So it was a Clemson Cafe rally at the Walhalla Fish Hatchery as I remember. Late 1970's. Had to be after 1975 since I was on the Norton. I had a borrowed tent as I remember. I was a big borrower back then, since cash was at a premium. I do regret that since some things didn't get returned.

Rode the Norton up on Saturday afternoon to find a few folks already set up with a fire area and tents as I remember. At some point, we decided it would be a good idea to hike up the trail to a swimming hole. It was a warm day so it seemed like a good idea. A number of us had shorts or swimming suits and proceeded to dive or jump into the water below a waterfall. Pictures are available in the gallery. Basically, we would jump in and hold our breath (since the water was so cold that we couldn't breath even if we wanted to) and clamber out as fast as possible. The more thoughtful amongst us had thought to attach strings to our privates in order to extract them after the experience.

Meanwhile, several folks had noticed a pick up truck riding up the narrow dirt track by our campsite.

I decided to join a couple of others who had set up their tents across a small rocky creek from the main campsite. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The pickup continued periodic trips up and down the trail carrying loads like corn, sugar and other dry goods.

As the night closed in, we had some sort of food which I have no recollection of, but it was good. Libations abounded. Stories and outright lies flew as usual. Allgood, Leddon, Wishart, Bolick, Woods, Jones, Hurst, and others were involved. We had entered the Clemson Cafe zone.

Then, out of the night, a figure approached. He had a simple request. He had tried to execute a three point turn on the dirt road a little beyond our camp, and had dropped the rear wheels off the edge into the air.

With no thought to our own safety or sanity, 6 or 8 of the Clemson Cafe stalwarts leapt and/or staggered to our feet to assist. We positioned ourselves underneath the bed of the pickup which protruded over the edge of the road. With a cumulative strength derived from alcohol, testoterone and other substances, we lifted the rear of the pickup back on the dirt road.

After a general round of hurrahs, we were rewarded with a still warm plastic gallon milk jug of some clear liquid which was quite warming. This was much appreciated as the night had begun to chill.

However, after the receipt of said milk jug, activities at the camp site changed somewhat. In particular, someone who I believe was Greg Jones, decided that we should adopt a new activity dubbed "fire diving". This involved running and diving over the campfire (which was not particularly compact) and trying to do a tuck and roll. This activity was actively encouraged by those not wishing to participate (or who knew better). My understanding is that at some point, Mr Jones decided that jumping motorcycles over the campfire was another idea. I am not aware of that.

What I am vaguely aware of is that when I realized that I had to find my tent, I wandered in the general direction. At the point that I saw my tent, I took a step that had no clear foothold. I found myself face down with my arms outstretched. As I considered my position, I relaxed somewhat and kissed a rock.

After a good night passed out, I woke up and realized how lucky I was just to kiss the rock as opposed to smashing my face into the rock.

As far as how Sunday went, I have no idea, but I got home.

Posted 12/13/07 by Lewis "Captain" Kirk

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Egahd - more revisionism (see Larry's correction of my recollections of the Winding Stair Case Drag Race). That Rally, as were most CCR Rallies back-in-the-day was held at the campground (primitive to be sure) at the end of the best road that runs in to Courthouse Creek and its attendant falls when you take the right-hand turn onto a dirt road just before the bridge crossing the creek as NC 215 starts to climb to the Blue Ridge Parkway just out of the flats through Cedar Grove. About five miles and there you are. The pictures in the gallery of folks diving into a pool below a set of falls are from this area. They are not from the falls farther back down 215 near Sliding Rock. Or is that 176? At any rate, coldest freakin water you will ever jump into, irrespective of the month of the year.

That those guys were going farther down the road than where we were camped almost demanded that they be involved in an activity of ill repute. Today I guess they would be cooking meth. Though I would hope they would still be cooking 'shine. I can allow moonshining, if it is good, no radiators used in the condensing, and that was good liquor. Meth, crank, whatever, even the "good stuff", well made, is a concoction so vile it is certain to rot what ever brain cells you will need for cognitive function from 48 to 53 years of age.

The reason you are conjuring up the Fish Hatchery. Other than it was a twisty ride down there, is that there were several trout farms in the vicinity and a number of us would visit them to acquire our dinner as the price was right, and they would filet your catch for you. I am not sure if this was the year, or the fish acquisition site, but do you recall the time Journe (sp?) tossed his /6 down in a most comprehensive fashion into the merge lane running from Pendleton to Clemson right in front of everyone? We all stopped to help and Allgood approached us with Journe's sack of trout filets, admonishing us to "get these fish outta here!" as if they were the most toxic of contraband!

Now, the Fire Diving, or Fire Dancing, yes Jonsey might have been the first to start. And I believe it started as Fire Dancing. We would jump from rock to log to log, as it was rather large conflagration with a lot of territory to cover. As the night wore on and the fire died down, dancing no longer held the element of skill required of such a perilous activity. Thus, Diving ensued. It was required of all divers that their head must pass through flames during their dive. This was judged by a panel of experienced divers who laid by the fire and peered through the flames, adjudging each diver as worthy, or demanding a retry for proper form.

There was also an evening at Road Atlanta where Fire Diving was a mainstay of activity. I do not recall if this was before or after the Rally. I do know this was the evening Jonsey laid on his back, hoisted a keg all declared was spent above him supporting it on two feet and a hand, and with his free hand manipulated the valve and drained beer straight into his gullet. He looked like a Yellowstone Park bear caught in the act. Never has the quote "He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." Had more meaning for me. But I think this is the same night I went into Atlanta to show my brother some big city night life and I ended up chasing some brunette all over the place, from Carlos McGee's to the Limelight. And I still don't know how I did that as I didn't have a car at the time.

But, I do think Mr Kirk did pass out and nearly crack his skull open in the process. And I don't recall how I got home either. Must have been a helluva good time.

Addendum and corrections submitted 3/9/08 by Mark Wishart