Penelope Fogbridge spotted in Bald Eagle State ForestWho stashed this seedling in a coffee cup and sent her on a secret journalism mission? It was a beautiful Friday morning, promising of a perfect first fall weekend. "A perfect weekend for a long trail ride through a state forest," thought Corrs as he quietly stewed in his spot on the couch. He would not be going on this ride. The Seven Mountains Ramble trail - one of only two dirt bike legal trails in all of Pennsylvania's state forests - was for plated bikes only. As he watched Mike pack his camping gear, an idea suddenly came to him. He called to Penelope, who was eagerly rummaging through a bowl of tiny beads. "Penelope," he beckoned. "I have a mission for you." Penelope Fogbridge, private investigator and lover of all things mystery and adventure, shot her head up out of the bowl. She quickly sped to the couch, leaving a small trail of seed beads behind her. (Hedgie would collect these later and use them to decorate his hat) "What is it?" she asked brightly. Penelope had just been to Alaska a few weeks ago and was itching for another exploration. Corrs smiled and whispered, "How would you like to go on a secret mission? Take notes, have a photographer....report back to me a summary of the Seven Mountains trail?" This was even better than Penelope could have hoped. A real undercover mission out in the wild! "Tell me when and where," she quickly agreed. Corrs looked out into the kitchen and saw that the carton of camp cooking gear was fully packed. "In about ten minutes, I'm going to need you to go jump into that coffee mug inside that box," he instructed. "You'll have to wait there until you arrive at your destination. Take some snacks - you might not get out until Saturday morning." Oh, the suspense of waiting to see her new surroundings! Penelope's brain kicked into high gear. Rolling a tiny bead in between her hands, she quickly went through a mental list of what she might need. Journal. Pencil. Coffee beans. That would be all. Travel lightly. Stay secret. A secret mission! Excitedly she squeezed her hands together and stifled a happy squeal. The bead shot out of her grip toward the ceiling like a rocket, wedging itself between the wooden planks. She ran off to grab her stuff and was back at the couch in four and a half minutes. Penelope eyed the empty coffee mug intently. "Two and a half minutes," Corrs announced. He saw Mike glance unsuspectingly into the living room. Corrs wore his best casual expression and avoided eye contact. Hidden between his feet was a tiny seedling who asked a lot of questions and operated at 103 miles per hour... and she was about to crash Mike's weekend retreat. Corrs was the one who had to stifle back the noise now, as he bit down on his tongue to keep from laughing. He heard the back door swing open as a large bag and another carton were being carried out to the truck. It was time. "Okay, Penelope... go!" In a matter of seconds, Penelope had covered the distance between the living room and kitchen, climbed up into the carton, pried the lid off the coffee cup, hopped in, and pulled the lid back down. That little possum was capable of just about anything. Quickly, Corrs trotted out into the kitchen to shut the lid on the carton. "You good?" He looked down at Penelope. One notebook, one small pencil, stash of coffee beans. A true minimalist, he thought to himself. Penelope looked up with a gleam in her eye and gave a resounding nod. Hearing footsteps crunching on the gravel outside the window, Corrs flashed a thumbs up and dropped the lid. Back on the couch, he watched the camp cooking supplies carton get wheeled out to the truck. With nobody close enough to hear it, he finally let out a howl of laughter. Outside, Mike thought he heard something strange but shrugged it off. He was heading out to a perfect weekend of dry riding and blue skies - what was there to worry about? The drive out to Centre county was neither eventful nor lengthy. After about 3 hours of highway, the truck rolled to a stop at a campground. Penelope couldn't see a thing. Expecting to spend the remainder of the day in darkness, she chewed on a coffee bean and let her thoughts wander off to the Tanana Valley farmer's market, where she and Hedgie had explored booths of crafts and vegetables and caught a glimpse of quite possibly the largest bag of popcorn ever served. Midway through a daydream about unwinding in a latte hot tub at Little Owl Cafe, Penelope was suddenly jostled back to attention as her carton was unceremoniously lifted out of the truck and placed on a table with a thud. Was it Saturday already? Had she dozed off that long? She quickly located her possessions in the event of a hasty exit. The lid on the carton opened and bright sunlight filled her eyes, momentarily blinding her. When the glow faded, she saw Mike rummaging through the other items in the carton. She waved. He saw her. He screamed and grabbed his phone, poking furiously at the screen for a few minutes. Eventually, he sighed and pulled the lid off her coffee cup. Penelope hopped out, coffee beans in one hand and note taking implements in the other. It was clearly still Friday, though much later in the day as indicated by the sun rays streaking low across the sky. She sat on the corner of the carton and surveyed the campsite. The tent hotel was already set up, so she decided to take a look around. She noticed that Mike was still pawing through a carton next to hers - he looked hungry. She left a coffee bean on the corner of the lid for him and descended from the picnic table. Checking her belongings into the tiny mesh locker of the tent, she walked across the campsite and began her survey. This was not anything like the site she had stayed in earlier that year at Allegheny National Forest. She could see the neighbors. It was sort of noisy. Spying the fire ring, a smile formed on her face. At least we can listen to the crackling of the fire after dinner, she thought. Then she frowned. Where was the cooking grate? Looking around, she realized none of the fire pits had one. Did everybody cook inside their houses on wheels? It seemed that there would not be terribly much exciting news to report at camp this evening. Walking the last perimeter of their rented land square, Penelope concluded her survey as the sun disappeared and the fire took life in the hollow pit. Suddenly lights from an approaching vehicle illuminated the tent like a spotlight - a guest had arrived. He also packed a motorbike, but did not have any extra small sized friends in tow. What a pity, thought Penelope. She would have gladly taken an apprentice field reporter under her wing. Walking past the cooking carton, she noticed that the coffee bean had disappeared. This pleased Penelope - she did not want her photographer operating on an empty stomach. Hungry pictures are sloppy pictures, she reminded herself. Not wanting to tire herself before an action-packed day of reporting, Penelope found a seat at the fire and warmed herself a bit before retreating early to the tent. Pulling a napkin blanket around her, she added a few notes to her journal before drifting off to sleep. "Secret arrival a success. Site is clean, open, fire pits all missing grates. Campground for wheeled houses with stoves built inside. Borrowed a can coozie for a sleeping bag." The morning brought the aroma of fresh coffee and crisp, cold air. A winning combination, Penelope acknowledged as she exited her sleeping bag. Boldly, she stepped from the tent and was greeted by a blast of chilly autumn air. She took a direct route to the picnic table, where there sat a huge thermos of hot coffee and an egg sandwich. Someone had thoughtfully prepared breakfast for her. However, this was more than she could possibly consume, so she took enormous gulps of coffee and a few bites from the sandwich, leaving the rest for Mike. She thought again of his well-being and hoped he would finish the sandwich and coffee in order to be fully prepared for the photography tasks ahead of him. She went back into the tent to gather her things and find an appropriate spot to stash them on the bike. Mike's dirt bike sat fresh and ready, gleaming in the sunlight that poured from the the cloudless blue sky. She carefully climbed aboard and scanned the various nooks and crannies, pockets and overlaps of plastic. She stepped onto a shiny plastic pocket. "This must be the pop tart holder," she concluded aloud. Walking entirely around it, she looked at it from every angle. She had seen pop tarts before, and while the idea was pure genius, there was no way to fit a fully intact sleeved pop tart in this pocket. She scratched her head and walked around it again. "A-ha!" She looked at the flag on the lid of the pocket. "Silly me... this is a pop tart holder. It's an Italian bike - pop tarts in Italy must be much smaller." Satisfied that the pop tart pocket mystery was solved, she continued on with the pressing task at hand - where to put her notebook, pencil, and coffee beans. After much examination of the top side of the Beta 300 RR, Penelope climbed back down. There was really only one solution to her problem. Marching over to Mike's backpack, she yanked open the tiniest pouch and tossed in her belongings. She was sure he would hardly notice. Breakfast was wrapping up and they would soon be ripping their way along miles of trails. Pleased again with the outcome of her offerings, Penelope noticed that the coffee had been completely finished and there was no sign of an egg sandwich anywhere. She stayed alert, ready to load up at any moment. The tinny sound of a cold two-stroke motor filled the air. It was go time. Penelope scrambled across Mike's backpack and dove into the pouch she had just put her stuff into. Mike silently acknowledged her presence and swung the pack onto his back, clinching it down securely. Penelope was slightly nervous. She had never ridden along with this driver, or on this bike. She pulled the zipper shut a little further and ate an entire coffee bean, chewing furiously and clutching her notebook tightly. The bike revved a few times and the sweet smell of its exhaust filled her nostrils. With a low grunt and a leap forward, they were off. They stopped first at the Sand Mountain trail head to get their bearings. Penelope peeked out at the big map on the sign and scribbled quickly into the notebook. "No four wheelers allowed." Down the trail they went. For miles they traversed the wooded ridge line, dipping in and out of valleys and weaving through low forest brush. The cool air felt refreshing on Penelope's face as she peered out at the turquoise sky flashing in and out of the tree canopy overhead. It really was a perfect day for a ride - she would have to tell Corrs that he was right. He would be furious. The bikes slowed and before them spanned a huge vista that overlooked the valley. Rolling to a stop, Mike shut the bike off and Penelope jumped out of the backpack and onto the handlebars. What an opportunity for a photograph if there ever was one. The trees - so green and fresh still! The sky - so blue and endless! She quickly instructed Mike to take snap photos. Taking a seat on the fuel tank, she made notes in her journal and ate another coffee bean. The elevation and clear weather made it possible to use her inner seedling telepathy to transmit a short update to Corrs from this very spot. She stood facing the spectacular view and relayed the following information: "Penn's View overlook - highly recommended. Trail conditions - perfect. Snack supplies - satisfactory. This is Penelope Fogbridge reporting on location... over and out." She saw Mike looking at her curiously while fidgeting around. It must be time to head out, she figured. Walking to the rear fender of the bike, she patiently waited for Mike to board then scrambled back up his backpack into her pouch. With the push of a button they were off. Corrs' bike did not start with a button. She wondered why - this would be a good question for Mike on the way home. Since she would not have to hide on the return trip, she could ask lots of questions to pass the time. Surely Mike would enjoy that very much, after having to drive in silence for hours on the way out. After many more miles of beautiful scenery and agreeable trails, they approached another overlook just outside of Poe Paddy State Park. Another scribble in the notebook ("Ingleby View Overlook...also impressive. Poe Paddy...? Must ask Gumball if this term has surfaced in pond biology reports") . More instructions to her photographer. Another coffee bean consumed. It was a wonderful day to be a small possum. With a full notebook and a collection of photographs, Penelope jumped back into her pouch to settle in for the ride back to camp. "This isn't quite the bucking, wild ride I've heard Corrs talk about," she said to herself as she nearly drifted off to sleep, lulled by the warm sun and the soft snarls of the Beta. Knowing that breaking news can happen at any time, she willfully forced herself awake, nibbling a corner off the last coffee bean in her stash. When they arrived back at the campsite, Penelope made sure to check her journal into the tent locker for safe keeping. Dinner and another fire would prove to be too tempting of a combination for a tired seedling's need for sleep, and she found herself nestled snugly into the can coozie before anyone else went to bed. It was a successful day of adventure reporting for Penelope Fogbridge. Daylight ushered in a calculated rustling of activity as camp broke and trucks were loaded. Penelope sluggishly sped out of the tent with maximum effort. She was the first one to bed and certainly did not want to be the last one up. Breakfast had been prepared for her once again, but this time she did not leave Mike so much coffee. She had a half a coffee bean left and would need the extra caffeine to help pack up the campsite. She carried a tent stake to the picnic table, where cartons were neatly stacked and utensils waited to be cleaned. Realizing that the tent would soon be packed, she quickly retrieved her belongings from the little mesh locker and re-loaded them into Mike's backpack. The morning quickly evaporated like the fog that had laid over the campground, and before she knew it she was sitting in the passenger seat of a warm, dry truck, headed east. Against his best judgement, Mike offered Penelope an iced coffee and listened to a barrage of questions the whole way home. Every so often, Penelope would scribble something on a small piece of paper, likely additions to her notebook of field reports. Although her coffee bean stash was totally depleted, there was an arrival of a freshly baked cookie that would last her the rest of the trip. Taking a break from her questioning to sip some coffee and eat a chocolate chip, Penelope smiled and patted her battered little notebook. It had been a good weekend - mission accomplished.
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Tales of Douglas Furr (and his friends)narrated by Crissy Clossin Archives
February 2024
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