The last ride

 

THE LAST RIDE

OAK HILL, W. Va. – It is early morning. A weekday, here in Oak Hill, West Virginia, a city I knew little about before arriving at the Boy Scouts campsite located nearby.

Having driving nearly half-way across the country to work as a volunteer with my son’s BSA troop, based in Oklahoma City, I like to do a little exploring on my own.

As I drove out of the Summit Bechtel Reserve campsite, I took Highway 19 north and passed the Skyline Drive-In on the west side of the road. Upon first appearance it looked closed, abandoned and insignificant. But upon closer inspection, I am reminded that this was where country-music legend Hank Williams spent his last moments. It is known as Hank’s Last Ride. For fans, coming to Oak Hill, West Virginia is part of a pilgrimage, from Hank’s hometown of Montgomery, Alabama to Oak Hill.

As I stood in the parking lot of the Skyline on a warm, early July day, I thought about Hank Williams and how prior to his death, he had lived in Shreveport, Louisiana in 1948-49 timeframe, near the Kansas City Southern railroad line, hearing the train go by into the night. This would inspired “I’m So Lonesome, I Could Cry,” one of the most iconic American songs ever recorded.

Hear that lonesome whippoorwill
He sounds too blue to fly
The midnight train is whining low
I'm so lonesome I could cry

I've never seen a night so long
When time goes crawling by
The moon just went behind the clouds
To hide its face and cry

This is important to me, because the Kansas City Southern Railroad line – overseen by railroad promoter and mystic Arthur Stilwell – is a backbone of high strangeness running through the middle of the United States that Stilwell seemed to have tapped into this line of longitude which is a ley line of sorts with portals along the way.

So, the Summit Bechtel Reserve, outside Oak Hill, has been open since 2013, and was only two years in the making! How on earth was it built so quickly? The moment I drove my truck into the property – which felt oddly devoid of people – it felt like a secret military base.

When you are on the Summit Bechtel property – which is said to have links to the military-industrial complex – a strange vibe hangs over the forests and hills and water features.

And then there’s Bigfoot. There is an emphasis on the elusive Sasquatch at Summit. Part of this is due to the Jack Link’s beef jerky company having used Sasquatch in their advertising. There is even an eight-foot tall statue of the Jack’s Links founder being followed by a slightly taller statue of Bigfoot following him.

I found it strange. Sure, there’s a silly quality to the whole Bigfoot phenomenon. But there is a serious side, too. I am of the opinion that these creatures are intradimensional and cross over into our reality from time-to-time. Kind of like what happens out at Skinwalker Ranch in Utah, and other places, including Polk County, Arkansas where the city of Mena is located.

I mention Mena because I went out there about four years ago with my son and a writer-friend of mine and did some investigating for a book I have tentatively titled The Stilwell Enigma.

Mena has a strange history. It is isolated in western Arkansas and yet there is an effort to make Mena a go-to place for outdoor adventure. And when I was in Mena, there was a building in the downtown area where an oversized owl was painted.

At the Pizza Hut, the employees talked in quiet tones about “rituals” and “fires” on Rich Mountain, the mountain near Mena where a large lodge is located.

At the lodge, I learn of a reporter from the Mena Star who disappeared in January 2001 on the Lover’s Leap Trail which goes down the side of Rich Mountain.

I meet a guy named Jim at a coffee house in downtown Mena who told me of very, very strange things going on in a home he bought in Mena. And then there’s the whole parapolitical angle of Mena having an airport that was part of a cover, CIA-operated drug smuggling operation that then-Arkansas Gov. Bill Clinton allegedly knew about.

And just outside of Mena, in the community of Board Camp, we went to a crystal mine where crystals allegedly levitate and UFOs have been seen. This, is, of course, on the 94^th meridian.

IN THE PARK

Fast-forward to late June 2022.

I am driving on Interstate 40 through North Little Rock, Arkansas with the Scouts. We are on our way to Summit Bechtel Reserve in West Virginia. We are going to Burns Park and have a picnic lunch.

Anyway, it’s a beautiful, summer day. And I realize the last time I was in Burns Park (I grew up in Little Rock in the 1980’s) was on May 19, 1985. I was with my sixth grade class and we were there to have a picnic and watch a solar eclipse!

The other strange thing was that as an adult Scout leader, you are required to wear a Scout uniform and I had not worn one since – 1985! – when I was last involved in Boy Scouts as a 13-year old!

After finishing my lunch, I wandered over near an outside restroom to find a trash can. After throwing away my trash, a man – short in stature, short haircut, balding, in his late 60’s – approaches me and says, “I didn’t know the Boy Scouts were still around.”

I look at him. He is wearing plain, gray pants, and a loose, raspberry-colored T-shirt. There is something peculiar about him. And he is intent in conversing with me. He has an accent and tells me he is originally from Milton, West Virginia, which is between Huntington and the capital city of Charleston on I-64.

In summary, he tells me he is homeless and then points to his Toyota Tundra truck, talking about hail damage on the truck. So, was he trying to meet someone here at the park and sell the truck? His story was all over the place. He seems to be pumping me for information. About the Clintons and people I know and his work as a pilot for powerful people and other purposes.

As a reporter, I’m trained to politely listen to people in hopes of getting a story. And it was a shame I didn’t have a notepad or a recording device because this strange character – who never told me his name – had quite a yarn to spin. What was true? What was a lie?

When I asked him where he was in 1967, he got quiet.

“Why?”

“Well, you said you were from West Virginia. It was in 1967 that the Silver Bridge collapsed over the Ohio River at Point Pleasant. You know of the Mothman?”

The man nods and tells me about hunting in the McClintic Wildlife Management Area outside Point Pleasant, around the “TNT Area” where the “igloos” are located where ammo, etc. was stored during the World War II area. He acted a little cagey when I asked him more about Mothman, which was sighted in that very area in 1966 and 1967, leading to the Silver Bridge collapse in December 1967.

He then asked me if I remember what happened in June 1967. He was in the Mediterranean Sea at the time.

“The Six-Day War between Israel and Egypt?”

He confirmed this. He said he was there – “monitoring” things.

The one-way conversation continued on like this for 20 minutes. I was sure my fellow Scouts were wondering what I was doing, talking to this odd character.

The strange man would not read my body language, where you are trying to let the person know you have to go. I kept looking over where the troop was, at a pavilion, finishing lunch.

Finally, I say, “Look, I have to get back with the troop.”

“Oh, well, let me come with you.”

We walk together as he is sharing some rather harrowing stories about his role overseas. He spoke loudly, as if he wanted the kids and adults in our troop to know what he was talking about.

Finally, I said, “Look sir. It was nice talking to you, but we have to get on the road. I wish you well.

He told me he had stopped here at the park to use the restroom, by where his truck was parked. I turned back around to talk to my friends and a couple of minutes later, I turned back around, and he and his truck were gone.

SYNCHRONICITIES

The rest of the two-day trip to West Virginia was rife with strange coincidences and synchronicities. When we get to the Boxwell Scout Reservation, east of Nashville, Tennessee, amateur astronomer had me look at the surface of the Sun. He noted a large sunspot, one that had just appeared. It was odd.

And the next day, in Mammoth Cave National Park in southern Kentucky, we went down in the cave and despite my aversion to caves and spelunking, I went through with the tour. And while I was toward the end of the tour, I began thinking about the allegory of Plato’s Cave: as noted on Wikipedia: “ Socrates describes a group of people who have lived chained to the wall of a cave all their lives, facing a blank wall. The people watch shadows projected on the wall from objects passing in front of a fire behind them and give names to these shadows. The shadows are the prisoners' reality, but are not accurate representations of the real world. The shadows represent the fragment of reality that we can normally perceive through our senses, while the objects under the sun represent the true forms of objects that we can only perceive through reason.”

I was noting the shadows on the wall from the lights in the cave, and it reminding me of representations of “The Cave” that I have seen. At that very moment – BLAMMM!!! – I hit my head so hard on the ceiling of the tunnel in the cave that I fall to the ground. A ranger named Alex tells me to sit on a rock and come to my senses.

I do but feel weird for the rest of the day. Driving across the Ohio River to Ironton, Ohio, we find a campsite in Wayne National Forest. Apparently, there have been Bigfoot sightings in the area. It was a beautiful area and I can believe unknown creatures live in this area.

TAKE ME HOME, COUNTRY ROADS

I have to say that I really loved being in West Virginia. I was last in this area near the New River Gorge National Park back in 1989, before it was a national park. It was with Rich Mullins, my friend and the well-known Christian singer who died in September 1997 in Illinois in a car accident. It was with Rich where I was with a touring Christian group in the summer of 1989. We were in Beckley, West Virginia with Rich’s brother David, who was a pastor in Beckley. I recall in late June 1989, we were in David’s house deciding whether we would go see the new film Batman (with Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson), since it is raining, or go whitewater rafting on the New River.

We chose the latter and had a great time on the New River. We did see Batman later. And recall, the name “Mothman” was coined by a reporter back in 1966, as a play on “Batman” which was big in 1966, as the campy series Batman with Adam West had premiered that year.

I will have more on my West Virginia visit in an upcoming post.