June 13: Today started spectacularly, with visits to Cedar Falls and then Ash Cave. I unknowingly had gone around Old Man's Cave yesterday when yet another untended Buckeye Trail caused me to change my route, but perhaps we can go back when my brother and mother visit this weekend.
Cedar Falls is a "small" cataract, but a visually impressive one. The falls are named after the nearby cedars, which are actually hemlocks, by someone who probably shouldn't be allowed to get to name stuff. His son Pizza Jesus Santa is said to agree with the previous statement.
The water from the falls runs over the cliff's edge in one stream until reaching a nose-like protuberance which rises up snobbishly to split the flow in twain. Just before crashing into the pool below, the water reunites and it feels so good, Reunite and its understood.
The site of Ash Cave also possesses a waterfall, although this one is a study in the beauty of minimalism. Falling in barely more than a trickle, the water is dwarfed by the magnificent geology surrounding it. Cliffs ninety feet high and one hundred and seventy feet around make a semi-circle that contain the waterfall, whose volume fails to even fill the reservoir beneath. Ash Cave was named thus because of the piles of ashes left by centuries of bonfires lit there by the local Native Americans and not after the protagonist in the "Evil Dead" series.
I left Ash Cave and Hocking Hills to find the usual back roads awaiting me. Less mundane were some of the photo ops I was presented with over the next few hours. Since I still have no functioning camera (one more week without) the written word will have to suffice.
1. A yard whose trees were decorated with empty Pabst cans. Who can blame this guy for wanting to be festive year round.
2. A sign reading "Priate Keep Out." I wonder what the fellow has against poor Priate.
3. The gravestone of a man nicknamed "Boob." Theories as to the origin of the name:
A) He was a big fan of the female form.
B) He wasn't very smart.
C) His death was related to a combination of a and b.
The humor drained out of the hike at my next trail, which evolved from a well-cared for entrance into a jungle of vines and thick undergrowth. Thorns pricked at my legs incessantly, I feel like I have been worked over by a cheese grater.
Eventually I escaped the "Little Shop of Horrors" scenario and got back on the country roads. At seven I arrived at the Lebanon Church and called it quits. The comic spirit kept right on giving until the end.
4. The sign in front of the church read Lebanon Coummity Church. The n's in Lebanon were backwards of course.
Eighteen meandering miles seem to have gotten me nowhere geographically. Regardless, I stand at 659 for the moment.
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