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Travels with Georgie, 2.2
Reflections in the mind of George Crocker…
November 14, 2033
‘Hum dum, dum dee hum dum…’ hummed George Crocker at his Plum Orchard Gap camp site, packing away his gear on a chilly mid-November morning – the sun just arising amidst a mixture of clouds. This was the day he left Georgia and headed into North Carolina.
“Yup, Georgie, we are just about to our destination!” despite the fact that George Crocker was a solid 200 miles away from ‘Do I even want to go to’ Hot Springs. The Georgia Border was just four-and-a-half miles away – and a net 1,600 feet worth of climbing – and then the first 20-miles in North Carolina was going to be a grueling series of climbs through some of the highest altitude of the journey.
George surveyed his food – he had four rough days ahead of him – and the unexpected zero that he took at Plum Orchard Gap didn’t help. He had just needed a day to gather his thoughts.
“We’re crossing the State line today and camping at Muskrat Creek,” he began to count the days, “then to Carter Gap – just one significant climb there ‘that’s a relief’ and then day 3 to Big Spring shelter ‘a big day there, up over Albert Mountain’, then all downhill to Winding Stair Gap and Highway 64 – and ‘another hitchhike?’ a restock at Franklin... That has us 40% of the way! ‘Dude!! You go George Crocker!!’
He looked at the remaining food and was lamenting the decision to take the zero yesterday ‘You just had to, George – call it a Mental Health Day, that’s all…’
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The sheriff knew him alright – but, somewhat to George’s relief, he was a baseball fan and remembered George from the early days of the PEBA. “I was a Kentucky Thoroughbred fan – growin’ up in Tennessee.” George was beginning to feel relieved – no crazy dirty cop ‘not yet – but down the road… trust no one – that’s the new Crocker motto’ I even remember having your baseball card – back in the day when Kala’zoo wore dem green uni’s – classics, I say.”George nodded, but continued to feel a tad discombobulated - that ‘I know you’ comment really threw him for a loop.
“Why, I think I actually last saw it in the glove box der,” George continued to look forward, but gave the sheriff a sideways glance “Feel free to take a look. Maybe you can aut’graph that for me?”
Crocker was hesitant ‘Of course you have it there’ but he looked anyway. Registration… insurance… old service receipts… and buried at the bottom was a whole pack of cards – and good ones “Fireworks? Dang… Pat Lily? ‘Moon Doggie’? He’s got like the whole Hall of Fame here!’ and sure enough ‘Good ol’ George Crocker – ‘Hey, that’s me!’’ Maybe it was just a big coincident.
Jud – that was the sheriff’s name, seemed kind enough – if not a little spooky ‘it’s all in your mind George’, took him right to the market where George could resupply – he even offered George a room for the night, which George kindly declined. “I’ll get a room at the hostel up the street, I’ll get some chow and hit the hay.” George was starting to get fatigued as his body cooled from the day’s exertion - and the scare. “But I, George Crocker, thank you kindly for your offer.” He borrowed the sheriff’s pen, signed the card for him and headed into the market.
What George Crocker really wanted to do was to sleep for two days.
The market that Jud dropped George off at was pretty nice – it had most everything you could imagine, and at first, the hungry George was just grabbing, but when he stopped and found four packs of beef jerky and two jars of peanut butter in his basket, he realized he had to go back and re-assess where he was.
‘Here, over the border and on to Bly Gap – that’s a bivvie night,’ he started to organize himself, ‘Then a long climb to Standing Indian Mountain, day 3 to Big Spring – long down-long up and then a downhill day to Winding Stair Gap and a resupply.’ “Just four day’s George…” So, he put back two bags of jerky and kept just a jar of peanut butter. And gathered the rest of the supplies he needed. Luck was with him, there was a display next to the register that of water purifying tablets ‘Oh, ho Georgie – need one of those…’
Once he had paid for his supplies, George sat on the bench outside the store to repack his – surveying the town and contemplating taking a zero tomorrow and just sleeping and hanging out in the town ‘Maybe there’s even a bar where I could watch a little college football tomorrow’.
That was when he noticed Jud, just down the road a way, talking to someone in a car that looked familiar. Then the passenger side door opened and a figure that also looked familiar stepped out. George squinted ‘I can barely make out the back of the car… is that a numb…’ “-er…”
‘19’
George Crocker wasted no time – he grabbed his pack, poles, the remains of his purchase and he hustled himself around the building – flattening himself against the wall, breathing rapidly – eyes closed.
‘Thoroughbred fan – but not one Kentucky card in that bunch’ he thought. ‘And all those guys along with me? Who does that?’ George asked himself ‘when I’m the only card you really need!’ He put his gear down and crept to the corner of the building. ‘Jud’ ‘If that’s even his name’ was still talking to ‘Dandelo’ the one who called himself Joe Collins ‘I’m positive that’s him’ The sheriff waved a hand in George’s direction – causing George Crocker to dive back behind the building.
“You can’t go back out on the street, George Crocker…” he whispered to himself. He wasn’t completely sure why ‘You do have to face those guys at some point – in Hot Springs’ he reasoned with himself ‘But not now’ and he looked around. There were a couple of cars parked behind the market ‘Gotta belong to the folks who work here’ “I’ll just hide over here in the bushes until they leave and hope I can hitch a ride back to the trail.”
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It was dark. There was no moon. George Crocker was thanking the inventor of the flashlight copiously under his breath as he moved as quickly as he could up the trail. ‘No hostel. No zero. Just the little camp spot just up the trail – even if it’s just a mile, it’s gotta be safer.’George was able to get the ride – the owner of the market ‘Sal’ was more than willing, though he expressed his concerns about hiking in the dark and George’s safety ‘safer than hanging around here’. When the market owner approached the Dick s Creek trailhead, George could see that non-descript police car in the lot “Keep driving – keep driving” and Sal did, dropping George Crocker off at a spur trail around the bend, “It’s kind of a hypotenuse kind of a deal – it’ll take you about halfway up Dicks Creek.” ‘Good enough for me’ “Perfect. Thank you”. Quickly, George got his pack on and got off the road. While he was within sight of the road he moved slowly, eschewing the flashlight until he was certain he couldn’t be seen.
The just over 1-mile walk was a climb – about 500-feet, and in the dark, he moving cautiously ‘as fast as I can – keep moving, George’. When George arrived, he found a flat, bench-like area that worked well enough. “Sal was right – there was a sign pointing to both a campsite and water. Here’s to honest folks…”, toasting him with an imaginary glass of ‘192 proof vodka’ champagne.
The bivvie – thankfully, was an easy set-up, and there was a ‘perfect food hanging’ tree, in case Yogi came looking for ‘a pic-a-nic basket!’ food. He grabbed a couple of things ‘I’m really not hungry in the least’ he thought to himself, but he knew he had to force something down his throat. “No food, George Crocker, will mean starved muscles in the morning!” He’d be right about that one.
He unrolled his sleeping bag in the bivvie, quickly changed his clothes and climbed in. He gnawed away at some beef jerky, and had a pita with peanut butter and gorp and tried his best to puzzle it out.
But George Crocker’s puzzler was puzzled out.
Waking up famished, George ate quickly ‘I don’t trust anyone now’ and hit the road. It was a short down-up-and-down to Plum Orchard Gap – only 3.5-miles, and another ‘just another’ 4.5 across the border to what was to be his next destination, but by the time he hit Bull Gap, at 3,960’, he was ‘toast’ bonked. He struggled down the 600-foot drop to Plum Orchard – tripping on roots, stumbling on rocks that were sticking out of the trail.
The lack of a proper meal, the fear running through his body, and his personal ‘forced march’ had George Crocker running on fumes – and that was why George took the zero at Plum Orchard ‘a pretty janky’ Shelter, and why he found himself staring at thin rations with 35-miles to go to the next resupply – with a full month yet to go to Hot Springs and ‘hopefully’ Asheville.
December 14
Somewhere there is a grindstone – perhaps it’s just a proverbial, mythical thing. Be that as it may, people are purportedly known to put their nose it to it. To what end – that’s for proverbs, myths and other folks to say, but however that may shake out, that is exactly what George Crocker did after his scare back in Hiawassee. ‘George, it’s time to get serious. These here are serious mountains and this here is serious hiking business.’
A little nudge ‘shat my pants’ from something like a… lightening strike, doesn’t hurt either.
The foul weather that he had ‘kinda’ fortunately escaped, had arrived, and as George trudged along the Appalachian Trail to Hot Springs, the weather was anything but ‘Hott’ hot. The first night out of Plum Orchard, at 4,600’ Muskrat Creek shelter, Mother Nature explained the rules in no uncertain terms. A lightening show that lasted a few hours – a couple that allowed George just a couple of ‘Mississippi’s’ brought it home for Mr. Crocker. “George, we better stop wasting time and energy worrying about what awaits us at the end of the tail – ‘Mordred’, ‘Dandelo’, Jud – for all I know Steve Hott himself – you have 200 miles to go, so git going!”
Up early, eat well, and putting that nose to the grindstone got George Crocker up over four 5,000-foot climbs – and plenty shorter ones, as he arrived at Nantahala Outdoor Center – an outdoor wonderland, on the 20th of November, where George took what he felt was a well earned zero. His clothes, which were standing by themselves – they were so dirty, were washed; two solid, healthy dinners – and even a couple of helpings of ice cream ‘come on George, you’ve earned the splurge’.
Thanksgiving came at Brown Fork on the 24th of November, 2033 after big climbs to Swim Bald and Cheoah Bald – which of course led to George Crocker to sit atop the latter, puzzling over what in the world was a ‘bald’. Finally, guessing that the man who named the peaks was bald himself, he moved on. There was no holiday zero for George Crocker – instead he’d take it the next day at Fontana Dam.
‘Grinding my nose’, as George Crocker thought of it, gave him a chance to distance himself from the big issue – what was awaiting him in Hot Springs, and once he passed Ekaneelee Gap, George traced the Tennessee-North Carolina border for pretty much the rest of his journey – a time spent well over 5- and 6,000-feet in altitude. He hiked through rain, he hiked through some sleet, but George Crocker ground his nose past Derrick Knob and Silers Bald. He resupplied at Gatlinburg – with a rainy zero, and Standing Bear, where ‘it was just too nice not to take a zero’. Past Groundhog Creek, Roaring Fork, Walnut Mountain and Deer Park Mountain – where he would camp, a mere 3-miles from Hot Springs and the highway where he was expecting a ride.
December 15
After 268.6 miles and 40-days, George Crocker opted to sleep in ‘I need to have my full faculties with me today’, despite the fact some would argue George Crocker was lacking in full faculties. The hike to Hot Springs was likely to be short – though overnight rain would create some challenge. George had hiked in rain and slept in rain – for that matter, he had hiked in snow and slept in snow – what was one more day? “… and what about the rest of the journey, George? You were supposed to be meeting Steve Hott up the trail – like a pair of Zax, he said” and, indeed, that was just what Steve Hott had said.
So, George had a big breakfast ‘no need to save anything now’, gathered his things and left the Deer Park Mountain shelter and set off for the highway ‘to hell’ to Asheville and the PEBA Winter Meetings.
It occurred to George, part way down, ‘how will they know when to get me – what day? What time?’ and he stopped, dead in his tracks. “That is a good question, George Crocker! How will they…?” The forest here was dense, despite the lack of leaves, and he searched out – ‘ta da!’ - and found a downed log to sit and puzzle. “I haven’t spoken to them since the start. I did see them in… Hiawassee?” He puzzled more ‘think-think… think-think…’ He hadn’t seen them again. Hadn’t he? “Could I swear to it?” ‘no’.
George pulled out his phone – to call up that all important ‘Notes’ app and review his thoughts – ‘always a good idea to write down important thoughts in your ‘Notes’ app’, and when it come on, he saw he was already on Twitter, with his Tweet from last night
TWEET: Hot Diggity Dog and a Hot Siggity Shower. George Crocker has done it!! See ya’ll tomorrow – Save me a seat ‘Money’!
He scrolled back – a tweet from Standing Bear, complaining about there being no bears. A tweet about a pinball museum in Gatlinburg. George Crocker stared at his phone - they didn’t need to follow him, he was his own Pied Piper, laying the trail behind himself. “That means…” he shook his head, “They’ll be there – no doubt.” ‘one can always hope’. George put his phone away, grabbed his hiking poles and continued down the trail.
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They were there, alright – he spotted them from a bluff just above the parking area – with the ‘Helena-Celeste-Susannah’ Firebird, as promised. He could see one of them ‘Mordred – that’s Mordred, I’d bet anything’ staring up the hillside with binoculars. “He’s like a spider watching his prey” George said to no one. George walked out of view and leaned against a ‘dead’ tree. ‘One way or the other, you have to hike out of here, George – there’s no escaping them.’ The fear was creeping back into him – but he tried to convince himself it was useless fear. “C’mon Georgie – maybe they are on the up and up – creepy yes, but maybe they are ok, and maybe they have just been making sure he was safe.” ‘yeah… yeah… that’s it…’ Unfortunately, George Crocker was doing a bad job of convincing himself.
40-days later and 100’s of trail hours, and George Crocker was right back to square one – frozen with uncertainty.
He closed his eyes – trying to clear his mind. How long George stood there, eyes closed, he did not know, but they flew open upon hearing “Hello, Mr. Crocker…” ‘Mordered? Dandelo?’ “is everything ok?”
December 17
George Crocker strode through the lobby of the Asheville Hotel, looking for the entrance to the Ballroom where the Winter Meetings were to be held. ‘There we go’ as he rounded a corner and saw the big sign with the PEBA logo, announcing the location. He walked in just as the PEBA Commissioner, ‘Harry’ Castle, was climbing the stage to begin the meetings. George looked around before finding the Aurora table, where the GM ‘The Boy Wonder’, Will Topham and Aurora’s new front office team of Assistant GM Javier Padilla ‘that dude just raked back in the day with Tempe’ and Head Scout Jose Suarez ‘no relation, I’m sure – that dude looks like he couldn’t throw a ball to save his life’. George took a seat.
“Welcome, GMs, Owners and media guests, to the 27th PEBA Winter Meetings…” The Commissioner began as the proceedings got underway “I see we have a nearly full house of GMs… Some owners – I see you over there Drew Streets – never too early for a martini, eh?”
“Hey, Chillie Willie,” George called across the round table to the GM of the Borealis, “where’s that brother of yours?” His reference to Aurora ‘owner’ ‘never really an owner with this group – more of a CEO’, but before he could respond, ‘Harry’ Castle answered for his cousin, “There’s Mikey Topham hiding in the corner – I won’t tell you what the family thinks about him…” There was a scattering of laughs, but what George Crocker heard was ‘bastard’ under Will Topham’s breath.
“We even have some broadcasters here, too.” ‘Harry’ continued, “George – looking a little ragged over there, I’d thought you’d have taken a shower when you got into town?” he raised an indeterminant drink in George Crocker’s direction. “Happy Trails my friend!”
George looked around and grabbed what appeared to be a Bloody Mary from in front of Padilla, “Hey, right back atcha ‘Harry’ ma-man!” and took a huge swig of the drink – then spit it out! “Ugh! DUDE! What have you got in this thing?”
“Not much,” Javier Padilla said with a big grin, “just a little Tapatío, and a little more Tapatío, and a little bit more Tapatío – just to be sure.”
George Crocker was ignoring Padilla, as he was guzzling ice water directly from the pitcher on the table.
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The reunion with his ’82 Pontiac Firebird had been ‘mostly’ uneventful. Once they had hiked the last hundred yards or so back to the parking lot ‘nothing said, phew - ‘Dandelo’, it had been Dandelo who hiked up’, ‘Mordred’ was next to the car – binoculars hanging from his neck and keys in his hand.“The car is all set, Mr. Crocker. ‘wasting no time’ It has a full tank that should get you to Asheville, Boone and up to Watauga Dam.” George cocked his head at this “Your room is all set, clean clothes – here’s the key…” ‘Mordred’ reached out with a ‘credit card key’ in his hand. George stared at it.
“Watauga Dam?” Crocker asked.
“Yes,” this time it was ‘Dandelo’ “you are continuing your journey after the Ceremony on Sunday.” It was not a question.
George Crocker pondered the ‘not a question’ statement. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t thought about it yet – and you know George Crocker does not lie!” ‘except to himself’ George did ponder that.
“Yes,” replied ‘Mordred’, “you will” finished ‘Dandelo’.
“Well, like I said, I don’t know ‘truth’, has anyone heard from Steve Hott?”
The two ‘cops?’ looked at one another. ‘No’ was their lone reply.
“How do we know he wasn’t eaten by a bear or froze to death atop Mount Washington?” George asked.
“Mr. Hott is well, and he looks forward to your catching up with him.” ‘Mordred’ reached out a second time with the key card to George’s hotel room. “… and here is the car key. You will find that it has been well cared for and… cleaned…” ‘I hope so’ George thought in response.
George grabbed his pack and walked to the back of the Firebird, put down his pack and opened the trunk. He lifted the trunk liner and found ‘more drugs’ a spare tire in the wheel well. He put the liner back in place, lifted his backpack into the trunk and closed it. “Yes,” he said “it looks clean. Thank you.”
He looked up the hillside he had hiked down and sighed. ‘270 miles George – you did that!’ Opening the driver’s door, he got behind the wheel of the Firebird, started the engine and rolled down the window. “How…”
“We will pick up the car from Watauga Dam and we will have it there for you at the end of your trail.” George stared up at them, into the sun and couldn’t tell who spoke.
“How… How will you know?” It was both questions in one.
It was ‘Mordred’ who responded “We will know…” be began, “When the deed is done.”
With that cryptic response, ‘Mordred’ turned and walked to the ‘cop car’ that George hadn’t noticed – and for the first time he saw that ‘Dandelo’ was already there, sitting shotgun. ‘Mordred’ got in behind the wheel, the car fired up and without looking back at George Crocker, he drove away.
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George was dozing when he was shaken out of a vivid replay of the events from two days ago – driving to Asheville ‘no cops following me this time’, taking the elevator directly to his room ‘key works – imagine that’ and finding a small carry-on case of fresh clothes ‘they look like mine – but how?’. “George – wake up.” It was Mark Gunter, his radio partner.“Did you hear that George? Toyama traded Alejandrez!”
“Huh?” ‘am I still on the trail’ “What?” then his eyes cleared, “Markie-Mark! DUDE!! Where ya been?”
“Oh… Over at the Manchester table, trying to locate Morris Cooley – he has been totally AWOL.”
“What? Is the ‘Boy Wonder’ up to something? He ain’t trading ‘Chattahoochee’ to the Maulers, is he?”
“Who??” Mark Gunter was used to feeling confused when George Crocker spoke.
“’Chattahoochee’, you know Orinosuke ‘Chattahoochee’ Fujii!!”
“Ah…” was the best Gunter had.
“So, tell me ‘Money’, is ‘Tugboat’ in?”
“Only ‘Tugboat’. I don’t know what to say about these guys who vote…”
George Crocker was too busy dancing to hear that last part. “Oh, Boy!!! Par-TAY in Boone tonight!!”
