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

Owl Rock Revisited and I Say, Are You Blind?!

I’m sure it’s plain to those of you who pop by to visit now and again that many of my blogs are primarily for me to record events that I want to look back fondly upon, and this is one of those.

Actually, I wasn’t all that fond of the earlier hours of this morning, as a migraine set in soon after I dragged myself out of bed. On the upside, after the visual aura wore off, the headache was very mild, almost non-existent — which was good because I had geocaching on the schedule and lots of creative work to dive into afterward. I still have a bunch of that on the docket, so this won’t be a lengthy entry.

I was planning to hit the trail at Shallow Ford Natural Area to check on the presence/condition of one of my very old geocaches, which a geocacher had reported as possibly missing. However, a new cache was published this morning in Altamahaw, not far from Shallow Ford, so I detoured to it and claimed the almost-but-not-quite-coveted first-to-find honors. Then I made my way to Shallow Ford to check on “Owl Rock” (GC2HM9H), so named due to the stack of rocks someone put up along the trail many years ago; some say it doesn’t really look like an owl, but no comment. Happily, the cache wasn’t missing. It was right where it was supposed to be, but it did need a little cleaning up. Once I’d handled that chore, it occurred to me that there is an old hunting blind along the trail, and a cache had resided within it once upon a time. That one has been long archived, so I decided to put a new one in its place. It’s called “I Say, Are You Blind?!”, and I’m hoping the geocaching reviewer will be able to publish it sooner than later.

Afterward, since it was about lunchtime, I drove the short distance down to Simply Thai in Elon and tore into some delicious chicken lettuce wraps, which were screaming hot (I might have overdone the dumping of chili pepper oil on them). And then it was back to Casa di Rodan to continue taking care of business.

And now... see you later.

Old dude on the hunt in Altamahaw

I say, are you blind?!

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.

What Year Is This?

New Year's Eve/Day sure didn't quite turn out as we planned. Ms. Brugger and I had intended to head over to Winston-Salem last night to hang out with our friends Terry & Beth in their outdoor hot tub (in the nice 11°F chill), but they'd both come down ill this week, and getting together during the contagious stage just didn't seem prudent, especially since Ms. B. and I have suffered ugly illnesses of our own this past month. So after I enjoyed some frigid, early-evening geocaching at Greensboro's Revolution Mill, Ms. B. and I went to New Year's Eve dinner at one of our favorite Thai restaurants — Simply Thai in Elon — and then returned to her place, where we drank wine and watched the final episode of Stranger Things, followed by the double-feature of Mother and The Thing (2012). While hanging out in a hot tub with Terry & Beth would surely have been the most desirable option, our ever-so-mellow back-up plan proved nothing to sneeze at.

This morning, we slept late, drank serious coffee, had a delicious chicken sausage & egg scramble, and hung with cats. Then I returned home.

I must say, 2017 provided us with a generally fine holiday season, starting with Halloween and our trip to Gettysburg, which turned out to be one of the best things I've ever done. Thanksgiving and Christmas both proved mellow and memorable. In early December, Ms. B. and I had an excellent time at her folks' place in Midland, MI, but for those days we were down with the stomach flu. Being the eternal pessimist, though, every New Year's Day tends to find me feeling a little depressed, since it spells the end of my favorite annual holiday time.

That said, I feel little remorse leaving 2017 behind, as in so many respects it was a garbage year, with my Mom's long-term health problems overshadowing every aspect of my life, and 2018 — and likely many years beyond — promises no respite. I've never hated anything as much as I hate what has happened to her, and unfortunately, sometimes that hate spills over into my day-to-day life, which, of course, I hate. The perpetually widening political divide in our country has affected me in no small ways; it's no secret I fucking despise Donald Trump and the GOP. They're the epitome of human garbage, the lot of them, and for them the guillotine would be too kind. I suppose the less said about that, the better.

My work situation, while not so different in its day-to-day routine, is in many ways more stressful than it used to be, with a long, ugly daily commute, resulting in considerably more personal expense (and risk), and certain HR issues, including a piss-poor time-off policy, which are several steps backward from what we used to have under our local ownership. I hope to God I can retire before I'm dead, and the sooner the better. But I do not like this aging thing. Sure it's better than the alternative, but an alternative alternative would be most desirable.

Whatever its hardships, I'm sure 2018, as every year has, will offer plenty of joys and wonderful things to counter the stressors. I do hope so. Right now, I've got a couple of great writing projects happening, and it is time for me to get back to them.

May the road rise to meet your wheels.