If there’s two things they take seriously in the dirty south its Dairy Queens and racism.

Well, I wanted to see things that I wouldn’t stumble across back in my usual circles. Today I think I did. I had lunch at a Dairy Queen and went to Calhoun Park in North Augusta, SC. (pic related)

Do you see how well maintained it is? Make a note, that is going to be important in a moment. Fountain clean and running. Lawn like a putting green. Somebody has the funding to put in some serious yard work to keep it looking like that.

The whole park is the size of a 7-11, which is to say, not very big as parks go. But it sure is impressive looking.

And, see that obelisk that is kind of the centerpiece? Think it looks like a monument to the KKK? No? Just wait.

It is dedicated to the hero Tom Meriwether.  That’s what it says (pic related)

He gave his life preserving the Anglo Saxon way of life that his race had fought so hard to build over the course of many generations. I am not making this up. (pic related)

And, the state commissioned and paid for it.

It is called “The Monument to White Supremecy” I shit you not.

See, what happened was, in 1876 there was a dust up.  The federal militia was called in and faced an angry mob of about 100 men.

Now, I wasn’t there. I can’t say what happened. But, everyone seems to agree on certain facts:

1. The federal militia was all black.
2. The mob was all white.
3. 6 militia members were killed.
4. One white guy (Tom Meriwether) was killed.

Ok. Ok. Things happen. What are you gonna do? This is why we have a government. Our leaders convene and come up with ideas on how to prevent this sort of thing from happening again. And, so they did.

They disbanded the black militias and made the forming of new ones illegal.

Oh yeah, and they put up a monument to the one white guy, which is still maintained to this day.

I quote Morpheus (the guy, not the kitten…in fact, I will go one further…the BLACK GUY, not the kitten…who is also black. I dunno. Blame Trixie. She named it…anyway, he said):

“I stand here today not because of the path before me, but because of the path behind me.”

It is easy for me to be judgmental in 2015 about cultural conflicts that occurred in the post-bellum reconstructive period. I’m sure tensions were high.

But maybe, and this is just a thought, couldn’t they start cutting the grass, like, every OTHER week or something? Maybe not scrub the fountain’s basin so clean?

But, hey, at least they’re not flying the Stars & Bars. That’s a start. Right?

In the small town of Dewy Rose, GA, in Elbert County (granite capital of the world) stands what many call “The American Stonehenge”.  (pic related)

Not me, though. My vote goes to that foam thing.

It is a bunch of granite slabs with the “10 Commandments” of starting over once society has been burned to the ground. The new rules, (pic related)

are written in 8 different languages:

English, Russian,  Hebrew, Spanish, Hindi, Swahili, Arabic, and, Chinese.

Along the four sides of the capstone, a message is inscribed in 4 still different languages — Babylonian Cuneiform, Classical Greek, Sanskrit and Egyptian Hieroglyphics – “Let These Be Guidestones To Reason”

For those of you naive enough to  believe in only “science” you should be aware that some of the best theories about alien visitations involve them helping the advancement of humans in ancient Babylon, India and Egypt.

Most of you already know that, in Ancient Greece, Zeus was the captain of an Interstellar Craft that landed atop Olympus. His crew made up the rest of the pantheon of gods. So, that explains that.

The stones were commissioned by an anonymous individual using the pseudonym R.C. Christian, who claimed to represent a bunch of freedom-loving Americans who resided outside of Georgia.

Naturally, we conspiracy kooks went apeshit – claiming it was the work of The Rosicrucians and/or The Illuminati/New World Order.

Others in our ranks blame religious fanatics and site as evidence the fake name “Christian”.

Hardcover Christian groups, for their part, claim it is the work of Satanists for some reason. While the Catholics just feel snubbed because the use of Latin is so conspicuously absent that it had to be done on purpose just to slight them.

Since the stones are out in the open for all to see at any time, they have naturally been vandalized with graffiti on several occasions.

To the west of the stones is a marble slab explaining some of the various astronomical features of the stones (mostly holes drilled in different spots to allow celestial bodies to be viewed) along with height and weight info and a message claiming that there is a time capsule buried beneath. It gives instructions on when the capsule is to be opened but, the date has been left blank…causing us to go even more apeshit than we already were and insist it is some kind of plot.

In Georgia, with Trixie on my mind.

…but, for some reason I am especially missing Trixie today.

Someone said to me this week, “Experiences are those things other people have while I’m at work doing the same thing day after day.”

These words are as good as any for summing up what has made me take to the road.

Sure, I had a good life at home – nice diggs, steady job, loving wife (perfect is the word, really), healthy family, comfortable chair, 500 channels on TV.

But, somewhere along the way I began to wonder if there was something else.  I mean, the really important stuff I’ve just listed I get to take with me.  Is there more than what I am being shown on TV?

I began to feel an intangible tug that there was something happening somewhere and maybe if I went out into the world it would find me. Deep down, though, I feared that we had become homogenized to mass appeal.  Food everywhere was the same. Except for Brussel sprouts, there isn’t much left that some people love and some people hate (I hate them and secretly suspect that anyone who claims to love them is just messing with me. It’s a running joke like the jack-a-lope out west).

I set out in the hopes of finding it, even if I didn’t know what it was. I wanted the bizarre, the unique, the outrageous! Yes, yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking,  “Hello? Uhm…Trixie…your wife…all those things and more.”

Well, I want more. I want…Americana. I want to eat what I hunger for, not what I’m fed. So, I jumped into the EM-50 Phantom Rambler and off I sped.

My first stop was Front Royal, Va – trailhead of Shenandoah National Park.

I found a parking spot at Wal-Mart, poked through my food stores and decided that so early into a life-changing undertaking a little separation anxiety was to be expected.  So, I walked across the parking lot to seek comfort in the familiar surroundings of Applebee’s. The food was ok.

Early the next morning I entered the park. I hiked. Fresh air; sunshine. The sweet weight of the pack on my back squeaking and swaying and I strode.

I drove along scenic Skyline Drive, stopping at several overlooks and beheld the beauty of early autumn in the mountains. (pic related)

I drove south to the town of Luray, Va. I bought a day pass at the local gymnasium so I could shower. I felt the soothing relaxation that comes after exertion.

I decided a treat was in order for all my effort. I went to Applebee’s.  The food was ok.

Afterward I went to the local movie theatre to see “The Martian” and got the fulfilling experience of saving another human being’s life (sort of, but not really. I posted about it in “Tommy Conquers the Martians”). Then a good night’s sleep.

The next day brought more hiking. The trail I chose took me past the dilapidated and all but forgotten farms of the Fox and Snead families. A small family graveyard sprinkled with half a dozen century-old headstones stands as a chilling reminder of how fleeting our struggles, happiness, lives and lasting imprint in this world really is. (pic related)

I rambled around rural Virginia for a couple more days. I visited Foamhenge and the  WONDER! that is The Natural Bridge (meh). Friday night found me (along with Scooby and the gang) in West Virginia at a haunted and abandoned amusement park that was built on an Indian burial ground (no matter how many times I type that, I can’t believe someone thought it would be a good idea) that I chronicled in “Tommy Touches the Etheric Plane”.

I drove to the little town of Danville, Va just to see if the rumors were true that they had the best Applebee’s in all of Dixie. The food was ok.

Even God rested on Sunday (or Saturday, depending on who you allow to speak with authority on such matters) so I decided to have a little bit of goofy fun. I drove to Mt Airy, NC. The boyhood home of TV legend Andy Griffith and purported inspiration for the setting of Mayberry.

I visited the Andy Griffith Museum (pic related)

Which shares the grounds with the museum of Chang and Eng Bunker – the original Siamese Twins. (Not sure how well the pic came out. One building is in brightest day, the other in darkest night. Where’s the Green Lantern when you need him?)

I didn’t go inside. They wanted six bucks. Which I would have paid. But, then they added 42 cents tax. Ok. No big. Then they said I wouldn’t be able to take pics. Grrr.

Even still, I handed over my debit card and was told there would be a charge of $2.50 for using the card.  I took the hint and left.

I rode around town and saw some the sights. Found the fillin’ station (pic related)

Everything is so different in black & white.

Next on my agenda was to cruise the Blue Ridge Highway. It is said to be among the most scenic roads in America. I headed west.

But, before I could get there, I passed a sign deep in the nowheres of Lowgap, NC (pic related)

Now, this, is an experience my C.V. is lacking.

I was 4 hours late on the last day of the competition, but I made the turn.

The competition was for high school and junior high school (no “middle school” nonsense here) boys and girls.

I was informed that all that was left was some goat roping and the bull riding. Hell, I didn’t know there was more to it than that.

About 5 seconds into watching junior high goat roping, I decided it was the greatest sporting event I had ever seen.

A young girl would ride a horse into the arena, at TOP SPEED mind you, dismount, sprint toward a tethered goat (who, for his part, knew exactly what was coming and seemed to want no part of it) lift him by his two right legs, body slam him onto his side, kneel, produce a rope from thin air, tie his hooves together, then she would wash her hands in the air all in one fluid motion.

I was amazed. I was also the only one watching.

These people are here every week. To them, the amazing thing was a grown ass man who had never been to a rodeo before.

I heard more than once, “I ain’t never met no one that ain’t been to a rodeo before.”  Then, slightly embarrassed they would add, “‘cept young uns.”

I did stand out, I admit. For one thing, I was the only one present not wearing jeans…or a cowboy hat…or something called, “shit kickers”.

The folks were nice and accomodating. They didn’t even charge me the $5 admission. Also, the play-by-play announcer, who was up high in a booth across the field made it clear that word had reached him that a noob was about.

When we got to the bull riding portion of the the event, his announcements became overly explanatory. Which I appreciated greatly.

The first bull charged out of the gate with the high schooler flailing about atop. He hung on for well past 8 seconds. Not sure how I know that to be the goal. After his dismount the announcer said over the PA, “Aww, too bad…ahem, you see, although young Clayton there managed to stay on for long enough, he reached down and slapped the bull before 8 seconds. This is a violation of the rules and results in no score.”

I had to take their word for it. All I saw was a blur. But, I am sure no one there needed the rules explained. It was a concession that was made to help me enjoy the show.

The final event of the weekend was the junior high boys bull riding. Now before you go getting all worked up, no they do not just set a 10 year old boy on top of a raging slab of angry muscle then tie his hand to it. They make him put on a batting helmet first. Which is a good thing, too because 3 seconds in, the bull flung the kid then charged over and stepped on his head. I shit you not. I have it on video but the upload is slow.

From there, I enjoyed the scenic drive down the fabled Blue Ridge Parkway to Boone, NC.

Man, that parkway is dark. I stopped at an overlook and shot this (pic related)

And that is with the flash ON.

All in all, it was a pretty good week.

The only thing missing is…Michelle Long.

Brace yourselves. This is about to get unreal.

In this past month I have gone toe-to-toe with feral fawns and crazed chipmunks that appear as if from nowhere, without so much as blinking.  Seriously. For like, the rest of the day.

I’m sure you would agree that I have proven myself worthy of any and all threats that the physical world has to offer.

They say a man stops living when he stops growing. I needed a metaphysical challenge.

I drove to the imaginatively named town of Rock, WV where I was to find (and, I’m going to need to preemptively “shit you not” here) Lake Shawnee, an abandoned amusement park that is known to be haunted. (vid related)

But, wait! Before you say, “THAT is some real-life Scooby Doo shit right there!” It gets worse. Again, I shit you not…it was constructed on an Indian burial ground!

I spent Friday evening there. (Pics related)

Naturally, I was not the only complete moron to think it would be “neat” to desecrate something so cartoonishly wonderful.  Apparently, after two beers, everyone under the age of 35 that is within driving distance of Rock literally cannot be stopped by even the storied wild horses when it comes to entering the grounds.

Enter the good citizens.  Knowing that, left to their own devices, vandals would run out of ideas and destroy something that, perhaps, was more than we knuckleheads realized, they stepped in.

When I rolled into town, I found the gates barred. A smidgen of research revealed that something of a “preservation society” had been formed. This would allow curious folks to tour the grounds and listen to stories from historians about what all transpired on this land. They call it The Dark Carnival (pic related)

And it is only up and running on Fridays and Saturdays in October. Even a blind squirrel finds a coconut (or whatever) once in a while. I just bumbled right into it.

I have been sworn to secrecy about what is contained on one lady’s iPad (like a goofball, I did not get her name. I was too busy trying to re-attach my jaw hinge), not because it is meant to be secret, but because they don’t want spoilers published.

I spoke with Pat Smith, one of the nicest human beings on the planet, who is also the local historian and indirect decendent of Mitchell Clay – the primogenitor of this tale. (pic related)

She works the concession stand and wears a T-shirt that reads, “I almost drowned in Lake Shawnee in 1948…ask me about it”

So I did. She was 6 years old. Swimming along, like it was no big deal when, something from below, we will call it “Jason” grabbed her leg and tried to pull her under. She fought valiantly for her life and (since I forgot to poke her to make sure of her substance) I assume she won.

Once the sun set, the storytelling stations fired up. Again, go listen for yourself.

I wandered over to the darkened areas of the long-abandoned swing ride. There was a fellow who was aggressively trying to make contact with a little girl named Ashley. He was yelling, “Hey little girl! Hey little girl! Hey little girl! Ashley! Ashley! Ashley!” It broke my heart. But, I didn’t blame Ashley one bit for keeping a low profile. He came on way too strong.

In another area, the organizers have constructed a Haunted House. You know, for the kids…and people who enjoy shitting their pants on the weekend.

I haven’t been to a Halloween haunted house in 37 years so, I don’t know what goes on in most. I can tell you this one ranged from the startling to the downright unnerving.

I drove a couple of hundred miles out of my way to attend this function and, if pressed for complaint, the only thing I could come up with would be the staff.  Chris, Rick, Pat and those whose names I didn’t get were just too damned warm and friendly for what I was hoping would be a terrifying experience.

The thing to remember is, this isn’t a field of fun and games. In the unbroken string of moments, at some point in the past a young girl was hacked to pieces; her brother scalped, kidnapped and later burned at the stake.

I walked through the dark with my head down as I reflected on this while heading to the EM-50 Phantom Rambler when my reverie was broken by the polite voice of a youngster.

“Hey Mister…” he said.

I turned. Standing by the admission ticket booth were three young boys. All were dressed in hoodies and thick stocking caps to protect against the chilly night.

Beyond them, an adult female was signing a credit card slip – having just purchased their tickets.

“Was it scary?” One of them asked hopefully.

“The Haunted House?” I inquired, stalling for time.

“Yeah. The haunted house. Was it scary?” He said.

I paused and watched over their shoulder as the chaperoning parent received the tickets.

“If you haven’t bought tickets yet, don’t. It’s not worth it” I said thoughtfully.

They visibly deflated simultaneously.

“So, it’s not scary?” One asked.

Slowly I said, “No. It is plenty scary. But, the little thrill you get tonight isn’t worth the risk. Something like this could mess you up for the rest of your lives. You guys are young. You see, there is something grown-ups don’t tell you. It’s for your own good.”

They all inflated with pride as their representative said, “We are all either 10 or 11.”

I replied, “Oh. Ok. So, you’re not kids. Well, I guess someone has to tell you. You see, every few years some deranged lunatic sneaks into one of these haunted houses. Blends right in. Even the actors don’t know. Cuzza the mask. They think that blood is just make up. This way he can get real close and choose his victims. Everybody thinks it’s all fun and games.”

There was a good 15 second pause while  all three stood there open-mouthed and stunned. Then, the one on the right leaned backwards and pushed his fists in the air like he was bench pressing an invisible barbell. The one in the middle said, “That kinda makes sense.”

And, the one on the left accused me, “Hey! Are you one of the actors? That answer was way too good!”

“Fellas. You stopped me. I was on my way to my car. I went through alone. The Crazies can smell their own kind, you know. That’s why they left me alone. But know this, just because you make it out of there safe – don’t think it’s over. Those deranged psychos have your scent and will follow you for days. Man, do yourself a favor. Don’t go.”

As I turned to walk on, the adults present were trying hard to stifle their laughter. The boys were blind with excitement and anticipation.

I remember being that age. You need the fear scared out of you at Halloween so you can start being good to get ready for Christmas.

It’s always the season of the witch when I am with…Michelle Long.

My wife Trixie thought of everything!

She even packed a tube of hydrocortisone anti-itch cream in my toiletries bag! (pic related)

I found out when I brushed my teeth with it this morning.

It’s little surprises like this that keep a marriage fresh. Not minty fresh, mind you. But, fresh nonetheless.

They say a man is defined by the choices he makes.

I rolled outta bed this morning, opened my breakfast cupboard and was faced with a surprising choice (pic related)

As you can see from the photo, I chose the Special K. This made me feel weirdly grown up. A little proud even. I don’t even know where the Special K came from. I certainly didn’t buy it.

As I sat there chewing, and feeling grown up and proud, I decided that today would be all about making decisions and choices.

For instance, after breakfast I decided that I was still hungry and I chose to eat the Apple Jacks as well. Man, I really felt empowered.

My plans for the day involved two very different attractions that were only one mile apart.  I wondered, if faced with the idea that I could only see one of them…which would I choose…which would a GROWN UP choose? I decided to choose one and only one.

I’m in rural Virginia.  I had the option of The Natural Bridge.  It is on Rand McNally’s list of “The Seven Natural Wonders of the World”…hell, it’s on everybody’s list.  It is said that when Thomas Jefferson first beheld it’s breathtaking beauty he wept. Openly.  Like a girl.

The other option is down the road a piece. On top of a slight rise in a field. There isn’t even a sign leading to it (pic related)see?

It is called Foamhenge. It is a life-sized replica of Stonehenge constructed out of Styrofoam.  The guy who constructed it is kind of a goofball (pic related)

As you might have guessed by now, I chose Foamhenge.  Nature is overrated.

When I told Trixie about my new decision-making thing she said we will call Foamhenge a “Mulligan” and that meant I could try again.

So, I went to the stupid Natural Bridge.

When I beheld the admission sign I, like Thomas Jefferson, wept. Openly. Like a girl. (pic related)

20 bucks! Foamhenge was free! This is a rock and it cost 20 bucks to see it. WTF?

I got stuck behind an Amish tour group (pic related)

Also, one of them lost his hat and was wearing a black stocking cap. It was like some kind of weird hipster/Amish/Coldplay dream.

And, then I found out you don’t get to go across it! 20 bucks and I just get to stare up at it? (Pic related)

That’s not a bridge – it’s an overpass. A bridge allows you to cross something.

Oh yeah, and here is the creek this sumbitch spans

Barely deep enough to get your socks damp.

Still missing the natural wonder that is…Michelle Long

I have an incredibly slow metabolism,  as is evidenced by the fact that is has taken my body three full days to process that first hike and coat every square inch of my musculature in lactic acid. My whole body burns with the same intensity of that fiery glare you shoot a stranger who asks, “Excuse me, do you work here?” while you are shopping at Target.

It’s your fault for wearing that red shirt.

Because of the pain and stiffness, I selected the kiddie trail to hike today.  It is handicapped-accessible.  No sense in trying to overdo it (pic related)

Sure, it is only a mile long (I did some rounding) but has provided me with my most entertaining moment of the trip thus far — I scared the living shit out of a chipmunk!  Laugh? I thought I’d DIE!

He came darting out of a hollowed-out log onto the trail right in front of me. The reaction was priceless! I’m talking two foot vertical leap accompanied by a high-pitch squealing noise while simultaneously every muscle went rigid. Hilarious!

The chipmunk’s reaction, on the other hand, was to turn around and dart back into the log. But the look on his face! Ha! Once my heart started beating again I laughed my ass off at his expense.

My wife, Trixie, gives an entirely different meaning to the term, “wild life”

If time travel is ever invented, I have to go back to the 1400s and fellate an Aztec (no homo).

I went hiking again today. Still sore and achy, I selected from the book of circuit hikes the absolute closest one that was rated “Easy”. It is 3 miles and has an elevation change of a lousy 370 feet. I’ve eaten Twinkies that were tougher.

Of course, I’ve never taken a wrong turn and walked straight up a mountain while eating said Twinkie.  Yep. Got lost

“How the hell can you get lost on a Circuit hike? It’s just a loop!” You ask.

“Shut the hell up and mind your own business” I reply.  I got confused.

I was out there for hours, and miles and wild elevation changes.

I took a picture

Pretty.  But, I didn’t come out here to find pretty things. If I had, I could have just stayed at home and gazed at Trixie (swish!).

I’m not sure why I came out here, but, it wasn’t to get lost in the woods.

Panic attacks burn up a lot of energy, and soon, I found myself to be positively ravenous.

I searched my pack (which I carry for just such an emergency) and discovered that my wonderful wife had snuck a banana (touche’, my dear) and a travel pack of something called JIF to go! peanut butter. The italics make it look like it is on the move.

In my excitement and gratitude I made certain hasty promises about the inventor of peanut butter. I looked it up. Turns out, yeah, it was the Aztecs in the 15th century. (Tough break George Washington Carver).

Eventually I found the correct path and made my way back to the EM-50 Phantom Rambler and back into Luray.

I sought out the local Fitness Center and paid $5 for a day pass so I could shower.

The locker room had two shower stalls, a urinal, a couple of sinks, wall of lockers but, no toilet…I shit you not. Hehe…get it?

I’m not making that up though.

I miss being able to tag…Michelle Long

I saved some chick’s life tonight. Well, not really, but it isn’t my fault that she didn’t almost die. If she had, I would have been instrumental in saving her if she had ended up pulling through. But, it turns out, her life was never in any real danger. She just had a few too many margaritas with dinner.  Nonetheless, I leapt into action. Ended up having to throw my popcorn away too.

It’s not easy having to go all Bill Bixby. You know, roaming around the country solving people’s problems and losing my temper then moving on to the next town without much of a Thank You.

Here’ what happened:

I hiked 5 miles in Shenandoah National Park, then drove to the Wal-Mart parking lot in Luray, Va, crawled into the back of the Phantom Rambler and laid there groaning until 7 pm.

At 7 pm, I hustled over to Main St to the Luray multiplex to view The Martian. But, well, it’s not really a “multiplex” per se.  It’s like a really large house with big screen TVs in several rooms. As far as movie screens go they aren’t much.  But, if your buddy had one of these in his mancave, it would be somewhat impressive.

Each room has a different motif. I was in the, I dunno…Camelot Room, or something. (I inserted a pic, which is related, but doing this from my phone I think it is in the wrong spot…deal with it). This is the BIG theater. The Chinese Dragon Room has 39 seats. Camelot, almost 80.

At 7, they flip a switch, (no dimmers in Luray) the lights go out, the movie starts. No previews. They are all business.

At some point I should mention that, at 50 years of age, I am easily the youngest person in the group of 30 or so that have gathered to see the movie – except for the chick whose life I saved. And, her husband, of course. Everyone else was,hmm, a thousand years old or so. This factors in as the events unfold.

Anyhow, about 15 minutes into the movie, some young whipper snapper announces, fairly calmly I might add,
“Hey, could somebody gimme some help? Maybe call,like, 9-1-1. My wife isn’t doing so good.”

Then he starts nudging her and saying her name. It was Deb.

The rest of the audience, bless their hearts, thought it was part of the performance, I think.  And, since I am the only person of those assembled that can dial a cell phone under pressure, I leapt into action. But, since my carrier is T-Mobile, I am a long way from a service area.  So, I chug my aching ass into the lobby and alert a helpful patron. She calls emergency services.

The medics arrive and start running tests and reporting that each and every vital is in the normal range. Further questioning reveals the Margarita thing.

Once it is clear that Deb’s only affliction is that she is slightly inebriated and married to Chicken Little, the rest of the crowd starts to talk among themselves.  The general consensus seems to be that everyone got a bit flustered and now have forgotten what was happening in the movie. Someone offers that, if we could just rewind “the tape” 5 minutes, I’m sure we would all get back into it.

Problem: the guy running the theater, who could address all of his customers as “junior”, says that he doesn’t know how to rewind the movie. He can either restart it, or resume it. (They cut the film off while I was in the lobby.)

Almost everyone asks that he restart the movie. The lone exception is a great-great-grandmotherly type who says that she can’t sit through the movie from the beginning because of the “blood” scene.  And she makes a face like she is chewing hot tar when she says “blood”. She is squeamish.

Non-spoiler – Matt Damon had a cut. There was a little blood. No big.

Another patron argues that there wasn’t much blood and that she will be fine.

The lady argues that, no, she is really REALLY squeamish.  When she was young, she used to, and I shit you not, “faint at the sight of her own menses”

And, THAT is when I threw my popcorn away.

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