Whirlwind!

In the couple of weeks since Ms. and I returned from Michigan, the world seems to be getting heavier and spinning faster — at least for the short term. Several writing and publishing projects, which I’ll mention only in passing, have presented themselves to me, and while they’re too good to pass up, they also require a significant amount of work on my part; time for such niceties has not been in plentiful supply, nor do I see a wealth of it in the near future. Still, I’m hard into one of the projects and am cobbling together the details for the others. I also have an Ameri-Scares novel — Georgia: The Haunting of Tate’s Mill — to get back to... eventually. On top of all that, Ms. B. and I are both selling properties, which have required significant time and attention. My mom’s estate business, by rights, should be winding down about now, but complications involving bureaucratic bullshit are preventing this happening. At least I did manage to close the door on one detail that’s been waiting in the wings since the beginning of the estate mess (at least, I think — and hope — that door is closed). While working at Brugger’s a couple of weeks back, I managed to wrench or otherwise traumatize my neck and/or spine, which I can only hope proves to be nothing serious. There’s a little improvement there, but not as much as it seems there should be by now.

A lovely cache guardian at "Chapel Hill
History Lesson"

I have, at least, managed to fit in some geocaching, a handful of nice outings with Brugger, and a couple of relaxing gatherings with friends. Last weekend, the No-Dead-Weight Irregulars — Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott), Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob), and this old dude — hit Cary for a lovely day of hiking and caching, culminating in a beastly good bison feast at Ted’s Montana Grill in Durham. Yesterday, Ms. B. and I rode over to Chapel Hill, aiming to do a little shopping, wining, and caching. We managed to do all three, though — thanks to the football game that locked up every bit of parking in town — we couldn’t manage everything we had hoped. Still, we procured an excellent lunch at The Spotted Dog in Carrboro, which has long been one of our favorite dining destinations. Today, the usual suspects, plus Fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie) made a short but happy day of caching at the Rich Fork Nature Preserve in High Point, which included first-to-find honors on a new cache, which required some effort, in that the published coordinates were a couple of hundred feet off.

Brugger and I have already worked in a few fright films to kick off the Halloween season, which we’re starting marginally early, since much of the month of October will be devoted to other necessary activities. So far, we’ve put on Indigenous (a so-so shocker from 2014), The Thing (2011), John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982), Night (Curse) of the Demon, Casting the Runes (an entertaining BBC production from 1979), The Ninth Gate, Black Mountain Side, and probably another flick or two I’m not remembering off the top of my head. Fun stuff, naturally. We have a few other must-watch movies on the docket.

And just as an aside here, if you haven’t gotten yourself vaccinated against COVID-19, for the love of Yog, do it. If you don’t plan to, unless you’ve got some kind of mitigating condition or circumstances, you and your ilk are causing more havoc for our healthcare system than is sustainable, and I personally know quite a few healthcare professionals that have absolutely had it with you. I am not a healthcare professional, but I can tell you, I’ve had it with you too.

And that, as they say, is that.

A dapper Ms. B. on the Bolin Creek Trail in Chapel Hill

The old homestead at the Rich Fork Nature Preserve in High Point

Natalie and Old Rob look on as Scott tries to stop the brain from leaking out. Not sure it worked, Scott.

Decompression

Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) preps the boat for a day on Belews Lake

Last week proved a not-so-easy one, as I had to focus on taking care of several estate matters — both for my mom’s and my brother’s — as well as putting in considerable time on the home improvement front. So I took Friday off and joined geocaching mates Rhodorooter (a.k.a. Dave), Old Robgso (a.k.a. Old Rob), and Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) for a day of boat caching on Belews Lake, a few miles northwest of here. Tom needed to do maintenance on several of his lake caches, so he had offered to take the rest of us out there to claim them. We had hot, if otherwise agreeable weather, and the caching couldn’t have been much more fun. My favorite — “The Lonely Bison in a Tree” — was, in fact, a bison tube in a tree. The tree was too spindly to climb, too stout to bend down to retrieve the cache, so the answer was to use a ladder to get up there and grab. I happily performed the necessary deed, and I didn’t even fall down go boom.

Three of the four old farts on our boat outing: Old Rodan, Old Rhodorooter, Old Rob

Speeding toward the Duke Energy power plant on Belews Lake

After the trip, I went forth to the old homestead in Martinsville, with more estate business to handle. I had not been looking forward to it, but I concluded the matter (I hope) without undue complication (I hope), so on that count, at least, I am satisfied (I hope).

Saturday morning, I hastened back home to Greensboro, where I quickly fed cats and then headed over to Brugger’s place. We then made tracks for the Nelsons’ place in Kernersville, for they had plotted an outing to Roaring River Vineyards and Jones von Drehle Vineyards over near Elkin. At Roaring River, we had a lovely lunch on the deck, which overlooked the Roaring River (why, yes it did). The wine there is so-so, though we did take notice of a couple of the reds. North Carolina vineyards tend to do better at whites than reds, but here, the reverse was true. Having completed our task at Roaring River, we mounted up and moved on to Jones von Drehle. I had not previously heard of this winery, but they apparently have big hopes, for they are doing some extensive upgrading to the property, including constructing a sizable amphitheater for live music shows. The wines here had a little more going for them than Roaring River’s, particularly their Cab Sauv and a blend of Cab Sauv and Norton. Make no mistake — in no way could we claim anything but an enjoyable time at both vineyards, and I would not mind revisiting either or both in the not-too-distant future.

On the way home, Ms. B. and I made a few late-night stops on the outskirts of Kernersville to pick up some recently published caches. I was too late to snag the first-to-find honors, but that really made no never mind; it was nice just to grab a few quick caches at the end of the evening.

The view from the deck at Roaring River Vineyard & Winery

The Wild Bunch in the vineyards at Jones von Drehle: Old feller, Ms. B., Beth, Terry 

This morning, a smaller-than-usual group Socially Distant No-Dead-Weight Irregulars — Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob) and Old Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott) — joined me for a Chapel Hill geocaching outing. A few newer hides in the Carolina North Woods, which we have frequently roamed and cached, awaited our attention, and we managed to snag all those we hunted. We put in a reasonably rugged five miles, which tired us old folks out something fierce. So we hunted down and killed lunch at The Spotted Dog in Carrboro, which has long been one of our favorite eating/drinking establishments in the area. Scott and I both enjoyed spicy bloody marys (a bit heavy on horseradish!) and we worried a couple of big honking turkey burgers absolutely to death. Thus exhausted, we quitted Orange County and returned home, where I fell over and went bOoM.

How ugly! Old Rodan, Old Diefenbaker, Old Rob

Turkey burger too big even for big mouth!

Lastly — and sadly — I must report the passing of my old friend, Lars Ullberg, who had been one of our regular gang in my Chicago days of the 1980s. I had no idea he’d been having health problems, but apparently so. As of yesterday, he was expected to undergo some rehab, only to be given the news he would no longer be able to walk. Then, this morning, I learned he had passed away during the night. While it was nothing like our face-to-face good times from all those years ago, we interacted regularly on Facebook, and it was always a pleasure when he posted on my timeline. His last post to me was just a couple of days ago. I’ve seen so many friends and loved ones pass away in recent days, I begin to understand the depression my mom was feeling before dementia robbed her of her memories, good, bad, or otherwise. Just last week, at Pleasant Hill, I found an envelope of obituaries she had collected. It was like an encyclopedia of every adult I had known  — and felt close to — since my childhood. Almost without exception, Mom’s closest friends had preceded her in death. I reckon every living soul has this to deal with in some fashion, some sooner, some later. I figure I’m facing this aspect of life — and where it’s headed — as healthily as I can.

Regrets, I’ve had a few. But then again, too few to mention....

Another Day for Old Farts

Another gathering of old farts, another Sunday on the caching trail. At age 60, I was the youngest of the gang on today's outing to the Hillsborough/Chapel Hill/Carrboro area. None of the other Usual Suspects were available, so it was just Robgso (a.k.a. Old Rob), Deifenbaker (a.k.a. Scott) and this old radioactively mutated giant flying Japanese rubber reptile. Not an overly strenuous day, unlike yesterday (see "Run to the Outback," March 7, 2020), but we did put in a fair distance (roughly five miles of hoofing it) and conquered a handful of marginally hairy terrain challenges. The meandering Bolin and Jones Creeks constantly bisected our chosen woodland routes, thus forcing us to utilize whatever crude crossings presented themselves. In the photo above, you'll seem me strolling across one such makeshift crossing, the odd photographic effect rendered by Diefenbaker pressing the wrong camera button.

We finished the day with a mere ten finds, but at least we worked for most of them. For our reward, we tracked down some vittles at The Spotted Dog, one of our favorite Carrboro dining destinations. The Bloody Mary wasn't much alcoholic, but the prevalent hot peppers in the formula sure hit the spot.

Next weekend, we're hoping for more of the regular irregulars to deign show themselves.

Horatius at the Bridge. Oh, wait, no. That's just Rob and Scott.

Let's do it again, do it (do it), lets do it again (do it), mmm, do it again, do it again

Scott trying to figure out how to get it all back together

Lunch at The Spotted Dog. Scott's big old cheddar burger, my big old turkey burger.

Before You Find the Cache...You See The Ring

That's your predicament when you go hunting for "The Curse of Samara Morgan" (GC1QF2B), over near Chapel Hill, NC. The cache's theme, of course, comes from The Ring—the U.S. version of the Japanese horror classic Ringu—in which scary psychic girl Samara Morgan gets dumped into a well, where she survives for seven days, leaving behind a curse that kills anyone unfortunate enough to be exposed to it. No question, going after this particular cache entails taking certain risks, but then that's typical of the hides placed by some of those dastardly cachers over in the NC Triangle, heh heh heh...

Yesterday turned out very cold and occasionally drizzly, but that didn't stop the team of Bridget "Suntigres" Langley, Diana Hartman, Rob "RTMLee" Lee, Scott "Diefenbaker" Hager, and the old dude from making a big day of going after a couple of particularly challenging hides around Chapel Hill. We started out with "Preparation I: There Is No 'I' in 'Team'" (GC370N8) which required two teams, working in conjunction via cell phone, to find numerous stages along two fairly lengthy trails before rejoining and heading after the final stage.

That done, we broke for lunch at one of my favorite local establishments—The Spotted Dog, in Carrboro. They have a large selection of vegetarian items on the menu, but no shortage of absolutely delicious dead animal as well. I'm quite partial to their turkey burger, fish and chips, and spicy black-eyed pea cakes, though yesterday I opted for a good old bacon cheeseburger, since I figured it might be my last meal. It did hit the spot after the big hike. Their Sunday drink specials were bloody marys, and I do love a good, spicy one from time to time, but I fear theirs were underwhelming, to say the least. Better to choose from their extensive selection of microbrews, I think.

Hunger satiated, we were braced to move on and confront our possible downfall. By the time we arrived at ground zero for "The Curse of Samara Morgan," the temperature had dropped since morning, and the skies were turning ominous. We discovered a picturesque little graveyard nearby, which we reckoned would be handy if the worst should happen. Suntigres had accompanied the previous group to claim the cache, the previous week, and they'd had the advantage of much dryer weather; since then the rain had turned the well site into a muddy morass. That did not stop her from ridiculing us for including a rope in our retrieval recipe, since her team had forsworn such safety measures. No matter. I got myself promptly hooked up and, without undue difficulty, made the descent into the 20 ft. deep shaft. Sure enough, there's the cache. And what else? Mosquitoes. Tons of them. Joy.

Anyhoo, in short order, I signed the logbook and made my way back to the surface, by all the signs unaffected by Samara's curse. I told Suntigres that I had scratched her name off the log so she'd have to go back do it all over again, but she didn't buy it for a minute. (Maybe her mistake, what do you think?)

The cache still lurks out there, waiting for the next intrepid souls to make their way into the dark depths. I've been fortunate not to receive a phone call informing me I have seven days remaining. That doesn't mean you won't, though.

Ground zero

Down we go.

Looking up

Mr. Lee takes his turn.

A nearby option, if the worst should happen.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

Despite an end result that fell shy of our hopes, Kimberly B., Dave "dlf2001" Foxworth, and Old Man Rodan had a blast traipsing into the deep, dark woods late last night on the hunt for "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" (GCT3V0), a two-stage night cache out near Jordan Lake, NC. To claim this one, you must find an ammo box in the woods right at midnight because then, and only then, a spirit voice emanates from the container to give you coordinates to the final stage of the cache.

Kimberly and I had headed over to Carrboro/Chapel Hill earlier in the day for one of our regular pilgrimages to Trader Joe's, A Southern Season, The Spotted Dog, et. al., with a planned stop at the Benjamin Winery in Alamance County along the way. However, the best-laid plans, and all that.... As it turned out, the winery was closing early to host a wedding. Damn these young folks and their marriages! Anyhoo, we decided to figure out an alternative destination—for which the Android phone is a mighty handy device. We discovered that GlenMarie Winery wasn't too far away, and they were open for tastings. So, off we went, and we soon came to a scenic little spot north of Burlington...with very friendly dogs, a couple of cats, and a pair of alpacas in their front yard. Well, we figured any winery with alpacas couldn't be bad, so we did our tasting—which, I must say, proved most excellent—picked up a couple of bottles of wine, and continued on our trip to Carrboro, stopping to grab a few caches in the vicinity, of course.

Dinner and shopping done, we planted ourselves at A Southern Season's Weathervane restaurant for a while and sank a couple of glasses of vino before heading out into the wilds of Jordan Lake for the evening's big cache hunt. We found Mr. Foxworth already on the scene, having arrived at the game lands early to snag a cache or two for himself. Shortly before the witching hour, we commenced our hike into darkness, following our GPSrs and a trail of glowing fire tacks until we reached ground zero. There, we readily found the ghost box, from which the spirit voices were reputed to speak. Sure enough, right at midnight, a hollow, disembodied voice emanated from the box, saying...something. We each recorded the speech on our phones, yet when we played it back, it was an unintelligible, garbled mess. We could make out what sounded like a couple of numbers, but that was about it. We knew that, seven minutes later, a second voice was supposed to speak and repeat the coordinates, so we waited with anticipation, hoping this one would say something we could actually understand.

At the appointed time, we heard the recording start up...and then...nothing. Just a whirring, groaning sound that went on for several seconds and then fell silent.

Rather dismayed, we each listened to the first recording over and over, trying to discern some intelligible set of numbers. Using our imaginations, we managed to come up with coordinates that almost made sense, though they did not jive with certain intelligence I had received prior to making our trip out there. Regardless, we slogged out in the deep darkness through a flooded area until we reached the new ground zero. As we more than half anticipated, we found nothing there. Quite wet and cold now, we decided to admit defeat and return to our vehicles. What a disappointment! Well, it was in terms of caching, at least. On the other hand, I found it a highly entertaining little Halloween weekend adventure, complete with hooting barred and great horned owls to provide a spooky soundtrack. I didn't much mind the physical discomfort...that's a regular companion on a lot of cache hunts, particularly night caches...though I'm not too sure about Ms. Kimberly. To her credit, she didn't swat me in the head or worse.

Hopefully, the cache owner can whip those dastardly spirits into submission, and I'll no doubt conquer this intriguing little hide at the next available opportunity. I didn't crawl into bed until about 4:00 AM this morning, then slept in till 10:00. I gotta tell you, that cinnamon-hazelnut coffee from A Southern Season was just the ticket....

A couple of happy alpacas at GlenMarie Winery, Alamance County, NC

Brave, I am. Would you go into the deep, dark woods with these people?