One of the unique things about cavers is how they sometimes help each other.
Yesterday, I visited some old-timer Houston cavers and they fed me a
delicious hand-made sandwich and a glass of cold tea.
Their house flooded with muddy yuck six months ago, and they are still
living in poor condition.
While I was there, the guy gutting their house and remodeling was a caver
in the late 70's in San Marcos and in the early 80's with GHG. I recalled
meeting him once at Jim McLane's funeral. But my memory was not good
enough to remember any other encounters. Apparently many of you are
Facebook friends with him.
My Sequoia broke down again, and some cavers helped me. It is getting a
new starter in a repair shop in Brenham.
I had to hitch-hike back to Houston.
I can vouch that hitch-hiking in 2018 is nothing like the nostalgic era of
1983 and 1984, when I did that frequently from College Station to other
destinations. I can state now as a fact that hitch-hiking is no longer
an option for travel in southeast Texas. I got picked up by some
Protestant fundamentalist proseltyzers who tortured my last remaining
brain-cell for an hour - alleging adamantly that The Universe was only
8,000 years old. Fortunately, I am now nearly deaf, and missed most of the
part about The Great English Speaking Serpent.
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