Cave City Kentucky


 Dear Friends,




Desiree and I were watching an uninterrupted stream of bats fill the Kentucky  evening, emitting from an abandoned hotel built above a cave, when it occurred to me I haven't blessed many of you with my unique and beautiful insights in a while.  We had parked our RV In Cave City Kentucky on the slopes of Guntown Mountain and were taking a break from dealing with an unfortunate RV septic explosion when we happened upon an Irish Bar on the old main street.  I have been often accused of prevarication, however you must believe me when I say 24 ounce cans of PBR were two dollars.  We had to order several to convince ourselves it was true.  

Now I hate bats, and my cats hate me.  They used to bring me live mutilated bats in the morning to provoke my hangovers.  Now I found myself standing beneath a living cathedral of bats, hissing, clicking and clawing their way into the night towards Guntown Mountain to murder rape and spread rabbies.  




Cave county Kentucky is a jolly place.  Open carry is gleefully encouraged here.  Neath this canopy of death, a man stood next to me as I smoked, a large revolver strapped to his side like a colostomy bag.  "Nice weather,"  he remarked.  How futile his tiny bullets seemed next to a sea of bats.  Naturally, overtime,  he had developed a symbiotic relationship with the bats.  He probably had names for each one.     

And I thought of you, dear readers and how I needed to tell you about these bats in Cave CIty Kentucky for the following reason.  A prominent former citizen of Cave City was Jack Thompson, the father of Hunter S. Thompson.  No doubt as he drove his son from Louisville to Nashville on some fool's errand, Hunter would crane his neck out the windows of their 1929 Studebaker and beg him to stop to inspect the caves.  

No doubt Jack Thompson's reply was "We can't stop here, this is bat country."  Thus the iconic line from Fear and Loathing...





Thoughts and Prayers,
Patrick Carrico  

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