An Appalachian Sojourn

A short while back, I did a little scheming with our frequent travel partners, Terry & Beth, because Ms. B. has been going through a lot of stress, mainly from dealing with her parents' declining health, and we felt it was high time we helped her unwind with a wining, dining, and sightseeing trip together. We wanted something short of exotic (read not overly expensive) but a bit out of the ordinary. So, we opted for a three-day trip to the mountains of North Carolina — an apt destination because, in August, at Necronomicon Providence, I'm going to be on the Appalachian Horror panel. What better than spending a few days in the heart of legend-haunted Appalachia?

Thursday, June 4, 2026
Brugger and I hit the road about 9:30 a.m. Three hours and a couple of pee and geocache stops later, we met Terry and Beth in Blowing Rock, NC, at a cool little bistro called Storie Street Grille & Sidecar Bar, which was the first place that struck our fancy. Excellent food and drink, and it was great to gather with our good friends again. I decided to go marginally healthy and get a spicy lentil burger. I did have fries. These were fantastic.

 

Afterward, we checked into our lodgings, about ten miles out of Blowing Rock — the cabin you see in the photo above. A fine place indeed, with all the amenities and some lovely views. 

 

Beth's number one priority was to visit the Beacon Heights Trail, close to the town of Linville, about twenty miles west of Blowing Rock. She and Terry had visited it a few years ago and loved the incredible mountain scenery. So, off we went. Once there, it was a short hike to the top of the ridge, which is a huge, open quartzite surface that offers an unbroken view of the world, primarily eastward. As is our custom, once settled at the top of of the world, we broke out the spirits and toasted our friendship. We spent the better part of the afternoon taking it all in, and, eventually, made our way back to Blowing Rock, with most of daylight now behind us. Here, we found a decent dinner at Town Tavern, which we'd noticed earlier in the day. They had live music—agreeable, classic Americana—and some of the best damned chicken tenders I've ever tasted. And the Aperol Spritz took me straight back to Italy. All in all, a lovely day.

For the evening, we hung out at our place, enjoyed a little wine, and had some great conversation. This is what I call the best kind of therapy.

Old Dude and Ms B geocaching in Blowing Rock

Wine on the rocks

This Earth is NOT flat

Friday, June 5, 2026
There was a geocache about a mile from our lodgings, so first thing this morning, I set out after it on foot, and I've gotta tell you, the road from our place up to the main road is steeper than steep. This made for one hell of a strenuous trek. Once at ground zero, I had to scramble up, over, and around some boulders and otherwise rugged terrain, but in the end, I found the cache. Victory!

Today's group destination was Linville Gorge, which I'd visited many years ago with an old friend. There are several overlooks around the gorge, and we hoofed it to all of them. The farther up we went, the more spectacular the views. At the highest of the overlooks, we tore into our little cache of snackies, including our wine for toasting. From here, we saw a little bear cub hanging out in a tree a short distance down the mountainside, which was pretty neat, although we really hoped Mama Bear wouldn't come wandering our way because, at the overlook, escape routes were... shall we say... limited. (When I say limited, I mean going over the edge of the cliff....)

As it turned out, we had no bear worries and eventually made our way back down to the parking area. By now, it was mid-afternoon, and since the trail snackies were not exactly filling, we were all famished. Not far away, we found a little place called The Famous Rockhouse, a quaint, southern-style diner, where the prices are right and they make a very fine cheeseburger.

Not far away lay Linville Falls Winery, so we decided to haul ourselves over to it and sample their wares. It's a lovely location, and there was a good crowd on hand, with a band performing music. Now, I really hate to up and say it when a lovely place has terrible wine, so today, the less said about the wine, the better.

Our home-away-from-home featured a game room in the basement, with an arcade-style video game console featuring Pac-Man and Galaga, which were kinda fun to revisit. And there was a foosball table, which provided much entertainment. Back in college, I played a lot of foosball, especially with one of my roommates, and back then, I was pretty damn good at it.

 

That was a very long time ago. This time around, I scored more points for my opponents than for myself.

 

And then that was all she wrote. Nighty-night.

Miscreants on the rocks...again

L: Brugger on a precarious perch. R: She put some pointers on her photo to make sure you see where the bear is.

"What the hell is that? What the HELL is that? Hey, kid, don't put your lips on that thing! What the HELL is that?"

A view of the Linville River down in the gorge

Winery antics. No, I did not clock Ms. B. a good one in the jaw. She had a problematic filling at the dentist the other day, which left her beauty...marred. You should have seen the dentist afterward!

Winding down in the aftermath

Saturday, June 6, 2026
After loading up this morning, we checked out of our place and headed into Blowing Rock, where we planned to meet Terry & Beth's son Bryon and his wife, Mary at 1:00 p.m. for lunch. Since we had a couple of hours, I went geocaching, Terry went in search of coffee, and Brugger and Beth went shopping. Once I completed the caching activities, I rendezvoused with Terry for more coffee. Eventually, our group reunited, and we met Bryon and Mary at The Speckled Trout Restaurant. Now, this was a lunch. Excellent drinks (Bloody Marys for some of us), and delicious vittles (I had smoked trout with hoppin' john).

Mayview Lake, taken while out geocaching

At last, it was time for goodbyes, and Brugger and I hit the road for Martinsville. We arrived back right at 6:00 p.m. All in all, I'd say this proved to be a superlative weekend with good friends, with beaucoup laughs, chats, refreshments, and more. I'm quite sure we'll be doing this kind of thing again, and hopefully sooner than later.

So, bye-bye for now.

I Am the Pretty Thing That Ate the House

Beth, Terry, Old Dude, Ms. B.

Well, maybe not the whole house, but damn near. There was no shortage of Thanksgiving Day feasting at the House of Rainey—with a worthy Black Friday follow-up. Since Mum is no longer able, for the past few years, Kimberly and I have been responsible for preparing our Thanksgiving Day vittles, and this year we scrounged up some mighty good ones. Dead bird (big), dressing (lots), smashed taters (this means something!), corn (garmonbozia), green beans (greenie meanies), pumpkin pie (courtesy of Phred), wine, coffee... all making for some happy dining. For afters, there was napping for some and walkies for me. While there were, sadly, no nearby geocaches I hadn't already claimed, I hoofed it around Liberty Fair Mall hunting a passel of Munzees. I'm sure I walked off at least a couple of green beans. Not only that, later, Ms. B. and I took a long, after-dark walk around the old neighborhood, which was both healthy and reasonably bone-chilling.

Once back at Mum's, Kimberly and I settled in to watch I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House, a Netflix-produced ghost story about a young hospice nurse (Ruth Wilson) assigned to care for a former horror author (Paula Prentiss) in an old New England mansion. It turned out creepy enough, though so sedate in its pacing I had to struggle to fend off tryptophan-induced narcolepsy. Somehow, I persevered. After the filum was over, we put on the first couple of episodes of Stranger Things, season 1, which revived me. I had recently watched the entire run, but Ms. B. had not, and it was actually a treat to return to the series.

This morning, Ms. B. and I began the day with breakfast at The Daily Grind (home of the regular Songwriter Showcase events in which I have participated) and then set out for Villa Appalaccia winery on the Blue Ridge Parkway, where we met Terry & Beth (who rate among our select number of friends who appear to show little or no interest in burying Ms. B. and me in remote, hidden graves) for an afternoon of adventures in the land of oenophilia. After conquering this particular venue, we moved on to Chateau Morrisette, a short distance down the Parkway, for dinner. I quite enjoyed a wonderfully prepared and presented plate of Osso Buco; Kimberly and Beth both tore into some deceased poultry; but sadly, Terry was not taken with his portion of beef (we think it might have come from a zombie cow). Happily, the restaurant did their best to make things right, and I hope we can soon make a return trip we will all enjoy.

On our arrival back in Greensboro, we discovered a whole neighborhood a mile or so up the road from home cordoned off by numerous police cars and yellow tape. Dunno what the show is, but I hope it's only playing over there.

I think the tryptophans are about to stage a coup. I sleep now. Go away.

Ms. Beth will take none of your guff.

The tasting room at Villa Appalaccia

A strange-looking albino in front of Mabry Mill on the Blue Ridge Parkway

The Haunting of Stonewall (Episode 4)

Every fall season, the Blue Ridge Mountains of southwestern Virginia are subject to some extremely frightening visitors — specifically, Ms. B. and me —  and this year we made another of our Halloween pilgrimages to Stonewall Bed & Breakfast, not far from Floyd, VA, that we might spend a couple of nights in the cozy, secluded View Cabin, pictured above, some distance up a winding trail from the main house. If I'm counting right, this was our fourth visit, all but one of which have been during the Halloween season — our second was over New Year's 2011/2012 (see "Stonewalled") — and there's no better place to spend our favorite holiday than in the remote, spooky woods, with several scary movies at our disposal. The cabin itself is a rustic little place: just a single room with a bed, a wood stove, TV and DVD player, and a nearby outhouse for taking care of personal business. Proprietors Scott and Sally Truslow do a wonderful job of managing the property, providing the best, most opulent breakfast spreads one could imagine, a full bathroom for those times you might prefer not-so-primitive facilities, and several dogs and cats that make you feel like one of the family. I hope it is not sad news for us that Scott and Sally are looking to retire and sell the place in the not-too-distant future, as they've been at it for quite a long while. It would be great if someone should purchase and maintain the place so we can continue our favorite tradition, but for now we must leave that for the future to decide.

Kimberly and I headed out early on Friday, 10/28, and after stopping for a geocache near the NC/VA state line, we made our way to Villa Appalaccia on the Blue Ridge Parkway for some first-rate local wine and a picnic lunch. It would not be out of line to say the weather proved a little too perfect — for our entire sojourn, we suffered the most ungodly, un-Halloweenish weather I have ever experienced, with nothing but clear, sunny skies and temperatures in the 80s. Awful, just awful for this time of year. Give us chilly days and nights, with lots of fall colors and the distinctive smell of autumn. Except for the relatively cool nights, this weekend was just another few days of summer. Bah, humbug, bunkum, and tommyrot.

The hidden terrace at Villa Appalaccia Winery

Old fellow at overlook above Rock Castle Gorge on the Blue Ridge Parkway

For our first evening's dinner, we hied our asses to Chateau Morrisette, several miles down the Parkway, for some all-around excellent fare, with a bottle of their Archival I red blend, bison meat loaf with smashed potatoes and collard greens for me, wild mushroom and arugula flatbread for Ms. B, topped off with a glass of their rather potent Heritage port wine. Upon our return to the cabin, for some light entertainment, we put on The Houses October Built, about a group of thrill seekers searching for the most extreme haunted attraction in the country. Not exactly a modern classic, but props to the movie makers for offering a few genuinely chilling scenes and disturbing characters. Most apt, given the current spate of supposed creepy clown sightings, that one of the scariest characters in the movie was indeed a clown.

The next morning, following one of Scott's classic breakfasts featuring eggs, sausage, broccoli quiche, biscuits, coffee, and orange juice, Ms. B. and I decided to work off at least the orange juice with a long hike through Rock Castle Gorge, which we've done several times in the past, though this time, sadly for me, there was no geocaching involved in the gorge itself, since I have already claimed all those that have been placed there (happily, there were a couple of other caches in the vicinity to hunt, which I did find, and we met a pair of friendly local geocachers in the process). Kimberly and I did put a couple of calories back on when we stopped for a trail lunch, comprising the remains of the previous day's chicken salad picnic. One of my favorite locations along the trail is the Austin House, the only private property remaining in the gorge, exactly one century old this year, and still inhabited by family members of its builder. The place truly looks to be straight out of H. P. Lovecraft's "The Whisperer in Darkness," but I recently based a short story of my own, titled "Willow Bend," on this precise location. Yes, rest assured that I will post a notice if and when it gets picked up and published. Here's hoping, as I believe it turned out to be an effective, rather eerie ghost story. I finished it just a couple of weeks ago, anticipating visiting the actual location again.

On the trail in Rock Castle Gorge

Following the gorgeous gorge hike — in unseasonable, disagreeable 80-degree temperatures — we returned to the cabin and spent a leisurely afternoon on the premises, me banging on me guitar, Kim working on some pen-and-ink and watercolor renderings until the sun went down, when we built ourselves a blazing hot campfire (also made damn near disagreeable by the ugly temps of the day) and roasted hot dogs and marshmallows — mind you, just to add a few extra calories after having been so drained of these things by our strenuous hike. To help bring us back into the Halloween spirit, for our evening viewing we put on It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and Guillermo Del Toro's The Orphanage, which neither of us had seen. While the latter film wasn't particularly scary, it was quite well done and possessed of eerie overtones that qualified it as a decent choice for Halloween viewing.

I might mention here that, as with past visits to Stonewall, we have been advised to make noise when on the trail hiking to and from the cabin, as bears are sometimes known to frequent the area. Well, true to our established form, we warned potential interlopers of our presence by occasionally hollering "Bear!", which for the most part seemed to keep them away. I did see one bear hanging around yesterday afternoon, though. He was very small, gray, with a fuzzy tail, and appeared to be enjoying himself leaping from tree to tree, but since he never really bothered us, I didn't begrudge him his fun. Now, sometime during last night, Kim rolled over and her toenails bit into my leg, at which point I sat up and yelled "Bear!", figuring it was the only sensible thing to do. As you may infer, the View Cabin, as nice as it may be, doesn't come without its unique dangers.

This morning, Scott outdid himself with breakfast — eggs, bacon, bacon & broccoli quiche, pancakes, apple cobbler, more orange juice and coffee. Sadly, it was that time again, to pack up and head back to Greensboro. Coming home, I satisfied myself with hunting a single cache on the aptly named Goblintown Creek Road, though the cache itself was not particularly scary. Unless to you birdhouses are scary, and then it would be quite the fright.

Our Halloween retreat for another year is ended, though there's still another day before actual big event. I will be celebrating hard tonight, working in as many scary things as I can before it's all over and done with. Be afraid, my friends; be slightly afraid.

And don't forget to yell "Bear!"

In the foreground, a little rock cairn in Rock Castle Creek, a second one visible in the distance

The Austin House in Rock Castle Gorge, ostensibly the setting for my new ghost story, "Willow Bend."

A spectacular view from Rocky Knob on the Blue Ridge Parkway

Our parting view of the cabin this morning, a place at which I hope to yell "Bear!" again very soon.

Black Friday Trout Slayer

For me, Black Friday is the day to stay the hell away from any population center, particularly anything resembling a shopping area, and there is geocaching traditionally involved. This year's Black Friday was no exception, and it was, in fact, one of the most enjoyable such days in years — probably since 2011, when Ms. B. and I ventured out to the countryside around Smith Mountain Lake, Virginia, to escape the Shopping Dead. Yesterday, we determined that a spot of wine and decent food would be a welcome switch from the spot of wine and decent food we'd been made to suffer on Thanksgiving, the day before. Thus it was off to Villa Appalaccia Winery (for that spot of wine) and Chateau Morrisette (for the decent food) in the Blue Ridge Mountains, by way of Kibler Valley, where a wunnerful little geocache called "Trout Slayer" (GC102WQ) awaited my attention. Once again, geocaching took us to one of the most beautiful, secluded little corners of the earth that we would have never otherwise discovered.

Kibler Valley is located in Patrick County, Virginia, just north of the North Carolina state line, a few miles southeast of the Blue Ridge Parkway. The Dan River passes through the valley, and, somewhat surprisingly, a hydroelectric dam here provides power for the city of Danville, some 70 miles distant. The drive along the river toward the dam is truly one of the most picturesque locations I've ever encountered in the southeast United States. After weeks of torrential rains in the area — which had washed out a section of US 58, the main highway through the area — the river was running high and fast, but the winding gravel road out to the dam was passable and in fair condition. There are numerous dwellings along the route — everything from sprawling farmhouses to tiny, rustic cabins — many on the far side of the river and accessible only by narrow, rickety bridges, few of which appear all that sound. One geocacher who hails from Vermont described the location as virtually identical to the Green Mountains in that state, and it does, in fact, so resemble the Vermont countryside described in H. P. Lovecraft's classic horror tale, "The Whisperer in Darkness," that I could have been fooled into thinking I was on my way to the Akeley farmhouse featured in that story. We encountered precious few other human beings out there — nor any of them there "outer ones," probably to our good fortune — and at the parking location near the cache, the river ran through prodigious rock-strewn cliffs that rose so high and steep they appeared poised to collapse on our heads. Unfortunately, the above photo does not begin to convey the almost dizzying scale of the steep mountainside above the river. Happily, the geocache itself wasn't far up the hillside on the near side of the river, and I managed to locate it quickly. "Trout Slayer" was hidden in 2006, and it was good to find the container and contents in almost pristine condition.

After making the find, we drove back out of Kibler Valley, up the Parkway, and to Villa Appalaccia, which we'd had the pleasure of visiting just a few weeks ago, on Halloween (see "Stonewalling for Halloween," November 2, 2015). The wine here can scarcely be beat, and the weather was more than conducive for sitting out in the remote terrace area, which Ms. B. and I have traditionally had all to ourselves — as we did yesterday. After a delicious glass of wine each, we then made our way over to Chateau Morrisette, just a mile or so down the road. Actually, our reason for return to the area so soon after our recent visit was due to a nice incentive Chateau Morrisette provided us. As I mentioned in my blog at the time, our previous experience there was a bit underwhelming. I had also mentioned this in a review of the restaurant for OpenTable, through which we had made our reservation. For our dissatisfaction, the folks at Chateau Morrisette very kindly offered us a free bottle of wine on our next visit, and since we had the opportunity, we decided to take them up on the offer right away. This time, we could hardly have had a more enjoyable experience, both at the winery and at the restaurant. For them, it was an excellent investment; for offering us a bottle of wine, in return, we purchased several bottles at the winery (Ms. B. and I both have had a disconcerting number of empty slots in our respective wine racks) and had a near-perfect dinner, none of which would have happened had they not gone the extra mile for us. It's simply good business when the folks running an establishment understand they could have done better and then take the steps necessary to make things right. You can bet Ms. B. and I will be returning to Chateau Morrisette at the first available opportunity, and rather than a negative review at various online sites, they have a glowing one. In this day of the amazing power of the interwebz, I think that actually means something.

And then we returned to Mum's, visited a bit, and availed ourselves to a bit of The Walking Dead. It was kind of like watching Black Friday from a comfortable distance. Nice, it was.

I trust your day was as awesome or better.

An intense rock formation near the Dan River in Kibler Valley

Kibler Park stone marker, placed August 26, 1950

Don't fall into the river, Ms. B.!

Old Rodan with the logbook at "Trout Slayer" (GC102WQ)

A return to the Land of Happy — Villa Appalaccia, just off the Blue Ridge Parkway

The Poop, the Whole Poop, and Nothing But the Poop

Old man Rodan at Lover's Leap Overlook, VA

Slowly but surely, the Halloween spirit is starting to creep over me, and it's about bleepin' time. Each year, shortly before Halloween, I make the pilgrimage to Mabry Mill on the Blue Ridge Parkway in Floyd County, VA, to partake of their signature buckwheat pancakes, and I almost always pick up a Halloween pumpkin or two while there (a tradition that began when I was a little kid). That's when I know it's officially the season. This year—today—was no exception, except that it was.

Ordinarily, I get moving well before the crack of dawn to arrive at the mill before they open at 8:00 AM because the restaurant is quite small and there's usually a crowd. Well, today, Kimberly and I decided to head up a wee bit later, and this proved to be a mistake. By the time we got there, a great milling mob had already assembled, and the predicted wait time was two hours. We had much on the day's agenda, so we said the heck with it; perhaps later in the day, we'd come back and try again.

Needless to say, there was a fair amount of geocaching to do out that way. It was at Lover's Leap overlook, on US 58, near Stuart, VA, that dear Kimberly suffered a slight mishap. As I made my way down a steep incline to hunt a cache, she took a different path to find a good spot to snap some photos. I had just reached ground zero when I heard her holler, "Oh, shit." She meant it quite literally, for she had just stepped in bear poop. At least, I'm pretty sure it was bear. Well, no reason to think it wasn't bear. Anyway. Awwww...ooooh....gaaaah! It's bad. I mean, it's some bad poop. She did a thorough job of cleaning her shoes, no shit, but regardless, we had to travel with the car windows open for a bit, and that early in the morning, it was dang cold.

Me, I found the cache and managed not to step in any poop—bear, bigfoot, or otherwise.

The other main activity I had in mind was to visit Camp Cheerio, near Roaring Gap, NC, where I spent a few weeks at summer camp in my early years—back when I tended to be more scared than scary. It was at Cheerio where I learned about the Wampus Cat and had numerous twisted but memorable experiences, and for quite some time now I've had a hankering to go back and visit the scene of those ancient crimes. Today, done and done. Fortuitously, there was a weekend event going on, so we were able to go in and wander about freely (though it looked like a dads-and-daughters kind of thing, so Kimberly stood out not unlike a sore bum). The place has changed a lot since I was there—back in the mid-to-late 1960s—but I found much of it quite recognizable, and I had several poignant flashes that took me right back to those long-gone days.

After exploring Cheerio, we hit the road again and found a secluded spot near an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway where we had a nice little picnic lunch. Eventually, we aimed ourselves back toward Mabry Mill, wondering whether we might actually be able to get in. Upon arriving, about 3:30 PM, we discovered not even a slight thinning of the crowd, so—once again—we said the heck with it, reluctantly opting to forgo the buckwheat and bacon for this year. Instead, we headed to Martinsville and had an excellent dinner (veal piccata for me, baked ziti for the young lady) at Rania's Restaurant. This weekend is Mum's birthday, so we stopped by her place for a little birthday visit and didn't get run off. That's something!

I'm not thrilled about missing out on the buckwheat—probably won't get another shot at it till next year about this time—and the poop was no picnic, but the rest of the excursion was pretty danged awesome. I'll take it. Just for good measure, once we got back home, we put on It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. So, yeah, Halloween...come and get me.

Nice lady on the grounds at Camp Cheerio, overlooking Stone Mountain

Drinking wine. Eating cheese. Catching some rays. You know.

Pilot Mountain way out in the distance

High-altitude high