Guano, Cow Pies & Peppie's Pizza

It was an adventure of extremes, borne of boredom and executed without the clutter of forethought. Our core group of cave crawlers had been on this ride many times. We would suit up in bright orange jump suits zipped from crotch to neck over grubby clothes. As the sun went down, we would drive to a farm on the outskirts of the County. Pulling our car deep into the brush at the side of the road, we hiked through a cow pasture filled with warm, oozing, shoe sucking piles of cow shit. Pausing for brief reflection next to a rocky mound, we watched the large black mouth on the side of the hill sneeze out warm damp air choked with bats now launched into the night sky. 

There we ducked down and entered the earth.

This was Limestone County, so it was riddled with limestone caves. I only knew of this one though. We went at twilight so the farmer wouldn't see us to chase us away but we still had enough light to help us get to the mouth of the cave next to a stream that had probably been instrumental in forming it 1,000 years ago. Perhaps bright orange wasn't the smartest choice for these particular covert operations but no one would accuse anyone in the group of being smart. We were way too wasted for smart. Totally toasted and moving forward. Crouching slightly as if to present a smaller profile for an irate farmer armed with rock-salt shotgun loads to spot, we trudged through this farmer’s field lined up like the seven dwarfs on a path to Snow White’s boudoir. But it wasn't Snow White’s bed we lay on in the inner chamber, it was guano. Bat dung, shit. Once we entered the mouth of the cave, staying low to let the bats exit as we entered, the passageway narrowed like the throat of a blacksnake. We had to squirm over, under, around and through to get to the main chamber. That opened up into a room the size of a two car garage into which someone had dumped a truckload of damp peat moss. It must have taken those bats a very long time to make that pile and it was relatively dry and fairly comfortable to lie on. Bats are legendary bug eaters so once their bat digestive systems sucked all the nutrients from the bug’s bodies, I guess all they had to shit was mashed bug exoskeletons. Certainly guano is sold as expensive fertilizer but it could make a decent pillow stuffing too, like those barley stuffed pillows that are supposed to help prevent neck pain. Anyway, once we got to our inner sanctum, we chilled. I would take off my Pea coat and lay it down like a rug to lounge on. We put incense sticks in the ground, set up candles on our perimeter, and smoked our brains out.

That’s it. That was the goal. We just wanted to get to a place where even the most rabid Alabama State cops wouldn't find us and paranoia wasn't an issue. Get as wasted as you want. In that cave there was no sun, no stars, no moon, no lights, no external sound…no time…just the sound of our own breathing bodies.

North Alabama in the late 1960’s was a place where paranoia ran rampant with my crowd and was well justified. If those state troopers could get their hands on a long-haired pot smoking kid from New Jersey they would probably shit themselves with pure glee. Everything was wrapped in suspicion in those days and conspiracies abounded. We assumed that all Alabama State Troopers were at least 6’6” and had the IQ of celery. So to be tucked safely away in the bowels of the earth with like minded freaks and lots of rolled appetite enhancers was pretty sweet.

Just as we had bid the sun farewell and marched into the earth at twilight, we would likewise reverse the trek and see the first glimmers of sunrise as we marched back out at dawn. This time though the dwarves were covered in a combination of mud slime and bat shit: long hair matted and streaked, all of us filthy, wet, and hungry. It was a perfect time for a huge breakfast at the all night pizza place where we could gorge on a pie flowing with grease and doused with hot sauce. Gotta love Peppe’s Pizza.

The graveyard shift would just be coming through the doors from their chicken plucking chores down the street at Sweet Sue kitchens. These people were production line pluckers and disembowelers who had been raised in the country on squirrel brains, greens and close family relationships. Certainly the gene pool was very limited and facial deformities were the norm. They sat on their side of the room, we sat on ours, staring openly at each other wondering just which side of the moon each other had come from.

A brightly colored jukebox blasted George and Tammy, common ground on which we could all agree. That, and gooey slices of warm pizza, dripping with hot sauce and washed down with ice cold soda.

Some things are just too fantastic and perfect to allow any justification for disagreement.