated much of Sanford and Midland. We had visited Sanford on our wintertime visit, and today, we spent some time surveying the damage. Much of the town is still closed down, and Sanford Lake is totally gone, replaced by a huge plain of mud, the river a mere trickle through its center.

My hat’s off to the people of Midland. On our return trip, we had to make a supply run to Meijer, and I would estimate that 99% of the people in the store wore masks and showed due respect for other people’s personal space. I personally saw only two maskless dolts, almost certainly the best show of solidarity against COVID-19 I have seen anywhere. Midland does have a lower infection rate than most of the rest of the state of Michigan. Thank you, good people.

Sanford Lake Dam, four months after the Tittabawassee River blew through it

Rodan’s-eye view from “Yes, It’s Really Up There”

Monday, September 14, 2020
The morning bike ride in Midland has become a most welcome activity, especially when there are caches to be found. Apparently, a number of new ones had come out since yesterday, so the almost-coveted first-to-find honors remained to be claimed. I headed out pretty early and snagged several FTFs. I also did not find a few, partly due to fawlty coordinates and partly due to old dude’s blindness. Although it started out finger-numbing cold, by the time I returned to Casa de Brugger, I had become another sweaty, melty, horrifying mess.

During the afternoon, the family decided to head over to nearby Auburn, to an extensive gift shop called Warmbier Farms. I had done some caching out that way on a previous visit, but happily, the area has been re-stocked, so while the folks did their shopping, I headed after the newer hides. I know, shocked, right? Tree-climbing caches are among my favorites, so I found much joy — and a cache — from fair elevation at “Yes, It’s Really Up There” (GC8Q6AQ). In fact, I found triple the joy on this particular ascent. It was a pretty good-size pine at the end of a rural road. Upon my arrival, I didn’t immediately spy the cache, so I just started climbing. Ah, there it is. Not too low, not too high. Pleasing placement, it is. I managed to grab the container and sign the log with no problem — then, as I rehung it, the blasted thing slipped off the branch, and... plummet. Well, down I go, grab the container, put it securely in my pocket, and climb back up to the proper level. Reach into pocket, and... well, I thought it was securely in there. Sigh. Back down the tree. At least the container was easy to spot both trips down. Once again, up we go with the container. This time, I re-hung it without mishap. I had actually gotten tired of climbing that tree, believe it or not.

Crabby apples at a cache near Warmbier Farms

That wasn’t quite it for the caching adventures. Ms. B. and I had to return to Meijer later for some supplies for tomorrow’s Chicken Marsala, which I am cooking for the family, and a few nearby caches still awaited my attention. My favorite was one of high difficulty rating (4 out of 5), which I found by lucky accident. Ms. B. was waiting for me in the car, so I had resolved to spend no more than a few minutes on the hunt. As soon as I entered the woods, coordinates began bouncing mercilessly. This is a target-rich environment, so I feared hunting a cache of this difficulty level would likely prove an exercise in futility. I decided I would come back and hunt this one when I had plenty of time. I kinda needed to pee, and since I was alone in pretty dense woods, I figured, well, let’s do it. I was just finishing up when I noticed something a hair more symmetrical than the ubiquitous foliage nearby. And what do you know — my gaze had, quite by chance, fallen on the cache. Saved by a pee break!

I spent the rest of the evening indulging in our regular Midland traditions: working on my upcoming Ameri-Scares novel (New Hampshire: Ghosts From the Skies); drinking wine with Ms. B. on the porch swing (reserved for good-weather trips, of course); and hanging out with the folks watching TV until the wee hours. I would be hard-pressed to imagine a more relaxing, enjoyable time.

Tuesday, September 15, 2020
Why yes, the morning bike ride included more caches. This time, I headed south toward the Midland Grand Curve Trail, which runs east-west along US Highway 10 Business. First, I stopped at a cache at the edge of Stratford Woods, a puzzle cache I had solved years ago but had not had a chance to hunt (it is considered “non-winter friendly,” which in Michigan means business). The trails I found were overgrown, but I decided to see if I could ride them all the way into the park proper. I soon discovered this was not to be; I tried several options, but they all petered out into vast expanses of mud (note the destruction of the dams on the Tittabawassee River referenced upstream). So, reluctantly, I turned around and made my way back to the main road and the paved GCT, which was good for several more finds.

Whenever Ms. B. and I visit her folks, she and I like to provide a dinner or two. I had opted to give Chicken Marsala a shot, since it’s one of my favorite dishes to prepare (well, personally, I prefer Veal Marsala, but Kimberly does not share my fondness of the small dead cow). The family had once again headed out to find treasures, so I made myself at home in the kitchen and, I have to say, this batch hit the mark.

During the afternoon, we took Kimberly’s car down to a nearby shop to have her tires checked out, as they appeared to be losing air. Happily, that issue was resolved quickly and relatively easily. She was then good enough to accompany me to three of the caches I couldn’t find yesterday. Today... success! We turned yesterday’s frownies into smileys. Then, with the weather as perfect as perfect gets — temperature in the mid-60s, low humidity, and a lovely breeze — we took a leisurely bike ride around the neighborhood. I can’t express how perfect an antidote this has been, at least for now, to the anxiety, pressure, and grief that have followed Mom’s passing in July.

Chicken Marsala, probably my best effort yet. Y’all don’t get any.

Wednesday, September 16, 2020
Seriously, I’d hard-pressed to remember when I have last enjoyed entertaining myself as much as on these solo morning biking/geocaching outings in Midland. Today in particular, after a decent night’s sleep (a rarity even in this more relaxed environment), I headed out into a beautiful, temperate morning, with a fair breeze and little traffic to contend with. Yesterday, I had claimed a bunch of caches on the Midland Grand Curve Trail east of Swede Avenue; today, I headed back to the trail, to the west of Swede. I targeted several others in the area, which meant more traffic and more muggles, but even then, it was anything but oppressive. I snagged fourteen caches, I think it was, and passed a most entertaining boneyard on my outbound ride (see below).

Later, Ms. B. and I drove over to Midland City Forest, where we put in about a three-mile hike — yep, caches for the old feller, and nature photography for the nice lady. Found a good many hides and got in some decent exercise. And for the evening, another round of wine and quality time with the family.

Yep, that little dot is a magnetic nano
on a lightpole, about 20 ft. up

Thursday, September 17, 2020
This morning’s bike ride fell more into the “challenging” category than the “exhilarating” one. It started out beautifully: I rode up to a cache I had failed to find on one of our more frigid excursions here a couple of winters ago. This time, it took some hunting, but I finally made the find. A relatively short distance away, there is a cache called “High Enough?” (GC8WYBG). The name is apt, for what we have here is a magnetic nano stuck about 20 feet up on a light pole. At least one previous finder shimmied up that pole, but I felt it more prudent to improvise a tool of the trade, which I did. Yessir, I came, I saw, I conquered, I replaced the cache as it was intended. A couple of years back, I had to perform a similar feat at a nearby Midland cache; I made it happen, but it required far more effort than this one did.

I hunted and found several more caches, but it wasn’t long before the trouble set in. I’m pretty sure Del’s bike has not seen use like I’ve given it in... well... probably ever, and now the chain took to falling off every time I hit a bump. Of course, this started about the time I reached the farthest possible distance from home base — several miles, at this point. I managed to get the troublesome bastard back on each time, though on a couple of occasions, only after considerable difficulty. Without tools, I couldn’t do but so much in the way of reparations. I did manage to nurse the brute back to Casa de Brugger, though I damn near lost my phone in the process. I apparently dropped it while working on the chain; fortunately, I knew exactly where it must have fallen, so I was able to head back and promptly reclaim it.

Once able to avail myself to proper tools, I dusted off the old talents (I was a proficient bicycle mechanic in my adventurous youth) and hammered the rear wheel back to sufficiently increase the chain tension. I hope. Kimberly and I took a ride around the neighborhood this evening, and the contraption functioned swimmingly. I trust it will for Del when he goes out to ride the thing!

Once again, we all enjoyed an evening of wine; fantastic food; stimulating... uh... yeah, that's the word... television; and some wonderful bonding time. Another late night for us old folks, it was.

Friday, September 18, 2020
As all good things must come to an end, so did this trip. Since I first met and got to know Del and Fern, back in 2010, I have felt comfortable and at home with them. But it didn’t take long for me to consider them family; and I have it on good authority the feeling is mutual. Each and every time we get together, I consider the occasion special, particularly since the Bruggers accepted me into their lives never realizing the sorrow, heartbreak, and outright horror they might be in for. But somehow, on this trip — maybe because my mom is gone now — I felt a deeper connection, a sense of belonging and acceptance I haven’t known since I was a kid. Indeed, this week, I experienced a youthful exuberance from spending so much quality time with these good people I have come to love and aspire to honor. Now, make no mistake, I am a crass old fart, and I fear I sometimes open the mouth and insert the foot, but for better or for worse, I believe the family understands where I am coming from. I do hope. As I told Del when we left this morning, I try to be good but it’s so hard that it hurts. Still, I think the Bruggers can only have a positive effect on me.

It goes without saying that Ms. B. and I had a long drive home. We took a different route back, primarily to compare time and quality of the roads. Today’s route was easier and marginally quicker. It also took us down Route 35 through Gallipolis, OH, and Point Pleasant, WV, where, back in 2018, I had spent some of the best solo time of my existence while researching my Ameri-Scares novel, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman. Since we were passing through on such a long trip, we couldn’t spend a decent amount of time in the area, but I did snag a very cool cache in the shadow of the Silver Memorial Bridge — this one on the Ohio side of the Ohio River.

Back home now, and I must soon return to chipping away at the mountains of minutiae involved in settling Mom’s estate. I don’t yet see the light at the end of the tunnel, but from some of the information I have gotten, the tunnel, at least, may not be quite as dark as it portended. There be hope here.

Be good, be safe, and wear a fucking mask.

The Silver Memorial Bridge over the Ohio River, from the Gallipolis, OH, side.
The geocache host can be seen in the photo.

Ms. B. in the shadow of the bridge