Ducky and the Triple Crown (06/16 - 06/19)

Prologue

In the faraway land of Appalachia, where the mountains roll like the backs of slumbering giants and the mist clings to the trees like ancient whispers, there came a peculiar age. A time when folk wandered more in circles than in stories. Deep within the green hills, came a creature known to legend as Ducky the Eighth Dwarf. With his faithful sidekick, Sir Nicholas the Schnoz, they answered the call of the great winding path, known in the old tongue as “The Appalachian Trail.” A 2,200 mile odyssey that began in the land of Georgia and stretched all the way to the fabled Kingdom of Katahdin.

It was in the wild and whispering woods of Virginia, nearly halfway through this long footed pilgrimage, that the call came again. Not from on high, but from the pages of a FarOut comment thread: “BEHOLD, THE VIRGINIA TRIPLE CROWN.”

Three summits. Three trials. One quest.

And so, Ducky the Eighth Dwarf and Sir Nicholas the Schnoz once again took up the cause. Not for honor or glory, but rather, just to get the hell out of Bland.

This is that tale.

On the dawn of the sixteenth day of June, in the twenty-fifth year of the third millennium, Ducky the Eighth Dwarf set forth from the gates of Salem charged with a most noble and treacherous quest, retrieve the legendary Virginia Triple Crown.

With parental patrons serving as charioteers, Ducky the 8th dwarf and Sir Nicholas the Schnoz began their first of 3 trials, conquering the Dragon’s Tooth. At the very moment they emerged from the carriage, the heavens wept in warning. Rain and mist descended swiftly, cloaking the land in a thick fog.

The trail wound like a spellbound serpent through an enchanted forest, where trees whispered secrets and roots grabbed at their feet. Crossing perilous rivers and jagged boulders that would make even a sober goat question its abilities.

Just before the sun set, they arrived at the Dragon’s Lair. A towering fang of stone jutting 50 feet into the sky. Sir Schnoz, ever brave, scaled halfway up the beast before turning back. Ducky the 8th dwarf, wiser for his trail scars and cursed luck, declined to tempt fate.

The descent was a cruel jest. Narrow ledges and loose rocks. A path forged from a dare by the gods. Their pace slowed leaving their noble parents waiting at the base for what seemed to be a fortnight. But lo! The reunion was sweet, and the bond between trail and town stronger for it.

On the morrow, the fellowship found itself weary. Muscles ached. Spirits low. And so, by Royal decree they enjoyed a zero.

Poolside at the Laquinta Inn, Ducky and Schnoz smoked sacred herbs and enjoyed a midday feast. Our hero acquired a new pack from the local outfitter, a more fitting steed for a frame thinned by 70 days of forest starvation. Thanks to the dwarfs dear aunt Donna, prescription sunglasses arrived via carrier pigeon, promising fewer migraines.

The day ended not with valor, but with foot soaks, market resupply, and moments of familial magic. There was no trail tread that day, but it was healing all the same.

The dawn brought farewells. With hugs and leftover snacks, Ducky bid adieu to his parents and made way for the famed Knob of McAfee, the second jewel in the fabled crown.

The path began with cow pastures steep under the cruel sun’s gaze. At the summit, they found themselves surrounded by day walkers. Fresh legged folk from the realm of pavement and smog, who clogged the overlook striking undeserved poses for portraits.

A ranger stood guard, one lone sentinel keeping order at the edge of the world. Ducky and Sir Schnoz waited their turn, took their rightful place upon the stone ledge, then slipped back into the wild.

Dark forces must have been afoot, as a fanged serpent likely sent from the Dragons Tooth, awaited them near the water trail, coiled in silence. The tricky beast doth not rattle his tail, hoping to ambush our hero’s. Twas nearly their undoing. One step more and the fellowship might have lost a dwarf or worse... a Schnoz. But alas the Schnoz schmelt it before it could strike. They chose an alternate route to the spring, and in doing so added a mile to their tally in the name of self preservation.

The final trial came swift and unyielding. From the heights of the Tinker Cliffs, Ducky and Sir Schnoz pressed on through the heat, sweat, and lengthy conversation with the sage known as Context.

Their descent brought them into the kingdom of Daleville. They dined at the Three Little Pigs BBQ before crossing the Interstate of on foot, like peasants in a frogger simulation. Another 2.5 miles and they found camp in a grassy park, where tents bloomed like mushrooms and the fireflies arrived at dusk, flickering like sprites.

A thunderstorm rolled in as they zipped up their shelters, dodging lightning with impressive (if accidental) timing. The night grew dark as the hero’s celebrated their triumph. There was laughter, weed, then sleep.

Epilogue

And thus Ducky the Eighth Dwarf and Sir Schnoz completed the quest for the Virginia Triple Crown. Not with a grail or sword, but with sore feet, soaked socks, and stronger backs. The road was not always kind, nor was the weather always fair, but the fellowship endured.

Now somewhere, under the stars and bug netting, our hero’s sleep… dreaming of the next mountain to climb.