We Don't Need No Stinking Trails!

Trails? We don't need no stinking trails!

Last night, friend Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott) came up from Asheboro so we could get an early start on a geocaching trip to Roanoke this morning. He brought bourbon. So...there was bourbon for most of the evening. We did take a bourbon break to have dinner at the nearby Third Bay Cafe, which has THE best burgers in town, if not pretty much anywhere. Then there was bourbon.

 

We got up and hit the road pretty early. Once in Roanoke, we put in 4.5 miles of rugged geocaching, mostly up and down the sides of Mill Mountain. The photo above is the "before" picture. By the end of it, I didn't have the strength left to hold up my phone and snap an "after" picture (partly because I'd used my already failing arm and hand muscles to feed myself a delicious brisket sandwich at Mission BBQ). 

Hey, the shortest distance between two points, and all that. Trails. Ha!

(Maybe we should have taken the trails.)

Late addendum: I just realized that, after today's outing, I am one cache shy of my 16,000th find. Wowz.

L: A bona fide Bigfoot track! R: A friendly box turtle spotted along our trek

A nice view of Roanoke in the distance

L: A new bike trail under construction—looks challenging; R: Cripes, we're only halfway there!

A nice stream flowing through Fishburn Park

Foodz, Booze, Brewz, and Such

Martinsville isn't a very large town, and we don't have but so many local dining and drinking options, though Brugger and I do our best to support several exceptional establishments in town. Third Bay Café, right up the street from us, is owned by an old high school buddy of mine, and it remains one of our favorite go-to restaurants anywhere. Their big ol' cheeseburger is easily the best in town; Brugger often gets a "burger salad"—one of their excellent house salads topped by a burger! Third Bay's dinner menu isn't all that extensive, but everything on it is consistently excellent.

At a recent gathering of friends, Kimberly and I met a nice couple named Scott and Jamie, so we got together with them last weekend at what was, for me, a new discovery. Scuffle Hill Brewing, in nearby Collinsville, has been around for a pretty good while, but we'd never visited it before. The several brews I tried were all excellent, and they carry wine from Hamlet Vineyards, a very good local winery in  Fieldale, a short distance up the road. After Scuffle Hill, we had dinner at Yamato Japanese Restaurant, one of a couple of decent Asian restaurants in town. They feature a hibachi area with some exceptionally agile teppanyaki chefs, but we prefer their sushi bar; the dead fish is always superb.

Renewal Brewing in Uptown Martinsville has become one of our favorite destinations. They have several excellent brews and hard seltzer concoctions. It's located in the basement of one of the old buildings in town, and we find its speakeasy decor perfect for our tastes. The owner also runs Mountain Valley Brewing, out in the scenic boonies around Axton, not too far out of Martinsville. We've only been there once, but revisiting it is on our near-future schedule.

Our most upscale dining option can be found at TAD Tavern, Uptown. It's relatively new, and based on our first experience there a few ago, I give it top marks. You may walk out of the place speaking consoling reassurances to your wallet, but the food, service, and atmosphere could not be better. High marks all around!

Anyway, this is my shout-out to some of our favorite local spots. This is far from exhaustive, and several more deserve accolades, so I'll yak about them in a future entry. For now, g'day.

No Burial Without Permission & Others

Don’t do it.

Geocaching has led me to a number of signs like this over the years. They're kind of disappointing because, sometimes, you just need to dispose of someon—er, something—quickly.

The weekend was busy, productive, mostly enjoyable. Friday evening, Brugger and I went to Martinsville and had friends Stephen & Samaire over for dinner and drinks. Given the agreeably mild weather, we were able to socially distance ourselves on the front porch at Pleasant Hill. We picked up dinner from Third Bay Cafe, which was, as always, first-rate. Yesterday, upon our return to Greensboro (by way of Danville for a couple of geocaches), Ms. B. and I spent the better part of the day working on our kitchen renovation. Tiring, of course, but highly satisfying.

This morning, Mr. Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott) and I got together to check out the trails and a number of caches at the Spruce Pine Lodge, along Flat River, just north of Durham. The weather was perfectly splendid for hitting the woods — clear skies and temperatures in the high 50s/low 60s. Prior to coming out here for geocaching, I knew nothing of this lodge, which dates back to the 1940s. It is available for meetings, events, and gatherings of all sorts. The nature trails offer scenic views and easy hiking, although most of the caches ended up taking us pretty far off-trail.

We found some good ones this trip. We discovered one container in the hands of a hopelessly malnourished fellow; a couple of well-stocked ammo cans; and a couple of smaller caches up in trees. Sadly — for me, at least — these did not require climbing but specific tools of the geocaching trade.

Scott appears bemused by this chap suffering from extreme malnourishment.

My favorite cache of the day, “Waterfall Overlook” (GCQE55), took us out to some high ground above one of the rocky, rushing creeks that flow into Flat River. Outbound, we found a narrow stretch with plenty of stepping stones to facilitate our crossing. After claiming the cache, we returned by a different route, which put us high above the stream, at a wide, rocky, and far more treacherous point. However, being the spirited, foolish daredevils we (sometimes) are, rather than detour, we decided to soldier on. Not far downstream, we found a big fallen tree above the deepest, rockiest part of the creek, so one of us (raises hand) unilaterally decided to use it as a handy-dandy footbridge. As we soon discovered, the log had a wee wobble, but neither Scott nor I fell off of it. Well, I didn’t. And it wasn’t so much a fall as a slide, which culminated in a relatively small splash. Not very spectacular, Scott.

On our way home, we stopped for a handful of other caches, including one at a very old church graveyard, where we discovered the sign in the image at the top of the page. Graveyard caches almost always elicit a smile.

Just don’t bury any bodies there without permission. Don’t do it.

The Spruce Pine Lodge in Bahama, NC, just north of Durham

View of Flat River from the nature trail at Spruce Pine Lodge

Outdoor amphitheater near the nature trail

One of the scenic little waterfalls we discovered on our hike

Our makeshift bridge across the stream. So it was a little wobbly. Scott and I both survived, though one of us
might have ended up a bit wetter than the other.

I Axed for It!

Many days of nasty weather has about had me going stir crazy, so it was nice to have a beautiful, if cold, Saturday morning. It was just right for heading up to Fairy Stone Park to hunt a relatively new geocache. After so much rainfall, I was surprised to find the trail as dry as it was. In a few low-lying areas, it was waterlogged — or, in many places, ice-logged. The temperature hovered right at freezing, so the wind made for a very brisk walk, but I needed to get back out on the trail. The cache lurks at one of the familiar overlooks above the lake, so I didn’t need to pull out the GPS. A quick look around, and I had the cache in hand. After a helluva week, an enjoyable morning on the trail was just the ticket.

Not just the ticket was another of those annoying first-world problems that have been hitting me non-stop over the past couple of weeks. I needed to head to the old homestead in Martinsville last night, so I figured I’d just order dinner from one of the nice local restaurants and have Doordash deliver it. In most cases, in recent days, Doordash has been a godsend; I have had very few problems and some excellent experiences. Not so much last night. I placed an order, the delivery person picked it up, and the GPS map showed him approaching my (very well lit) house. So the dude drives slowly by, clearly not sure where he is. Drives past the house, turns around, comes back, drives slowly past the house again, goes down to end of road, comes back yet again. By now I’m out in the yard waving at the driver, who passes slowly by, starts checking out other houses, eventually gives up, and drives away. Pleasant Hill is not a goddamn difficult place to find — particularly when it’s lit up like a fucking Christmas tree — and if you’re working for Doordash, you hopefully have a GPS, and/or a phone by which one can communicate. Nope; this chap provided no contact info. Above and beyond my personal inconvenience, this kind of stupidity hurts Doordash, since I’m less likely to use them in the future. Pity they can’t really give the drivers a test to determine whether they are morons. Fortunately, Doordash does give immediate cash credit, which I’ve received, but for the love of god... this particular driver clearly ought not be working as a driver.

I ended up ordering dinner — an excellent ribeye steak — from The Third Bay up the street and picked it up. At least it proved fantastic. And there was enough left for me to have a trail snack this morning. Better than the typical beef jerky, I must say!

Cin-cin.

After so much rainfall, I was surprised to find the trail mostly dry. I did encounter icy patches here and there. 

One of my favorite and most familiar views of Fairy Stone Lake from the trail overlook

A Stellar Start (NOT)

2021 has not exactly kicked off on a stellar note. DC riots and Capitol-storming aside, things on the family front have not quite gone as hoped. My brother, Phred (a.k.a. Alan) is in dire straits, health-wise, and this has cast a pall over even the more pleasant aspects of life. Dealing with Mom’s estate has presented me with more than its share of challenges, but right now — thankfully — I am able to step back a little to deal with other priorities.

The other day — Thursday, I believe it was — I took a little respite by heading up to the Laurel Bluff Trail, up at Lake Townsend. Friend Natalie had placed a slew of Munzees out there, and while I’m only so enamored of the Munzee concept, it gave me a fine excuse for an early evening hike. The sunset was gorgeous, and I ran into scarcely a soul out there, which made for a relaxing, contemplative outdoor experience.

On Friday, Kimberly and I headed to the old homestead in Martinsville, primarily to take down the Christmas decorations, which is always rather sad; perhaps more so this year, with Mom gone and Phred not doing well. We did have a fine dinner from Third Bay Cafe, watched The Mist, and played a bunch of fun tunes on YouTube till the wee hours. Once back home on Saturday, we set to work on the house upgrade; got a good spot of painting done in the kitchen.

Today, I hiked on the Blue Heron Trail to do some cache maintenance, which wasn’t as much fun as hiking to find caches, but it provided me with some much-needed exercise, and the weather was just right.

I’m putting the finishing touches on my Ameri-Scares novel, New Hampshire: Ghosts From the Skies, which I anticipate turning in this week. Then I have a short story lined up for an upcoming Lovecraftian anthology, which I hope will fly. Those are the high points, I reckon, but the low ones will be lurking around every corner. There’s just no way around them at this point.

But we maintain. Peace out.

A lovely evening on the Laurel Bluff trail, with the sun's last rays highlighting the trees across Lake Townsend

Fresh paint and primer brightens up the kitchen a bit....

A Smashing Valentine's Day

After a mighty nice Valentine's Day dinner at The Third Bay in Martinsville, Ms. B. and I are stopped at a red light. Car comes from the left, makes a wide turn to the right, and — wham! Dumb-ass slams right into the front of my car. Crunches up the fender and headlight pretty good.

The fellow claimed his brakes locked up. However, he did appear impaired, and when the police arrived — happily, in short order — they arrested him immediately after running his credentials. He claimed he had insurance, but it appears to have expired. I expect he'll have a rough ride coming up, and it would seem deservedly so. Fortunately, Ms. B. and I are fine, but getting the car taken care of may take a while.

In any event, my takeaway from this is to never stop at a red light.

Anyone for Scorpion?

Manchurian Scorpion, to be precise. Tastes quite like a very salty pistachio with a hint of fish on the finish. I had a couple of them, then chased them with a handful of crickets roasted in honey mustard.

Today was Bug Festival at the Virginia Museum of Natural History in Martinsville. Since I had to attend to Mum this weekend anyway, Ms. Brugger agreed to accompany me that we might attend the Bug Festival, among other festive thingummies. Last night, we left Greensboro and headed to the Third Bay for dinner with our friends Stephen and Samaire Provost, who had moved to Martinsville from California several months ago. As always, the food, drink, and company made for a better-than-pleasant evening. Quite by happenstance, at the restaurant, we ran into geocaching friend VAVAPAM (a.k.a. Pam), whom I had earlier introduced to Stephen because he was writing a book about the history of department stores, and Pam's family used to own Globman's Department Store in uptown Martinsville. Globman's was a bona fide fixture in town for most of a century, and it's nice to see it getting coverage in Stephen's upcoming book.

After dinner, Ms. B. and I had a number of errands to run, which kept us out later than we expected. Still, since it was such a beautiful — almost chilly — evening, once we retired to Mum's, we sat out on the back deck with a bottle of good wine until the morning's wee hours.

Ben R. Williams, the museum's
Science Administrator-cum-bug-
server extraordinaire

This morning, we scrounged up a tasty breakfast at Daily Grind uptown, where I have, on occasion, made an unpleasant racket on my guitar. No noise today, just coffee and a really good (and huge) bacon, egg, & cheese croissant. Then to the museum for the Bug Fest. We found a decent crowd (it got much more crowded later) and a passel o' bugs. Everything from tarantulas to crayfish to walking stick insects to to vinegaroons to giant mantises to hissing Madagascar cockroaches (I used to co-habitate with Madagascar cockroaches in Chicago, courtesy my roommate Bill). And then the pièce de résistance, the "Eat a Bug" challenge. My friend Ben R. Williams, formerly a reporter for the Martinsville Bulletin, now Science Administrator at the museum, manned the food corner, with plentiful supplies of Manchurian scorpions, water beetles, and crickets.

So, have a look back the beginning of this blog entry. Yummy bugs. They probably won't move to the top of my dietary staples, but I didn't find them at all objectionable. Ben did warn me that the water beetle was anything but appetizing, so that's the only one I didn't try. Some other time, perhaps.

Following the festival, I did maintenance on a few of my nearby geocaches. Then we had to hit to road for Reidsville, to meet friends Suntigres (a.k.a. Bridget) and BigG7777 (a.k.a. Gerry) for lunch at The Celtic Fringe. The bugs hadn't spoiled my appetite, though — both Bridget and I availed ourselves to their Welsh Dragon Burger, which comes adorned with Carolina Reaper Pepper sauce. That is hot, hot, HOT stuff, I can tell you. It's the best burger in the world. Bridget and I laughed. We cried. We cried A LOT. And I brought some of that sauce home so I can cry all over again. Scorpion stings ain't got nothing on this hot stuff.

We concluded our outing by visiting the Patrick-Watson graveyard, which is a tiny little boneyard in the remote woods between Greensboro and Reidsville. I had already found the geocache there, but Gerry & Bridget still needed it. They made short work of the cache, and we spent some pleasant time out there among the dead. Brugger made some rubbings of the old gravestones (which date back to the late 18th/early 19th centuries).

Despite the allure of the grave sites, we left no man (or woman) behind, and back home we came. It's already been a busy and satisfying weekend, and there is more geocaching on the docket for tomorrow. Till then, be goot!

Three geocachers and one muggle at The Celtic Fringe in Reidsville

Suntigres watching out for the Walking Dead on her approach to the cache

Ms. B. making rubbings on one of the old gravestones

Yeah, they're dead, they're all messed up.

Forty Years Later, and It's Not a Reunion

Photo courtesy Jim Frith

The Martinsville High School Class of 1977 — it was forty freaking years ago we graduated high school, and some of our number have retained enough brain cells to remember it (certain of us, I'm not so sure about!). Some time ago, one of our illustrious classmates had the idea that those of us who were physically and mentally able should meet in Martinsville, not for a reunion per se, but an informal gathering of old friends who might not do grievous harm to one another on sight. So, the "Not a Reunion!" event came together, held last night at The Third Bay restaurant, which is owned by one of our old classmates and is just about my favorite place for dinner, not just in Martinsville but anywhere.

Approximately forty members of the Class of 77 converged on The Third Bay last night, and I'm pretty sure I felt my heart stutter a bit. Some I barely recognized. Some hadn't had the courtesy to age a day after all this time. We'd had reunions at 10, 15, 20, 25, and 30 years, but we missed out on a 35-year gathering. A shame, to be sure, as a lot of these folks I'd not seen since the last reunion, and several others not since our actual graduation.

In those days, I was probably too young, too brash, too naive, and too close to see what a superlative bunch of people the Class of 77 comprised. (Of course, back then, any of number of us yet had plenty of room for our brains and hearts to grow!) Some of us were great friends. Others of us were barely casual acquaintances. But we saw each other every day. Speaking for myself, and no doubt certain others, we took the school, the town, and the people somewhat for granted; for those of us who'd grown up in Martinsville — the majority of us, I believe — everything and everyone in town were the ultimate in familiarity, and you know what they say about that word. But getting back together now, I can safely say these folks are exceptional. Many of us traded stories about old times as well as what we're doing now. Much of what I heard humbled me. So much selflessness, compassion, and all-around human decency, all gathered in that little restaurant — and I gotta tell you, from some of these people, that blew my mind.

Okay, I jest. At least a little. But I came away last night feeling a sense of pride, and a deep respect for so many classmates I haven't so much as spoken to in way too many years.

A "real" reunion is planned for October of this year, hopefully with even more of our class showing up. Thanks in particular to Tim Hall and Baxter Robertson for coordinating this event, and to Tim Pharr for overseeing the one that is to come. To you folks I've known over all these years, whether we've actually been close or little more than memories, I salute you.