It’s fairly common knowledge that a small Christian church in Ethiopia claims to house the Ark of the Covenant, thanks to Graham Hancock and his book The Sign and the Seal. Portions of the book are on-line and illustrated as part of OneWorld Magazine. The rest of the magazine looks pretty nice, too. For example: a story on the New Mexico pueblo revolt of 1680 and some of the more recent pueblo struggles. This pueblo revolt was the only successful revolt against the Spanish in the Americas, though it was short-lived. The town of Socorro, where I spent my college years, once had a pueblo tribe living there. The town got its name (Socorro means “help” in Spanish) from the life-saving aid that the natives gave the Spanish colonizer of New Mexico, Onate. In the revolt, the Socorro pueblo was one of the few that sided with the Spaniards and they fled with the surviving Spaniards south. The remnants of the tribe can be found in a tiny town outside El Paso named Socorro del Sur – Socorro of the South. Socorro (of the North) still has the original church sitting on the plaza, and it claims to be the oldest church in North America still used for regular services. The school that I taught at was a (very small) Catholic school sitting adjacent to the church. A local legend holds that the Socorro pueblo residents warned the priests of the upcoming revolt in time for the church’s sacred objects (the gold chalices, the sacristy, and other priceless objects) to be hidden in a cave on the mountain behind town. Today that mountain is part of the New Mexico Tech campus, but is used by the military for rather extensive explosives testing.

Wayne Newton’s Vicious Dogs Kill Elderly Census Worker! (You know, I bet I could write headlines for a living.) It’s a terrible story, really. It reminds me of several houses I had to visit as an engineer for the electric cooperative in Socorro. There’s a lot of crazy people living in the mountains that don’t care much for other people. I only had a few guns pulled on me, a few dogs sicced on me (thank you, pepper spray!), and one cannon fired at me. That last one was pretty freaky. I hit a tripwire that was put across the driveway, at ankle height. When I pulled it, a trapdoor in the ground a few feet away flipped open, a small cannon (inch and a half barrel, roughly) popped up and fired. It only had powder in it, I think. A message to leave and soon. I was mighty glad that the howizer dug into the side of a hill beside the home didn’t go off. I guess the tripwire controlling it was closer to the door. A hand-painted plywood sign did warn me that a Vietnam vet with special training in deadly traps lived there, and he’d use deadly force against all intruders. But who pays attention to signs anymore?

I drove home to Athens from Missouri last night. I’d planned on stopping when I got tired, but I didn’t get tired until I pulled into my driveway at 5 in the morning. Only took 11 1/2 hours, and I didn’t even speed all that much. Not more than 10 mph over the limits. I’ve come to the conclusion that with the new limits everywhere, people are for the most part content. I was passed by only 6 cars the entire journey. Six! In 11 1/2 hours! I thought that was rather interesting. In between CDs, I scanned the AM frequencies for stations from afar. It was mostly all talk, so I’d put in another CD and try again in about an hour. I finally hit paydirt outside of Atlanta when I picked up that late-night-driving classic “Convoy” (Oh, we’ve got a great big convoy, truckin’ through the night. We’ve got a great big convoy, ain’t she a beautiful sight. Convoy!). It was a continent-wide program for truckers, being broadcast on a station out of Nashville. The commercials advertised products I’d never knew existed. The weather gave reports for interstates hither and yon. The news dealt with some law being considered in Quebec. There were plenty of truckin’ tunes (yes, lots of Country & Western) and humor. Jokes from Justin Wilson, even. I’ll get around to looking the show up on the Web eventually and post some links. I wished I’d picked it up earlier. One thing I did pick up earlier was a sack of 20 White Castle cheeseburgers. I ate some on the road; the rest are in my freezer. I’m not ashamed.

When did ice cream makers get so cheap? Did the Department of Justice break up an ice cream maker monopoly when I wasn’t looking? I just brought home a maker that works without ice or salt (an insert gets put in the freezer for several hours before making the ice cream) for only $25 from WalMart (don’t laugh - as I said before, WalMarts the place to go for cheap plastic products, and I needed a salad spinner {don’t laugh - I’ve been eating lots and lots of leafy vegetables from my garden, and I’ve gotten tired of waving the leaves around the kitchen trying to dry them off [don’t laugh - oh, never mind …] } ). The insert’s in the freezer now, and tomorrow the fresh strawberries I picked up will be turned into something mighty tasty.

While in Clarksville, I took time to walk around downtown. Clarksvilles an old town (by American standards, dating from the late 1700s) that has managed to hold onto the small town feel to its center while growing to become one of Tennessee’s largest cities. In January of 1999, a number of tornados ripped the downtown to shreds. Survivors said the district looked like a WWII war zone. Today, it looks like a WWII war zone after a considerable influx of Marshall Plan money. It’s going to take a long, long time to rebuild, but they’re off to a good start. It calls itself “The Gateway to the New South”, and I think it’ll be a nice place to visit. Here’s an article from The Tennessean from right after the storm hit, with photos of the damage. Here’s more photos. Finally, in the spirit of what brought me through town in the first place, a story of a wedding that got disrupted by the storm, and how people came together to make things right.

“Don’t thank me, thank Sugarman’s Taco Pies!” – A faux back-of-the-comicbook ad featuring Space Ghost.

I’m in Missouri now. Further bulletins as events warrant.

The 101st Airborne Division is none other than the legendary Screaming Eagles. It’s their 55th annual reunion this week, and Clarksville is full up. The unit’s based in Ft. Campbell, Kentucky, which is located at the edge of town. From WWII to the present, they’ve seen some of the toughest fighting there is to see. It shows on the faces and in the voices of the people I’ve bumped into here.

I have a weakness. Well, several, actually, but here I’m talking about one in particular. Don’t bother laughing. It won’t affect me. I’m not ashamed. I’m proud to admit that I have a weakness for White Castles. Call them what you will – Belly Bombers, Slyders, whatever – I call them mighty tasty. It’s been eleven years since I moved away from the White Castle territory, and in those eleven years I’ve eaten at White Castle maybe eleven times. Down south there’s a burger chain called Krystal that likes to pretend it’s White Castle (complete with long and glorious corporate history, tiny sandwiches, etc.), but it’s not. Not even close. Yeah – sometimes I’ll stop at the Krystal in Athens and do my best to pretend I’m at a White Castle, but that’s right hard to do. The nearest White Castle to Athens is Nashville. Sometimes I think a four hour drive might not be out of the question. They’re easy to find in the freezer at the grocery store, but that’s not the same, either. As it turns out, there’s one here in Clarksville, right down the block from my hotel. Dinner was at least as good as what I’d’ve found at the steakhouse across the street. Odds are high I’ll be back tonight. I’m not ashamed. A little engorged, yes, but not ashamed.

When times are hard, eat at Hardees! Overheard during lunch today: “How ya doin?” “Hangin’ in there. That’s about all you can do these days…”