Mediterranean Sojourn Pt 1: From Venice With Love

Where to begin? It was the trip of a lifetime — at least of this life to date. At the culmination of what has been the single most difficult, frustrating, trying, upsetting, stressful, agonizing period in my 60+ years of existence, due to my mom's near-catastrophic decline, I embarked with the lovely Ms. Brugger and friends Terry and Beth on a two-week-long sojourn in the Mediterranean. We had begun planning the trip over a year ago — and paid for most of it — well before the time came to sail. It was only excruciatingly awful timing that my mom's situation came to a head shortly before we were scheduled to leave. Although there is truly no resolution until Mom passes away, the worst of it, at least for now, seems to have passed.

To recount even a few of the highlights of this trip, I'll need to write a series of blogs as time allows. For my own satisfaction, I'd love to make this little travelogue as comprehensive as possible, but I'll bust up the narrative with lots of pictures, which you may appreciate more than the rambling.

Gassing up to go: Beth, Terry, Ms. B., and Old Rodan before our connecting flight at Philadelphia International

October 16, 2019: V-Day
On Tuesday, October 15, our band departed Greensboro, NC, flew first to Philadelphia, PA, and from there to Venice, Italy, where we arrived early on October 16. We had three days in the city before boarding Royal Caribbean's Rhapsody of the Seas for a cruise from Venice to Zadar, Croatia; to Kotor, Montenegro; to Civitavecchia, Italy (near Rome); to Livorno, Italy (near Pisa and Florence); to Marseilles, France; and finally to Barcelona (Cataluña), Spain. Outbound, our flights, via American Airlines, while not particularly comfortable, went off without any hitches. While most of the gang slept on the overseas flight, my very hard seat prevented much relaxation. For me, the only particular highlight was watching The Right Stuff, which I hadn't seen since its initial release in 1983, on the seatback screen. The flight landed in Venice, as scheduled, on the 16th about 10 AM. From there a few little hitches did crop up. From Marco Polo International Airport, on the mainland, we had to take a water taxi (Alilaguna) to the island — about a forty-five-minute ride. The docks were crowded enough that we couldn't make it onto the first couple of transports, and between their appointed rounds, the boat skippers were going to take their full thirty-minute breaks no matter how long the line of passengers grew. (Long. Very long.) So, from the time we stepped off the jet, a good three hours passed before we set foot on the water taxi dock in Venice proper.

The view from our apartment

But from there... for the most part... Venice proved every bit as historic, beautiful, fascinating, and enchanting as every story, song, or work of art has ever portrayed it. Lodging for our three days was at a lovely VRBO flat on Fondamenta Foscarini along the Rio de S. Margherita. As with most places we ventured into, not only in Venice but Europe in general, the rooms, the furnishings, the elevators, and particularly the bathrooms appear to have been designed for individuals roughly the size of Peter Dinklage. Still, while a little tight, our quarters proved generally comfortable. At least until...

The mosquitoes.

Since the temperature in Venice varied little from our own back home — read unseasonably warm — we mostly kept the windows open. That way, we managed to keep cool and unsweaty. However, since no screens protected these lovely portals, wildlife was free to venture inside. Initially, our primary concern was that the plentiful pigeons might take it to heart to visit us. They did not, but I would much rather have dealt with the birds.

The minuscule buzzing monsters swarmed inside during our sleep that first night. Brugger and I each woke up one great big itch, with nary a drop of blood left in our bodies. (A fair portion of it ended up on the heretofore pristine walls every time we managed to smash one of these savage Italian bloodfuckers.) After that, it was too late to do much about the damage done, but for the rest of our stay, we took a few extra precautions, such as leaving curtains drawn and bathing in DEET.

Now, needless to say, I hadn't been in Venice long before I found my first geocache. I managed to claim 36 during the trip — 20 in Italy, 10 in Spain, and 2 each in Croatia, Montenegro, and France. Most were urban micros, some quite ingenious. I failed to find a couple, but for the most part, the caches turned out to be nicely hidden and not too difficult.

There's no way I'll remember the numerous eating and drinking establishments we visited. There were simply too many. Venice offers a seemingly infinite number of restaurants, cafés, and bars, many tucked away in the tiny, labyrinthine alleys and along the myriad canals. Some of the best places we found by accident, just by venturing down some unknown, shadowy, seemingly little-traveled passage. I've always enjoyed Italian food, though I've rarely actually craved it. It's safe to say Venice (and perhaps Verona) offered the best Italian food I've ever eaten, and now I'm not sure I'm going to be able to get enough of it. Which isn't necessarily the healthiest thing, since oftentimes the only way to burn off even moderate portions of such fare is to exercise at least as much as we did walking around Venice. And that was a lot.

I can only marvel that, prior to GPS technology, people somehow made their ways from place to place in Venice. The streets and alleys create such endless mazes, it's easy to envision becoming lost for quite some time in even a relatively small corner of the city.

Though we were exhausted from our travels on that first day, we had signed up in advance for a tour of the Jewish ghetto and cicchetti bàcari — essentially tapas bars — that evening. We had expected it to be relatively short, with a fair sampling of food and wine. It turned out to be a 2.5-hour informational walking tour with a small sampling of refreshments for good measure. Our guide, a young lady named Lara, offered an engaging presentation, but by the time she finished, physical exhaustion had about taken its toll on our party. It's a wonder some of us didn't collapse long before we ever began the nearly two-mile trek through the labyrinths back to our flat. Truly, the highlight of that evening had come as we made our way to the tour's starting point: as we emerged from an alley so narrow I couldn't stretch my arms out, we beheld a sizable piazza occupied by a host of spectators and a full orchestra playing music from Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera. What an intense, stirring experience. And so unexpected! Prior to our arrival, we hadn't heard so much as a faint strain of music, and thus we came upon it with no warning. We rather hated to leave this appealing event behind, but since time was running short to make our enagement, we reluctantly did so.

October 17, 2019: Shades of Moonraker

Piazza San Marco

Among the things I most enjoyed about Venice was seeing a plethora of familiar sights from the 007 films From Russia With Love, Moonraker, and Casino Royale. For all its ridiculousness, Moonraker showcased some of Venice's most attractive locations, particularly Piazza San Marco, or St. Mark's Square. Here, I was surprised to find Venini Glass — the shop featured in Moonraker that provides the nefarious Hugo Drax with custom satellite-borne tubes that contain a lethal toxin — located right where it is in the movie: adjacent to the clock tower on the north end of the square, facing the Basilica di San Marco. No doubt the shop's interior is quite different than it is portrayed in the film, but seeing its facade struck me as intriguing, since I had always assumed the establishment was fictitious.

Exploring Piazza San Marco and surrounding environs occupied a fair portion of the day. I did find a few geocaches in the area, which of course made me happier than a Godzilla fan boy in an X-Plus toy store. From there, we wandered north and eastward to a few shops and historical landmarks that Ms. B. wanted to visit. Chief among them were the flooded crypts under the Basilica di San Zaccaria. Beneath this 15th-century architectural marvel are submerged tombs that house the bodies of doges dating back to the church's earliest years. Standing water is always present, but if you don't mind slightly wet feet, you can explore these catacombs, the extent of which depends on the water level at the time. I ventured in at the first level, where the water was only an inch or so deep, but in the same chamber, a foot-deep pool reflected the columns and vaulted ceiling, creating a beautiful, eerie atmosphere.

Submerged tombs beneath the Basilica di San Zaccaria

October 18, 2019: Verona and Vino

Tower of the San Giorgio basilica,
which dates back to the 8th century

Ms. B., ever mindful of the necessity of complementing our explorations of history, architecture, and culture with wine, had booked for us a tour of Coali Winery in the Valpolicella region, about thirty miles northwest of Venice. To get there, we took the fast train from Venice to the city of Verona, where our tour would begin. Once off the train, we hunted down and killed breakfast at a fine little establishment in downtown Verona. Here, we met our tour guide, a young lady named Martina, who possessed an excellent command of English. While all of us usually managed to make ourselves understood by way of our simple, fragmented Italian, it was a relief to be able to converse intelligibly in our native tongue. Best of all, it was only the four of us on the tour. No crowd of muggles to contend with.

Before heading to the winery, Martina drove us far into the hills of the Valpolicella region, to the medieval town of San Giorgio. Here we explored an 8th-century church built atop far older pagan ruins, some of which can be seen in the basilica's candlelit interior, at the base of its stone pillars. We then wandered along the main road of the old town, which is populated primarily by cats. Only a handful of people live there, but the cats... they are everywhere and, in general, relatively friendly. Happily, they all speak our language.

Column built atop a pedestal
originally from a pagan temple
at this location.

The one tragic event that occurred in San Giorgio was my discovering too late that a single cache lurked there — right where we had been walking. The old dullard had been too busy absorbing Martina's fascinating account of the town's history to look at his phone to see if any caches might be hiding nearby. Well, one did, and yes, I missed it. So now I must go back.

At last, we headed to Coali Winery, not far from San Giorgio. As we arrived, an exuberant young woman named Maria came to meet us. The winery belongs to her family, and its main building is actually the family home, where she grew up. Though very small, Coali produces some of the finest wine in the region, and our tastings here provided the proof. From their Valpolicella Classico to the Superiore to the Ripasso to the Amarone, all the wines stood head and shoulders above just about any other that we tasted during our trip. Ms. B. and I picked up a couple of bottles of the Ripasso, and if we'd been able to afford it, we would happily have brought home more, preferably the Amarone.

After this fine experience, Martina drove us back to Verona, which we decided to explore further. We wandered down to the Verona Arena, a colosseum that predates the more famous one in Rome. Though a little smaller, Verona's colosseum is no less impressive and, after all these centuries, is still in use. I suspect event attendees prefer to bring cushions with them, for those stone seats are liable to bruise one's backside.

Old Rodan at Il Balcone di Giuletta,
with a couple of miscreants (Terry and
Beth) having it out up above

We also visited Il Balcone di Giulietta — Juliette's Balcony — reputedly the real-world location of the Capulet house in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliette. While the balcony and courtyard are scenic (and host a nice geocache, which I found), the interior of the place might be considered underwhelming. We paid for a tour, which consisted of four floors of mostly vacant rooms, the most of impressive of which contained Juliette's bed from Franco Zeffirelli's 1968 film Romeo and Juliette (as an aside, I will confess that I find Andre Kostelanetz's orchestration of Nino Rota's main theme from the film soundtrack one of the most beautiful pieces of music on record).

Afterward, we found a delicious dinner at an outdoor restaurant — and a few more caches — in the Piazza del Erbe, in Verona's city center. Eventually, we made our way back to the train and Venice. By the time we arrived back at our apartment, the wee hours of the morning were staring us in the face, and we knew we had to get moving early in the morning to get to the port to begin our cruise.

And more of this epic will follow as time permits....

L: a rather mean-looking cherub in the church at San Giorgio; R: Found a boner in Verona, I did.

The Rialto Bridge, seen from our water taxi

Courtyard in San Giorgio

View of Valpolicella from San Giorgio

Piazza del Erbe in Verona

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 2 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 3 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 4 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 5 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 6 here.

Read Mediterranean Sojourn Part 7 here.

Martinsville's Oktoberfest Turns 40

The smiling gentleman under the hat is Mr. Stephen H. Provost, former journalist and author of dozens of books and short stories, which range from historical nonfiction to biographies to straight-up horror fiction. His latest, Martinsville Memories, is a pictorial history of my old hometown, Martinsville, VA (see "Martinsville Memories at Oktoberfest," September 30, 2019), which made its debut at the fest. For the book, I wrote the foreword and provided the author with a few antic-dotes of no small amusement. Today was the day of Martinsville's 40th annual Oktoberfest, and it turned out to be an appropriately big event.

Last night, Ms. Brugger and I headed out from Greensboro, stopped to visit my mom in the nursing home, took care of some necessary Mom-related business, and then satisfied our never-ending craving for dinners at Third Bay Café with dinner at Third Bay Café. Afterward, we shared a couple of glasses of wine at Shindig, a relatively new and very promising bistro in Uptown Martinsville. This morning, about 10:30-ish, we hauled ourselves up to Uptown and met Stephen and his wife Samaire — a noteworthy author herself — at their vendor table on Church Street. I had planned to join them just to co-autograph Stephen's new Martinsville book, but he and Samaire kindly offered me some space to sell and sign a few of my own books.

A large, lovely moth we encountered this morning
on our way to Oktoberfest

For the first time this season, we experienced some honest-to-god autumn weather, with somewhat cloudy skies and temperatures in the low 60s. This proved heavenly. HEAVENLY, I tell you. Two days ago, the mercury hit 100 degrees in the area, and this, my friends, is nothing less than obscene. Never has that creeping little chill been so welcome. I don't know how the crowd this year compares to past years' Oktoberfests, but I can safely say this was a big one. We had lots of traffic at the table, and everyone moved a fair number of books. I unloaded a good many copies of Blue Devil Island, The Monarchs, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, and Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior. Both Stephen and Samaire clearly turned tidy profits. Ms. B. worked on some of her superb artwork and also wandered around checking out vendors to see if she could find any respectable shopping bargains. She found them.

I did run into a few old friends and acquaintances at the fest. Myron Smith, producer/director of numerous films made locally in which I've appeared — Young Blood (for which I also wrote the novelization), Invasion of the Killer Cicadas, Alice in Wonderland, and others. Scott Norman, a childhood friend whose grandparents lived next door to us. Baxter Robertson, owner of the aforementioned Third Bay Café. And a remarkable instance of Small World Syndrome ocurred. A nice lady stopped at our table and asked if I had a daughter who lived in New York City. I said I did, and it turned out her daughter and mine were friends. She had just moved to Martinsville quite recently. Who might have thunk that?

And... oh, Lord yes... there were funnel cakes. Big old ugly disks of fried dough, smothered in powdered sugar, which sifts all over everything — clothing, exposed skin, books, passing hippopotamuses, you name it. But they is good. Merciful heavens, they is good!

We all ended the day with our wallets having put on a little extra weight. On our way back to Greensboro, Ms. B. and I stopped for dinner at The Celtic Fringe in Reidsville, which has long been one of our favorite establishments for dining and imbibing. So all this was right and proper, and I must say that, in the midst of some of the most intense stress I've had to deal with in this life, our little jaunt to Martinsville this weekend proved both relaxing and rewarding.

It's gonna be another helluva week coming up. If you wish for me anything, please wish me well.

Addendum: Oktoberfest Photostory at The Martinsville Bulletin is here.

A terrifying trio: Mr. Provost, an Old Fart, and Ms. B.

Did anyone else notice a hippopotamus passing by this morning?

A good crowd taking advantage of the lovely Oktober weather

Scads of people listening to music and heading for funnel cakes

The lovely ladies of Oktober: Kimberly Ann Brugger and Samaire Provost

Ms. B.'s ink & watercolor rendering of a chonky little toad, which she completed
while we sat at our table

Martinsville Memories at Oktoberfest

This Saturday — October 5 — is Martinsville's 40th Annual Oktoberfest, and if you're anywhere within a reasonable traveling distance, you really ought to attend. Authors Stephen & Samaire Provost, Ms. Brugger, and I will all be there, in good company with Stephen's new book, Martinsville Memories, for which I have written the foreword. I will likely also have a few copies of West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman, Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior, and possibly others on hand.

Martinsville's Oktoberfest is always great fun, with dozens and dozens of local merchants set up around the Uptown business district. There shall be vendors with food and spirits aplenty, presumably including funnel cakes, as they are an Oktoberfest staple. Funnel cakes are ambrosia. Funnel cakes are damn good. One might say funnel cakes are an essential component of proper southern living. Hooray for funnel cakes!

Stephen's Martinsville Memories is a meticulously researched pictorial history of my old hometown. For six decades, I've loved Martinsville, known its inner workings, explored it inside and out, and yet Stephen has dug up facts even I didn't know about. As the author writes, "Martinsville has thrived as the town with the nation’s most millionaires per capita and struggled through factory closures during the era of globalization. Packed with more than 300 images and chock full of details, this volume offers a nostalgic trek through time, with stops at drive-ins, old hotels and iconic storefronts along the way."

Also on Saturday, the Valleystar Credit Union 300 NASCAR race will be happening at Martinsville Speedway. How the race will impact Oktoberfest, I dunno, but you'd best believe Martinsville is going to be hopping this weekend. Please join us. We'll be on hand to autograph Martinsville Memories and any of our other books we have available. Look for us on Church Street near the intersection at Broad Street.

For good measure, if you're into geocaching, a veritable trove of geocaches await you in Uptown Martinsville, many that I have placed myself. And don't forget: Funnel cakes. Keep saying this to yourself, and think well on the joyful prospect of it. Funnel cakes. Funnel cakes. Funnel cakes....

Haunting Hillsborough

Another Sunday, another geocaching outing, this time to Hillsborough with The Usual Suspects: Suntigres (a.k.a. Bridget) and BigG7777 (a.k.a. Gerry). Enough newer caches have been published in recent months to justify making a run over there, but one of the main draws for us today was lunch at Hillsborough BBQ, where they do the beef brisket better than just about anyone.

Most of today's caches were of the park & grab variety, but at least a couple of them offered some challenge on the hunt. There's a virtual cache (meaning there's no physical container to find; you visit a specific landmark and answer questions about it) called "Hillsborough Old Town Cemetery" (GC7B67D), which I had claimed back in April, but Bridget & Gerry still needed it. I was happy to accompany them back to the location because it really is one of the most beautiful atmospheric graveyards around. We didn't see any walking dead around, alas. Doesn't mean they weren't there; we just didn't see them.

Once again, I have pretty much cleaned up Hillsborough, at least until someone places some new hides out that way. Hope someone will — I'm sure it won't be long before I'm craving that brisket again.

The Haunter of Hillsborough

Nice view of the Hillsborough Old Town Cemetery

The Usual Suspects: Suntigres (Bridget) and BigG7777 (Gerry) at the William Hooper House in Hillsborough

Treasure Island

Treasure Island... dead ahead.

Treasure Island: the name of a geocache (GCRRG5) on an island out in High Point City Lake. An old cache it is, dating back to 2005. I started caching in 2008, so the icon has been staring at me from the geocaching map ever since then. I had intended to go after it any number of times over the years, but something always came round to prevent it. But yesterday, friend Todd (a.k.a. Tbbiker) informed me he intended to rent a boat and head out to the island in search of the cache. He wondered whether I might care to join him.

Why... yes, I would.

Shipwreck!

And this time, the stars deigned to smile on us. We met at the marina this morning, rented the requisite items to reach our destination (jon boat, outboard motor, heavy-duty battery, life jackets, paddles, etc.), and off we went. Todd assumed piloting duties for the outbound trip. I took over on the way back.

Once at the island, we found a good place to dock and headed for the coordinates. Here, we discovered the  "shipwreck" described on the cache page. Given the state of the remains in 2019, I have to wonder how much of the old boat was still intact back in 2005. From here, the cache instructions told us to count off a couple of sets of paces in specific directions. However, Todd had used his GPS to do some projections, and I had settled on a search location by dead reckoning—which almost precisely matched Todd's projections. Within a short time, I spotted a suspicious-looking host at the edge of our search radius, and something told me this was where we would find our treasure. Indeed, it was.

The cache—a 50-calibre ammo can—has weathered the years well. The contents were pristine, the log in excellent condition. We spent a little time reading entries from over the years, and I rescued a travel bug that has been stuck there for the past three and half years. I shall set it on its new course soon. Once we had signed the log and rehid the container as we'd found it, we made our way back to the boat.

Neither of us had driven a motorized jon boat before. Though the learning curve was anything but steep, heading out to the island, the prop seemed disinclined to scoot us through the water at anything like high speed. However, on the return journey, for whatever reason, it recovered its wits and zipped us back in far better time.

So, Treasure Island is, at long last, marked off my to-do list. Going after it made for a satisfying, reasonably relaxing morning. And now, I've got a passel of work to do. It's gonna be a busy, busy October.

Old dudes signing Treasure Island logbook

"I'm your captain, I'm your captain... though I'm feeling mighty sick...."

No Dead Weight in Salisbury

Another day on the geocaching trail for the usual suspects — friends Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott), Fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie) and Old Bloody Rob (a.k.a. Rob) — again under the team name "No Dead Weight." Well, Scott was kinda dead, but then that's nothing new. Today, it was back to Salisbury, NC, which has been a reasonably fruitful destination for us on a number of previous caching trips. Unfortunately, we ended up having to log a few DNFs (Did Not Find), but we still came home with 17, I think it was, to our credit.

Hanging out with strange cats.

There were any remarkable gymnastic maneuvers or extreme terrain negotiations; just a full day of solid geocaching and a stellar lunch at The Smoke Pit in downtown Salisbury. It's turned out to be about our only regular lunch destination in town and, without question, one of our favorite BBQ restaurants anywhere. The pulled pork nachos and beef brisket plate are among the best treats you're ever gonna find. I'm pretty sure the aroma coming out of the kitchen is what heaven smells like.

One of the most entertaining caches we found was an old one — an ammo can that dates back to 2002. The original log is cleverly made, with a bunch of gravestones for finders to sign their names. Of course, after all this time, there are now many additional sheets included. The cache and its contents are, for sure, showing their age, but it's all still holding up. Hope it will for a long time to come for other geocachers to enjoy.

You probably shouldn't put these in your
spaghetti dinner tonight.

Several of the caches we found are part of a series called "Steeplecache," which are placed at or around the myriad downtown churches. Most of these were somewhat novel and generally fun to hunt —particularly since, at one of them, a nosy neighbor drove by a couple of times trying to figure out what a ragtag bunch of hoodlums carrying phones and GPS devices were doing skulking around an old church.

The only real frustrations of the day happened at a park with two hides that we spent massive amounts of time hunting, to no avail. We're reasonably certain those containers have gone the ways of the wind, and whether or not they'll be confirmed missing/replaced, who knows?

And so, it was a solid day of fun, exercise, and getting bitten by mosquitoes. Bloody Rob lived up to his epithet and shed a little blood. And we left ourselves a good many caches in the area to go back for on future trips.

Till next time... always a pleasure.

The original log from "Spooks R Us" (GC9556)

Interview with an Old Fart

Last week, writer Fiona McVie interviewed me for her Author Interviews Blog. It's a fairly extensive Q & A, which offered me plenty of opportunity to carry on about things worth carrying on about. I talk about Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series, Blue Devil Island, the writing process in general, some of my favorite dark fiction, a little geocaching, and why I am, in general, a big old troublemaker. Please do check it out to see what makes an old dude tick:

Interview with Stephen Mark Rainey

We've Got the Belews

For a long time now, Ms. B. and I have been looking to get back together with Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom), Punkins19 (a.k.a. Linda) for a nice geocaching/picnicking/wining outing on their boat. We had last gone out with them on Belews Lake, just this side of Winston-Salem, in August 2016. Recently, opportunities kept falling through due to our respective busy schedules and prohibitive circumstances continually cropping up, but today, the tide finally turned in our favor. We hit the road early this morning, met Tom and Linda at their place, and set out for Belews. Though the weather report called for no rain, rather to our dismay, the sky started out dark and seemingly threatening. However, per the forecast, rain never materialized, and the only water we had to cope with was the very warm lake water when one or more of us hopped out to grab geocaches.

Only a handful of caches remained on the lake that I haven't already claimed, and, over the course of the day, I managed to grab all those I targeted. There was one I didn't hunt, as it appears to be missing, and I didn't bother with the handful of EarthCaches out there, which have no physical containers. Three of the five I did find belonged to Tom and/or Linda, so at least I had a better-than-average shot at finding anything that proved overly difficult (happily, none did). We had ravenous/thirsty folks on the boat, so between the picnic lunches, sweet treats, and variety of drinks/spirits we had on hand, and not a smidgin of our stores went to waste.

As always with the Imbuses, the company couldn't have been better. Good food, good caching, and good folks. Upon our return home, Ms. B. and I put on Casino Royale, one of my favorite 007 films, mainly to check out scenery from Montenegro and Venice, since we plan to visit both those places, among others, on an upcoming big trip.

Happy geeking to the lot of you. There will be geeking here.

Hold onto thy hat, there be a big breeze here!

All that remains of an old railroad trestle

Ms. B. and Linda

Approaching the Duke Energy power plant

An old, abandoned boat we discovered

A quaint little shack we passed

Ameri-Scares Ohio: Fear the Grassman! Excerpt #1

My next novel in Elizabeth Massie's Ameri-Scares series is for the state of Ohio. This one is tentatively titled Fear the Grassman! because it's about... you guessed it... the Ohio Grassman, which, according to local legend, is a kind of big old Bigfoot creature. And here is a short excerpt, which I hope will scare the pants of you. (But hold onto your pants, or you might end up kind of cold because, in the scene, it's wintertime.)

#

Landon laughed, turned, and began running—or stumbling—toward the edge of the woods with his brother in hot pursuit. A snowball whizzed past his ear. He ran first to the left, then to the right, trying not to trip over his own feet. He heard rapid, crunching footsteps just behind him. Then—WHAM!—it felt like a boulder of snow crashing down on his head.

“Got you with the big bomb!” Tom cried.

Cold, glittering crystals cascaded over his shoulders. This time, Landon lost his balance and went down on his knees. He heard Tom’s footsteps just behind him. He ducked and covered his head with his arms, certain the next bomb was about to fall. Then he noticed something in the snow to his left.

“Hey!”

WHAM!

Another blow, and snow crumbled over his head and shoulders.

He paid it no mind. “Wait a minute! Look!” He pulled one arm away from his head and pointed at the snow-covered ground a few feet away.

For a long moment, he expected Tom to hit him yet again, but nothing happened.

“Wow,” came Tom’s low voice.

Both boys’ gazes now took in what had caught Landon’s attention: a double row of deep impressions in the snow that led through the yard along the edge of the woods.

They looked like footprints.

Huge, gigantic, unbelievable footprints.

Landon and Tom gathered around the nearest print and stared at it in silent awe. It had to be fully two feet long. The next nearest lay at least six feet away. The falling snow had partly covered the tracks. But there could be no mistaking their distinctive outlines: they looked like the prints of a giant man’s bare feet.

“I’ve never seen anybody that big before,” Landon whispered.

“Yeah. And who would be out in the snow with no shoes on?” Tom said.

Landon followed the prints with his eyes. He pointed off to the right. “That’s where they go into the woods. Can’t tell where they go from there.”

Both boys stood motionless, listening to the soft, fluttering sound of falling snow. Beyond that, there was only the low moan of a slight, distant breeze.

Landon heard a heavy crunch from somewhere not far away....

#

Read Ohio: Fear the Grassman! Excerpt #2 here.

Farewell to the Rives

Photo by Martinsville Police Dept.

The last remaining movie theater in my hometown from my youth is no more. Last night, fire ravaged the Rives Theater in Martinsville; it is expected to be a total loss. Fortunately, no one was injured, and property damage was confined to the theater. Although the Rives hasn't shown first-run movies for several years, it was still used for occasional special screenings and had become a popular local venue for musical acts. It's highly unlikely the theater will be rebuilt.

I didn't see Tom Jones or Irma La Douce at the Rives, but
I did see The Ghost and Mr. Chicken there in 1966.

It's so disheartening to see another of the town's landmarks fade into the past. Martinsville had its share of nice movie houses when I was a kid — the Rives, the Martin, the Town & Country — as well as several drive-in theaters — the 220, the Castle, the Family, and The Martinsville. Every one of them, now gone.

Of all these, the Rives was where I spent the most time as a lad. Rarely did a weekend go by that I didn't attend one of the Saturday or Sunday matinees — always either at 1:00 p.m. or 3:00 p.m. — and I'd occasionally go to the regular evening shows as well, especially once I got my driver's license and could transport myself and whatever company I might be keeping at the time. A pudgy, white-haired gentleman named Tommy managed the theater, and he was a fixture there for more years than I can recount. I saw so many classics and personal favorites from the 1960s and early 1970s in that dark, familiar auditorium: The Wizard of Oz, The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, Swiss Family Robinson, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Bigfoot, When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Planet of the Apes, Beneath the Planet of the Apes, War of the Gargantuas/Monster Zero, Yog - Monster From Space, Skyjacked, Cougar Country, Munster Go Home, House of Dark Shadows/Night of Dark Shadows, Return of Count Yorga, The Legend of Boggy Creek, Frogs, The Poseidon Adventure, Earthquake, The Towering Inferno, The Legend of Hillbilly John, Diamonds Are Forever, Jaws, Godzilla vs. the Bionic Monster, even Star Wars in later years... the list goes on and on and on.

I believe it was in the 1980s that the theater was remodeled and divided into two auditoriums. At that point, it never seemed quite the same, yet it was still undeniably the Rives. A damn fun place to be.

I'm pretty certain that the last first-run film I saw at the Rives was Mel Gibson's The Passion of Christ in 2004. In 2009, I did go to a special midnight showing of Night of the Living Dead there. And it was in September 2012 that I set foot in the Rives Theater for the last time, when Mat & Myron Smith's Young Blood: Evil Intentions premiered. (Some of you may recall I appeared in the movie and in 2015 wrote the novelization of the film.) I have missed seeing movies at that place above all others — well, except for maybe those old drive-in theaters — and I can't say it doesn't break my heart a little that I'll likely never have the opportunity to revisit that favorite old haunt.

Well, time and the world do move on, but history is history, and the Rives Theater played an awfully big part in mine. The Rives, for all intents and purposes, was an old friend, and I will miss it so.

Goodnight.

The Rives Theater in its heyday

The Rives' remodeled facade

Aftermath

Special showings of the 1940s Batman serial at the Rives, which I attended in the mid-1960s

Options

I figured I ought to check in here on ye olde blog this evening, as it's been way too long since I've had the opportunity to post any updates. It's no exaggeration to say that the past two weeks have been the most uncertain, discombobulating, and stressful that I have ever lived through, topped off by an uncomfortable and infuriating sinus/respiratory bug. My mom's personal circumstances, which have been nominally stable for the past few years, nose-dived recently, when she succumbed to pneumonia and took a couple of falls. This has required an unprecedented level of intervention on my part (and my brother's, to some extent), and a major life-change for her is now inevitable. Beyond that, there's no need to elaborate, so I'll merely ask that those of you who consider me a friend please keep me, my brother, and my mom in your hearts. It's a tough, tough time, and every little bit of support means the world to me.

At this point, things have settled enough that we can  take a breather before the next round. At least, I hope so. The next round is coming, but I feel that we are as prepared as prepared can be under the circumstances.

I've been able to work in only the barest minimum of geocaching (that which keeps me sane), but today, a couple of new trail hides awaited my attention. After work, I met friend Fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie) out at the Kingfisher Trail, just north of Greensboro, where a couple of new caches required my attention. (Fortuitously, one of them — called "Options" because there's more than one method of reaching the well-hidden cache — belongs to Ms. FDTS herself.) Hers proved to be a wonderfully conceived, physically challenging hide, which required a certain degree of acrobatic prowess to conquer (see photo above). That done, it was on to friend Old Rob's newest. Happily, we made short work of it. I also ended up doing unexpected maintenance on one of my own hides out there, which required acrobatics of the same sort you see in said photo. Someone had replaced it somewhat out of keeping with its original intent (again, see photo), and I wasn't about to let that stand. Thing is, when I retrieved her new cache, Natalie had neglected to take any photos, so on our return trip, I recreated my original venture to ground zero (photo) so she could snap the requisite pictures.

Afterward, we ventured forth to Uptown Charlie's, one of our favorite post-caching dining destinations, where I partook of Pernicious IPA and Suicide Chicken Wings. So, for at least this evening, a sense of normality, or something such, managed to prevail, and thus energized, it is back to the writing of my next Ameri-Scares novel, this one for the state of Ohio, tentatively titled Fear the Grassman! Hey, it's Bigfoot, man.

Coming up, one thing I think I might do here — for my own sake — is occasionally post some recollections of my mom from over the years. I feel it will be therapeutic, and a touch of therapy about now could only be a good thing. You may change the channel or go out for a drink if you prefer; it won't bother me. Some things I do share, but they're really about preserving personal history. I trust you understand.

Till the next.