Location: Various

Now we’re talking! Adventure at every turn.

Remember, “the difference between ordeal and adventure is attitude!”

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In this issue – with attitude:

1. The Big Show
2. Cold Wrinkles
3. Hot New Adventure Book This Summer
4. Cool New Mystery This Fall

Take what you like… leave the rest. Thanks for being here!

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After a crazy winter, March came thundering at us like a ravenous lion. We asked for a lot of it. Much we did not. But we now hurtle toward our fate with our eyes wide open, eagerly anticipating the next twist. We’re putting ourselves out there.

It’s our time to suck the juice from fickle fruit—bitter or sweet, and that damn lion is still thundering toward us.

Bring it on, you mangy cat!

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1. The Big Show

After packing our most treasured relics from lives already well-lived, and after selling our last remaining piece of real estate, we aimed our forty-three-foot eight-wheel home northward. We left SW Florida in our rearview mirror and headed for central Georgia with adrenaline-fueled excitement coursing through our veins.

What happens when you cluster a mob of RVs in one place where lots of people with similar interests hunker down together? For most, that means fun and excitement.

During the week of March 15th, we set up our rolling home on the Georgia State Fairgrounds along with some two-thousand-one-hundred other RVs. That’s probably over four thousand folks who lust for life on the road, as do Kay and I.

Enter the 106th Family Motor Coach Association (FMCA) International Convention, and Perry, Georgia was hopping.

Seventy-seven folks attended my seminars on Inspired Creative Writing & Publishing. They received what I had to say very favorably.

In fact, FMCA has already asked me to present again next March at their Tucson convention. Let’s go!

I also spent ten hours over four days selling my books—I sold seventy-five. What that means to my lovely bride of fifty-four years—this month—is that we now haul just two cartons of inventory around North America instead of six, at least until I receive another print run for my next round of seminars and book sales in Minnesota this summer.

So to all of you who attended my seminars and/or bought my books in Perry, Miss Kay and I thank you.

2. Cold Wrinkles

No, y’all, I’m not now whining about early spring temperatures, which were frigid, at least to us—we’ve long-since been “Floridated.” Rather, the freezer in our big old French-door residential fridge in the bus kicked the proverbial bucket.

They figure it was a compressor gone bad. But because this was a twin compressor unit—deluxe at its birth, circa 2010—the fridge continued to work fine. Just no freezer.

Built like a brick, the venerable old Samsung was a teenager—thirteen years old. What’s that in dog years? High time for an upgrade to something that works, top to bottom, even under the frequent earthquake conditions (a.k.a. crappy roads that shake our guts and our equipment).

Now, this might amuse you. We spent several days at the Newmar factory service center in northern Indiana (where this bus was built seventeen years ago), so they know what they’re doing. Quite the amazing facility.

Said they needed to take out a ten-foot row of cabinets over the driver’s side living room windows and remove a picture window, so four strong men outside could hoist the new twenty-cubic-foot three-door Whirlpool fridge/freezer up and in to two strong men inside! After they disassembled and hauled out “old busted” and hoisted in “new hotness,” that is. No big deal. For them. Just a SMOM (Small Matter Of Money)!

Yeah, it was time. And it happened, with less than a 1/32″ clearance!

The plan worked—the first time. Almost like they knew exactly what they were doing.

Now, since this was an unplanned remove/replace, the team ran out of time.

So we planned to return to Newmar after Spartan Motors serviced our chassis (everything below “the house” like the engine, drive train, suspension, air brakes, etc.).

We then drove to Ontario to visit some friends, then down to Cleveland to visit my dear sister, Yvonne. And back to Spartan in southern Michigan to pick up the coach.

Then we returned to Newmar in Nappanee to allow the boys to finish trimming out the fridge and install our new slide toppers. Those are heavy fabric awnings that cover our slide-out rooms when extended.

Piece a cake!

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Now, let’s talk about slides—you know, mechanical room expanders. Also called slide-outs or slide-out rooms. We have four. Without four slide-outs the bus is very cramped and not as livable.

Two opposing slides in the bedroom make that a cozy space with plenty of room to walk around the king bed. Likewise, two opposing slides in the living room really open that space up. Very comfy.

On the other hand, when any of those four motorized slides don’t behave, well, think of losing about twenty percent of the dimensions of the room where you spend the most time.

Yup, our passenger’s side living room slide decided to grow temperamental on us in recent months. Well, we were in the right place.

They replaced the brake on that slide’s motor (which wanted to stay locked and not allow the motor to move the slide), and… mischief managed. We’re back in business! SMOM.

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One more wrinkle that surprised us.

We’re vegetarians with a bad freezer whose fridge could have failed at any moment. That meant we resorted to provisioning with canned beans of all types as a major source of our protein.

Canned goods are heavy. We challenged the strength of every full extension drawer in our “pantry.”

Within the first two weeks of our new full-time RV lifestyle, three of four drawers in our pantry collapsed.

Remember, when we roll the house down the road at 65 or 75 MPH, we’re seriously wiggling the needle on the ole Richter scale.

Fortunately, it was a small matter for the Newmar techs to fortify our drawers so they wouldn’t drop our heavy larder all over the floor! Thank you, Newmar techs! (SMOM redux).

We took a road trip in the Jeep to Niagara Falls, Ontario. Illuminating.

While the bus was getting her yearly physical at Spartan Motors in Southern Michigan, we took a road trip in the Jeep to Niagara Falls, Ontario. Illuminating. More casinos and wineries in one place than we’ve ever seen (no wineries in Vegas).

Oh, and our first view of the falls from 733 feet above ground level (the observation deck of the Skylon Tower) took our breath away.

We then said goodbye to our Canadian friends and headed to Cleveland to spend a wonderful weekend with family there. Delightful. Got word our bus was done at the Spartan chassis service center (annual maintenance), and returned to Newmar in northern Indiana to finish up there installing parts that had to be re-ordered.

And here we sit. Again. Comfortably.

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3. Hot New Adventure Book Coming This Summer….

A reminder….

This next book will be available August 1st. A skilled team of pre-publication readers have been buzzing with enthusiasm about this first book of this new series.

I am thrilled at the reaction from these early readers/critics to the first book of an engaging and sometimes humorous adventure series based on the real-life law enforcement experiences of my new friend, Lieutenant Tom Kasprzak (retired) from the Massachusetts Environmental Police. Has he got stories!

The good news? LETHAL GAME CAN BE PRE-ORDERED IF YOU CLICK RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW! That means that you can buy it today at a reduced pre-publication price of $3.99 (USD) and Amazon will deliver the Kindle edition to any or all of your smart devices automatically the moment it becomes available.

If you don’t own a Kindle device, no problem. Follow the link above to the book’s Amazon page. Directly under the price of the book, click on “Read with Our FREE App.” Download that app and you’ll be able to read any Kindle book on all of your smart devices (phone, tablet, computer….).

I offer you an excerpt of this new book here:

Lethal Game – Bears Under Siege

A Sam Travis Adventure

Saturday Morning, 

October 1st

Glenville, Massachusetts

* * *

These woods always reminded Frank Murdock of Christmas. The pine and hemlock trees that loomed over the log cabin stained its brownish exterior to somewhere between a weathered gray and the black of neglect. But it always smelled like Christmas. 

Out front, a sign nailed to a post announced, 

Frank swung open the cabin’s screen door. It banged against its stops as he stepped out onto the porch and filled his lungs. Sometimes he felt stronger than he himself expected. The truth? He had grown too darn old and tired for the job. But he’d admit that to no one out loud, not even to himself. 

He slapped away the cobwebs from the top corner of the screen door. They weren’t there last night. A few clung to the sergeant’s stripes on his right shoulder. Those stripes were less faded than the rest of his forest-green uniform. He scratched at the third-day stubble on his jowled neck.  

The grizzled game service veteran hobbled side-to-side out to his Bronco, a clone of the one that his partner, the promising young Sam Travis drove, though rustier. But for the sweet fart of fate, he’d have lost one or more of that truck’s Swiss cheese fenders behind him in a ditch on a country road. 

His left knee gave him trouble most of the time. Today was one of those days. Not the only thing that irritated him, though. 

These dents and all this grime? Past adventures, eh? If we get some budget, maybe the boss springs for a new fleet of Broncs… yeah, sure thing—come a hell a Sundays!

Frank grabbed the handle, swung open the driver’s door with a screech from its pair of rust-dry hinges, and hoisted his creaky carcass up into the driver’s seat. His eyes had grown bloodshot from filling out forms for the last hour. 

Blasted paperwork…two more years and I’m gone… gone… gone….

Twisted the ignition key.

Bam! 

The Bronco sputtered and stalled. Murdock slammed his fist against the wheel. The muscles in his jaw rippled. Didn’t mean to grind every single natural tooth left in his mouth. Probably chipped at least one, or worse. He was sure to put the dentist’s youngest boy through his freshman year at Holyoke Community College. 

Twisted the ignition key again. More sputtering. 

Fire up, you son-of-a-bitch! 

Finally, the engine took pity on the old woods cop. After a quick J-turn, Murdock drove past the cabin in a cloud of dust with sparks shooting from the exhaust pipe—actually, from the hole in the pipe in front of the rusted muffler. One more backfire, and the Bronco disappeared, leaving a pall of blue smoke in its trail. 

Murdock bumped along a remote dirt road that was more of a game trail than an actual thoroughfare. His chunky trail tires kicked out gravel. Clotted chunks of mud had caked inside all four wheel wells before the first freeze. Stayed all dried up in there, now, like gray concrete. 

Intermittent static issued from his dash radio. Then, the sultry tones of their female dispatcher offered a welcome respite from the noise that the radio’s antiquated squelch could not defeat. Murdock had been warned about his playful flirting. Like he had a shot!

“Unit twenty-one… unit twenty-one… please respond to a shooting complaint near the abandoned hotel at Wolf Hollow.”

Shit. Means another hike to the top of that wretched ridge.

He tried not to sound pissed at that silky voice washing over him from his radio’s speaker. Or too sarcastic. What was her name, again? “Unit twenty-one received. Thanks a lot!” 

“Sorry, Frank. You’re the only officer in that district. Complainant states she’s heard shots fired there for over a week now.”

“Received and en route.” 

A week-old complaint. Typical. 

Murdock pointed his Bronc up into the hills on the winding road toward Wolf Hollow. Clouds of dust swirled behind, but a fair amount of it filled his Bronc, too. Swiss cheese wheel wells’ll encourage that. 

Coming around a curve too fast, he slammed on his brakes. Dust engulfed him and the Bronc. Almost got jammed up on a fallen tree and half a dozen boulders. 

Great. A landslide. Just what I need. 

Murdock snatched the microphone from its hook on the dash. “Unit twenty-one on portable at Wolf Hollow.”

“Received, twenty-one.”

This trail’s a cuss-ed mess! 

Still muttering to himself, he climbed out of the cruiser, surveying the steep incline. Spotted the head of a foot trail he knew led to the abandoned hotel up top. 

Murdock chose his steps with care. Didn’t need a twisted ankle. Small rocks tumbled around his feet as he walked, rolling down the steep trail behind him, clattering in complaint. 

Frank stopped for a moment on the incline to do a quick three-sixty. A panoramic view of the countryside from the ridge reminded him why he chose this line of work. Breathtaking. He loved his Western Massachusetts mountains. 

The wind had picked up. Or more likely, it hadn’t, but felt like it up on the ridge. Leaves rustled as they took to the air, skittering across his path. 

And there it was—the abandoned hotel. Not much left other than its foundation, a concrete slab, and two camouflaged tents pitched there, all organized like it was a professional operation of some sort. He could guess. 

He approached the campsite, now on full alert, and still managed to step right into a still-steaming pile of dog crap. 

Shit!

He dragged his soiled boot over a pile of dead leaves that had accumulated up against a rotten log. Still shaking his boot every other step, Frank continued on into the campsite. 

Off to his right hung camo pants drying on a clothesline. There was a wire run for dogs, and the remains of a fire. Just a bed of ashes within an impromptu rock circle. 

Murdock soft-stepped up to a tent that was zippered shut like the other one. He unzipped it, bottom up, for a peek inside. Halfway up, he stooped, pushed aside the flaps, and faced a barking, snarling whirlwind of teeth, fur and blazing eyes, inches away. 

He flew butt behind heels onto his ass, stunned by the attack. 

Gee-ZEUS!

The dog choked against his now ribbon-tight chain to get at him from inside that tent. 

The hound relented, but continued to snarl in frustration as Murdock got to his feet. Then he noticed drops of blood glistening on dried leaves near where he had stumbled back. He stooped to run a finger over it. 

Still stooping, he sniffed—the drop smelled coppery. Eyeballed it up close. Rubbed it in a circular motion between his right thumb and forefinger. Yup. Blood. 

After his third three-sixty scan since entering the camp, he followed the intermittent blood trail. He often bragged he could track anything, anywhere, anytime. And he had. 

The trail led him to a clearing surrounded by… camouflaged netting? And a game pole constructed of two straight hardwood tree limbs driven into the ground ten feet apart. Someone had strung a rope between the poles eight feet off the ground. Guy ropes outboard of the poles ensured they would support tremendous weight. 

He saw four dead bears hanging by their necks. They’d cut off their paws at the wrists and stripped their hides down from their necks to reveal incisions deep into abdominal flesh. Still raw and bloody. And steaming. 

What the fuck? A crew of pro poachers!

* * *

The end of a rifle barrel poked out of the bushes just twenty yards away, brushing a limb and its dried leaves. The crosshairs of a scope centered on Murdock’s back. A finger tightened, and….

* * *

Murdock spun around, reacting to a sound any normal sixty-two-year-old pair of ears would have missed. At that moment, a bullet struck Frank three inches above and four inches to the left of his chest’s center. He sprawled backwards. 

* * *

The poacher walked toward the fallen game warden. Leaves crunched beneath his boots in the now deadly silent forest. 

Murdock’s voice wheezed, “Help. Please.”

A raspy laugh echoed in the silence. The poacher’s response to Murdock’s plea with the rifle pointed at his forehead? A blast that shattered the forest’s silence. 

The man with the mean eyes kicked the uniformed piece of meat at his feet as he drew in the sweet scent of cordite.

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4. Cool New Mystery This Fall….

Also, look for the second book in my Literati Mystery series this Fall, Secret Swords (working title & draft cover art). I’m experimenting with an alternate title and cover: Dancing With Death. Which do you prefer? Let me know!

Synopsis (draft):

Someone is murdering Windy City movie stars a few summers from now. But a larger story launches from Denmark before carving its bloody path into the American Midwest.

Studio executives & politicians demand answers as the investigation flounders.

At first, Chicago Police Captain Lois Granger believes this is just another nasty serial homicide case complicated by the wild imagination of her pain-in-the-neck suspended Detective McQuillan, a.k.a. McQ, and celebrity Scottish author, a self-styled amateur sleuth, Sir Aubrey Greigh. But later, she’ll risk all herself to unmask a horrifying secret. 

Greigh recruits Chance McQuillan, on compulsory leave, to covertly investigate a series of murders as a civilian. Later, they labor to thwart a plot to incite international mayhem & mass murder with an alphabet soup of agencies. The cost of failure? Unthinkable.

Then, tough-as-nails police commissioner, Jack Roberts gets a call from Interpol. From that moment, everything changes. But not for the better.

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Yup, we’re definitely blitzin’ over here in the bus!

So, until next time… and wherever you and I are, my friend…

Let’s roll!

Gene

P.S. The gear to tow a car behind the bus and two bicycles above all the tow gear? Nothin’ to it, right?