By DAVID GREEN
Many people talk of nightmares that leave them shaken from sleep. I don't seem to do a lot of that sort of dreaming. For me, it's more a matter of confusion and disappointment.
There's the confusion of garbled voices, for example, when my conversation with someone is nothing but incomprehensible slurred, slowed speech. But the person I'm speaking with is answering in an identical language. We seem to understand one another.
Last night I was a pretty good runner, but that led to a question when I woke up. How old was I in that dream? Maybe I was a much younger man when I was out on the road into my second mile. Now that I write about it, I recognize that dream. I've had similar ones in the past.
I also received a phone call last night from a woman speaking French. I couldn't understand her except for the phrase "l'accident." I knew immediately it was one of those scam calls about a family member in trouble in a foreign country and cash was needed immediately.
I also knew that I had no family member in a French-speaking country, but I thought I better listen anyway. No telling where Colleen might have driven off in search of library supplies.
At least I knew after that dream that I was myself in terms of age. But when I have a dream such as the one when I was talking to my son, Ben, when he was about two years old, I have to wonder again how old I was in the dream.
Of course there's a reason for me to mention dreams. It's because of the one I had a few days ago about finding bedrock. I'm always hoping to find some exposed bedrock in southern Michigan. It's generally buried a few hundred feet out of sight, but there's that one section of I-94 east of Jackson, a couple of miles after merging off U.S. 127. It's right there in plain view, exciting to gaze upon every time I pass.
You might say that's cheating, that it's exposed only by virtue of gouging out a surface for the expressway, and that may be true. I'd have to look around the area to see, but I'll take it anyway. It's the only place I know of to see rock other than the quarries in Sylvania.
I know that statement is no longer accurate. I found another location even closer to home two or three years ago, and a much more exciting location indeed. A pair of travelers brought it to mind again a couple of weeks ago.
I was at work at the Disturber office when a motorcycle stopped in front and the two riders soon walked in.
"Are you David Green?" asked the biker dude.
I told him I was, wondering if this was a face I should recognize. But I didn't know them and I wondered how they knew my name.
"They told me at city hall that you could answer a question," he said.
I couldn't imagine what I was in for with this query and asked what they wanted to know.
"We heard there's a cave near Morenci," he said.
If there's a cave near Morenci, apparently I would know about it, or so they thought at city hall. Actually, they did choose the right person for the bikers to visit. I knew they must be referring to Silas Doty Cave in Lost Nations.
I told them of the legend—that Silas Doty robbed a bank and hid out with the loot in a cave. I warned them that if Silas Doty actually did hide with his horses in that cave, his horses were those miniature ones that you see in the circus. You can't stand up inside Silas Doty Cave unless you're one of those toddlers that I dream about.
I showed them on a map where Skuse Road was located, told them to look for the North Country Trail sign, said they would climb a hill to the south, walk for a while and then have to drift off to the left until they encountered an enormous gorge that might make them think they were immediately transported to a hollow in Kentucky.
I hope they found the little cave in the rock outcrop, but I wouldn't be surprised if they missed it. When I found it, I had a GPS receiver heading for a nearby geocache.
I'm still disappointed that my bedrock discovery out past the sewage lagoons was only a dream. It was so real. It took me a few minutes after I awoke to realize I had been duped again by my nighttime mind.