Monte Dutton's Blog

By MONTE DUTTON

The Golden Skillet was jammed late Friday afternoon. I was the only person there who didn’t know everyone else there, and they were all talking to everyone else. I sat there, reading about Rosman High’s football team in the Transylvania Times, and then I drove down the road to watch it.

The Catfish Special was excellent. One woman picked up her take-out and talked to almost everyone there before she left. I complimented her on her Red Sox cap. I wanted her to get a perfect score.

Rosman edged West-Oak, from across the border, by a score of 21-19 in a practice game. It was a shocking outcome. The Tigers only dressed 21. Four or five others were banged up, wearing their game jerseys. Junior varsity players comprised the chain crew. The Warriors were quite a bit larger in numbers and weight, but the score went back and forth all night. West-Oak had a last gasp with 2.3 seconds on the clock, but the desperation pass appeared to be intended for nobody.

I figure about a thousand folks were there. Maybe. Some bucks were raised. It cost five dollars to get in.

Why was I one of them? Well, Clinton and Laurens were scrimmaging — or jamboreeing — at Byrnes, where both won. The Red Devils defeated Riverside, 19-14, and the Raiders turned lots of heads by upending Woodruff, 35-13.

At about 3 p.m., I checked the weather: high 90s in the Upstate. Clinton was playing first, Laurens third. I figured the wet-bulb thermometers would push back the start, and I’d be damn near all night in Duncan.

Rosman is just a few miles away. I wish I’d gone to Byrnes High in retrospect, but I had a good time at Silversteen Memorial Stadium.

It’s pretty. Hills rise all around the artificial playing surface. Sunset was pretty.

It’s a different world, though. 

Rosman is Joanna if it had a high school. The Carolinas are alike in that most high-school football teams make the playoffs. The Tigers won a playoff game but finished 3-9 last year. They open at home against Owen (Black Mountain) next week. The Warhorses won, 35-0, last season.

What a friendly place, though. I needed to get back in the hang of shooting photos at night games, but I mainly circulated, chatting with the referees, the Rosman trainer, a retired English teacher, a policeman, a fireman, a West-Oak lineman and several fans whose way to make a living is unknown to me.

It also pleased me to receive information of what happened at Byrnes.

The Raiders have been batted around in recent years. Their fans are going to arrive at Wilder Stadium with high hopes, which hasn’t been true in a while.

Clinton has won the past five games against Laurens by an average score of 42-13. Only so much can be learned from preseason scrimmages, but it’s clear that the Raiders are much better. It’s also clear that the Red Devils remain strong.

I was still sweating from the Rosman game when I started getting excited about Laurens visiting Clinton on Aug. 28.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.

By MONTE DUTTON

I awakened recently thinking about running backs. I certainly never was one. Neither was my brother, though he would have been better suited.

Football has many great running backs. Some, however, are magic. Some are unstoppable. Some have a knack for making an impossible play when it’s impossibly needed.

This goes for athletes, in general, and one would hope, leaders in every field of endeavor. A market for those who “love to get after it” exists at all levels, particularly among the young who aren’t yet making enough to have their jobs eliminated.

A joke. The world is spinning so fast, sometimes I step aside.

I want to reassure the folks back home. I’m fine up here in the hills, living in my shoebox. I haven’t blogged in a while because I have been obsessed with the screenplay into which I have been converting my unpublished novel, The Graduate Transfer. It’s almost wrapped up, though I’m still backtracking and polishing it up a little.

I think it’s good. I’m not objective. It’s a long shot. It’s what I came up here to do.

I crept out of the shoebox Wednesday for an adventurous afternoon in Rosman, which, in addition to being closer to me than downtown Brevard, is the home of both a laundromat and a Mexican joint. While I was at the local Acapulco, three cheerleaders were enjoying one another’s company.

By the way, it’s hard to beat a Mexican joint in a small town.

Rosman is Joanna if it had a high school. The Tigers, 3-9 last season, were practicing nearby. The cheerleaders invited me to Friday night’s practice game. West-Oak is crossing the border.

Brevard High (14-1), the Blue Devils, went to the state finals last year, but according to a comprehensive story in the Transylvania Times, Brevard is rebuilding behind a new head coach.

At the laundromat, I felt a little like one of those TV reporters interviewing disgruntled Trump supporters.

A nice lady complained about how the cost of a washer went up 75 cents. Like everything else, I said, and off we went. Neither she, nor I, nor her husband, said the president’s name.

Didn’t have to.

Is every place crazy? I now live in the 11th Congressional District. The incumbent, Chuck Edwards, pulled out of the race on account of some women in his office thought he was a bit much. The one before Edwards was Madison Cawthorn. I had to refresh my memory on that treasured past.

Meanwhile, back in South Carolina, several candidates who rail about “career politicians” and term limits have been running for something all year.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.

By MONTE DUTTON

Ever since I moved to the mountains, I have thought about going to see the Asheville Tourists play. If I had been a betting man, I would not have predicted I’d be sitting at HomeTrust Park on Friday night.

I also wouldn’t have predicted I’d get so much done on my screenplay Friday. I had fallen short of expectations on Wednesday, when I’d spent much of the day catching a ride to Clinton, S.C., to pick up my 30-year-old Ford pickup, and on Thursday, when I was simply unmotivated.

On Friday, I felt so happy with myself that I abruptly decided to set off for Asheville, there to watch the Tourists face the Greenville Drive. It was Dollar Dog Night with a postgame fireworks display.

Until recently, McCormick Field was the name of the facility. It was originally constructed in 1924, mostly of wood, and renovated in 1959, 1992 and last year. The field’s dimensions have changed little over the years, but now there are chair seats and a huge, gaudy scoreboard. It’s a bandbox, kind of.a reverse Fenway Park with its 36-foot-high monster wall in right field, not left. Left field is 326 feet from home plate. Right field is 299 with the wall. Center is 393.

First, an observation. Asheville Tourists is a great minor-league nickname. Greenville Drive is kind of bland. Hub City Spartanburgers is god-awful, but I’m sure it sells lots of jerseys and caps.

I bought a Tourists cap, which meant I was watching incognito because I am a lifelong Boston Red Sox fan and the Drive is Boston-affiliated.

The crowd was listed at 4,001, which, given that the capacity is listed as 4,000, seemed a mite exaggerated, probably due to season ticket holders who stayed home. I’d say the yard was about 80 percent full.

Parking is a mess, but a trolley bus with a friendly driver took me and a passel of fans right up to the bottom of the entry ramps.

Everyone was kind and friendly, even Mr. Moon, one of two mascots, who bumped fists with me as he paraded along the walkway on the third-base side. I started out on the first-base side but rambled around to take pictures.

The Drive scored a run in the second inning, right before I got there, and then seven more in the sixth, but the Tourists, a Houston affiliate, made something of a game of it in the ninth. Kyle Walker struck out with the bases loaded and two out, making the final score 8-4.

Hudson White belted a three-run homer to drive the Drive.

I listened to the Red Sox beat the Dodgers, 9-4, on the way home, thanks to satellite radio. July was the most successful month in Red Sox history. They were 21-4.

Live sports tend to leave me excited. When I got back to the shoebox, my travel-trailer home, I was up to 2 a.m. watching a great old movie, Odds Against Tomorrow, with Harry Belafonte and Robert Ryan.

Last night I dreamed in peaceful sleep of shady summer time / Of old dogs, and children, and watermelon wine. — Tom T. Hall.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

If you’d like to contribute to the site, I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.

By MONTE DUTTON

I’m getting old. I am old. It follows that I am set in my ways.

The evening news. I like to watch it, but it’s getting harder. The anchors could be AI-generated. They’re not. There apparently is a Tom Llamas. Wikipedia says so.

The network shows are all roughly the same. They open with lurid emergencies.

California redwoods snapped like twigs! Tornados rip across the Midwest, leaving a path of destruction across four states! An earthquake decimates a Pacific atoll!

The middle section is mostly political.

The war is over. The war is not. We have a deal. We don’t. The Strait of Hormuz is open. It’s closed again, Gas is up. Gas is down. Gas is up again. Sprinkle in other ingredients to taste.

The end is heartwarming.

This Idaho town gave its postman the best delivery ever! This woman’s pet dog chased away a grizzly bear!  Teen lifeguard saves 92-year-old man from drowning!

All that’s fine, but every night, on four stations at once? The names change, but the stories remain the same.

By the way, I’ve lived in the Asheville-Greenville-Spartanburg market for almost my entire life, and this sudden switch of networks is disconcerting. WSPA is the CW? WYFF is both NBC and CBS now? I want it to be one or the other. And another channel that’s one or the other!

I feel like a character in Blazing Saddles.

“Mongo only pawn … in game of life.”

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

If you’d like to contribute to the site, I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.

By MONTE DUTTON

It’s impossible for me not to pay attention to auto racing, since I’ve been going to races since my earliest memory and spent two decades writing about it full-time.

I don’t watch all the races, and I don’t often watch all of those races. I’ve been guilty of picking up the action when a movie or a ballgame ends. This sometimes causes me to ask myself questions such as “what in hell happened to Kyle Larson?”

Nowadays I get a bit wistful remembering how it was and considering how it is now.

Two weeks ago, Ryan Blaney, won in Hampton, Ga. Dave Blaney, a favorite of mine, is his father. On Friday night, in nearby Clermont, Ind., Layne Riggs won the Truck race. Scott Riggs, his father, was a favorite of mine. Carson Kvapil won Saturday. I know his father, Travis. Or did.

Few talked about the Brickyard 400 being boring until NASCAR and Goodyear mismanaged the worst Cup race I ever covered there in 2008. The tires wore out so quickly that it devolved into a never-ending series of short segments and mandated caution flags.

The fans have never returned. The only comparable catastrophe was the only time I ever visited Kentucky Speedway, in 2011. Forty percent of the crowd was backed up on the interstate when the race started. Kyle Busch won it. NASCAR hasn’t run a race there since 2020.

The best estimate I’ve seen is that 70,000 fans might have been there.  There’s a word for that at a track with an alleged seating capacity of 257,325: smattering.

It’s such a majestic place. While Corey Heim, a 34-year-old from Marietta, Ga., was pulling off an historic upset, the setting looked as if a band of modern explorers happened upon ancient ruins. The Xfiniity race on Saturday appeared to be attended by people in the neighborhood who just wandered in.

I take no pleasure in this. I love that city. I love that sport.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

If you’d like to contribute to the site, I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.

By MONTE DUTTON

It was good to be out and about Tuesday.The Southern Conference held its football media day in Greenville, S.C., giving me another opportunity to review the various routes from my little shoebox in the hills to my college alma mater.

All FCS members were present and accounted for, and I wanted to chat and interact with the coaches and players. I wanted to make some snap judgments of character.

I was already mildly acquainted with Furman’s representatives. Joshua Stoneking, from Raleigh, led the nation in quarterback sacks — What else is he supposed to sack? Groceries? — and tackles for loss.

I watched from nearby as almost everyone there, except me, asked variations of “why in the wide, wide world of free transfer and big money are you still here?”

Stoneking’s polite, forthright reply simply, was, “I wanted to graduate from Furman,” in various iterations.

It made me feel roughly the way I do at the end of a Frank Capra film.

Both the Paladins’ representatives were burly, but genial, linemen. Center Chris Luna, from Wesley Chapel, Fla., is on the second all-conference team in preseason on the offensive front. They make me proud I went there.

This might be an admission I shouldn’t make. I talked to a lot of football players, and I don’t know who they were. I know who they played for. It would have been better if they were wearing jerseys. Then I’d have had some reference material.

This is painful. The nicest athletes there were from The Citadel. I talked to them about the rivalry. I immediately identified myself as a Furman graduate, and none of them growled even a little.

Mercer is picked first, newcomer Tennessee Tech second, East Tennessee State third, Western Carolina fourth and Chattanooga fifth. Furman is sixth, Wofford seventh, Samford eighth, The Citadel ninth and Virginia Military 10th.

They don’t let the media vote anymore, and I’m glad. The pattern is clear. Every level of college sports is the same. Many of the best move up. Many of the disappointments move down. At the affluent schools, they go for money and fame. A lot of players in the SoCon just want a shot.

It’s not just the talent. It’s how the talent is put together. Newcomers have to fit, and the time is too short for a jigsaw puzzle.

I enjoy talking each year to Kerwin Bell of Western Carolina, and part of it is because I remember when he played quarterback at Florida. Wofford’s Shawn Watson is a straight shooter. The Catamounts tend to run out of steam late in the season. The Terriers are prone to get better.

They all know that. Furman was 20-6 in 2022-23, 3-8 in ’24 and 6-6 in ’25.

Times are changing. Times have changed. It wasn’t easy in the Paladins’ glorious past, either.

It still helps to have players who want to be there.

Clay Hendrix is the last of the direct coaching descendants of the late Dick Sheridan, who left Furman for North Carolina State in 1985. Every head coach since — Jimmy Satterfield, Bobby Johnson, Bobby Lamb, Bruce Fowler and Hendrix — has either played or coached under Sheridan. The lineage has been prosperous.

I talk to Hendrix a fair amount, most times without a recorder running. He is affable and likes to laugh. Onetime offensive linemen make good coaches.

“We’ve changed a lot of stuff,” Hendrix said. “You evolve in this game. Whether it’s hiring new coaches or recruiting new athletes, you contact the right people and you ask the right questions. You’ve got to have people you trust.

“I feel great about that right now.”

The heir apparent at quarterback, Jake Garcia, has spent time at Miami, Missouri, East Carolina and Michigan. Playing ball is a great way to see the country. Hendrix said Garcia is selfless, talented and fits the program. He plays against type. He loves to play football and wants another shot.

Furman has 14 starters returning as practice beckons..

The sky is the limit this time of year.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

If you’d like to contribute to the site, I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.

By MONTE DUTTON

I breezed through Laurens County on Thursday. It was an economical trip. I went to the post office, discovering to my surprise that the box wasn’t crammed. A big manila envelope was inside, but it was to an address where a large comma had been mistaken for a “1.” It took longer to explain what had almost surely happened than it did for me to solve this small mystery.

These things happen.

Then I went by Clinton Tire to check on my old pickup, still stranded there until I can hitch another ride home to get it.

I’m getting more patient. Everything takes more time than I think. Sometimes patience bites.

I met my friend John Clayton for lunch at Steamers and enjoyed seeing the gang there. Emily Bailey and Buddy Bridges said hello. I had a doctor’s appointment, then went to Sadler’s to pick up some meds.

Incredibly, and this may have changed since yesterday, gasoline is cheaper in North than South Carolina. I may have to break a long habit of filling up right before I leave the Palmetto State or right after I get there.

I hoped to participate in something called the Third Thursday Open Mic — it’s for both writers and musicians — at the Transylvania Community Arts Center, but I sat on a concrete wall for 45 minutes outside a locked door, reading about how to write screenplays on my phone, until I concluded the mic was not open. It probably picks up in the fall.

I’ve got a heap of new business cards with precious few to give them to so far. I’ve never had a business card that I came close to using up before it was time to get another. Then again, I’ve never lived anywhere where I knew so few people. Allegedly that is why I need business cards.

Johnny Cash sang, “When I get into that city, people gonna stoop and bow.” This has not been my experience. It takes time.

The shoebox is a great place to work, though. As I read about screenplays, I keep doubling back to amend what I’ve already written. It’s going well. It’s going slowly, though. I’ve been writing the screenplay The Graduate Transfer from the unpublished text of the novel The Graduate Transfer. Novels are much longer than screenplays. It’s hard, a little painful, to slice out the unnecessary to make the story simpler.

The Open Championship on TV provides almost as peaceful a writing background as music.

Meanwhile, three friendly, unassuming mallards are almost always nearby. One is cream-colored. I looked it up. That mallard is leucistic.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

If you’d like to contribute to the site, I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.

By MONTE DUTTON

A few things to ponder on a dreary Monday morning:

The next generation will never learn to tie its shoes. It’s a useless knack. I never do it anymore.

I was up to 2 a.m. watching the stock cars race. It’s a habit, even more than a decade since I last covered a race live. Sunday was an odd one. I never picked up my guitar. I never read a book. I wrote about barbecue in the morning. I watched a movie and picked up the race late. Thunder, lightning and rain descended on Hampton, Ga., so I watched the part of the race I had missed. Then I called an old friend and caught up. (“How are things in Clinton?” “Well, I don’t live there anymore.” …)

Carson Hocevar is the poster boy of his generation. He’s fearless. He’s talented. He’s got a personality the high banks of Talladega can’t enclose, and he just doesn’t care. I’m not a fan, but I’m fascinated. He’s out of a movie. I can imagine him screaming “woo-hoo!” when he takes the green flag.

NASCAR needs a young driver who can draw young fans. It’s obvious from the commercials that the base is aging.

One distasteful aspect of my former profession is that every time a driver comes along who is quotable, irreverent, funny and, oh, by the way, talented, the cynics tear him apart.

On one hand, the old timer in me grumbles that these crazy kids have never had to fix what they tear up or pay for it. Then again, every hour brings knowledge that the world is changing.

The most I can say for Carson Hocevar is that he amuses me. I’m coming around.

The best driver won the race. I’ve seen a touch of David Pearson, my gold standard, in Ryan Blaney, for several years.

Right now, Kyle Larson has the most talent. He can take his car where no one else can. His weakness is that he does it so often.

Great drivers can run the high line in the bankings of big tracks. Richard Petty could do it. Dale Earnhardt could do it. Bill Elliott could do it. Harry Gant could do it. Larson can do it.

I would be remiss in any description of Sunday without noting the early-morning shock of Sen. Lindsey Graham’s death. My first thought was it was a social-media hoax. My second thought was it must be Mitch McConnell. My third thought was, hell, he was why I moved up here.

You may not think that is funny. It is your right. I didn’t really move up here because of a politician. I mourn even this one’s passing. I could write a book no one would read about why I moved.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

If you’d like to contribute to the site, I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.

By MONTE DUTTON

Everywhere has its unique places. They don’t seem unique to the folks who live there because, well, they are theirs.

But I am new to this area, and I am amazed.

During the NASCAR years, I took an avid interest in eating places. I learned that the secret of success is not “location, location, location.” The best places are off the beaten path.

Brevard’s Smoke On BBQ is strictly drive-through. Very little else is on this side of town. It’s at a tricky fork in the road. The line is comparable to parking at a ballgame. A friendly female voice took my order, and the same friendly voice made sure I had the right sauce — South Carolina mustard-based, yes! — and plenty of napkins.

I ordered a plate of burnt ends, seasoned fries, slaw and a slice of bread.

Brevard is similar to Clinton in that it is home to a small college, and most everything is on the other side of town from where I live. The difference is that Clinton, on what was my side of town, has an interstate highway clumped by its accompanying franchises.

Here in Brevard, the closest franchised drive-through is 6.6 miles away, and I don’t like them anyway. To me, McDonald’s is for two small cheeseburgers when I’m running late to get somewhere. It’s reliable mediocrity.

After a morning of writing emails, watching old movies and plunking away at my guitar, I wanted to watch England play Norway in the World Cup, so I remembered that Tanner down at the Adventure Village office had told me that Smoke On was good eating.

The burnt ends played better than England.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

If you’d like to contribute to the site, I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.

By MONTE DUTTON

For the first time in short-term memory, no World Cup game was scheduled for Wednesday. The world will survive.

We are back at war with Iran. I think the world will survive. It’s so easy to overreact. It just seems like Vietnam.

Let me express an unpopular view. I’m against term limits in Congress. A legislative body needs a mix of the experienced and the exuberant. More of our problems stem from inexperienced firebrands than obstinate veterans.

America needs a Mamdani and an AOC. They represent well the citizens of New York. Neither could be elected in the Carolinas. Jim Jordan of Ohio could not be elected in San Francisco. Most people are somewhere between those extremes, and most politicians are. The Graham Platners pass in the wind.

For better or worse, we get what we vote for. I remember assholes when assholes weren’t cool.

Enough of the politics.

Last week I saw a man whose haircut puzzled me. His hair was parted all the way around, then gathered in a bun in the middle of his head. How could a man make that circular part? Does he live in a hall of mirrors? Does he leave it bundled up when he washes his hair?

I’m sure there’s a simple answer, but it eludes me.

My first North Carolina trip to the laundromat was Wednesday. I met a sailor about to return to his assignment in Bahrain. Another man and I had a discussion over whether it was better to buy at Walmart or order from Amazon. He was a mechanic. I should have gotten his name. I’m liable to need him.

Now that the USA has flamed out of the World Cup, who has my rooting interest? England, I think. I have mostly English blood. In general, though, sports brings out the populism in me. Other than my favorite teams and the schools that gave me schooling, I prefer the underdog in, well, most everything.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

If you’d like to contribute to the site, I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller site. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.