undistilled spirits: part 2 - shaken, not stirred

(if you missed part one of undistilled spirits, you can catch up on it right here)

in 1981 i applied for a job as a singing telegram deliverer. during the interview/audition i pretty much knew that i had the gig. as i was getting off the freeway coming home after the interview, a commercial for lone star beer ran on kroq that i had never before heard: doorbell rings; door opens; voice #1: “i have a singing telegram!”...

not only did i get the job, business increased during the time that i was the company singer for live lyrics telegram company.

on september 22, 2002 i was stopping by koh to catch up on some dubbing that i’d put off to leave the station in time on the previous friday to go emcee the miss street vibrations contest (i just cannot bring myself to call it a pageant). as i was driving passed rei i thought, “you need to buy a gps! you’ve wanted one for years; the prices are better than they were when darryl got his and they are much better; you just got a big check for the camel races and you’re about to get a bigger check for street vibes; just do!

so, i’d decided when i wrapped up the 45-minutes of dubbing i was going to go buy a gps-receiver.

as i was walking out of the station to leave and make the short drive over to rei to pick out my new gps, jeremy dunn was just getting off the air and walking out. he mentioned to me that he’d been out to fallon on the previous day. “what were you doing out in fallon?”, i asked. “geocaching.”, jeremy replied. “what the hell’s geocaching?” 20-seconds into his description and i knew that i was going to be a geocacher.

but wait… there’s more!

on the following day i attended a press conference in washoe county district attorney dick gammick’s office.

first, before i go any further, you need to understand that i think of a gps as being just a very sophisticated map.

so, i walk into dick’s lobby and in the middle of it is a fiberglass or resin casting of a life-sized big horn sheep (our state animal) decoupaged in nevada topographic maps.

i almost screamed out loud, “all right! i’m going to be a geocacher, damn it!”

some signs are not as strong and could be interpreted as coincidence, like when i met robin: mere moments after meeting i learned that she had just returned from seeing david bowie in quebec for the kickoff of his sound and vision tour. i said, “i heard a rumor about his guitarist on this tour...” interrupting me, robin chirped excitedly, “it’s adrian belew and i rode in an elevator with him!” it was enough for me to know!

there have been many other such symbolic messages over the years, several of which are related to adrian, too.

there have been a number in the past week sending me down a path which i never expected to walk: that of a ghost hunter.

# # # # #

my second walk down this path began in sandie’s car as we drove down to the former carson indian school. having learned it best to overdress, i was once again sporting long pants, but never put on the flannel shirt that i used three nights earlier. in addition to the protection from possible weather-weirdities, i also had my new talisman – a piece of tumbled/polished apache tear – and my new dowsing rods. this time, however, there would be several other members of the thin veil investigators joining our hunt.

arriving around sunset, a little earlier than we did on our previous visit and before the rest of her team was expected to arrive, sandie and i returned directly to the burial ground.

the last time when we got here, i had a feeling of pressure on my solar plexus complimented by a feeling of anxiousness. but, i’m willing to believe, in fact, i am certain they were psychosomatic manifestations.

this time, i felt none of that. instead, i had a sense of comfort and wellbeing.

sandie, on the other hand, said some boys were telling her to get away; they were warned not to talk to her.

they were scared!

we walked on, assuring them that we respect them and were only there to visit with and honor them and not there to hurt them. but, that didn’t seem to make any difference.

i asked sandie if the little girl was here. no, she replied. but, she wasn’t all that surprised since the girl’s energy was so weak. but, we walked to where she had been hiding on our previous outing.

we did, sandie said, pass by a couple of boys presumably the two boys that may or may not have walked with us the other evening. only hearing sandie’s side of the conversation, they were telling her that “somebody” told them they need to be wary of her and not to talk to her.

sandie made – what i could tell was – a vain attempt at convincing them of the contrary as we walked on to where we first met our little girl.

“that’s where she was right there, isn’t it?”, i asked sandie. “yes, right in the middle. but, she’s not there tonight.” then, almost stepping on her previous sentence, “nope. there she is!”

this was great news... i think.

ever since i first “met” the little girl, i have felt an attraction for her; perhaps because i just have a soft spot for little girls; perhaps because of my sorrow due to the torturous death she surely suffered; perhaps both.

except for a slight draw to the little girl's hiding place (possibly psychosomatic), i could only trust sandie. but, since this all feels like a calling to me, i have found it quite easy to trust in the things that sandie has told me that i am not (yet) able to see.

feeling a little more comfortable speaking to “no one”, i made a couple of awkward attempts at talking with the little girl. after over 30-years of talking to no one in radio studios, i find it slightly humorous that i’ve yet to be able to create the imagery in my mind to allow myself to speak comfortably with the spirits that i have met.

sandie, on the other hand, has no problem talking with spirits. but, she can see them, which seems to scare some of them.

which the little girl confirmed by telling sandie that she, too, was warned not to talk with her.

again, sandie tried to dissuade all of them from believing what they were told; we respect them and were not there to endanger them, but to honor them.

“we’re not going to get anywhere here right now”, sandie announced.

i was broken hearted. i really wanted to hang out with the little girl and she told us to split. here i thought i was going to be the inspiration to get her to open up; maybe show herself to me. well, it’s not the first time that i’ve been shined-on by a girl.

during this, my attention was being drawn toward the area behind the framework of the old backstop and told sandie of that attraction.

“oh. there are a couple of teenage boys over there.”, she confirmed. then, “there’s a few of them in there. would you like to talk with us?” sandie asked the boys.

“ok!”, she replied. “we’ll leave for now and come back later. whoever told you that we are here to harm you is wrong; we only want to talk with you.”

but, we left the athletic field and walked over to the infirmary.

as we rounded the south side of the small building, sandie began announcing our presence, assuring the spirits that we were just there to talk with them.

i suddenly i remembered my new rods.

“how do i do this?”, i asked sandie.

“you just hold them level and ask a question.”

“is there anybody here who would like to talk with us?” i asked with slightly less feebleness than on our previous trip.

the rods that were barely moving due to the light breeze suddenly crossed like they were magnetized.

“they’re here!”, sandie said with a smile. “i can see two boys hanging off the ends of your rods.”

really?

learning the rods

now, i’m getting excited! those rods did move quite deliberately and there did seem to be a bit of resistance to them as they held, or moved, that was not there when sandie first gave them to me and before i asked the question.

“they like you, monty; they think you’re a brother - you being part native - they see you as a brother in blood; in your ancestry, especially with the utes being descended from the anasazi.”

this was the moment the psychic hook was set!

might this be another message leading to a path onto which i should walk?

some of the most spiritual moments of my life have been, what i would call, related to the ancients.

several years ago, while i was in monument valley along the arizona/utah border, after stopping for a picnic lunch along the scenic dirt road (on which, by the way, i was assured the little celica would not be able to travel), i wandered off a few hundred yards into the desert. as i did i walked into a sense of being with the gods; of standing in god’s own hand. it is an emotion for that i fail to find descriptive words. but, it could be the most profound moment of my life!

despite being reeled-in like a cooperative trout swimming willingly into the dip net and waiting to be lifted in the creel, l still found it difficult to talk with the kids who sandie assured me liked me.

i soon started to realize what it was that i found most uncomfortable about talking to no one: it wasn’t talking to no one; it was knowing what to ask and how to form the question in order to get a response.

we hung out for a while before telling the kids that we’d be back later; we needed to head up to the superintendent’s home, where we would wait for other members of the thin veil investigators to arrive.

dusk was still a while off, but the spirits – good and evil – were, according to sandie, beginning to become active.

“this is going to be a good night!”, sandie proclaimed.

her words would be proven true.

# # # # #

the thin veil investigators are made up of area psychics and sensitives who have an interest – whether they like it or not – in ghost hunting. the team have documented several carson and virginia cities hauntings.

we parked in front of the church and walked over to a picnic table in front of the superintendent’s home, of which its placement i find highly ironic. but, i find a lot of the history from this place to be filled with sad irony.

the spirit of one of the former school superintendents who was personally responsible for much of the torture and many of the murders has been bound to the basement of the stone home by several shamans from various nations, which now houses the nevada indian commission in another example of irony associated with this campus in general and this building in particular.

sandie does not like the superintendent’s home whatsoever!

she says a lot of bad energy is inside its walls!

she says it is not to be messed with!

so, there i sat, seeing if i could get a response from my rods as darkness began to fall, literally within spitting distance of a real honest-to-badness haunted house at a picnic table at which we will later have a late night picnic.

i’m ghost hunting now!

# # # # #

the first of the veilers to make the party was sandie’s daughter, shantell and shantell’s boyfriend, robbie.

the next arrivals would be a surprise that somehow really didn’t feel all that surprising: i first met loretta reed while i was working at koh. later, loretta would occasionally drop into kptl. i had no recollection of ever hearing loretta saying anything about having any psychic tendencies. but, it didn’t surprise me in the least when she and her daughter, carli, walked up to our table.

just like when i was standing in dick gammick’s office looking at that topo-sheep, loretta’s presence – somehow – seemed like another message that i am to follow the mysterious and quite possibly frightening and dangerous path of a ghost hunter, only slightly more frightening than geocaching... or being in gammick’s office for that matter.

i wrote the previous sentence while a ridiculous ghost hunting show on a&e is on in the background. i easily find my encounters at the stewart indian school to be believable, but have a hard time taking these idiots seriously as they taunt ghosts in an old prison until they get themselves so nerved-up that they scream like little girls from creeping themselves out and run out of the room.

despite the ludicrous nature of this show, i still am going to pursue this trip.

# # # # #

as loretta and i were beginning to get reacquainted, janet, the next arriving member of tvi was bringing her sizable toolbox filled with cameras, devices and every-other-thing one might find necessary in a hunt.

i wonder what color box i should get for my devices?

the final member of our party was our hostess, kath'leen a member of the washo tribe (which established the “stewart community” on certain parts of the former school and uses a few of the buildings, as well), who knows a lot of the history of the school and, whether she is aware of it or not, by virtue of being native, is a constant reminder of all the indigenous children who were brought here; some never to leave.

and now that the entire team has assembled, it was time to begin our investigation.

part of the team: robbie, shantell, loretta, monty and carli

our party, sans kath'leen whom i would later learn is not all that comfortable being at stewart at night and won’t even go near the burial ground after sunset would stay at the picnic table in front of the supervisor’s home and set up our snacks while the rest of us set up equipment and began meeting more and new spirits.

as we walked south passed what used to be called the “small” girls dorm where, as we caught up on the past couple of years, loretta expressed a feeling of foreboding, it would not be her last sense of discomfort associated with this building, which is now being used as state offices as are about half of the old building on the grounds that have been deemed safe enough for state workers; the school was closed in 1980 by the feds due to earthquake and asbestos safety issues.

as we entered a courtyard delimited by “big” girls dorms and scattered with many trees, janet began to fasten a game camera to one of the trees using a couple of bungee cords. janet told me she had the camera set to shoot continuously, but it can be set to be triggered by motion.

as we all began to wander about the area, i was drawn to a particular tree that had been struck by lightning, as have many of the trees around here; lightning strikes are rather obvious once you’ve seen one.

i mentioned this to sandie who quite casually said, “oh yes. there’s a boy right there! hi.”, and talked with him for a while as i fumbled with my rods and tried to form questions that i might ask.

“there’s a man sitting on the steps over there.” sandie said with a chuckle to hear voice. “he’s smoking a cigarette!”

doesn’t he know those things’ll kill ya?

the cigarette smoking man

i did not ask if he was white. but, i’m guessing that most of the workers were probably local white men employed by the school to maintain the building and grounds and maybe get a little paiutey-pooty as one of the perks.

is that why he has been here all these years? is it his sentence? is it his choice?

sandie continued to talk lightheartedly (maybe he’s not an evil cat. but, why is he here?) with the smoker as we continued to walk south between the dorm where the smoker sat, presumably, filling the fresh air with noxious smoke, and one of the classroom buildings. i instinctively held my breath as i passed, but did tell him we’d be back later.

once passed the classrooms we went directly to the infirmary; a building that gives everyone in our group “the willies”, while i feel compelled to be here.

are the kids pulling me here?

as we begin to cross what used to be grass and now mostly weeds, ants and goat heads the mood of the group definitely changed from “we’re here to have fun!” to “this shit is gettin’ serious!”

perhaps i was vibing a little off of that dread projected by the others, but i was still being pulled to the back of the structure like ulysses being drawn by sirens and wanting to hear their treacherous song at the risk of insanity.

announcing our presence as we rounded the back corner of the building, i held out the rods and said, “hey, guys. i told you i’d be back in a while. are you here?”

with a definite pull both rods crossed at the midpoint and held there like they were magnets.

orbs on the ends of my rods

standing next to me and surely sensing my discomfort in not knowing what to ask or how to ask it, loretta started feeding me questions telling me that they really like me.

to be honest, i don’t really remember all of the questions we asked. but, at some point, the kids stopped responding to my questions. loretta said, “i think they’re just playing around with you, monty.”

“are you guys just horsing around with me?”, i asked.

the rod in my left hand, which was being held slightly above the other began to spin completely in circles while the right rod spun until it hit the other rod before i separated my hands enough to allow it to spin. too bad the video cam wasn't rolling on me for this shot!

loretta and i instantly broke out into shocked, nervous laughter!

“you guys are funny!”

a couple of moments later, robbie came over to show us an orb

that he caught in his digital camera

that he took while shooting the old furnace flue at the same moment, loretta, the kids and i were all laughing it up,

that looked like an upside-down smiley face.

"smiley face" orb above the haunted infirmary

loretta, who deals with angelic spirits, kept telling me how comforting i am to the boys and how much they like me. later that night as sandie drove me home, loretta called her on her cell and said, “i hope monty isn’t offended by this, but the little boys told me one of the reasons they like him so much is that he reminds them of santa claus.”

mind? are you kidding me? i’ve got two little indian boy ghosts who think i’m the bees’ knees! how many people can claim that? this i intend to use to my advantage to help me get to know my new friends.

after a few more minutes, telling the kids we’d be back later that night, we rounded the side of the building where emotions of dread were again being expressed by the others in the group.

our walk back to rejoin kath'leen in front of the superintendent’s home brought us passed the old administration building, where the shadow people are supposed to frequent and once again passed the “small” girls dorm. loretta went straight up to the front door of the building, while i stayed back on the walk feeling, for the first time, something that told me not to go there; nothing specific; i just felt as if i should not be up there.

loretta laid her hand upon the door and proclaimed that a lot of bad things took place inside those walls: pain, punishment and rape.

the “small” girls dorm!

perhaps why i stayed on the walk

eventually, we all gathered around the table and enjoyed veggies and dip and chips and cookies and lemonade and talked about our stroll around the school.

after a few minutes, i excused myself to walk across the street so i could hide in the sagebrush and i noticed several sets of headlights way up on mcclellen peak. i thought to myself, “what’s going on? the last time there were that many cars up there at night was the rally in...”

that’s when the first firework soared into the sky. being a good 3 or 4 miles from ground zero, i wrapped up my business and made my way back to the superintendent’s home, taking the scenic route.

as i reached the front stairs of the building with the evil spirit bound to its basement, i felt as if i should explore the old building. climbing the 5 or 9 steps for the first time i walked straight to the door and placed my hand upon the door.

nothing!

i looked inside the windows.

nothing except offices and things you would expect in such a setting.

i reached the south side of the house and continued around the porch, which becomes more of a terrace as the hillside drops steeply below on this side of the house. i continued to walk around the terrace to where a narrow walkway looked like it continued around the backside of the house.

it was at that precise moment that i realized that i was standing on the porch and in the shadow of a real haunted house.

i don’t know if i suddenly got sucked-up by my own imagination, of which i have a little, or if there was something or things up there with me. but, i kept feeling as if there was somebody standing behind me, looking over my shoulder. i turned around, expecting to see a face staring back at me like in the movies, but there was nothing.

nothing, because it was now standing behind me and must have turned with me.

rotating around again more rapidly this time, i still did not see what was on the terrace with me. but, i could sure feel it.

or feel something.

i turned again and realized that my revolutions were being punctuated by a scream coming from the area near the “small” girls dorm.

is that one of the girls?

after a few turns to see nothing there, i realized what i was hearing was a screech owl flying about the area. but, why had it chosen those exact moments to announce itself?

i am not alone!

part three continues here

undistilled spirits

disclaimer 1: the thin veil investigators know what the hell they are doing; monty wolf has not a clue what the hell he is doing. therefore, do not endeavor to reenact, recreate or otherwise attempt to come face-to-whatever with any spirit, unless of course you know what the hell you’re doing!

disclaimer 2: since we all agree that i do not know what the hell i am doing, i may unintentionally pass along inaccurate or misinformation. i’m learning fast, but there is so much that you don’t know, when everything you know is wrong. nod to the firesign theatre - phil, pete, dave and phil; there will be more, dear friends. see?

disclaimer 3: being a storyteller, i occasionally am prone to minor-exaggerations. but, i am not hotdogging you on any of the things of which i have written in this telling.

# # # # #

i’m a member of an online dating community, of which i am not honorary mayor.

through said community i came to meet sandie la nae, a psychic and ghost hunter.

like most of us, i assume (so, you know what that makes me) that i have “felt” something or somebody at one time or another with me in an empty room and just shaken it off, or got a sudden chill and turned up the heat, or watched one of the myriad ghost hunting tv shows, which brought up some kind of personal reaction: “hell, i’d do that!”; “are you out of your mind?”; “that is so bullshit!”; “this scares the hell out of me!”

i did think that if i ever had the chance to go on a ghost hunt i would do it, but never thought of it as something that might really capture more than just a small corner of my substantial imagination.

well, it’s like i’ve always known/said: things happen for a reason!

sandie has been reinforcing that by showing me how people meet other people who have met other people so those people have the opportunity to meet other people.

so, it came as no surprise, but with much excitement, that i would go on my first ghost hunt.

i previously have had a few paranormal experiences. about one of which i have already blogged, something that happened at jim britton’s pad way back in the 70s that was rather interesting and i did a thing with the amazing kreskin one morning while i was getting ready for work when he was on the regis and kathy lee show. this was back in the 80s when i lived in freeport, maine and we were getting the show live: regis picked a card at random and hid it from view in his pocket; kreskin picked an audient and asked the audient to call out the first card that came to mind; i thought, “i wonder how many people go for the obvious ‘ace of spades?’”; kreskin said, “stop! you were thinking of the ace of spades! clear your mind and give me the name of the first card that comes to mind.”; i thought, “queen of clubs”; the audient said, “queen of clubs”; regis had the queen of clubs!

i also had in interesting experience with, what i can only describe as, an invisible ball of energy in a room that is allegedly one of the most haunted rooms in one of the most haunted buildings in the silver state: the goldfield hotel. on that trip, i stayed in the haunted mizpah hotel in tonopah without anything to report, except it is a crime that this property is now just sitting there, abandoned and beginning a sad decline into a ruin!

i even attended a few minutes of a ghost hunting conference in virginia city, where i interviewed several ghost hunters for a series of ghost stories for koh, which would become some of my favorite material at a station where i was encouraged to use my storytelling creativity.

but, i’ve never been presented with something that has made me say: “holy mudhead, mackerel!”

# # # # #

stewart indian school was one of the boarding schools the feds whipped up as another means of carving a new life out of the american indian.

actor, and semi-reoccurring character ‘one-who-waits’ from my all-time-favorite tv show – northern exposure, floyd red crow westerman was quite vocal about how he was taken away from his family and the life he knew to get a new name, new language and a new set of torturous memories.

listen to this short npr story (including red crow’s comments and a bite from a song in which he displayed a voice quite similar to gordon lightfoot) about the affects of indian boarding school on some students:

as with any institution of power and authority, and the general consensus being that all injuns is savages, there was a lot of abuse, rape, torture and even death in a mandated effort to make them better americans.

i’ve heard stories of fingers being removed as a form of punishment for not using english, healthy children boarded with terminally ill children and really sick kids not being fed or medicated since, well... they’re going to die anyway... as sadistic means of adjusting the natural attrition rate.

built of native stone in colonial style, the compound offers a foreboding appearance without one knowing anything about the school’s infamous history. some of the older admin buildings are being used by the state prison system and some by the department of public safety; i find both quite ironic. but, about half of the buildings are boarded-up.

# # # # #

july 1, 2010

we arrived at the stewart indian school scant moments before sunset.

throwing me into the deep end of the spiritual pool, sandie took me directly to the athletic field, where in the days before the field was leveled, several kids who were either intentional or unintentional victims of murder at the hands of administrators and/or teachers were buried in random, unmarked graves.

on the drive to the school, i regretted taking sandie’s advice to wear long pants and bring a coat. when we got out of the car, the wind picked up and the temperature plummeted and i was happy to be wearing the additional clothing.

sandie quickly announced that the spirits were active.

really?

ok. well, i’m not tuned into this stuff, so i’ll go with it; i’m here for experience.

walking into the field, my attention was drawn to a cluster of sagebrush for no real reason. right after that, sandie started talking to a little girl she said was hiding in the bushes where i had been attracted.

hmmm!?!?

she talked with the little girl for a while, learning that she thinks she is 5-years-old and she was scared to come out and talk or walk with us. but, she did tell us that there were a couple of boys there that wanted to follow.

i made a couple of awkward attempts at speaking with them, but really wasn’t expecting a result and we both took pictures in the general direction of the little girl’s hiding place, but sandie said she held little hope of getting anything since the little girl’s energy was not strong enough to render an image.

my picture of "the burial ground"

from there we walked passed a group of shops where sandie was laughing at a spirit she calls “the junkyard man”, whom she said was yelling at us to get away.

i didn’t hear him nor did i feel any sort of attraction toward (or distraction against) him or the shop. since she was laughing at him, i believe him to not be an evil spirit, just a crotchety old curmudgeon (i’m consulting with the department of the redundancy department on that previous statement).

the junkyard man's domain

from there we walked over to one of the boys dorm areas; a quad, where we took a few pictures and hung out with an owl (great horned?) for a while.

"hoo dat?"

our next stop that night would be the old infirmary.

a year ago when they were out here, sandie and other members of the thin veil investigators were observing the area and a tree limb fell quite near them.

sandie says there is a spirit she encounters at the infirmary that is a kind of nurse ratched and joseph mengele mixed together with a perverse bit of pol pot. it hurts me to think about what might have taken place in this small building; i’ll leave it to your imagination; mine is just too vivid.

nurse ratched was there, according to sandie. but, so were several children who were just curious about us. i would learn more about some of them in a couple of nights.

the rear of the infirmary

sandie, again, invited the young’uns to join us in our adventure, but none of them followed as far as i know.

our next and final stop of the night was across from the old admin building, which is now a small museum, where sandie and her friends from the thin veil say there are several “shadow people”.

sandie set up a video camera and we stepped back a few yards to talk while the tape rolled for a special project. eventually, we gave up due to the wind and cold and split. as we left the grounds, the wind abated and i presume the temperature increased as well.

admin building

it would not be the last visit i would make it to the school this week.

# # # # #

on the next day, sandie started sending me pictures from the previous night, several of which had orbs in them. she would also return photos that i took that would also exhibit orbs.

this is the same image as seen a couple of frames above. it has been lightened and the orbs have been circled.

look closely at the previous picture without adjustments and you will see the orbs.

there seems to be a lot of controversy over orbs between those who are believers in spirits and those who say they are nothing more than just dust particles.

well, i will tell you that the sprinklers were running all over the place and the wind was blowing like crazy. so, i personally find it hard to believe that the images in the pictures are dust particles.

in one picture in particular, there are several orbs that appear to be hovering at various positions while one is definitely in movement. i remind you that the wind was blowing. let’s assume for a minute that the orbs are no more than just particles of dust. then why are all of the particles in all of the pictures from that night seemingly static except that one?

the moving (bottom left)

the moving orb

the picture that i took in the athletic field, which i have been calling “the burial ground”, shows nothing unusual: no orbs; no unexplained anomalies. the picture that sandie took has something in it that she says is the little girl’s flickering image as she tries to make herself visible to us.

the little girl hiding in the bushes

admittedly, the image is rather abstract and inconclusive. but, sandie did tell me that the little girl probably didn’t have enough energy to give any visual indication she was there. so, with that in mind (and i’m trying to keep an open one), i can allow myself to believe that if there are spirits here in this world, that anomalous image could be the flickering spirit of a little girl caught in mid-pulse.

the same picture i took of the admin building seen above with highlights

so, now my curiosity is piqued!

# # # # #

a couple of days later, i visited sandie at her store, where she gave me an apache tear that she blessed to protect me while i’m on the hunt and keep ghosts from following me home and a pair of dowsing rods with which i will be able to communicate with the spirits.

my old friend and prospecting partner, charlie, had a few sets of rods tuned for precious metals. i one time had him hide a silver dime while we were out on the infamous 40-mile desert while i did something else. when i returned, i was able to find the dime in fewer than 5-minutes.

so, equipped with my talisman, rods and just enough knowledge to be dangerous, i was quite excited for my next ghost hunting adventure, this time with a squad of experienced ghost hunters and psychics.

all these dance partners and i don’t even know how to ghost dance!

part two continues here

tales to tell: birds of fire

back in the early 90s, before i moved back out west to nevada, i was doing a fair amount of hiking in the mountains and countryside of maine and new hampshire with my most-favorite of people, robin.

on one occasion, we spent a weekend in a cabin up at moosehead lake, which was quite fun on its own. one morning we got up early and drove, via logging roads most of the way, to baxter state park to climb up mt. katadin, the tallest mountain in maine, which also happens to be the northern terminus of the appalachian trail.

our drive there was fairly uneventful and, except for a wall of trees, afforded us little or no scenery once we left the lake.

we did, however, encounter a young bear as it ran across the dirt road as we rounded a corner. we stopped where the bear crossed the road, but never saw it again even though robin wanted to get out and pet it; maybe get it to follower her around like her baby geese.

once we arrived at the trailhead parking area we filled our daypacks with bottles of water, energy snacks and lunch and began our climb.

at one point the trail took us into an area that had a very distinct odor; almost musky. when it grew stronger we noticed moose prints everywhere. not wanting to get between a bull moose and anything else, we started talking really loud and didn’t stop walking until we were way beyond the scent and saw no more prints in the ground.

except for the long hike (about 9 ½ miles in each direction), which was rather steep for the last 1/3 of the climb as we ascended pemola peak, which is only a few yards below baxter peak and takes two days to hike up and back, our hike was fairly casual. the view from the top was quite spectacular despite our elevation of only around 5000 feet; the rest of the ground below us was only around 300 to 500 feet above sea level.

as with almost everything we did together, robin and i were very compatible hiking partner when it came to the climbing parts. robin was in far better shape than me having been a championship bodybuilder only a short time before we met. but, after my body started to get used to the increased expenditure of energy, i was able to keep up with her.

it was on the descent part of the hikes that we differed: robin loved to run down the mountains and hills while my weak ankles barely allowed me to walk down; i always had to tape them once we reached the top to keep from spraining one, or both.

because of the distance – about 19-miles total – and steepness of the climb, it was almost full-on dark by the time we returned to the parking area; long passed sunset. after what-passed-for dinner and a desert of home-made majoon, we left

our drive to moosehead lake was a mixture of exhaustion and euphoria as we headed back up the lumber road, which at night seemed even more narrow than when we were headed the other direction some 15-hours earlier.

at one point, we actually passed a car coming from the other direction. it was the first car we had seen on that road since we left the lake earlier that morning. as the car approached, the driver started flashing the car’s high beams.

as we pondered what that warning meant we rounded the corner to see a big bull moose right in the middle of the road; it was so tall i could have driven the little mazda under its body and between its front and rear legs.

the giant strode off into the woods like we weren’t even there.

a few miles later as we drove on into the tree-shrouded darkness i saw a flash that went from the upper right side of the road, just a few yards in front of us, to the lower left side and disappeared into the woods.

at the very same moment and in the very same tone, both robin and i said in startled-unison: “what the f*@% was that? a comet bird? did you just say: ‘what the f*@% was that? a comet bird?’” and started laughing until tears came to both of our eyes.

neither robin nor i had ever said such a thing before in our lives?

how did we both choose those same words, at the same nano-second and use the same inflection in our voices?

i can only attribute it to being on the same wavelength, which was quiet strong, indeed, but had never verbally reveled itself so prominently.

i have had many esp occurrences with many people, but i have never had such strong experiences as i have with robin.

we never did learn what the bright streak was.

but, have carried that story for the rest of our lives.

tales to tell: camels and roses

with my daughter, alexis, finding me after so many years, i’ve been telling her many of the adventures i’ve undertaken in the past few decades and filling her in on what she’s never been told of things that took place during our 31-years of separation.

not that i necessarily need something to lubricate my desire to tell a story. but, many tales have been coming back to mind as of late.

for several years i was the master of ceremonies of several special events centered in and around northern nevada; best known would have to be the 6th largest gathering of harley-davidson sycophants in the country: reno’s street vibrations (short rant that harley owners should avoid ~ if you detect a bit of disdain in my writing you are not wrong: after having ridden {and raced} real motorcycles for most of my life, i find it difficult to get excited over a second-rate motorcycle manufacturer that admittedly builds its bikes for looks and sound and not to be the best product on the market. even worse: they are an american manufacturer; doesn’t say much about this country. and don’t give me any shit about harley ruling the dragstips, flat tracks and other racing venues; the only reason they can compete with the suzukis, yamahas and hondas: the sanctioning bodies require the much more powerful and more efficient inline engine-powered bikes be much heavier than the severely underpowered and antiquated v-twins. the only sanctioning body that does not handicap the real motorcycle manufacturers, as far as i am aware, is the southern california timing association. scta created a special category just for push rod engines. meaning: the harley owners don’t have to whine that they can’t compete with the real motorcycles and can still set a record, albeit a very limp-wristed entry into the book. allow me to give you an example of the imbalance of parity in the performance of two drastically different bikes: over 30 years ago my friend, doral echardt, rode his 350cc yamaha at a record speed of 165 mph on the bonneville salt flats, which happens to be the current record for 1350cc push rod {harley} motorcycles; 1000cc’s and 30+-years later and the harleys are still stumbling along using nearly 70-year-old technology. my favorite saying regarding the quality {or, lack thereof} of hardly-ablesome motorcycles is: “if harley made an airplane would you fly in it?” if you answered “yes”, you are a sycophant, a fool or just have a death wish! that’s why so many attendees of biker rallies around the country tow their harleys instead of riding them. if your ego is that lacking: go see a psychiatrist; don’t make me and the rest of the country listen to your overly-loud trash-heap! they may be slow but they sure are loud. and the excuse that “loud pipes save lives” not only makes us listen to your nickel-dick bike, but implies that your safety is our responsibilities. most harley owners that i’ve seen {and i’ve directly dealt with thousands and indirectly seen thousands more of you prove the following point} shouldn’t be attempting to ride on a vespa let alone something as large and heavy as a dinosaur. end of rant.); my favorite, however, was the virginia city international camel races.

it is through the v.c. camel races that i was bestowed the honorary title of mayor, which won’t get me a free drink at the delta saloon (maybe at the bucket of blood... maybe) but is still pretty-damn-cool.

it is also through the v.c. (pronounced: vee-cee) camel races that i found myself walking down colorado boulevard in pasadena, california on new years day of 2000 as a member of the virginia city entry in the 111th annual tournament of roses parade.

all of this fell together at the last minute, which had roadshows, the company that produces street vibes and many other special events around the county – including myrtle beach bike week (where i worked for, you guessed it: harley) and the former producer of the v.c. camel races (it is unfortunate for my fair town of virginia city that roadshows no longer produces that event as the camel races are not what they used to be) was scrambling to get ready in time to head south out of reno on the day after christmas and down to l.a.

part of the deal was that we were supposed to bring as many stage backdrops and facades as was in the warehouse so we could build a small western town right outside the rose bowl while the tournament’s equestfest and bandfest took place in the days leading up to the parade and the game (all i remember is that stanford was one of the teams playing that day. the only reason i remember that is because of their band: apparently, the stanford band is known for its “individualized” uniforms and on-field antics. the game, itself, interested me not in the least, as per usual.). it is also just across the park from one of the float construction sites, which i never did have the opportunity to get over there to take a peek.

in strict roadshow fashion, we jock strapped the town together in one day and was set up and ready to run camel races on the following day.

camel races at the rose bowl?

that’s right!

well, we ran exhibition camel races right outside the arena as the grounds crew works for days to get ready for the new years day game. but, we were definitely on the grounds of the famous stadium and for several days we had camel races (more like sprints in the confined area being used for equestfest) until mid-afternoon of december 3o, 1999 when joann and i left to go get the motor home in which we and the rest of the crew would sleep (try to, in my case) and dress into our costumes for the parade.

with that date in mind, let me remind you of a little non-event known as y2k and how the world was going to come to an abrupt end.

well… figuratively at least!

allow me to set the scene:

we are in the city of my birth: los angeles, perhaps, the most insane city in the world and we, not only need to get ready for a parade (that may or may not happen depending on just how many computers go down and take us all with them), but we have to buy a week’s worth of groceries, drinking water and valium so we can make a hasty escape to someplace safe(?) in the mojave desert.

socal may have changed a lot since i left west covina when it was still livable, but i can still find my way into the mojave.

the first thing i did when i got up that last morning of the previous millennium was to turn on the news to see what was taking place in other parts of the world: new zealand was celebrating the new day and their infrastructure was still up and running. i had to reason that if my kiwi friends were good to go the rest of the planet should be able to have our y-2-cake-and-eat-it-too (thanks, adrian!).

earth would live to see another day.

despite bringing a few of the roadshows crew with us and the crew our two camel wranglers brought, we still needed another wrangler to walk one of the baby camels. my brother, mark, and his family were still living in socal at that time. so, i was able to secure him to join our entry – while his wife, tracy – shuttled the motor home from the staging area to the post-parade area.

we mustered near santa anita raceway park at around 10pm, parked the cars and boarded the motor home to take us into the party zone on colorado boulevard to ring-in the new year, hoping that the predicted terrorist attacks would not make us a part of history.

we found a convenient place to park and made our way to one of the (mostly) vacant grandstands erected for the parade and awaited the strike of midnight and fireworks while corn tortilla frisbees, by the thousands, soared through the air and noise makers and contraband firecrackers heralded the coming new year.

just as y2k fizzled into nothing, so did the terrorist actions predicted for pasadena. we re-mustered back at the motor home and headed to our staging area, on a closed section of a freeway, where the other equestrian units were gathering (i guess since camels have four legs they are categorized as equestrian units and didn’t know what else to do with us); the bands assembled just above us on one of the area streets and the floats staged on orange grove, just up from the wrigley mansion, which is the home of the tournament of roses.

we got settled-in at about 0130 hours, but i was too amped-up to grab any sleep. so, mark and i roamed the closed traffic lanes for the lack of something better. eventually, i was able to drift-off for about 15-minutes before it was time to get into our costumes.

the real equestrian units were required to be costumed and mounted 90-minutes before parade time. our unit was allowed to wait to mount until we walked our camels to within about 500 feet of orange grove, so the camels could hoosh (kneel down) onto one of the lawns so we could climb aboard. as a thank you to the owner of the house whose lawn was used, we left them with a complimentary load, or six, of dromedary manure. they just seemed happy to have these ships of the desert in their front yard.

even with the exception of being able to mount later than the rest of the equestrian units, we still had to get up and be ready 45-minutes before the parade began.

it was soon after we climbed aboard our camels, i mentioned that with the dense cloud cover and drizzle we were experiencing that morning (did i forget to tell you that the 2000 rose parade was the first parade to suffer rain in something like 30-years?) the b-2 stealth bomber and its f-15 escorts might not be able to do their flybys. which caused both owners of the camels to warn us to hang on as they might not take to the noise created by the high performance fighter planes.

oh great!

that’s all i need is to have my ass 7-feet in the air as clyde, my trusty mount, races at full speed to hide in egypt or the sudan or australia, where there are many feral camels roaming the outback.

i could hear the fighter jets circling above the parade route for several minutes before they made their appearance. suddenly, like a scene from the movie “independence day” (where the alien spacecraft drops out of a cloud) the b-2 slowly showed itself, along with its roaring escorts, and flew over colorado boulevard for the length of the route.

clyde and his contemporaries paid the jets no mind.

clyde, the friendliest of all the camels, was a real gentleman. not that any of the camels had bad attitudes. i’ve spent much time around many camels and have never seen one of them get nasty. but, clyde had a bit of a personality and actually seemed to enjoy the attention. the baby camel that mark escorted was so adorable: i wanted to take him home with me when he started to suck on my fingers; i’m a sucker for sucklers.

several months later, when joann and i hit the nevada state fair to collect her blue ribbons for her porcelain dolls (i think that was the year she did the blues singers??) we passed a small petting zoo with a fully grown and one baby camel. i told joann the big one looked like clyde at which she scoffed. sure enough, it was one of the camel owner’s petting zoo; the baby was the camel that mark lead during the parade and the big one was clyde.

eventually, it was our turn to enter orange grove in front of the wrigley mansion and join the parade.

one of the things the parade officials told all of the units was: wave only with your left hand as all the tv cameras are on the right side of the road and they don’t want hands in front of faces. the other thing they told us was: dehydrate ourselves as the only relief is by doing what the nascar drivers do: pee in your clothing.

i’m too old (or maybe too young) for that!

none of our camels had actual camel saddles. instead, we just sat on their humps. now, that may sound comfortable since the hump is made-up of fat. but, that fat is as hard as a tabletop.

by the time we got to the famous turn in the route at orange grove and colorado, i was beginning to get comfortable(?) with my position on clyde’s hump to the point that i was able to sit like a bedouin, with one leg wrapped around the hump and tucked under the other with balance being the greatest trouble.

as we rounded the bend in the route, with me sitting bedouin-style, the baby camel that mark was walking ran into clyde’s backside. the sudden jolt took away my balance, which caused me to quickly drop both legs to clyde’s sides and grab the lead for dear life. later, as we were watching the replay of the parade on tv, it was my misfortune to be in a two-shot with clyde as i fearfully hung on sporting a look of terror on my face as i grappled for safety. fortunately, that was not my only 15-minutes.

one of the things i used to enjoy about living in socal back in the 70s was that my comedic heroes, the firesign theatre, used to provide their own – mostly improvised – narrative and commentary on the rose parade. so, we’d watch it on channel 11 and listen to fst on kppc, kmet, klos or whatever station might run their surreal depiction.

after the parade i learned that fst were, indeed, out on colorado, not only providing their entertaining account, they were actually interviewing some of the entries.

damn! i wish i’d known that.

i can hear it now: pete bergman says: ”and now, dear friends, we have rocky rococo’s camel corps. you know… rocky actually hand breeds each camel in the corps. hi, rocky!” to which, phil proctor would say in rocky’s voice: “i’m rocky rococo at your cevix!”.

or, something like that.

prior to entering the parade route, my image of the attendees was just a sea of undistinguishable faces.

not the case at all!

it was, in fact, quite intimate: i made eye contact with thousands of people and had short conversations with maybe a hundred or more: ” where are you from?” “virginia city!” what’s it like riding a camel?” “horrible!” “can i ride, too?”…

the beaming smile on my face was not that of a performer!

at several points along the route, i’d look down and back at mark and he’d look up at me and we’d both say: “we’re in the rose parade!” of course, not being in a marching band, beauty queens or the late george putnam on horseback, we had no reason to ever believe that we would have that opportunity.

several days later we reached the end of the route and my bladder capacity. actually the latter was reached a number of miles previous. upon reaching the end of the route the parade officials, however, notified us that the closest portable toilets were another ¾ of a mile away. who the hell plans an event like that?

but, we all survived the parade, y2k, and were even able to get down the road before the parade attendees clogged the roads trying to get home.

much like being involved in the filming of “the world’s fastest indian”: it was an experience i will never forget and one that i never want to repeat.

that is: unless i’m invited back to either.

tales to tell: ugo fadini – the master modeler

10-years ago, in 1998, while i was at the bonnevile salt flats with darryl (aka: willy of “the adventures of monty & willy”) for just a few hours of land speed racing spectating at the bonneville nationals, i noticed a man erecting a display of 1:43 scale models of lsr cars.

willy and i watched as he carefully placed the models into his display.

ugo fadini's model of mickey thompson's "challenger"

the way it appeared in 1959

some of the miniatures, all of which looked like the real cars after being placed in a shrink-machine, included mickey thompson’s “challenger I” (as it appeared in 1959 and when it had been modified for the 1960 runs), craig breadlove’s “spirit of america” (the original “soa” that resembled a military fighter jet, sans wings and horizontal stabilizers; the vertical “stab” was added after the first runs on the car proved a lack of stability at speed. this is the car that nosed into an evaporation pond after crashing over one of the many dikes that crisscross the salt flats.) and my friend, al teague’s, striking “speed-o-motive” streamliner among several other lsr cars of the past; all beautiful!

ugo fadini's model of al teague's bitchen 'liner

“you do great work!”, i said to the man.

“thank you.”, he said with an italian accent.

half jesting, half seriously i said, “you need to make one of ‘the redhead!’”

“that’s my next model!”, the man said with a broad, beaming smile.

it was ugo fadini.

a woman, whom i was soon to learn was his wife, said, “that is my favorite car!” fluffing her hair she continued in her italian accent, “but, i am a redhead, too.”

ugo explained that he was currently finishing the hoffman-markley streamliner “master” and had begun the initial stages of the redhead model.

ugo fadini's model of the hoffman-markley streamliner

ugo and i exchanged contact information and willy and i made our way out to the 5-mile to watch a few passes before we had to begin our trek across northern nevada to the opposite side of the silver state.

all the way back to fallon i fantasized about ugo’s model of the redhead: imagining just how cool it would be to actually own a model of a car that i had driven.

ugo fadini's model of mickey thompson's challenger
after much modifications in 1960

ugo and i soon began an email relationship.

it was not long before we discovered that besides having a great interest in land speed racing, we also share an affection and respect for the band king crimson.

the world is not so large after all!

i don’t know how much time had actually elapsed between meeting ugo and when i received my model of the redhead, but it seemed like years.

i was, however, not disappointed in the wait and the outcome; ugo’s model of the redhead is impeccably accurate to the actual car!

ugo fadini's model of the redhead

it is with great pride that i displayed my model.

until, however, i returned from myrtle beach, south carolina – where i was emcee for harley-davidson (if you know me you will surely know what a great acting job that week was!) during “bike week” – to find that my model had, along with joann’s bronco 2 and mobile home, suffered damage at the hands of her niece – or, perhaps, her niece's friends' – who was supposed to be taking care of joann’s cat.

joann may have been able to excuse her niece’s indiscretion of trashing the suv, kicking in the bedroom door and the used condoms left on the floor, but i did not excuse any of her, or her friends' actions! i envisioned somebody shoving the little model across the carpeting like it was a $1.00 hot wheels toy.

i demanded a replacement!

within a month of returning from bike week, payment was sent to pedova, italy and ugo sent me a new model.

# # # # #

a couple of weeks ago, while looking for pictures of the redhead for my “world’s fastest indian” blog, i found a website for a collector, jonathan wilson, in new zealand who said he had ugo’s model of the redhead on his wish list. i sent him an email complimenting him on his collection and confirmed that he did, indeed, need a copy of ugo’s model.

another view of ugo fadini's model of the redhead streamliner

within a few day jono sent me an email asking if i would mind him having ugo send the model to me so i could sign the base and then send it along to him in new zealand.

i told him that i could do better than that by sending it to my dad, who built all of the engines for "lattin & gillette racing team" and my brother, mark, who also drove the redhead to a land speed record (which still stands to this day almost 20-years later), to have them sign it before they send it down to socal to have jim and bill sign it and then send the model down to the bottom of the world.

as i write, a redhead model is making its way from northern italy to the central california coast.

ugo fadini's model of craig breedlove's "spirit of america" jet car

sadly, i have learned in the past week through emails with ugo that the economy and many mass-producers of cheaply-made and poorly-reproduced models has taken a toll on his business; at over $200 for a model, it is a special person who buys one of ugo’s pieces of art.

and art is certainly what ugo’s models are; they may be of similar size to hot wheels. but a paint-by-the-numbers rendition of any great work of art may be of similar size to the actual painting but is surely not of the same quality or craftsmanship.

ugo’s work is that of a true artisan!

it is my hope that he, along with the rest of us, weathers this economical climate and sees the demand grow for his works of art.