Rick McKinney is an acclaimed writer that features "Gordy" (aka Rorey Carroll) in one of his many intimate tales of his adventures hiking the Appalachian Trail. His book is titled "Dead Men Hike No Trails."
Read here what he has to say about their fleeting encounter on the trail.
Brief sweet moment last night, however, in crowded shelter thus tight up against pretty young Gordy, the wood nymph. She pulled out her guitar and sang angelic, a siren benign without her rocky shoals yet powerful enough in song to pull us all in, every ear in the crowded shelter that night attuned, listening.
I nursed her on my fifth of mescal by candlelight while a dozen guys and a girl or two looked on in the dark, gaga. “Too bad she’s southbound,” I thought to myself. “I’ll likely never see her again.” Another ghost, another angel!
Gordy is a ski lift operator in the other world. Her bare legs are long cat scratch posts, all scrapes and mud and bug bites and long gouges and dried blood. Suddenly I am Tarzan, and they’re beautiful in a Jane kind of way. I ask about the gouges. “Chiggers,” she says. How do you kill chiggers? “Nail polish. You suffocate ’em. They die beneath your skin.” Then what? I don’t want to know.
Wild girl Gordy strums her guitar, a narrow thing lute-like, and sings sweetly from a handful of damp and dog-eared lyrics somebody printed off the Web and carried, triple-folded in rain-soaked pockets. Now it’s the Dead and “I Know You Rider,” and Arms, the quiet giant, has joined in on his guitar, peeling off the bubblewrap and tape with which he carefully protected it from the rain. Beat Box, ever the man to reappear in my hike no matter how much time I take off or fall behind or climb ahead, he’s there. He appears here tonight phantom-like, the genie from the bottle, his ever-singing spirit Aladdin. Loquacious and never at a loss for quoted words or lyrics, he seems to stumble in the face of true love. “Gordy, if you were a guitar, you are the one I’d pick,” he says.
Now Beat Box has bowed out, gone back to his journal. Gordy sings “No Expectations” and Arms play along here in the loft of the William Penn Shelter. A friend writes and describes swimming with dolphins and though I can only imagine, I feel I can relate after this day of so much rain like walking through waterfalls. Gordy, the siren, the mermaid, gives us music, a higher intelligence than these dull and static words. Tonight I, too, swam with dolphins.
[From Chapter Fourteen, "Dead Men Hike No Trails" by Rick McKinney]
Learn more about Rick McKinney on his website:
I've lived in Seattle for about 6 months, and I have to say the food scene is a force to be reckoned with-- bar none to any other city I've visited in the world. Seattleites are REALLY into their local cuisine and market, which is such a refreshing turn from living in Southern California for 8 years. Not that San Diego and Los Angeles don't have pockets that eat local, support local, but I have been blown away by the real-deal community culture in the Pacific Northwest. Alas, another Californian invades Washington!
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Join Rorey Carroll at the Old Tucker Fountain for her unofficial CD release in the great state of Georgia this Saturday, September 25 from 7-9 pm. 
You've got one day to hitch a ride, call in sick or just show up ready to boogie in the kicking town of Asheville, NC, home of the infamous MoDaddy's Bar. Rorey Carroll will be releasing her highly anticipated CD, recorded by local heavyweight Eric Wilson and featuring some of the industry's most influential players (members of Ricky Skagg's Kentucky Thunder, Mountain Heart, famed fiddle icon, Stuart Duncan, and some of her favorite local Asheville musicians). 
Rick McKinney is an acclaimed writer that features "Gordy" (aka Rorey Carroll) in one of his many intimate tales of his adventures hiking the Appalachian Trail. His book is titled "Dead Men Hike No Trails."
Nothing screams out American more than an eagle. Whether you're cruising on a Harley, jumping out of an airplane or reminiscing about your glory days as a young buck in uniform, wearing a Mike Carroll original will surely give you that patriotic fix. With so many to choose from, why stop on one finger? 
I like to surround myself with interesting people, and I must say Kimberly Anderson Mavronicles is one legit lady. I've literally known this woman since I was wobbling around in diapers, but don't let that fool you. She has commanded my attention for 30+ years. If you know her already, it's not a stretch to vouch that she has redesigned your favorite room, painted your kitchen a very unexpected color, or inspired you to dust off Grandma's forgotten china for an upcoming fête. If you don't know Kim, you need to jump on the bus. Check out her website, follow her blog, read her client's testimonials, and start your path to a cooler self. Best part about Kim? Her taste in music revels her panache of design-- don't be surprised if she shows up at your house bearing Depeche Mode cassette tapes, a color wheel, and a bottle of really yummy wine.
So I have this dear friend that my circle calls "Midcentury Morgan," and I am convinced she is a domestic goddess. First of all, she is totally creative and gorgeous, inside and out. Second of all, she is one hell of a host. Her house looks like it could be one of the sets for a Madmen episode, and let me tell you, I miss the daily inspiration I collected from her as a fellow mom when we were Fallbrook troublemakers.
