Appearances, copyright 2006, by Etienne. All rights reserved.

-18-

Back to Atlanta

When I woke up very early on Sunday morning, Charles was still sleeping soundly, and I lay there thinking about the previous afternoon. For years, I had wanted to bring someone to this place, but had never before let anyone get close enough to me for that. I was pleased that he was not particularly interested in spending the weekend in tourist type activities, there would be plenty of time for such in future trips, of which I hoped there would be many. I ruminated for a while and must have dozed off, waking up again only when I felt him roll over and push against me.

"Awake?" he asked.

"Yes, although I woke up earlier, and dozed back off again."

"Good," he said, as he started doing things with his hands.

After we had taken care of those needs, we dressed in running gear and jogged down the valley.

"I presume you have some landmarks indicating how far we have gone?"

"Definitely. When we reach the pass at the lower end of the valley, it is just about two and one-half miles. Coming back, it will seem more like five, since it is all uphill."

We ran in silence after that, enjoying the fresh air, the distant sounds of the stream, somewhere below us, and the sounds of birds. There was only an occasional vehicle on the road to disturb the tranquility of nature.

When we had returned to, but not entered the keep (he had gotten me to thinking of it in those terms), we were gasping. "The return trip seemed more like ten," he gasped.

"That's okay, it is good for you. Even better, we can go up to the pool and cool off a bit before we go upstairs for a hot shower."

"Are you some sort of masochist?" he asked.

"No, just a nature lover," I answered, and not waiting for him to consent, I trotted up the mountainside. He followed, and this time was in the water ahead of me. We splashed around a bit, and lacking towels, pulled on our shoes and shorts and ran back down the trail letting the air dry us off a bit. Before we had time to become totally chilled from the experience, we arrived at the door and quickly went up to the bathroom.

We shaved quickly, and then got into the shower, letting the hot water soak us thoroughly. As usual, one thing led to another, and we wound up back in bed for a time. We were, however, dressed and on the way to Asheville with plenty of time to spare. As we approached the city from the West on I-40, I told Charles he would have to navigate, which he did, directing me along an expressway to the exit that gave access to Church Street.

St. Mary's turned out to be a small gothic church in red brick. Charles explained that it had been unabashedly Anglo-Catholic for decades, but managed to operate within the Episcopal Diocese without any problems. The service was very formal, and reminiscent of Roman Catholic services that I had occasionally attended as a child. After church, he guided us up the street that ran behind St. Mary's, to the Grove Park Inn.

This was an immense old stone building which had been built by a Patent Medicine millionaire named Dr. Grove, who had settled in Asheville at the turn of the century. The center portion of the structure was of rounded stones obviously taken from streams and rivers. It was flanked by two wings of newer construction. I had heard of it, of course, but had never been there.

We were directed down a corridor off of the main lobby, and arrived in one of the newer wings. The dining area for brunch was a glassed in terrace offering an incredible view of the mountains beyond, and a bird’s eye view of the golf course below. We had not climbed any stairs, but the site sloped sharply down from the main entrance, and the dining area was at least forty or fifty feet above the ground below.

In two rooms off of the terrace were laid out the most incredible variety of food that I have ever seen at a Sunday Brunch. We ordered an expensive bottle of wine, and spent a pleasant two hours sampling the various offerings. As we drove out of Asheville, Charles said "We will have to run ten miles tomorrow, to make up for all that food."

"Too right."

We were back in the valley by four, and went straight to bed as soon as we were out of the car. Later on the deck, we relaxed and tried to do as little as possible.

Monday morning began as had Sunday, except that after a swim and hot shower, we spent some time on the deck with coffee, juice, and danish, enjoying the view and each other's company.

"Somehow, I never get tired of this place."

"I can understand why," he replied. "The sound of water over rocks is even more soothing than the sound of the surf."

We spent most of the rest of the day driving around the mountains and along a portion of the Blue Ridge Parkway, stopping for lunch at a small restaurant in Maggie Valley. We were back at the Keep by mid afternoon, with plenty of time for a swim. Afterwards, we were sunning our selves on the rocks and Charles was the one to be playful. As we were dressing, he said "I've heard of 'love on the rocks,' but never thought of it quite like this."

Later, I gave him a quick tour of most of the rest of the house. The first floor above the garage contained a small shop area, and was equipped for woodworking and other activities, whereas the second floor was entirely given over to storage. The third floor contained a well-equipped office area, an equally well stocked library, and a file room which contained all of my old tax records, manuscripts, and other papers.

When we returned to the great room, I said "I have always planned to move here on a permanent basis, when I retire."

He looked thoughtful, and responded "It would appear to be an ideal place for that purpose."

The exertions of the day had left us both very hungry, and we broiled a chicken and steamed some vegetables. Afterwards, we cleaned up the remains of our meal and tidied up the premises before leaving for Atlanta. We packed our gear, loaded the car, and I secured the premises.

The trip back to Atlanta was a little more leisurely. I don't know whether I slowed down for Charles' benefit or because I was relaxed. We traveled in relative silence until we were again on I-85.

Charles said "I've been thinking."

"What about?"

"Your mountain hideout, and certain things about it."

"What about it?"

"You are one of them, aren't you?"

I guessed what he meant, but answered "One of whom?"

"For want of a better word, a Survivalist. One of those people who believe that our society is going to collapse on itself one day and therefore have prepared sanctuaries for themselves in remote areas."

"What leads you to that conclusion?"

"1) the keep is in a very strategic location; 2) the only door is situated such that it cannot be easily breached, that is it would be impossible for instance to ram it with a vehicle at any significant speed; 3) the walls appeared to be at least a foot thick, perhaps more; 4) there were enough tools and things in that workshop to repair almost anything; 5) there was enough food in the storeroom to last one or two people for a very long time; and 6) I just ran out of specific clues."

I was silent for a moment. "As usual, counselor, you are too perceptive. You are absolutely correct on all counts. The walls are actually two feet thick, the contents of the store room will feed two people for about five years provided they supplement the staples with game and can grow some vegetables from the seeds also in storage. And, there are some other things that I didn't have time to show you on this trip."

"Such as?"

"A diesel generator for power, with a large fuel supply, not to mention a small arsenal. As a backup to the diesel generator, I have plans to one day tap the stream above the waterfall, for hydroelectric power. Also there is a bolt hole hidden upstairs which leads down to a natural cave under the garage, which in turn provides a way to escape if necessary."

"You really believe that society will collapse?"

"It is one of several possibilities, I prefer the word implode - it is more descriptive of what could possibly happen. Most of the inner city areas in this country are already little more than battle zones. The politicians do not have the balls to even talk about what needs to be done to correct the situation, let alone do it, and the ones that do suggest realistic solutions for urban ills are for the most part crucified by the media. Yes, I think there is a possibility that the violence will get out of hand and spread to the suburbs and perhaps beyond. One best-selling author recently described our Nation's Capitol as resembling a "third-world shit hole.""

"You may be right, I really have never dwelt upon it."

"Unfortunately, I have. The other residents of that valley are all similarly prepared in one way or another, and we have a sort of mutual defense pact, including plans to block the highway at both ends of the valley should our worst fears be realized. Even if it never comes to that, the site is a perfect place for eventual retirement."

"Well, the secret is safe with me."

"If I didn't trust you, I would never have taken you up there."

He seemed lost in thought, so I concentrated on the traffic, which was becoming increasingly heavy as we approached Atlanta. We arrived home well before ten, and carried our bags up to the bedroom with Lance bounding up the stairs ahead of us. When we went down to the study, Richard was on the sofa, talking to Bruce. We visited with them for a while, before excusing ourselves to make an early night of it.