#it's going to be a treacherous commute but i at least have my girlfriend with me

[milkyberryjsk]

goig on an adventure (to the mall)

[the-record-newspaper]

The killing of Rhonda Hinson Part VII

Rhonda Hinson’s East Burke letter jacket

By LARRY J. GRIFFIN

Special Investigative Reporter

The human capacity for deception—both self-deception and subterfuge in dealing with others—is limitless.  And divining the innermost desires of other human beings—even those we live with every day—is far more difficult than most of us believe.  Our vision is obscured by many things, not least our willful blindness to truths that would hurt us if we faced them.—Greg Iles in Cemetery Road

 On Monday evening December 21st, 18-year-old Mark Turner was transported to the emergency room of Frye Hospital in Hickory via ambulance.

He was admitted at 11:43 p.m., complaining of back pain that surfaced around dinner time and had worsened over the ensuing six-to-seven hours.  It was noted by the attending physician that he had persistent back problems attributable to an old football injury.  

Fourteen years after Rhonda Hinson’s death, Mark ascribed his back injury to a more exotic salacious activity, in a statement given to Detective James Pruett.  But his girlfriend in 1981, Jill Turner-Mull, recalled Mark’s explanation to her:  “He told me he had hurt his back playing basketball that Sunday [December 20th], as it was very typical for him to play with his brothers and friends.”

After tests were completed and medications prescribed, Mark was discharged by the attending physician at 12:55 a.m., December 22nd and remanded to the care of his mother, Barbara.  One of the medications that Mark took home that early morning was Flexeril—a muscle relaxant to treat skeletal muscle conditions, such as pain, injury, or even spasms resulting from strenuous activity. Possible side effects include dizziness and drowsiness; however, mental confusion is rare, and impairment of short-term memory is ostensibly non-existent.  

Earlier on that Monday, Rhonda had driven to work at Hickory Steel in temperatures befitting Winter Solstice.  It was already dark, on the ‘longest evening of the year,” when she returned home to Valdese.  When she walked into the house, her mother, Judy, knew that something was wrong.  

“…Rhonda seemed upset when she came home…It was snowing and Greg got here before she did. When she came in, she had a very pretty potted plant.  I asked where she got it and she said, ‘Don’ [her supervisor].  Greg looked at her kind of funny and Rhonda said he gave everybody one.  ‘When you get home, you will see your Mom has one just like this.’  He left just after this.  I asked why he was in such a hurry and she said he was tired.  He had exams before he came home for Christmas and had lost a lot of sleep.”  

Ice had formed on Burke County roads overnight, making morning commutes treacherous on the morning of December 22nd.  Rhonda decided not drive her Datsun to work in Hickory; instead, she made arrangements to ride with co-worker and Morganton resident Wayne Chapman.  She told Mr. Chapman that she would walk the half-mile to the Mineral Springs Mountain on-ramp, which merged onto Interstate-40 E, and wait for him.  

“…I told her to just stay at home,” Judy Hinson recalled.  “Even though she worked part-time since she was 14-years-old, she was always looking for an excuse to stay at home from work—that is until she went to work at Hickory Steel.”  

Since employed, Rhonda had not missed a day’s work at her three-month-old job, and that Tuesday would not be the exception.

“Well, she started out the door to meet her ride with little more than a sweater on. I said, ‘Rhonda, you’ve got to wear a coat.  It’s too cold to just wear what you have on.’  She said that she didn’t have a coat to wear.  She told me that Greg had her East Burke letter-jacket, and she had left her gray, hooded sweat jacket in Mark Turner’s car, when they went shopping to buy Jill a Christmas gift.  

Rhonda Hinson’s sweat jacket

“I’ll just wear Robbie’s jacket,” Rhonda informed her Mom.  

“No you won’t either; Robbie will need his coat,” Judy responded to her daughter. “So she walked downstairs and found a multicolored jacket to wear that morning to meet the Chapmans.”

Rhonda walked out of the door, passed her Datsun parked in the driveway, turned right onto Hillcrest, and down the hill toward Douglas Avenue.

“At the end of the street she stopped to talk to Joann and Donald Glazebrooks,” Judy recounted.  “Donald said he kidded Rhonda and told her she was going to fall.”  Mr. Glazebrooks took note of the multicolored jacket she was wearing that frosty morning and would later identify it for authorities.

As Rhonda continued southeast up the Eldred  Street incline toward the interstate, she was seen by a couple in a pick-up truck.  They stopped and offered her a ride.  Normally, she would have not accepted the offer, but she noticed they had a poodle.  “Well, that was it; Rhonda thought that since they had a poodle, then they could be trusted,” Ms. Hinson laughingly recalled.

The couple, who identified themselves as the Gladdens, conveyed Rhonda to the interstate.  As she started to exit the pick-up, Mr. Gladden said, “You’re not getting out!” Judy explained.  “Rhonda told me—in one of the several conversations I had with her that day while she was at work—that her heart sank.  ‘Suddenly, I remembered the warning you gave Robbie and me about not getting into cars with strangers,’” she told me.  

Mr. Gladden quickly quieted her fear; “It is too cold for you to stand outside and wait for your ride.  We will wait right here with you until it comes.”

 “And they did—they sat there until Wayne Chapman pulled up,” Judy related in an appreciative tone.  “They were a really nice couple; we met them later.    

Around lunchtime, Rhonda called her mother to ask if she had gone shopping in town to buy an outfit for her to wear to the company party that Tuesday evening.  “Robbie and I decided to drive into Valdese in Rhonda’s car parked in the driveway. Well, her Datsun was a ‘straight-drive,’ and I had a terrible time trying to change the gears—thought I was going to really mess up the transmission.  So, we went back home, parked Rhonda’s car in the lower driveway, and got into my little Datsun—that is also a straight-drive—but I was more accustomed to how mine changed gears.”

“I told Rhonda I had brought her home four outfits and she could choose from them what she liked.   She was happy and in a great mood,” Judy remembered.  

Greg McDowell drove to Hickory Steel at lunchtime to take Rhonda to lunch.  She exited the building accompanied by Tonya Benge [Fetherbay], a co-worker and one of the celebrants with whom Rhonda would later attend the company Christmas party. Tonya looked across the parking lot and notice Greg waiting for his girlfriend in a blue Chevy Nova.  She also observed that the front of the car had apparently sustained damage at some juncture.  [According to Civil Court Records, the McDowells owned a 1976, four-door Chevrolet Nova.]

Barbara Turner, Mark’s mother, also saw Greg that day at K-Mart in Hickory. She surprised him as he was purchasing condoms.  In the course of polite conversation, Ms. Turner told McDowell that Mark had injured his back and was resting at home.  Mark informed his mother—upon her returned—that Greg had indeed been by their Indian Hills home.  He and another of his brothers had been laughing about McDowell being caught, by their mother, as he was buying condoms.  Mark indicated that Greg was really embarrassed about the whole incident.  

Darkness had fallen as Wayne Chapman pulled into the Hinsons driveway at 5:30 p.m..  Rhonda jumped out and ran inside to get ready for the Christmas soiree.  The party was to commence at a Hickory American Legion Post around 7 p.m., and she had less than an hour to dress and drive to Sherry Pittman’s [Yoder] at 2015 4th Avenue, NW, in Hickory.  However, four minutes after she walked into the house, she placed a three-minute phone call to Greg McDowell.  

“[Rhonda] seemed very excited about the party,” Judy observed.  “…She tried on all the clothes I had brought home and finally chose what she wanted to wear.  She said she liked all the clothes and when she was in the bathroom, we decided we would keep all of the clothes for her for Christmas.”

Twelve minutes after the initial call with Greg McDowell, he placed a call to the Hinsons’ residence to talk with Rhonda—5:46 p.m.—the call, once again, lasted about three minutes.  Twelve minutes later, Greg called again, at 5:58 p.m., and talked for another three minutes. Each time, Rhonda took the phone into her bedroom to talk with him in private.

“She came out of her room and said that Greg was attempting to ‘guilt-trip’ her for going to the party without him,” Judy reported. “But she told me that she was going anyway.  ‘I am not going to let it bother me,’ Rhonda told me.  “…I asked her what she would do if Greg and his parents were there, and she said I will just come back home.”

At Rhonda’s request, Judy placed a one-minute call to the Pittman residence to tell Sherry that her daughter would be on the way to her house as quickly as she finished dressing.  “After I called Sherry, I went in to help Rhonda dress.”

Ms. Hinson vividly recalled what her daughter was wearing that evening when she left for the party.  Rhonda selected an acrylic, wool, and polyester blend plaid skirt with orange coloring—size 12, a beige blouse, a dark orange sweater, and brown shoes.  “Everything she wore that night was brand new.”

After she dressed, she applied make-up for only the second time in her life.  

Jill Turner-Mull had spoken with her best friend by phone earlier that afternoon.  “She asked me to go to the Christmas party with her.  Well, I told her that Mark and I had plans for that evening, and I didn’t really want to go to the Hickory Steel party—she really didn’t seem too excited about going herself, it seemed to me.  But I will tell you, that decision not to go with Rhonda has haunted me to this very day.”  

That was the last time that Jill Turner-Mull would hear the voice of her best friend.

“After she dressed, I told her that she looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her,” Judy explained, her voice breaking with emotion.  “As she was going out of the kitchen door, she asked, ‘Mom, are you and Dad proud of me?’  Well, the question took me by surprise; I responded, ‘Why Rhonda, of course we are proud of you!’  She said, ‘You didn’t think I could do it—work and pay all my car payments; I haven’t missed one.’  She was proud of that fact.”

By that time, Father Bobby, had managed to drive Rhonda’s Datsun to the upper driveway so his daughter wouldn’t get her shoes dirty.  He sat there for a few minutes and talked with her.  “I told her that there was some sand or dirt in the floorboard of her car, and she needed to clean it out,” Bobby Hinson recalled.  “And we just talked for a few minutes.  Finally she laughed, ‘Dad I have to go; I am going to be late!’  So I got out so she could leave.”

Rhonda backed out of the driveway onto Hillcrest.   She beeped her horn three times and turned around to wave at her Mom and Dad.  That was the last time that they would see their 19-year-old daughter alive.

Rhonda Hinson had slightly more than six-hours to live.

[doa-et]

Race Report: UTMB, 2018 or (How I learned to stop worrying and ran 2 races in 70 days)

When I won the starting place for Western States 2018, I thought I had used up all my race lottery luck for this year. Little did I know that I’d get into UTMB as well, second year in a row. Once the initial excitement subsided, I was faced with a small challenge. The races are only about two months apart and they feature dissimilar profiles and terrains. How would I go about training for both? The short version: I opted to focus on the more “run-able“ WSER first, then reassess in July.

Relying on the base training laid down for WSER, the 10 weeks leading up to UTMB concentrated on recovery, slowly increasing my mileage in a reverted taper and just listened to my body. There are dozens of training plans for marathons and ultra-marathons out there but they are mostly tailored for one race, not two races in fairly quick succession. A few weeks after WSER, my legs regained their freshness and I began to incorporate hill repeats: hiking up with poles, running down steep slopes fast, chasing some Strava KOMs. In hindsight, I may have done the latter a bit too vigorously as my hip flexors, lower back and quad muscles felt a bit stressed 2-3 weeks away from the race. Uh oh. Regardless, I still felt pretty strong and confident overall when I entered the tapering phase. Time to pack. A quick summary of UTMB 2017: As mentioned, this was my second year in Chamonix. Martin and I completed the race together last year in 34:53, just a handful of minutes under the 35 hour goal we set for ourselves. It was an especially cold year and we even encountered a blizzard on one of the peaks. It was tough and unforgiving. I forgot my poles at one of the stations and to double back to retrieve them. That sucked. Took a short nap. Felt refreshed. Started to lose our minds a little on the second night. Hey, we finished.

As an “experienced” UTMB runner, my goal for this year was simple. Improve on the previous year’s record. I really took my time at aid stations, sticking around for 30 minutes at some places. I don’t necessarily regret that for my first attempt, but if I keep the dawdling to a minimum, it just might be possible to shave off an hour or so. And the weather was looking more favourable this time around. Even better.

I arrived in Chamonix on Monday and did a couple of short runs and hikes with my girlfriend during the week leading up to the race. The excitement of the race week in Chamonix was coming back to me: the tension, the dramatic silhouette of the mountains, thousands of runners from around the globe, the weather. THE WEATHER. As Friday approached, the weather prognosis worsened and the dark clouds hanging low over Mont Blanc brought back the fears and traumatic memories from 2017. Cold, rain and with bad visibility. Frozen fingers. Shudders.

I guess I did indeed use up my luck this year on the race lottery. With not much to do after lunch except to anxiously pace around the hotel room, I headed out to the start line two hours early. Why not. A good spot would save me the queueing later. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it also meant standing in the rain for two hours. Just like the year before, the atmosphere was a bit like we were going to war than going to enjoy a trail race. Eventually, Conquest of Paradise played over the PA system and the gun went off. As I was positioned more or less directly behind the seeded runners, I found myself running amidst a pretty fast group at 4:40 min/km pace for the first 3km. Stupidly fast, I thought. I dropped back and fell in with a group running at a more comfortable pace all the way to Les Houches. With the cheering crowd giving me all the motivation I needed, I took on the first climb.

I had my splits from 2017 laminated in my pocket to keep track if I was going out too fast or needed to make up time. My plan was to take it easy until Courmayeur (80km) and keep something left in the tank for the latter half of the race.

Nevertheless, I arrived 15 minutes ahead of last year’s time in St. Gervais and 22 minutes ahead in Les Contamines (32km). Physically, I was fine but mentally I felt my motivation slipping. The rain came down harder over the first climb and I dreaded going into the night in the worsening weather condition. There is a commuter train from St. Gervais to Chamonix. Maybe it’s still running. A taxi from Les Contamines. Surely, the €50 I have tucked away in my vest for emergencies should be enough. Alas, I didn’t have a solid reason to DNF. Not yet. I can’t quit because of rain. Not while my legs felt fine. But knowing how long the journey ahead is, knowing how it was last year, just knowing was becoming a burden. Sometimes, experience isn’t an advantage but an obstacle. As I continued the endless climb up away from Les Contamines with these thoughts, the rain finally ceased, instantly turning my mood. At La Balme (39km), I heeded the warnings of cold and wind from the volunteers and put on all the layers I could to face Col du Bonhomme. I guess I was committed now. Into the night of climbing and descending we go! It was all flooding back to me. That 50km-stretch between Les Contamines and Courmayeur. That sight of impressive parade of headlamps on the climb to Col de la Seigne. And the anticipation of daylight ahead. I arrived in Courmayeur at 06:47. I stalled the most between Courmayeur and Champex Lac (125 km) the previous year. I hesitate to say “wasted time” because in the grand scheme of things, it’s hard to know. Maybe I needed to take it slower back then. Maybe not. Still in good physical form, it was nice to be in not just the daylight, but also the sun. It seems always sunny in Courmayeur, no matter how bad the weather overall is at UTMB. I grabbed my drop bag, changed shirts, ate some pasta and left within 25 minutes to take on the 800m climb to Refugio Bertone. On the 15k-long stretch of rolling high country from Bertone to the foot of Grand Col Ferret, I moved fairly well. The ascent to Grand Col Ferret (the highest alt. point in the race), however, was stormy, foggy and indeed very cold. At least it didn’t snow like last time. Yes, let’s focus on the positives.

The long downhill to La Fouly was a segment I really struggled with in the past and it was just as tough this time. My legs weren’t really up for much running at this point but I pushed myself as much as possible knowing that I’d make up time and possibly avoid doing the last three mountains with a headlamp. The plan was working. While I didn’t shave off drastic amounts of time from running, keeping the aid station stops to a minimum began to add up. Refill bottles, get coffee, sit and eat for few minutes, grab more food while walking out. Repeat ad nauseum. I hit Champex Lac before 4pm, about 01:45h ahead. Best of all, I was able to climb the third last mountain in daylight, leaving my headlamp off until Trient (141km). By now, I had been running with the same group of people for hours. With the end sort of within reach, everyone loosened up. We chatted about our shared dread of upcoming segment or informed each other of the dramatic turn of events that took place amongst the elites (so many DNFs!), making the time pass faster and the endeavour more bearable. What wasn’t bearable was my downhill running. Every single muscle was complaining and my brain was too tired to coordinate the feet over the technical terrain. Bad combo. Still, I must have been moving in some fashion because I was suddenly through Vallorcine (152km) and hiking up the last climb. Ah, the last climb. It’s actually two climbs, interrupted by an extremely steep and technical (albeit short) downhill. I recalled how frustrating that treacherous downhill was, and how much anguish I had felt upon hearing of the second climb. But this time, I came prepared. As I made my careful ascent and descent, I passed two runners staring at their mobile phones who asked if they were on the right track. I reassured them that they were, not losing the opportunity to spread the good news of the second climb ahead. Just paying it forward. La Flégère, 8km from and 900m above the finish line in Chamonix. I had been running for around 31 hours and 10 minutes. Sub-32 sounded tempting but also a bit too ambitious, considering the state of my legs. The first 5km of the last downhill stretch is technical and steep. No need to do anything stupid and risky at this point. With 3.5km to go, the trail smoothed out and as if placements would matter at this point, some guys behind me started charging. And well, so did I. I caught a person after a minute who subsequently also picked up the pace. In no time, we were a small group having a little 3km sprint to the finish. Or at least it felt like a sprint. I was breathing hard and sweating, although the actual pace wasn’t any faster than my regular jogging pace. But things are different after 32 hours. I entered the town closely followed by four other runners. A few meters later my girlfriend Esther was cheering me on at the base of the pedestrian overpass. This metal contraption, by the way, was a new addition for the race. I suppose UTMB had to erect this temporarily as it could no longer block the road for the event. According to Esther, it gave some runners unexpected grief. Stairs or no, I still ran as hard as I could towards the finish.

32 hours 06 minutes. 2:06 am. 2 hours and 47 minutes faster than 2017. 190th place overall. And one black toe nail.

So what have I learned from my second time at UTMB? That I can save so much time by just efficiently progressing through aid stations. And with slightly better descents (downhill splits after 100km actually were slightly slower than last year), I am certain that it should be possible to finish under 30 hours. It might have even been feasible this year, if I had concentrated the training solely on UTMB. I also learned from both WSER and UTMB that I can gain quite a lot of motivation from splits, either chasing or running away from them. Running in the mid-pack can sometimes lack the urgency and splits can add back some of the necessary tension and excitement into the sluggish sections. Plus they can provide reassurance and objectivity when I often feel slower than I actually am towards the latter parts of races. Nutrition: I ate mostly aid station food: noodle soup during the first cold and wet half of the race, coffee with cake and a dozen mini Snickers during the second half. Occasional GU-chews. Water in one bottle and 70/30 cola-water mix in the second. Did not feel bonky or bloated and no major stomach issues as expected on slower-paced races.

Strava

[maryhart13]

While I have several favorite Taylor songs and feel like I have grown up with her over the years, Treacherous is the song I find most relatable. When I first heard it in 2012, I was blown away by the beautifully crafted lyrics and it quickly became my favorite from the album. However, it took on a whole new meaning for me in fall of 2013. To give some background, at that time I was in my first year of graduate school. I had just met this amazing girl, Samantha, who was from out of state. We became fast friends after meeting in our program, but we started to become something more, something unexpected, on Halloween. I began to have feelings for her, and wanted to constantly be around her. Up until this point, I had had crushes on other girls in the past, but had only ever dated men. We had such great chemistry, and I had never felt so drawn to anyone in my entire life.

Flash forward to November- Samantha was staying at school for the Thanksgiving break since it didn’t make financial or logistical sense to fly back to her home state. I, however, drove the two hours back to my hometown. As soon as I pulled into my parent’s driveway, I realized I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. The minute the holiday was over, I jumped into my car to drive back to Samantha. As usual for this commute, I had Taylor’s discography playing on my iPhone. I was deep in thought trying to process everything when Treacherous came on. 30 seconds in, I had goose bumps and was turning up the volume. I couldn’t believe how much the lyrics related to my current situation. I was wondering if it was my “choice” to get swept away by Samantha…my headlights were lighting up my way back to her, with her name echoing through my mind…I was thinking this was a potential slippery slope since not only was I putting my heart on the line, but how awkward and uncomfortable would it be to have to work with her if this didn’t work out. But despite everything, I liked the way I was feeling, and wanted to take the risk. Later on, when she was officially my girlfriend, I told her that story. She listened to the song, and she too was taken aback with how well it described our “love story.”

Since then, Samantha and I have graduated with our MA degrees, moved to CA together, and are now in the process of moving to Denver. Words can’t describe my love for Samantha, and how much I enjoy and cherish our adventures. We are about to celebrate 4 years together this month. I know it sounds silly, but I have always felt that Taylor has been a part of our relationship. In addition to Treacherous being “our song,” Samantha has been really supportive through the 1989 era (she sang every word of every song with me when we saw the tour in Santa Clara), she has tolerated my Taylor obsession (she knows that whenever we have a road trip, I am going to play at least an hour of Taylor before switching), and shared my love for the new songs from reputation. I can’t wait to go with her to the reputation tour in Denver, and one day dance to a Taylor song at our wedding.

@taylorswift thank you so much for being such an important part of my life. 💖