THIS IS A STORY THAT ISN’T—


I had driven past the Unusual Junction down there on route 36 east of Coshocton many times but never had an opportunity to visit. It always looked like a string of period railroad cars with a depot of sorts just full of commercial, maybe even historic, activity.

Recently lady friend Sue Brooks, her friend Sandy and I stopped there after a birthday lunch with Sue’s sister Patsy and her friend Karen in Newark. Even though it was a cold, rainy Sunday, the “Junction” was alive with automobiles in the parking area.

There were about a half dozen train cars with a caboose. Out front was a 60’s era Volkswagen Bus gaily painted like those of the flower-child generation. I smiled as I thought of my son Craig who is, at this very moment, restoring one of them.

This one was complete with a pair of mannequin legs sporting combat boots protruding from the rear end. “That’s enough to make some excitable visitor call 911,” I quipped.

There was an old railroad mail cart (above) by the front entrance celebrating a time long past. Down along the cars I could see an old iron cage with the sobriquet “County Jail” on its fading sign.

Inside we found a shop well stocked with confections and lots of artsy, crafty gifts. Along one wall was a generous display of Amish style meats and cheeses leading to a spiffy 50’s era diner still satisfying a few post lunch-time customers.

On the rear wall (below) was a huge sign from the Price is Right TV show—evidently a real crowd pleaser, or so the signs said.

It turns out all the folks from the cars in the parking lot evidently were visiting the adjacent store that specialized in—wedding gowns, of all things.

“How do we get to see the railroad cars,” I asked a gal in the diner. “Oh, they are not open any more,” she explained and went on to tell me about some sort of charity auction which was one of the last activities in the train cars.

So, I walked slowly along the outside of the cars and was saddened to see how badly deteriorated they had become with peeling paint and ill fitting windows and soggy insulation hanging here and there.

As we headed toward home I surrendered the driving chores to Sandy and slid into the back seat for a relaxing ride to day’s end.

The railroad fancier in me was disappointed but, getting to spend an afternoon in the company of these four ladies was, nevertheless, a warm interlude on a dreary winter day.

Besides, we noted the Longaberger Basket Company and Roscoe Village as we ventured through the area down there—more blog material as springtime approaches.

Stay tuned!

This 60s era Volkswagen Bus sits along US Route 36 east of Coshocton and beckons customers to the Unusual Junction, a curious collection of railroad cars with a decidedly commercial orientation.  We stopped by recently and I satisfied an aging curiosity which is explained Saturday in a story headlined, "This is a Story that Isn't"  Please stop by.

BOUNDARIES GALORE—

In the above photo which was done during a recent hike the blazes and markings represent the junction of the Mohican State Park and Mohican Memorial State Forest boundaries on the trail from the Pleasant Hill Dam to Little Lyon’s Falls.

The red color represents the park area and “No Hunting”. The yellow color is for the forest where hunting is allowed.

The Mohican State Park consists of 1,110 acres with 5 miles of the Clear Fork Branch of the Mohican River running through it. The park extends from the Mohican Lodge southward along the west side of Pleasant Hill Lake.

That parcel narrows significantly at the dam and forms a corridor along the river, past the covered bridge and downstream to the campground on SR 3.

The state forest is composed of 4,795 acres of hunting area laced with hiking and bridal trails generally surrounding the park land. There are privately owned parcels within the forest area. That is why you see some homes and mailboxes when driving on forest roads in the vicinity of the fire tower and gorge overlook, for examples.

Adding to the land boundary confusion of that immediate area are the Muskingham Watershed Conservancy District and US Army Corp of Engineers with land holdings, also adjacent to the dam.

You are generally free to disregard this bit of information, unless, of course, you are a hunter.

This story started with an email I recently sent to square dance partners I often travel with—confessing I am usually armed while in their company. They wouldn’t know that because I am licensed to, and carry, a concealed handgun.

I didn’t know quite what response I might get.

It was positive far beyond my best expectations.

Square Dancing friends (from left in the small photo) Sue Brooks, Don and Roberta Karger, Nancy and Mark Meinzer pay careful attention during their 12 hour training class to earn an Ohio license to carry a concealed handgun given by Richard Stark (above) a NRA certified instructor at Bake’s Best Shot in Morrow County.


CONCEALED CARRY—

Just weeks after that fortuitous email two husbands and their wives plus my lady friend were enrolled in concealed carry training and I was along for the day’s adventure because they happened to choose the training facility I had used six years ago and I was welcomed back as an alumnus.

For my lady friend Sue, her decision was astounding to her family. Her daughter said to me via a Facebook comment, “You have my mom carrying a gun! ARE YOU CRAZY??? LOL...”

For Sue, this would be the first time in her life to ever even fire a handgun. Likewise with Roberta and Nancy.

The latter two gals live a somewhat secluded lifestyle, sometimes finding themselves home alone. Whether they ever carry a gun remains to be seen but the training was regarded as being highly desirable in becoming familiar with the safe and effective use of a handgun.

Sue, being a widow, also must rely on herself in those lonely hours. One of the husbands often leaves work in a seedy end of town where you sometimes suffer the discontent of the hair rising on your arm in the darkness.

So, there we were facing 12 hours of coursework with the emphasis on the laws of using lethal force, how handguns work and how to use them safely.

Stark presided over the class of 14 students which included five ladies. I don’t know what he does for a living but it should be in a classroom, somewhere.

The early morning start dissolved into dusk when we moved to the range for the shooting part of the class. Facility owner Dave Baker, also a NRA certified instructor, joined Stark in a very careful patrol of the shooting positions, lavishing personal attention on any challenges that emerged.

I had the privilege of helping Sue who fired one shot through a .38 caliber snub-nosed revolver, carefully laid the gun down, turned to me with a startled look on her face and said, “I want to go home.”

We shared a hug and some deep breathing. I could feel her heart pounding. After another hug and some comforting words she consented to try again. The snappy little revolver was painful to the web of her hand.

She tried a 9mm semi-auto and it wanted to jam because of her relatively limp grip. She still wanted to go home.

Then, Dave provided her with a .22 caliber semi-auto which she handled tentatively, then perforated the middle area of the silhouette target with the 50 rounds of ammo Dave provided.

He brought her another box and soon the target looked like she was using a shotgun at close range.

As the event concluded the students were proud to learn all had completed the $125 course successfully. Written exams were reviewed and any questions answered incorrectly were discussed.

Dave provided everyone with an hour’s free shooting range time and strongly encouraged continuous practice to develop their new skill.

To say Sue liked shooting would be stretching the truth a wee bit.

But, it was nice to watch her be part of the congratulatory toast as the six of us enjoyed dinner after a very long day.

I really enjoyed the smile on her face when, at her daughter’s birthday dinner the following day, she displayed her newly earned diploma.

That’s Instructor Stark in the small photo above and at right below as Roberta Karger’s 9mm Glock shows it’s muzzle blast on the course range.

Postscript: Sometimes folks ask why I carry. Quite simply, I am enjoying life and I refuse to be defenseless victim. Further, I treasure the 2nd Amendment of the US Constitution.

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Photographers Note: It takes more luck than skill to capture the muzzle blast. I tripped the shutter at a speed of 1/13th of a second just as I sensed Roberta was going to press the trigger--with exquisite timing. I was able to hold the camera still by leaning against the rear wall for the shot and the good depth of field was achieved by using a very wide 17 mm Canon lens.

NRA Instructor Richard Stark (middle) works with Roberta Karger in safely handling a handgun while husband Don looks on.  The Karger's were part of a class of 14 folks recently completing their training at Bake's Best Shot facility in Morrow County.

AN EXPERIENCE--

in Ohio's Concealed Carry Training

Candidates for an Ohio License to Carry a Concealed Handgun must satisfactorily complete a rigorous 12 hour course given by a NRA Certified Instructor--for one example--including two hours of time demonstrating safety and competency on a shooting range.  With certification of course completion in hand, candidates then submit their application to a local sheriff's office who will launch a background check to insure the candidate has no criminal record.

Candidates also must have a background free of any questions of mental competency and meet Ohio residency requirements.

Please join us Saturday for the story on the Kargers, my lady friend Sue Brooks and Mark and Nancy Meinzer's quest for their licenses.  All are fellow Square Dancer's with the Johnny Appleseed Squares of Mansfield.  Your author obtained his original license in April 2004 and tagged along to report on their story.

OUR STUNNING SOLAR SYSTEM--

This is one of the most detailed photos I've ever seen of our neighboring planet Mars.  Datelined January 6th this photo is of a network of valley's on Mars known as the Warrego Valles in the southern highlands of that "nearby" planet.

Earth averages 93 million miles from our Sun.  Mars is the next planet farther from the sun at an average distance of 142 million miles.  "Nearby" as used above is always relative in celestial terms.

Scientists often view this valley system as evidence for a more Earth-like climate on early Mars.

Source:  NASA/JPL/University of Arizona

Hiking companions Lynn Rush and Ken Johnson (center right) pause to enjoy a close peek at the Mohican River as it meanders below the Pleasant Hill Dam on the early part of its run to New Orleans. Here, the trail to Big Lyon’s Falls leaves the river and begins a cooperative ascent to that frozen geologic attraction.


THE MOHICAN STATE PARK—
Aglow in late winter sunshine

High up on the rock formation while hiking above the Pleasant Hill Lake outlet we peered at the near vertical fall from our trail position to the roaring water far below.

We had just concluded it would be a very unpleasant experience to tumble from here when my feet shot out from under me and I landed smack on my pack while my head snapped back into the loosely trampled snow.

Fortunately, my prone bones were parallel with the trail, safely away from the tumble and the only damage came in the form of mild embarrassment.

Earlier that morning we headed along the Big Lyon’s Trail from the covered bridge in Mohican State Park. The crystal-clear river sluiced along beside us, its gentle swish barely nudging the natural silence of the snow-clad, pine woods.

An uncommonly brilliant mid-winter sun was just clearing the ridge line behind us and spraying crisp shadows across the sparkling snow.

We flushed a blue heron from its breakfast fishing spot along the stream’s edge and he loped from our view in his slow-motion impersonation of a prehistoric Pterodactyl.

The trail contours along the river for about ½ mile then turns sharply left and ascends gently another half mile or so where it passes a sign announcing an intersection with the Stagecoach Trail, just before the falls arrives in view.

No matter how often I pass this “intersection” I cannot possibly imagine a stagecoach ever negotiating its way through this convoluted maze of sedimentary rock hills.

Over geologic time the falls has chiseled a vertical amphitheater in the sandstone formation and on that winter day was proudly sporting a crystal column frozen in the gentle flow of the creek over the far above rim.

You want to tip your hat and give Mother Nature a round of applause.

From there it was another ½ mile or so of ascent to Little Lyon’s Falls; ever more slippery as the sun splashed us with its welcome warmth. That formation looks like a large, pesky sinkhole in the process of collapsing into itself—but, I was thinking kind thoughts about its geology until I was safely past.

Somewhere along there I heard Ken share the tune, “Hey Diddle Diddle, I’m off into the trees for a Piddle,” (or words to that effect). Lynn and I enjoyed his merriment with a discrete pause as he went out of sight muttering something that sounded like “yellow snow”.

Somehow I missed the concluding words to that rhyme.

The ascent portion of our hike ended with a “U” turn on the Pleasant Hill Lake dam and a very careful descent along its slippery face, accomplished, in part, by Ken as he whizzed the last little bit of the way compliments of a nearly destroyed plastic slide which had been abandoned by its previous owner.

Hope I never grow too old to go outside and play.

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In the smaller photos above early morning sunshine coaxes delicate color from the evergreens along the Big Lyon’s Falls trail (top) while companions Ken and Lynn are dwarfed by the crystallized column where water has frozen below the fall’s rim.

In the lower photo Ken and Lynn are silhouetted by the covered bridge as we head back to the car—clearly the only one in the parking area that morning. The only person we encountered on the near 3 mile hike was a lone fisherman casting for Saugeye in the dam’s tailwaters.