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| THE ILL FATED WEEKEND |
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Our exodus began friday, February 24, 1967, when we departed from Dick Sanford's ex-apartment in my beloved Valiant, stopped to pick up Bob Thrun, and headed for the caves. I had had a clutch installed for the occasion, so, nothing could possibly go wrong. As we left, I thought the clutch was a little stiff, but felt it was newness. When we reached Front Royal, I tried to shift gears, but the car was jammed in high. I limped into a filling station and asked for a mechanic. No luck, and no mechanics on duty to the west. Bob, the most mechanically inclined of us, tried his hand on a rented hoist. The car ran fine as long as it wasn't in gear, would not go into first or reverse, and wouldn't disengage from second or high. We managed to jump start it in second (with Thrun and Sanford pushing, and then diving through their respective doors as I sped off back toward DC). With much grinding and protesting of gears, the machine was gotten into high, and there it stayed until it lurched into the Shell station near Dick's old abode. I gave them authorization to repair the car, which they agreed to do. We stuffed our gear into Dick's Rambler, and tried again.
Tom Williams PCS Caver Photo by M.J. Conefrey |
At this point, having donated a pint of blood earlier and being just a teeny bit peeved, I opened a soda and gave my buddies first crack at it.. You know how cavers are; so I used the few drops left to mix my bourbon, naturally refilling the bottle. The result was that I slept peacefully all the way to the Fieldhouse, but missed any intermediate adventures. The moral of this paragraph is "Give blood, and save all your second six-pack!"
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Upon my return to consciousness, I found us at the Fieldhouse in balmy 14ª weather. We were greeted by Jerry and Squire who were drinking a noxious concoction of Scotch and milk. Feeling that the weather justified such a course, I refortified my personal anti-freeze level and sacked out
The next morning, we persuaded Lanny Lehto and a friend to help us check the second entrance to My Cave. We loaded gear into both cars and got in. Surprise! Neither would start. In the sweet 10ª weather, we suspected ice, but Dick's attempt to jump-start just lengthened our walk for food. To add insult to injury, Dick had a flat. After a late start next morning, when the car worked perfectly we brunched at the New Frontier. Upon leaving, we drove 312/2 feet before the car conked out again. Some feverish tinkering, highly effective, led us to resume our course. The trip home was, by comparison, utterly uneventful. Upon arriving at the Shell station I found that my car had sat all weekend, with a gratuitous insult in the form of a dead, battery from, the key being left on. After a charge, I made it home, running only two red lights and three stop signs.--
| Greenville Saltpeter | |
Water Entrance Photo by P.C. Lucas |
Mill Pond Entrance Photo by A.Braithwaite. |
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