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)

Synchronicity

Here's the story. There's this dude I keep seeing driving by in his car. Every time he drives past, by sheer coincidence, I happen to be with Kimberly. Not only that, whenever he drives by, Kimberly is engaged in the process of swatting me a good one. Now, I'm told this happens because I've said something that deserves a good swatting. Here and now, however, let it here be known: when I say something, it's because it's something that ought to have been said. But you know how things go; sometimes things that ought to have been said get misconstrued as things that maybe, really, ought not have been.

So a little while ago, I saw the dude drive by, but Kimberly wasn't here to swat me. Ergo, I must have said something. I'll find out later what it was.

Carry on.

Kingdom of the Spiders

After work, Kimberly and I paid a visit to the very nice Bistro B Wine Bar in Kernersville, then headed over to Prissy Polly's Barbecue for a geocaching event honoring Christopher "Ranger Fox" Hall for achieving a momentous milestone — having found 30,000 geocaches. Whoa, and all. From there, she and I headed up to Lake Brandt to go on an enjoyable nighttime hike on the Laurel Bluff Trail, where my night cache, "The Missing: Dweller in Darkness" (GC3G3N7), resides. I wanted make sure the reflector trail was in good condition — it was — but mainly it was just a good night to go out on a hike and commune with spiders. For oh, my lord, they are out there in force. Big ones, little ones, teeny ones, giant ones. The forest was absolutely brilliant with their glowing eyes in the beams of our lights. Some were bright enough to mistake for reflective fire tacks — and perhaps ironically, those that glowed brightest belonged to the smallest spiders. We did come upon the second-biggest spider in the world's third largest cousin, pictured above, which made Kimberly holler. Some of you probably heard it. (The biggest spider in the world lives over in Burlington; my friend Paul found it on a caching outing one night a few years ago, and he's been in recovery ever since.) The spiders didn't bother me, but I did fuss a bit when I found a slug crawling on me. Gooshy.

Illegimate Rape?

If you're a regular visitor around these parts, you know that I very, very rarely wade into politics and emotion-charged social issues. Not because I don't have strong positions on such matters but because commentary is bleepin' everywhere; you can't get away from it — though way too much of it is simply gross regurgitation of meaningless sound bites. More than anything, there are limited hours in the day, and mine are usually pretty damn full. Posting on political topics most often leads to yet more emotionally charged "discussion," which, should I  go whole-hog into it, eats up ridiculous amounts of time and usually just pisses me off.

In the case of the very recent, very stupid remarks by Congressman Todd Akin (R, MO), however, I'm going to make an exception and express some personal feelings. Feel free to respond if you wish, but if you're just going to blurt out crap like, "Well, you liberals think blah blah blah," you might as well not bother. First and foremost, I'm hardly a dyed-in-the-wool liberal. Nor am I anywhere near a staunch conservative. I hate labels. Opposing sides on many complex issues oftentimes bring well-considered points to the table, and rarely are they as cut-and-dry as partisan sound bites portray them. My own problem is that I try to educate myself on the various sides of just about every issue, and the information overload drives me freaking mad. But that's a whole 'nuther issue anyway.

As for Congressman Akin, I'm sure you know what he said about pregnancies resulting from rape, but here's the primary offending remark: “It seems to me, from what I understand from doctors, that’s really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down. But let’s assume that maybe that didn’t work or something: I think there should be some punishment, but the punishment ought to be of the rapist, and not attacking the child."

Legitimate rape. Now there's a fine term. That, to me, appears to stem from a condescending — if not contemptuous — attitude toward women. As if there's such a thing as "illegitimate" rape. While Akin claims he "misspoke," I don't buy it. I think his off-the-cuff remarks expressed exactly what he thought. My real problem here is less about Akin as an individual than the socially conservative mindset of which he is representative.

First and foremost, I, as a male, can only imagine the trauma of a rape, particularly one that results in an unwanted pregnancy. Same goes for Akin and every other male lawmaker, on whichever side of the political aisle. But I'm going beyond this single example to express some thoughts on abortion overall. My main thought on the topic is this: if you're a conservative and favor smaller government, then you and your lawmakers should butt the hell out of the issue. Leave the decision to made by individual women and their doctors.

Or do you believe that they are simply too stupid to know better than you what they should do? Some conservative, you.

In situations where a woman has been raped, or has a fetus that is not viable outside the womb, or faces a life-threatening situation, a state that denies her the right to make her own choice is absolutely monstrous. Yes, I am aware that there are at least some conservatives who would make exceptions in those extreme cases, and I applaud them. But particularly as of these past couple of years, the voices of those who would make no exceptions have clearly increased, if not in number, then in the shrillness of their trumpeting.

Now, from a simply rationalistic perspective, I don't buy personhood beginning at conception. What you have there is a mass of cells that, without interference, will eventually develop into a human being. Life, yes, but not a full-fledged, aware, and — dare I say it — soul-possessing human being. That said, psychologically, for a woman — and an involved male partner — the decision to have an abortion is murderous enough (pardon the crass expression). Indeed, if my significant other were in the position of having to make such a decision, I don't know whether I could handle the trauma of terminating the life inside her.

But it's not my body. It's not for me to say how she can or cannot deal with it. A woman should have the freedom to deal with it as her conscience guides her. You tell me, is that not the true conservative ideal?

Okay, yeah, well, I know, we've got to protect those precious babies, right? And the Bible says to be fruitful and multiply, yes? While I am anything but a social Darwinist, I am a pragmatist. Back in those fabulous days of yore, the earth was an almost infinite place; as an added bonus, disease and pestilence made for effective population control. You needed to multiply in order to assure a future for your family, your community, your civilization.

Nowadays? Eh... not so much. We're a species struggling to find room to thrive. We fight for our limited resources. We're living longer. So we're eating the earth. Quite frankly, when it comes down to it, I favor the rights of those who are already here. Little, to me, is more wicked than forcing a new life into this world, particularly when, in the interest of your own selfish well-being, you don't want to put your money where your mouth is and take care of the young one that might otherwise have been aborted — and you sure as hell don't want to be made to share by the government.

If you are absolutely anti-abortion, and you have adopted or sponsored a child that would have been aborted, then you are saintly, and your existence is worthy. You are a true philanthropist. However, if you would force a woman to have an unwanted child, to likely perpetuate that which you find so offensive — a human being that the odds do not favor becoming a productive, positive member of society — and you are not actively supporting the life that would have been terminated otherwise, you are simply talking out your ass and really not worth the time of day.

All that said, none of this should be construed as meaning I favor abortion. I absolutely do not. I do not condone abortion simply because a baby is inconvenient. Even in a worst-case scenario, if a woman makes the choice to keep a baby conceived by rape or incest — or even has the baby and offers it for adoption — then that is clearly wisdom. More power to her; it's the most likely means of preventing deep regret later. I do not feel she should be forced into that situation.

And that, as they say, is that, from the old prehistoric radioactively mutated flying rubber reptile, who is now going to go back to writing a novel.

Do You Seawell?

Today was the perfect day for lots of outdoor activities — you know, visiting wineries, having picnic lunches, hiking in the woods, geocaching, getting really small, and being menaced by man-eating trees. That was very much the day for Ms. B. and Damned Rodan. After a work week that just about did us poor old folk in, we set our sights on relaxing a bit in Chapel Hill — via Benjamin Vineyards and Winery near Saxapahaw, a ways south of Burlington. We had been to Benjamin once before and very much enjoyed the setting and the products, and when Groupon again offered a good deal on their fare, we opted to make use of it. They don't have an extensive catalog, but like so many of the local vineyards, the wines they do produce are of very good quality. They offered three white varieties, three dry reds, and four semi-dry to sweet types. I was quite taken with their Chambourcin and Norton, and though I'm generally not fond of white wines, I enjoyed their 2009 oaked Chardonnay. We had a picnic lunch in their picturesque little cedar grove, and then set out for Chapel Hill — with some caching along the way, of course.

Once in Chapel Hill, it was onto the very extensive trail system in the woods along Seawell School Rd. The most noticeable feature of these woods, at least this season, were the gigantic mushrooms, growing in profusion everywhere we went. Claimed several caches on the fairly lengthy hike, bringing my total to 4,936. Five-thousand is getting so close....

Click on the images to enlarge.

I didn't see it sneaking up on me. Really, I didn't. Don't know how I managed to get away from that one.

Brugger made a similarly lucky escape.

Some of the teeny-tiny fungus among us.

Brugger guards trail while ol' Rodan goes after cache.

Hydro Fox

Bridge over the Polecat Creek, Randolph County, NC, seen from near "Hydro Fox" (GC3TP19)

Nice afternoon of caching with Bridget "Suntigres" Langley down in Randolph County. A few new ones came out today, mostly tribute caches to Christopher "Ranger Fox" Hall, who has joined the ranks of those scant few geocachers who have logged over 30,000 cache finds. Bridget and I met up in Liberty and booked over toward Randleman, where we discovered a very scenic and marginally creepy area around Polecat Creek (yep) — plus a couple of caches, of course. We ended up hiking what started as a little gravel drive and then became a windy little trail that led to the dam near Creekridge Country Road. There we discovered a ramshackle house on stilts that doesn't appear to be much longer for the earth, as well as a mysterious little place that, in appearance, wasn't unlike the cabin in Sam Raimi's The Evil Dead. We didn't hear any ghostly voices, though. Just some dogs barking at the ghosts.

I'm nowhere near 30,000 caches and probably never will be, not in this lifetime, but as of today, my total count is 4,925. Five-thousand, here I come.

Today would have been my 26th wedding anniversary. I'm very pleased that life has taken me in different directions than I would have ever expected all those years ago, but there are a lot of good memories from that long marriage. I hope it's mutual.

And it's to bed.

Click on the images to enlarge.

The dam on Polecat Creek

Hey Bridget, I'm not sure that's the world's safest place to stand!

Dude contemplating wormholes at "Worm Rock" (GC3B5K6). They would explain a lot, wouldn't they?

Have You Ever Wondered?

I've found myself revisiting a lot of my favorite music in the past few weeks, particularly progressive rock from the 1970s. Last night, I treated myself to Jeff Wayne's 1979 musical version of War of the Worlds, which I still believe is the best adaptation of Wells's novel (perhaps my all-time favorite novel, apart from Dumas's The Three Musketeers). The recording came out at the height of the disco era, and the disco influence shows a bit — and despite an overall positive reception at the time, I recall some serious backlash because of it. Back then, being a progressive-rock purist, I was as anti-disco as they came, but also being a Moody Blues fanatic, Justin Hayward's presence on the album sold me. Upon my first listening, I considered the album a masterpiece, and to this day, I still do.

And on the subject of The Moody Blues, Graeme Edge, their drummer/lyricist, had a short but fairly brilliant run in the late 70s with The Graeme Edge Band, which featured Adrian Gurvitz on guitar/vocals. Their albums, Kick Off Your Muddy Boots and Paradise Ballroom were both jam-packed gems of progressive rock. They never achieved much recognition, but the little body of work they had still stands out as awesome. "Have You Ever Wondered" is one of the many noteworthy cuts from Kick Off Your Muddy Boots. Give it a listen; if you're of that age and/or musical persuasion and haven't checked them out before, you're so in for a treat.

Wettest Drought Ever

8-10-12: At the office — The storm took out a bunch of woods, our servers, email, and the coffeemaker.

We had a pretty good thunderstorm last night — as we have pretty much every day since this infernal drought began. We've had so much rain my house is waterlogged, the gutters are clogged, and some of the siding on the chimney has peeled off. Came into work this morning, and it looked like the woods had exploded all over the parking lot. Clearly, the storm was worse here than at home, and to top it off, all our systems in the office were down — including the coffeemaker. Fortunately, our priorities are in order here, and the coffee is flowing again. Thank Yog, for it was about to get ugly. If there were any mercy in the universe, it would be raining pancakes and bacon.

I'm sure the folks out west could use some of what we're getting. We're technically still in a drought here, but I might need to consider buying a boat so I can at least get back and forth to work.

Dammit, need more coffee.

Why is it not raining pancakes (maybe even with butter and syrup) and bacon?

Caching on the Brain

Yeah, that's Damned Rodan on "The Brain" (GC2JGGM), down near nothing, somewhere between Asheboro and Lexington. A nice day on the caching trail with Bridget "Suntigres" Langley; mostly park-&-grab caches, which added another 26 to my total, now at 4,896. "The Brain" looks like a big old hunk of marble, though my expertise in things geological isn't exactly prodigious. Caching, though, has certainly helped dredge up a lot of forgotten knowledge from my school years, particularly when I'm out in the field with science guru Mark Case, who never lets slip an opportunity to share his love of geology. Aptly, Mark was the first finder of "The Brain" when the cache was published a ways back. The one disagreeable aspect of digging into the brain to snag the cache was the fact that, when brains haven't been discovered for a good while, sometimes vermin set in. As I moved the medulla oblongata to access the cache, all kinds of hopping, scuttling, slithering things exploded from the dark recesses, and I'm pretty sure I saw an icky little tumor back in there. No matter, though. We signed the log, and from there, went forth to take on a host of spiders, including black widows, at a few more caches around Randolph County.

Thanks for the caches.

Click images to enlarge.

Suntigres contemplates the answers to life, the universe, and everything.

A fun array of signs near "Bus Stop" (GC2FM4V)

And here's where it all ends: a graveyard in a cornfield.

Coming Soon to an Atomic Drive-In Near You

The name Mike Bogue is familiar primarily to readers of G-Fan magazine and, in that venue, mainly as a writer of nonfiction articles about daikaiju movies and the associated joys of being a diehard fan. Since Mike and I grew up about the same time, evidently in the same small town but several states apart, I have frequently enjoyed his exuberant reminisces about his visits with giant monsters on the big screen, many of which almost eerily reflect my own. Among our shared joys was going to drive-in theaters, when multi-feature monster shows were the order of the day — or night, rather — and some of us actually did go to drive-ins watch the movies.

Recently, Mike has leaped with all eight legs into the realm of fiction-writing, with a post-apocalyptic-alternate-reality-retro novella titled Atomic Drive-In. It has not been officially released yet — it is slated to be made available soon in various file formats for a modest fee; I will certainly convey that information here when it's available — but I got a sneak preview of this mutated monstrosity and figured a few thoughts from another hardcore giant monster drive-in-movie maniac would be in order.

To be clear, Mike is not a professional writer of fiction; however, his prose is at all times competent and frequently gripping. I'd go so far as to say that, despite its inevitable rough edges, Atomic Drive-In is more engaging than the efforts of many accomplished authors that I've read in the not-so-distant past. It's good for a PG-13 rating, with a wee bit of graphic violence and explicit imagery, perhaps a bit more than the cinematic properties it seeks to emulate — though this is, for the most part, anything but a drawback.

The story opens with a pair of friends, Brent and Jerry, both aged fifty-ish, visiting a closed-down drive-in theater, having made a deal with a mysterious, unseen character named Moonman to experience something beyond their imaginations. Moonman has provided them with an antique 1957 Chevy — complete with a charred skeleton in the front seat — that will transport them to an alternate Earth where the monsters of the movies they grew up with are quite real. Anxious to put this fantastic claim to the test, the two crank up the car... and before they know it, find themselves in an open, functioning drive-in theater running a Bugs Bunny cartoon. However, the theater itself proves to be something far different than they could have expected. They have indeed arrived on a parallel earth, but this is a war-torn, radiated world populated by mutants — human and otherwise — and the drive-in theater has been turned into a fortress against the things "out there," with movies played regularly to keep the entrapped population focused on something other than their own dire circumstances. The refugees' de facto leader, a gentleman named Isaac Carpenter, explains that some of their number have attempted to escape to the "other" Earth in the quantum-powered Chevrolet, but inhabitants of their reality are reduced to cinders if they attempt to pass through the barrier between worlds — hence the skeleton in the vehicle, who turns out to be none other than Carpenter's own son.

Before they know it, Brent and Jerry experience an assault by a giant dragonfly, which indeed resembles something out of one of the monster movies they love, but the heavily armed drive-in guards manage to dispatch it. Next, a giant gila monster attacks, proving somewhat more difficult to kill than the oversize insect. Once again, however, the powerful weaponry the refugees have at their disposal proves adequate to fend off the beast — but their supplies are perilously low, and they fear it is only a matter of time before they succumb to either the monsters' attacks or the radiation itself, which is steadily, insidiously working its effects on the DNA of the survivors.

Both Brent and Jerry find themselves infatuated with Carpenter's daughter, Lori, who is pregnant with the child of her missing fiancé, whose fate is unknown. Initially, she appears reticent to speak of either her fiancé or the baby, and both men soon discover why: her distended abdomen has become transparent, like a window to her womb, revealing a mutated horror inside her, which, to their shock, she feels compelled to love and protect. This revelation sends Brent retreating from her, but Jerry is more accepting of the situation and vows to protect Lori and her child at all costs.

But then a new horror appears: none other than Sean, Lori's fiancé, only now having grown gigantic and become quite mad, resembling none other than the mutated Colonel Glenn Manning in the horror classics The Amazing Colossal Man and its sequel War of the Colossal Beast. The mutant's onslaught is ferocious and deadly, but once again, after a violent battle, the drive-in refugees prevail. Finally, however, the survivors' stronghold is attacked by the two most terrifying monsters yet: a gigantic preying mantis and a monstrous wolf spider. In the midst of the attack, the two creatures turn on each other, wreaking havoc as they fight to the death.

Unable to deal further with the hideous reality he was initially so intent on exploring, Brent decides to return once and for all to his rightful world, while Jerry opts to remain with Lori and her people — for he has himself succumbed to the mutating powers of the widespread radiation. Just as Brent is making his escape, a radio broadcast warns of an impending, horrific attack, and he knows he must leave his best friend to grapple with the consequences of his fateful decision....

Mike Bogue constructs a grotesque post-apocalyptic world, described in details more typical of contemporary genre authors, but at its heart, the story remains true to its 1950s roadshow–inspired origins. A few niggling problems do spoil the flow of the narrative, such as the characters going back and forth between worlds in the interludes between monster attacks; for the most part, they're unnecessary and feel more like padding than true development. Still, you just don't get that many knock-down-drag-out tales about giant monsters, mutants, and alternate realities, and Mike pretty capably covers all the bases. I hope the story will soon see widespread release and you can check it out for yourself. I'll be sure to post an alert when The Atomic Drive-In is open for business.

Nothing to Wine About

Kimberly on the porch at Brandon Hills
Vineyards, near Yadkinville, NC

For the nice lady and I, visiting the multitude of wineries in the region has become one of our favorite leisure activities. It's only been in the past couple of years that I've come to appreciate wine of any variety; a particular incident back in college — something about being on the newspaper staff and going to a staff party, where the sports editor and I got into a race to see who could chug the most Chardonnay — had put me off wine in general (and even now, 35 years later, I can barely stomach most white varieties). However, over time, the dry reds began to grow on me, and both Kimberly and I have enjoyed many of the different varieties produced locally, some of which rate among the most palatable wines I've had anywhere. North Carolina now ranks number ten among wine-producing states, and I suspect it's liable to rank higher as vineyards increasingly replace tobacco farms, which are — quite understandably — no longer as profitable as they used to be. Many of the wineries frequently offer discount deals through Groupon and Living Social, so it's possible to get a good sampling of their wares quite inexpensively. With most tastings, you get a glass to keep, so I doubt that Kimberly and I will need to invest in wine glasses during in this lifetime.

Yesterday, we paid visits to Brandon Hills Vineyard, near Yadkinville, NC, and Hanover Park Vineyard, a short distance away. Brandon Hills is relatively new, with its first harvest in 2007. Their selection of dry reds was limited to a Barbera, a Merlot, and a blend called Raptor Red, but all quite good, particularly the Barbera. They offer more dry and semi-dry whites, a couple of which I found quite palatable, the 2010 Pinot Gris being the best. As with most of the vineyards in the Yadkin River Valley, the setting is picturesque, and they offer plenty of outdoor seating, including an arbor-like gazebo. It was scorching hot out there yesterday, but nice lady and I persevered and enjoyed a glass on the porch. The staff is knowledgeable, friendly, and very accommodating. They are also avid supporters of the Carolina Raptor Center, which is dedicated to the conservation of birds of prey, through education, research, and the rehabilitation of injured and orphan raptors.

From there, we headed to Hanover Park, less than five miles away, and discovered one of the real treasures in the region. The winery was established in 1996, with the retail/tasting area situated in a farmhouse built in 1897, beautifully restored to retain its original character. The owners are clearly accomplished winemakers and have a small but extremely personable staff to take care of visitors. Their wines rate among some of the best I've had in the region, including a couple of reserve blends that were produced under unique conditions and will never come around again. They have several excellent dry reds and only a handful of whites. I was especially taken with their Chambourcin, Mouvedre (quite rare in these parts), and a 2006 blend called Michael's, made of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Merlot. Again, it was almost too hot to enjoy being outdoors, but we braved the oppressive temperatures to enjoy a glass in their very scenic front yard. For sheer character and charm, not to mention quality of product, Hanover Park is one of the best.

To get a nice overview of the wineries in North Carolina, go to visitncwine.com.

Needless to say, one of the most desirable aspects of visiting wineries is that there are almost always geocaches in the bargain — some, such as Benjamin Vineyards, in Saxapahaw, and Laurel Grey Vineyards, near Hamptonville, have caches on the premises. Grabbed a handful on the trip yesterday, to bring ye total to 4,841 and counting....

Click images to enlarge.

A pair of very happy glasses enjoying the scenery at Brandon Hills Vineyard.

Dude on the porch at Hanover Park. His glass clearly needs some TLC.

Another satisfied customer at Hanover Park Vineyard.

Nice Hat

It is a nice hat, isn't it? It's new, as I've worn out three of them already.

It's usually entertaining to meet other geocachers out in the field, mainly because most of them are far more entertaining people than I am. Today, it happened in a kind of roundabout way, and until later, I didn't even know I had encountered another cacher. This morning, I decided to head up to Danville, since a crapload of new caches have been published there in the past month or so, several of them in Angler's Park, which is one of my favorite places in the world to hike. One of the new caches was hidden in a small shelter next to the parking lot, and when I pulled up, someone was in the shelter, apparently using her phone. A bleepin' muggle, I'm thinking. Thus, I get my gear together and head out to the trail to snag the other caches I need, figuring on hunting the one in the shelter upon my return. I did this thing, but when I arrived back at my car, I found a note expressing admiration for my geocaching hat, along with a pathtag belonging to one Turtle & Hawg. Well, what do you know! The lady I'd seen was indeed a geocacher from a far off land — evidently, the "Turtle" half of the Turtle & Hawg couple. Once aware of each other's identities, we swapped pleasantries via email, and resolved to at least say "hey" should we run into each other again.

Thunderstorms threatened the entire time I was out on the trail, but they never broke, and so I managed to remain dry — other than sweating off half my body mass and losing some blood to a tick. Out on the trail, I thought I saw a sad-eyed little Chihuahua dog gallivanting my way; turns out, it was the smallest, youngest fawn I think I've ever seen. Tiny, and a little wobbly on its feet. It steered clear of me, and I attempted to get a few photos of it, but I wasn't able to get a decent shot before it disappeared in the woods.

Lunch was sushi from The Tokyo Grill. A couple of more caches, and then the rain began to pour. All in all, fine day of it, bringing my cache total to 4,823.

Click on the images to enlarge.

Can you see the fawn? It's dead center of the photo.

A nice little stair-step waterfall along the Riverside Trail.

The guardian at one of the caches along the trail. Careful... it bites! Twice.

Have You Ever Seen a Horse Flop?

Every evening after dinner, we have a case of Siamese Flopitis, which usually involves three to five minutes of Chester falling over and flopping happily back and forth on the carpet. This has been going on since the day he came round back in 2002, so it's just accepted as a family tradition.

Today, I spent a hot, muggy day at Tanglewood Park in Clemmons, NC, hiking five or so miles and snagging a few geocaches. As I was passing by the stables, I saw an elderly lady leading a horse through the pasture to the trail. About the time he came up to me, he must have had a moment of inspiration, for he lay down and began to do the Siamese Flopitis thing — quite expertly, I might add. The lady with him appeared to take it in stride, as if this is as much a horse thing as it is a Siamese thing. I wouldn't know; I've never seen a horse flop before. I consider myself a little more educated than I was at this time yesterday. Unfortunately, the horse finished up having his fun before I could get a photo of him. Pity.

At the end of the excursion, I came out about nine caches richer and hit minor landmark #4,800. It was a fun little hide next to a church, hidden by a Girl Scout troop, called "A Trunk Full of Junk" (GCWEM2). Lovely stuff.

Yep, it's a Trunk Full of Junk!

Crazy as Fire

Who goes out on a five-plus-mile hike in some fairly rugged terrain on a day when the peak temperature hit 105? Yeah...a bunch of lunatic geocachers. Specifically, Mark Case, Scott "Diefenbaker" Hager, and old Damned Rodan. About midday, we hit the trails at the Birkhead wilderness area, just southwest of Asheboro, to hunt a handful of caches, most specifically, one called "Mystery of the Birkhead Ghosts" (GC3C2A), which requires deciphering a code key that had daunted us for some time. A few days back, Scott and I managed to decrypt the key independently, so this was the day the bunch of us opted to make a go of it.

Holy crap. I've been hiking in some heat, and ordinarily, it doesn't really faze me. Today, however, it came damn near to doing the old man in. At least we had presence of mind to take plenty of water with us so we could keep ourselves hydrated. As all good geocachers do, we occasionally left the trail and bushwhacked to our various destinations, at which time we discovered... per usual... that the short way is all too often not the best way. Still, we managed to conquer the ghost and a couple of other caches lurking in the wilderness. We happened upon numerous very cool rock formations, and Mr. Case, science teacher extraordinaire, enlightened us with some fascinating facts about the geology of the region. Certain of the rocks indicated that we were treading on some of the oldest exposed earth on the planet, which is rather humbling, when you think about it....

Anyway, we all survived, so that young Kimberly and old Rodan could visit with our friends, Joe and Suzy Albanese, at their neighborhood pool. Never was a dip more welcome. (Do not over-think that last sentence, for it means nothing. Seriously.)

One of the intriguing rock formations we happened upon in the wilderness

Funny how some of those rock formations tend to grow, almost as if someone actually
placed them that way. Scott Hager (L) and Mark Case (R).

Biggs Trek's THE HAUNTER OF THE DARK

This is a neat animated adaptation of "The Haunter of the Dark," which I consider one of H. P. Lovecraft's most effective and memorable horror tales. The feature is quite true to the original story, and, for the most part, the iClone animation offers some decent, even haunting visuals, particularly its representation of the Shining Trapezohedron. Overall, the music is well done, occasionally reminding me of Ingram Marshall's "Hidden Voices" — which is the perfect soundtrack for HPL's "Dreams in the Witch House." Now, this is a personal peeve, to be sure, but I am annoyed by the fact that some of the human beings involved in the production go by names such as "Fulkster," "Goof Parade," and "K4" — even Biggs Trek, for that matter —  as the whole business seems a pointless and even cheapening affectation. But, objectively, that's neither here nor there. Give this little feature a look. For the cost of — well, nothing — you'll do okay.

And the Victims... er... Winners Are....

The winners of The Gods of Moab contest, chosen by random drawing at 12:00 midnight last night....

1) Autographed copy of Blue Devil Island: Greg Cohoon
2) Autographed copy of Legends of the Night: Jonathan Knott
3) Autographed CD of Dark Shadows: Curse of the Pharaoh: Merry Priddy Mounce

Congrats to the winners, and my sincere appreciation to everyone who participated in the contest. Hope none of the prizes, or The Gods of Moab itself, ends up driving someone off the deep end. I mean, that kind of thing has been known to happen....

E-burst

The western sky at dusk, viewed from U.S. Hwy. 58, just east of Martinsville, VA, 6-29-12

When I left work at 4:30 PM yesterday afternoon, it was 105 degrees in the shade. I didn't let that alter my plans to head to Danville, VA, to get in some geocaching, and then go over to Martinsville to visit Mum. First stop was Angler's Park, just east of Danville, where I put in about a mile hike and claimed a handful of caches. Yes, I took plenty of water. Hit the road to grab a few more, only to end up at the Corner Cafe in Ringgold, VA, where I went for the fabulous Friday night meatloaf special. Proprietor and fellow geocacher Keith McCoy was on hand, so we sat and yakked geocaching for a good while; then I left to make my way toward Martinsville.

The air was unbelievably humid and still, the sunset fiery and gorgeous. The weather report came on the local radio station, indicating record-breaking heat, of course, and partly cloudy skies, with only a minimal chance of scattered thunderstorms. However, not three minutes later, here comes a severe weather warning for the entire listening area, alerting us to impending violent thunderstorms and damaging winds.

Sure enough.

I arrived at Mum's just after dark and had just made a martini when I noticed the wind picking up outside; only a minute or so later, the power went out. I stepped out to the front porch and was promptly just about blown right back in. Now, every few years, a hurricane will move this far inland and hit us with some severe weather, but I don't think any hurricane I've experienced has brought winds like those that blew through town last night — at least not when I've been out in them. (This morning's Roanoke newspaper put the gusts in excess of 80 miles per hour.) There was thunder and lightning aplenty, but not a drop of rain. Mum lives in a very wooded area, and I could hear trees cracking and falling, and a couple came down with such force I thought I was hearing explosions. The energy burst lasted only a few minutes — certainly less than half an hour — and we were lucky, as no trees crashed down on the house or on my car, which was parked in the driveway.

With no air conditioning, it was a right warm night, and when I woke up at 8:00 this morning, the power was still off. I decided to go out and try to find some coffee, since I obviously wasn't going to be making any at home. I knew the winds would have done some damage, but holy Moses....

The first thing I encountered was power lines down across the road, only a quarter mile from Mum's house. Next, I saw huge trees lying in yards, branches across the roads, more lines hanging from splintered telephone poles. I essentially took a tour of the entire town of Martinsville, and there was no electricity, anywhere. Once I reached Collinsville, a few miles north, there was power — and a regular stampede of human beings looking for food, gas, water, groceries, you name it. I managed to get into McDonald's to grab coffee and some breakfast, and to their credit, they were moving the massive line through at express speed. Would that they were always so efficient!

On my way home, it finally occurred to me to take a few pictures. The worst damage I saw was a massive, 200-foot-tall tree that had crashed down on a beautiful house on Mulberry Road, but the owners asked me not to take any photographs, and I respected their wishes. The entire time I was out and about, I didn't see a single utility truck. Apparently, a large part of southwestern Virginia got hit hard, and no doubt electrical crews are taxed to the limit. The Martinsville Bulletin website has not been updated since yesterday — no doubt because they have no electricity — but I imagine it will have significant news about the storm when power is restored, which may be quite some time yet.

Addendum: The tree in question in the paragraph above: Storm damage

I headed on back to Greensboro this afternoon, after once again getting in some hiking in Danville, which appeared to have suffered considerably less damage than Martinsville. I hope I sweated off last night's meatloaf and this morning's McDonald's crap. And though my house is hotter'n hades, even with the air conditioning on, I count myself quite lucky not to have been adversely affected beyond a bit of discomfort. Quite a few folks in Martinsville — and elsewhere in southwestern Virginia — clearly were not so fortunate.

Click on the images to enlarge.

The temperature on my car thermometer at 4:30 p.m. A couple of hours earlier, it had been even hotter.

Power lines down on Indian Trail, in Martinsville

One of the big old trees that came down on Mulberry Road

The most common sight around town — big tree limbs down in people's yards.

Danville didn't get it as badly, but there were a number of trees down on the Riverwalk Trail this morning.