Oh, Shenandoah...Again

Back in May, friends/regular travel companions, Terry & Beth, joined Brugger and me for a few days' sojourn in the wine country of central Virginia, with our headquarters at the Wintergreen Resort. On that trip, we were able to enjoy a brief but mighty nice dinner and visit with long-time friends, artist Cortney Skinner & author Elizabeth Massie. Well, that was really too little of a good thing, so Ms. B. and I decided we must return to the scene of the crime, and this time bring on board as much of the local talent as possible. This area of the Shenandoah—Staunton and Waynesboro in particular—is home to several writers and artists, all of whom I've called friends for many years. Apart from Cortney & Beth, we have Keith Minnion, Nanci & Phil Kalanta, Dave & Trudi Simms, and Matt & Deena Warner (the latter of whom did a great job redesigning my website earlier this year). We plotted a reasonably massive gathering in advance, while leaving the rest of an extended weekend for Brugger and me to wander about, discover spirits & vittles, go antiquing, hunt geocaches, and do whatever deviant things our teeny minds might concoct.

Thursday, October 16, 2025

This morning, Ms. B. and I mounted up and set forth for Wintergreen, stopping for a few geocaches, lunch in Lynchburg (Chili's), and some provisions at the Wintergreen Market. Our little VRBO is cozy, convenient to all the local amenities (wineries, breweries, cideries, and restaurants) as well as our friends. We arrived right at check-in time (3:00 p.m.) and made ourselves at home. Happily, our host provided us with plenty of necessities (like coffee), and as you can see in the photo above, we put some of our own provisions to good use.

For dinner, we trucked over to The Edge, which we'd enjoyed immensely on our previous visit. This time was equally good. A damn fine gin martini, I can tell you, and a hell of a good turkey burger with bacon. Afterward, Ms. B. and I retired to our lodgings, where had some cheesecake and a smidgen of wine for dessert. And we watched No One Gets Out Alive, which we'd seen before, but found it enjoyably creepy.

 

A most satisfying inaugural evening, to say the least. Till tomorrow.

Friday, October 17, 2025

Hey, it's a geocaching morning! I rose early, before Ms. B. even stirred, had a quick breakfast and coffee, and then set out for a cache less than half a mile from our lodgings, at least as the crow flies. Damn, those lucky crows. I took a shortcut down to the trail, as it was only a couple of hundred yards behind our place, but what a couple of hundred yards. Steep, steep terrain, mostly covered with mountain laurel, and if you've ever bushwhacked through mountain laurel then you probably understand how abusive its whip-like branches are. SWAT! WHACK! THWACK! Gracious!

Once on the trail proper, I had to cross about a dozen contour lines on the map, and we're talking terrain that is steep, rocky, and slickery with leaves. So, with all the winding up and down, that less than half a mile turned into a full mile-plus, with every step requiring a lot of caution. No kidding, a bad step in such terrain could have dire consequences.

But let me tell you, what gorgeous terrain it was. Fall color is far more advanced in these woods than in the neighboring areas. There's a flowing stream near the trail with some nice waterfalls. And when I finally arrived at the cache, I found it in good condition. Understandably, it doesn't get much business out in that area, but it was certainly worth the effort. (I don't think I paused as often to rest when I hiked nine rugged miles at McAfee Knob to get my 10,000th cache a few years back.)

Near the cache (Foraldeliben's Treasure, GC8VWBQ)

After this adventure, Brugger and I stopped at the nearby market to pick up a few picnic provisions, and then we drove down to Valley Road Vineyards, not too far away. Here we found some pretty good local wine. Our timing was good because, just as we started our picnic, a passel of tour buses pulled in with several passels of people, which just about filled up the place.

Our next destination was a couple of geocaches on the outskirts of Waynesboro, then into Staunton, a few miles farther on. Brugger went antiquing, and I went...caching. Found several fun ones, but then I realized my phone was nearly dead—and my spare external battery was completely dead. Thankfully, I was done caching for the afternoon. Anyhoo, Ms. B. and I met up again at Accordia Wine Bar, which we had discovered on our trip here in May. A little liquid refreshment hit the spot here.

Valley Road Winery

Overlooking the valley from just outside of Waynesboro

Finally, we came to the most compelling reason for our visit—meeting our crowd of ne'er-do-well friends at Thai Staunton restaurant. Keith Minnion and Dave & Trudi Simms couldn't make it, but Matt & Deena Warner brought their sons, Owen and Thomas, so our table was pretty well filled up. The food and service here were fantastic, and the company was the best there is. There were lots of memories between all of us as well as many newer stories to tell. After dinner, we hopped a couple of doors down to Kline's Ice Cream Shop, had sweet treats, and yammered a whole bunch more.

Finally, we all parted ways, and Brugger and I drove the spooky, dark backroads to our lodgings. It was quite a day, to say the least, and the evening gathering could hardly have been more fun and mentally/emotionally refreshing.

We started watching The Ritual, which is a cool, creepy film just right for the season, but since we were both tired and about ready to pack it in, we stopped halfway, figuring we'll finish it tomorrow night. I managed to stay up long enough to finish today's blog entry.

I foresee another possibly rugged hike in the morning. G'night.

Front: Thomas, Deena, Matt, Nanci, Phil; Back: Cortney, Beth, Owen, Ms. B., Old Dude

Saturday, October 18, 2025

Today, the No Kings Protests will be held all over the country, and if we were at home, Brugger and I would certainly be taking part in the Martinsville gathering. We'd thought about going to one in Staunton, but we ended up getting a very late start this morning, and we wouldn't have been able to make it in time. We are kind of sorry to have missed it. Anyway...I can absolutely assure you, those of us who protest this regime do NOT hate America. Quite the opposite. We protest the burgeoning autocracy. We protest the disregard for the rule of law and the US Constitution. We protest the escalating attacks on our free speech. We protest the demonization of those who disagree with the extreme right's imposition of its policies of pure self-interest. If you don't see this happening, right smack right in front of you; if you somehow see protest as hating America; or if you say, "If you don't like it, then leave," you are truly too brainwashed, too dim-witted to be reasoned with. This country IS my home, and I don't leave my home because it needs one hell of a house-cleaning. Right now, it surely does.

Here in Wintergreen, first thing this morning, I set out on foot after a cache at an overlook about a mile away. It wasn't a rugged hike like yesterday, but the ups and downs are still pretty extreme right here on the mountainside. At ground zero, my coordinates bounced me all over the place for a while, but I finally homed in on an apt-looking spot. Sure enough, I found a hook where the cache would have resided, but...no cache! Dammit. Anyway, I scratched around the area for quite a while with my hikey stick and finally turned up the container buried in the leaves. So, I signed the log and re-hid the cache where it was supposed to be. Ah, success!

 

Just as I completed my task, a nice lady approached me and asked if I was geocaching. I said that indeed I was, and she told me someone she knew hid this particular cache. She didn't know that much about caching overall, so I explained a few of its finer points. I've been at this activity now for over 17 years, and I still have the bug. I don't see it ever going away

Brugger and I soon headed out for brunch at Beltie's, a nice farmhouse-type restaurant where they also have Beltie cows! Big and cute, I'd call 'em. Some of them quite enjoyed being petted. I had a bucket of coffee and a fried chicken, pimento cheese, habanero-bacon jam, and arugula biscuit, which was so good I just about hollered.

From there, we found wine at Afton Mountain Vineyards, which was decent. Their best wine was a blend called Bacco, presumably from "Tobacco," since it had the distinctive and very agreeable aroma and taste of rich tobacco. That made me very happy. Then we headed over to King Family Vineyards in Crozet, where we ended up sitting with a very nice couple who live in the area but have traveled all over the world. We shared quite a few enjoyable travel tales. The wine was generally very good, particularly their blend called Seven. And finally, we topped off our little winery tour at a beautiful place called Chiswell Farm & Winery. It's probably the most scenic winery I've ever visited, and their Meritage wine was superb. The images below are from Chiswell.

From there, we drove down to the old Crozet Tunnel, now known as the Blue Ridge Tunnel. It's an old railroad tunnel cut clean through the mountain, almost a mile in length. It's now a rail trail, and yes, there was a geocache. Interestingly, Ms. B. happened upon it quite by accident. We really loved going through the tunnel—it's very dark and very chilly (and in some places, quite damp). When we arrived, it was pretty crowded, but by the time we left, the sun was going down, and we were damned near the last living souls at the place, which made it almost—and very agreeably—creepy.

L: Southeastern tunnel entrance; R: Ms. B. dancing in the dark

L: The Blue Ridge Tunnel is almost a mile from end to end; R: the northwestern tunnel entrance

Once we departed the the tunnel, we found dinner at a fairly new pizza restaurant called Trinacria, which was right next to Beltie's. The (exceptionally large "small") pizza was quite good.

Finally, we returned to our place and finished watching The Ritual, which really is a fun horror flick, and perfect for the Halloween season. Tomorrow...it's back to Ground Zero.

Peace out.

Wicked Weddings, Pants-Down Races, and More

Detail from the awful mob scene pictured below

Over a decade ago, at a singularly infamous, unnameable Necon event in Bristol, Rhode Island, our good friend, the well-known hack writer Elizabeth Massie, stumbled over this particularly fascinating, very sad, and very mean artist named Cortney Skinner. The two of them caught each other's interest and apparently wound up rolling through a darkened duct tape factory because it wasn't long before they had become quite inseparable. Before anyone understood what was actually happening, this nefarious pair was cohabitating, living in sin, doing devilish deeds by day and by night. Based on their frequent, frightening appearances together in public, whispers began to circulate that the two of them had murdered each other in their sleep. Then, back in June, all these years of abominable abnormality culminated, when the perverted pair, in full silly hat regalia, tied the marital knot — in the common vernacular, up and got hitched.

Finally, unable to limit the practicing of their devilish whims to only themselves, the despicable duo decided to throw a big-ass bash to showcase their disgusting deviance, even inviting people they actually knew and disrespected — including the lovely Ms. B. and me. Unable to overcome our fascination with public perversion, we accepted. So, just this weekend, yesterday through today, we found ourselves subjected to a degree of depravity that, until now, we never could have guessed existed on this planet.

It started out innocently enough. Kimberly and I visited the beautiful Barren Ridge winery just outside of Waynesboro, enjoyed some wine, grabbed a few geocaches, and then — admittedly with some trepidation — headed over to the hellish homestead. There were reunions with old friends, such as Jeff Osier; his wife, Cathy Van Patten; and her brother, John, with whom I had attended college a few years back. But these fair moments were not to last, for then the games began. Hideous, horrendous games, based on torture and humiliation. Things like "Pants-Down Races," in which even Ms. Massie's own daughter participated. To my shock, Kimberly was drawn into the evil circle, and I could only watch in despair as she, and numerous other inductees into this Satanic coven, raced around a blazing fire, pants down, tripping and falling and screaming and wailing. Never was there a more apt time for Jesus to appear and set things right. But he didn't, and so the heathens frollicked on.

Brugger was forced to walk the plank.

Next up, there were songs. And they drew me into it — me! Before I knew it, we were in a songwriting/singing competition, in which we had to compose canticles actually commemorating this demon pair's unholy union. I found myself singing along on a tune called "Bugle Whoo!" right smack in front of the couple, who looked down upon us from their camping chairs on high, nodding their heads in approval. And Lord, if that didn't sting. Except that... in a weird way... I almost enjoyed it!

Somehow, sometime later, Kimberly and I managed to escape. I'll never forget the sounds of agonized screaming, which — fortunately — receded quickly as we made our way into the night, seeking the nearest geocache with my trusty GPS.

The story would have ended there, except that, to our chagrin, we also accepted an invitation to breakfast with a select few of the coven, including the married couple. I should describe the beastly behavior during this smaller but no less traumatic event, but I doubt that repeating it would do my sanity — or yours — any favors. Suffice it to say that I am home now, writing this little missive, and constantly looking over my shoulder.

Should something happen to me, at least you know the truth.

A perfectly pastoral scene at Barren Ridge Vineyards, offering no hint of the trauma soon to follow.

Ms. B. and ye old writer, drinking away our cares before we even realized we had any.

Let the games begin. Grand marshall Cortney instructs participants in the rules of "Pants-Down Races."

Many celebrants, including this corrupt conquistador, crowded into the house to escape a brief rainstorm.

Hapless subjects serenade the vicious vizier and his bride, who look on with approval

After the party: Destined to walk the land of the dead.

Nearly a Non-Starter

It's always a treat to get together with writer Beth Massie and artist Cortney Skinner, who are two of the world's finest folks — well, mostly — and we've been hoping to work out a visit for quite a while. Ms. B. and I had calculated doing this thing a few weeks ago, but we ended up having to postpone our visit due to her cat suffering some unfortunate feline infirmities. Things on that front improved, so we rescheduled a trip to the Massie-Skinner homestead in Waynesboro, VA, this weekend. Everything looked good, so we took off work a bit early on Friday afternoon and hit the road.

About halfway there, the old Rodan Mobile decided it had had enough of the road for one night. After stopping for a cache just south of Lynchburg, VA, I put the key in the ignition to crank her up and go, only to be greeted by a wall of resounding silence.

Starter is dead. Graveyard dead. Beyond resuscitation dead.

Now, I must say, break downs suck — they SUCK — but if one must break down, one can only hope for things to work out as smoothly as they did this go-round. I got AAA on the horn — best investment I ever made, especially with all the history the Rodan Mobile has seen — and managed to reach a fellow at a garage, even though it was past their closing time. He said he could get to my car first thing Saturday morning, which was a blessing, since most of the shops we looked up were closed all day on Saturday. Ms. B. called around and found a decent enough hotel not too far away. The tow truck arrived within minutes and got us to the garage — and then the driver was kind enough to actually take us to the hotel after we got my car dropped off.

Once ensconced in our hotel room, Brugger and I checked maps for some nearby food. Ah... McDonald's. About a mile up the road. No sweat... we have feet. So we put them to good use and hiked up the way toward a late-night meal. Coming upon Spring Hill Cemetery — a large, very old, and agreeably eerie bone yard — was the evening's highlight. The gates were locked, so we couldn't go inside, but we had a great view of the stones and markers from just outside the fence. Quite enjoyed the serenity of the place after a rather stressful evening.

Yesterday morning, as promised, the garage guy promptly got a new starter put in. One quick cab ride later, we had a working automobile and soon enough were back on our way to Waynesboro. When we arrived, it was to find yet more fucked machinery: Cortney's computer had committed stupidcide, right when he was in the midst of a project with a deadline of immediately. Thankfully, eventually, he got things sorted out enough for stress levels to subside to critical. After a wee spot of geocaching with Beth and Brugger — including a most amusing visit to another graveyard — we went for a tasty Mexican dinner, a spot of ice cream, and a bit more caching.

This morning, it was off to Starbucks, where we met some more of our fabulous fiends from the area: Nanci & Phil Kalanta and artist Keith Minnion, who had provided some devilish art for Deathrealm back in the day. The shooting of shit and what not went on for some time, but then Nanci gleefully tortured us with a dramatic reading of Damn You, Demon! — the latest non-childen's children's book by Beth and her sister, Barb Lawson. Following this, we became embroiled in a long, profound discussion, which involved the waylaying of total strangers, about whether Starbuck's interior walls were painted brown or green. Unable to withstand this torture further, Ms. B. and I hastened to depart — but only after I found Beth and Cortney's geocache, "Queequeg" (GC4ARE1)... or Quohog or Hedgehog, or whatever it's called... which is on the premises.

The hunt for a couple of more caches took Ms. B. and me to a picturesque, rustic spot or two nestled in the mountains around Fairfield, VA, and then we hit Roanoke for a great lunch at Blues BBQ Company, which we had discovered last February when we were in town for Shevacon. And then, on to Valhalla Vineyards, atop a mountain just outside of Roanoke. As scenic as a location comes, this place. We quite enjoyed their wines, especially their 2007 Valkyrie — a blend of Cabernet Savignon, Cabernet Franc, Merlot, Malbec and Petit Vedot — and 2001 Cornucopia blend, all of which come from their own grapes. The staff we met were quite personable, and Brugger and I would both recommend the place highly, with the possible caveat that quite a few of the clientele, at least while we were there, were ungodly rowdy and inconsiderate — some playing board games, which, at a winery, ought to be forbidden by at least thirteen statutes and a possible constitutional amendment. Hopefully, this was merely an anomaly, for a place as distinctive and atmospheric as Valhalla deserves more respectful treatment. It ain't no downtown bar and grill.

So, I'm back home now, where I've been trying to suppress food riots amid the feline general population for the past few hours. That's all kinds of rough, I gotta tell you.

Natural High

Beth and Cortney... Yeah,
they're stayin' alive.

Little boosts my spirits more than spending an activity-packed, slightly long weekend with some of the finest maniacal mutants the unnatural world has ever produced. So, on Thursday evening, Ms. Kimberly and I packed up and hit the road, bound for Skeeryvilletown, VA (a.k.a. Waynesboro) — the lair of the dreaded Cortney Skinner-Elizabeth Massie pair. From Greensboro, we had a pleasant drive up U.S. 29, and then, just shy of Waynesboro, we turned off onto Route 6 to make our way up the dark, treacherous bulk of Afton Mountain. (It's nearly as scary as traveling on the Jerry Falwell Memorial Highway.) Safely at our destination, we spent the remainder of the evening sipping Barbera wine from NC's Brandon Hills Vineyards, catching up on all things that required catching up on.

'Tis far better to have a Friday off work than to go to work. It was up relatively early and off to Starbucks for breakfast — an insidious, potentially contagious Massie-Skinner tradition. Then off for some geocaching — we targeted about a dozen. The highlight of the day just might have been a visit to Veritas Vineyards on Afton Mountain, where we enjoyed a picnic lunch on the sprawling, scenic grounds, in the company of the vineyard's very friendly and well-behaved dog. Brugger and I sampled some of the vineyard's dry reds; Mr. Skinner fulfilled his daily requirement of stainless steel with an unoaked Chardonnay; and Ms. Massie overdid it with a carbonated, dark amber vintage from an altogether different establishment, a.k.a. Pepsi.

In the early evening, the four of us met Horrorworld.org maven, Nanci Kalanta; her sinister spouse, Phil; and horror author Matthew Warner at El Puerto Mexican Restaurant for a lively and very satisfying dinner. (El Puerto's tacos diablo, advertised as very hot, proved delicious but did require a few extra shots of habanero sauce to suit my palette.) As might be expected in this company, much horror and hilarity ensued.

Then... oh, my lord... back to the ranch to watch the short film Abed, made by Jenny Lasko, Philip Nutman, and Ryan Lieske, based on Beth's short story, which originally appeared in the anthology Still Dead (edited by John Skipp and Craig Spector, Bantam, 1992). Truly, the most graphic, sanity-stretching zombie film my innocent little eyes have ever beheld. Not sure I'll ever be quite the same, and there's certainly no knowing the long-term ramifications for my sex life. The antidote for this brain-searing horror was 1973's snake-fest, Ssssssss, starring Dirk Benedict, Heather Menzies, Strother Martin, Richard B. Shull, and Tim O'Connor. I had seen this at the theater when it came out all those happy years ago, and back then, it kind of messed up my poor little mind. This time, the only casualty might have been Brugger's good sense.

Alas, as all fun things must end, yesterday morning, after yet another Starbucks' breakfast and a handful of local caches, Kimberly and I ventured southward to Natural Bridge, VA, to view one of the most spectacular natural formations in the world. I had been there a number of times in the past, the first being the summer of 1974; this was Brugger's first visit. It's still as breathtaking as it was the first time I saw it. It rises 215 feet above Cedar Creek, made of solid gray limestone, 40 feet thick and 100 feet wide, spanning a gorge of 90 feet. The bridge itself is estimated to weight about 72 million pounds, and is in the neighborhood of 500 million years old. In 1750, George Washington carved his initials in the rock wall beneath the bridge, and they can still be clearly seen today. Thomas Jefferson purchased the bridge and 157 surrounding acres from King George III in the year 1774, for twenty shillings of "good and lawful money" (a little over $2 in today's currency). There are certainly more tourist attractions around the bridge than when I was a kid — such as a wax museum and a Styrofoam replica of Stonehenge called "Foamhenge" — but the natural grandeur of the place is still beyond impressive. Photographs cannot do the bridge justice.

Our lunch was at the nearby Pink Cadillac Diner, which does indeed feature a pink Cadillac out front (along with a geocache), a giant statue of King Kong, a bronze Elvis, and lots of other gaudy goodies. Damn good meatloaf.

And today, it was out to the trail to place a new geocache. It might be a tough one. It's called Darth Fox....

Click images to enlarge.

Ahh, nuts.

Creeple people at Veritas Vineyards, Afton Mountain, VA

At El Puerto Mexican Restaurant: this very scary man would not leave us alone. 

Brugger playing the bizarro Fay Wray.

Apt sign at the Pink Cadillac Diner.

Creepy creepers at the McCormick Farm, near "Don't Fear the Reaper" (GC28RCC)

Book Em, Damned-Ro

This past weekend, Mrs Death and I drove up to Waynesboro, VA, for Book Em, an event sponsored by the Waynesboro Police Department to promote literacy. It was a day-long affair, held at Kate Collins Middle School, where 60-plus authors—some local, some from as far away as the UK—gathered to sell and sign books. The early morning crowd was anything but—easily the smallest I've seen in the three years I've been an attending author—though I can't say as I was suprised, given the state of the economy. Hell, I can't afford to plunk down money to buy books. In fact, I probably would have been surprised to see a turnout as big as in past years. However, over the course of the day, patrons arrived in ebbing and flowing waves, occasionally pretty much filling the gymnasium where it it was held. I managed to move a few books—about the same number as I did last year—so, even after Book Em takes its 40%, I more than paid for my trip up there.

Book Em made for only a small part of the trip, though. Of special note was getting to hang out again with good ol' Andrea Locke's face, Elizabeth Jones (pictured), who writes kiddie fiction—and quite well; she's an Edgar-award winner. Anybody remember Andrea Locke? She was the magazine reviewer for Deathrealm magazine. I think everyone knows at this point that Ms. Locke was actually no less than five individuals, and Ms. Jones was the only female in the bunch (and the only one who didn't actually write reviews). Back in the good old days when she and her family lived here in town, we used to do a lot of camping together. I think this was the first time we've seen each other in a decade. Gad.

Other highlights include hanging out with the Beth Massie/Cortney Skinner dynamic duo; Beth's sister, Barb Lawson; Matt and Deena Warner; and Joan Vander Putten and her husband Tom. Joan was—way back in the darkest 1980s—a regular attendee of Ms. Massie's infamous Pseudocon and a bona fide Deathrealm author. We attended a rather bizarre production, called the River City Radio Hour, in downtown Waynesboro,which featured an SF/comedy skit penned by Mr. Warner himself and a howlingly funny diatribe by the right-irreverent Ms. Lawson. All good fun, and the local talent is in no way lacking.

No trip would be complete without geocaching, and Mrs Death and I did some considerable hunting—on the way up, while there, and on the way back. Much to our delight, we discovered that the Warners have become involved in this most sublime activity, so we spent yesterday morning caching around Staunton, VA, which is one of the most beautiful little towns I've ever encountered. I think our total number of finds for the weekend came to 38, give or take a couple. And I must say, it's always heartwarming to be a couple of hundred miles away from home, find a cache, and discover in the logbook the signature of one "Night-hawk, Oak Ridge, NC." Night-hawk is a local State Farm agent.

It's true; he's not unlike a bleedin' good neighbor.