“Being There: Stories from the Road Where We Keep the Rubber Side Down”
There’s a difference between passing through… and truly being there.
Being There is a collection of true motorcycle journeys written by my father — stories of open highways, small towns, long miles, unexpected detours, and the kind of moments you only find when you slow down enough to notice them.
My father passed away many years ago.
But through these writings, his voice still rides.
In each episode, I read one of his stories from the road — just as he wrote it — and then I share a personal reflection at the end. What it means to me now. What I hear differently as a son. What time and miles have taught me since he first put those words on paper.
These aren’t just ride logs.
They’re lessons in presence. In freedom. In risk. In faith. In keeping the rubber side down — on the bike and in life.
Ride safe. Be present.
And keep the rubber side down.
“Being There: Stories from the Road Where We Keep the Rubber Side Down”
Hunter's Moon
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In this episode of Being There, I read "Hunter's Moon," written by my father, Gene McCalmont, in 2005.
While camping alone at Enchanted Rock in the Texas Hill Country, my father finds himself caught between reality and imagination. What begins as a peaceful evening beneath a brilliant Hunter's Moon slowly transforms into an unforgettable night filled with mysterious figures, whispered voices, ghostly campfires, and an unsettling feeling that he isn't alone.
Was it simply a dream? Or was there something about that ancient place that defied explanation?
In my commentary, I talk about something that always fascinated me about this story. My father was a lifelong student of science and loved understanding how the world worked. So why would he write so convincingly about ghosts and spirits?
I explore the science behind the twilight state between sleep and wakefulness—a fascinating phenomenon where dreams and reality can briefly overlap—and why experiences during that state can feel absolutely real.
Whether you believe in ghosts or believe there's always a scientific explanation, Hunter's Moon reminds us that wonder and mystery still have a place in our lives.
Welcome to the Being There Podcast. Stories from the Road, where we keep the rubber side down. These are stories written by my father, Gene McCalmott. Commentary by his son, me, John McCalmott. This is episode 20, a milestone, and if you've listened this far, thank you. Title Hunter's Moon. Written by my father on August 10th, 2005. Texas is a place of magic and mystery, and none more so than the enchanted rock north of Fredericksburg. In this story, my father discovers that there is a fine line between reality and fantasy, especially when in the presence of an ancient and magical place. This is Hunter's Moon. She was dressed in the browns of the Texas Parks and Wildlife Service and flashed a not so perfect but kind smile. That'll be five dollars, she said. I handed her a fiver. The park's pretty much deserted this time of year, she continued, putting the money away. A young couple has a camp down on the south side, private like, you know. She handed me the permit. I stuck it in my tank bag. Your first trip here? she asked. Yeah, I'm playing hooky. She smiled and looked at the surrounding hills. You know, folks say this whole area is haunted. It's the season anyways. She looked at me and continued. Some say they've already seen ghost fires up there, Tawanka campfires. Don't you know? Could be true. Well, I guess that's why they call it the Enchanted Rock, I said, zipping up the bag shut. Besides, I don't really believe in that sort of thing. Yeah, me neither. She looked up at the puffy white clouds. It'll be a bright one tonight, hunter's moon, don't you know? Spirit's gonna be restless. She winked. Okay there, you young fella, you have a good one. She stepped back inside, picked up her magazine, and nestled into the comfort of her old chair. I found a site near the summit footpath, parked the bike, and set up camp. I had the whole place to myself, and the October cool was a welcoming respite from the summer heat. I put on some comfortable hiking shoes, grabbed a jacket and a bottle of water, and headed out. The hike up to the base of the dome had been easy enough. Statue like statue like hoodoos rusted in the waning light, like shapeless, mythical creatures. It wasn't too hard to believe that primitive man endowed these rock formations with magical powers. I even felt like I was being watched. But for a rational man, magic is the thing of fantasy. The grade got a lot steeper as I left the tree line. I paused for a moment to catch my breath. There it was again. That feeling of being watched. But I was perfectly alone. I saw the sun kiss the lower western plateau as the cool breeze whipped at my thinning hair. Just a little bit more, and I would be at the top. The view from the summit was inspiring, in three hundred and sixty degrees. The surrounding hills were painted in yellow sunlight and glided gold set across a shadowy relief. I sat near a small outcropping of plants and took a long swig of water. I could feel the warmth of the sun radiating from the pink granite rock. High clouds to the east took on a crimson glow in the fading sunlight. I laid back on the hard stone and used my jacket as a pillow. Reds moved across the sky, sliding from one cloud to another, as if chasing after the sun. The horizon took on an ocular glow as sunlight diminished into a small arc, silhouetted by distant hills. Pinpricks of white light struggled against the deepening twilight. A breeze flowed over my body rippling through my thin shirt. It had been a long day. Peace settled over me. The rock heaved inside like a giant awakening thing. The sky blazed in harsh moonlight, as night had become day. A figure appeared, then vanished at the edge of vision as night birds called from distant hills. Moondance shadows played on the rock to the sounds of someone running in place. I stood, facing the full moon, looming low and ominous in the eastern sky. Ancient horsemen galloped across its face, morphing into beast that turned and twisted in the light, calling to me without words, to join the ghostly procession. I felt like I was falling into the sky. I dropped to my knees and clutched at the stony rock. I tried to shout but made no sound. A moaning rose from somewhere below. Silhouetted figures danced in and out of burning campfires as the enchanted dome whispered to me in breathless tones. Whispers upon whispers were borne onto the wind at the edge of the hearing. I felt hands grasping, but not touching. I felt the presence of the many. The moon blazed full, blending and twisting my shadow among the others. I had become the moonlight. I had become the shadow. I had become one with the dance of the hunter's moon. By sheer force of will, I reached out from twilight to not yet reality, grasping for the present. I forced my body to move against the rock surface and struggled to one elbow. I felt something plastic. I opened the bottle and splashed water on my face. None of this was real. None of it. Awakening came more quickly now. The moon was high in the sky, bathing in the hills of soft moon glow. The ancient rock was still warm from the day, but the earth was quiet and peace. I gathered my things and looked down toward the camp. It was just a dream. Just an uneasy dream. Magic was, after all, the substance of fantasy. I slipped on my jacket to shield my body from the crisp night air and started my descent toward camp. Something moved in my peripheral vision. There, but not quite there. Moondance shadows played on rocky formations. I could smell the very slight odor of burning mesquite as if from some campfire. My sense of reality began to slip as I searched the shadowy landscape for a flicker of burning light. I could feel the presence of many as they reached out to the hunter's moon. My father loved science. One of his favorite things was Carl's Carl Sagan's Cosmos. I remember watching them with him. I bought him the book one year for his birthday. And having read this, I I just felt compelled to go to science because I think he would like that. And of course, he was describing the twilight of sleep, that transitional zone between when you're awake and when you're in a deep sleep, the dreamy like state that you have. There's a very fancy word for it called hypnogonia. I'm sure I said that wrong. Conscious thought dissolves while your mind begins to project surreal hallucinary imagery, offering a fascinating glimpse into how the brain disconnects from reality. How cool is that? A great hike, fall asleep on a rock. And what do you see? You see a shift into a dreamland, thoughts given to you by an individual just hours before, or maybe it was the campers that were looking for solitude, making noises not too far from where you were at. If you like doing deep dives on the internet like I do, on occasion, historically creative thinkers love the twilight. In fact, Thomas Edison and Edgar Allan Poe have been known to use this twilight space to spark unconventional ideas, using the rules of logic and throwing them out the window and letting the brain just do something crazy with it with uninhibited associations. Interesting that we can't control our dreams. Some scary, some welcoming visitors in the night. Yes, I still dream about my father. Interesting dreams. And I do like to believe it's his way of visiting me, letting me know that all is okay. So there you go. A little science for the old man. The twilight of sleep, that transitional zone between wakefulness and deep sleep, where dreams seem to be reality. Thank you for listening and spending this time with me. If this stirs your soul like it stirs mine, and you enjoyed today's episode, be sure to subscribe and follow the podcast so you don't miss future readings and commentary. All written material featured in this podcast is the original work of my father and used with his permission. The thoughts and opinions I share are my own. This recording is for personal listening only. My voice, lightness, and performance are protected and may not be recorded, reproduced, or used in any form of AI training, cloning, or synthetic replication without my explicit written consent. Thanks again for being here. Until next time, keep the rubber side down and save travels.