A KENT TALE: THE TIME TUNNEL Cave tales from the cave-coot
I went looking for time tunnels.
Yes, time tunnels.
You see I read in a UFO magazine that down in the California Mojave there was a vortex where you could travel forth and back in time.
So prompted by maps in that magazine I hopped in my beat up truck and headed down to Red Mountain, Ca.
By chance I talked to an old Fresno biker who said he had been there before and yes it was pretty weird there and to look up and old miner who had an inside-take on all the weirdness.
So I ended up in the only intact establishment left in Red Mountan, the Silver Dollar Saloon.
Yessiree, things started getting really weird from there...
Miners... old mines... a canyon called Iron Mountain... a miner named "Bird"... China Lake secret base... a time tunnel... cave Trolls and phantom dinosaurs...
Inside the saloon the tough female barkeep asked me what I wanted.
"I want to find the damn Time Tunnel," I said.
"To drink," she stated, unruffled.
Meanwhile some of the assorted other desert rat customers inched in closer. Most were the swarthy variety especially one old miner in a wheelchair. He grinned with a sideways scowl which meant to me he must know something.
I tried another tangent, "do you know a guy named Bruce Minard? A miner? I was told to talk with him." His grin mutated to full frown and he wheeled away. That didn't work I thought...although I'd bet a buck he knows ol' Bruce I also thought. I was starting to feel a bubble of the Second Sight, a family curse. I ordered a Budweiser to squelch bubbling with bubbly.
Another gent inched up. He seemed more clean cut and straight laced. He stared at me, I stared at him and I asked, "have you been sailing...as in boats?"
"How did you know that?" he replied.
Drat, I blew it again I thought. But that infernal intuition was rising and I decided to flow with it. So I bought him a beer and we began to chat. I tried to take it more slowly testing him as indeed he tested me. A hippy scooted towards us. He wanted in on the conversation.
I concentrated on the straight-laced guy. He talked about sailing in fact he had a boat in San Diego. Not knowing much about the bounding main I let him go on a while.
Then I inserted the phrase, "Navy."
He went for it, "yes the Navy." Turned out he was in the Navy now, a kind of civilian in the Navy. Not far from where we were sitting was an infamous Navy base. So I took the leap.
I inserted the phrase, "China Lake." He halted for a spell as though he was thinking enforced thoughts.
I turned to the hippy as he had not jumped into the thread yet, "what's up," I asked. "Just listening," he said. "You from around here," I asked. "Bakersfield," he said, "but I come here often..."
"Howdy, I'm Kent, alias Dogpaw," I said.
They call me Bird," he said.
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