By McAvoy Layne Yesterday, a great friend of mine invited me to join the Stanford Club on a five-mile hike to Galena Falls, led by geologist emeritus, Dave. I have always been fond of rocks, ever since I overheard a geologist uncle of mine assure my aunt while pointing to an eight-year-old me, “That boy’s got rocks in his head.” However, I found a new appreciation for rocks while hiking, as Dave elucidated on their content, their virtue and their beauty. Though at one point I did trip on a gobblin that I mistook for a half-gobblin. Then too, I was alarmed to learn that an active earthquake fault passes directly beneath my bed. I could get a wakeup call by Mother Earth tonight, and end up on the floor. I also resolved to give every volcano I see a wide berth, no matter how old Dave thinks it might be, or how old the Stanford grad at my side thinks it might be. One member of our party asked Dave how old Lake Tahoe is, and I could not help but to jump in ahead of him and answer that question, as I happened to know the answer down to the very year. Dave looked a little perturbed as I expounded, “Lake Tahoe is three million and three years old.” There was a hush before Dave asked, “So, good sir, how do you know Lake Tahoe is three million and three years old?” “Well, you see, a Washoe elder told me Tahoe was three million years old and that was three years ago.” Dave gave me an indulging smile, before kicking the dirt (granular granite) with his boot. I wanted to take over the leadership of the tour at that point, but Dave held his ground. One of our members sported a shirt that boasted DEAD SEA on her chest, and I could not help but to whisper to her, “I was there when the Dead Sea was only sick.” She looked at me like I had asked to borrow five dollars, and stuck her tongue out at me. I guess it didn’t help that I was wearing a t-shirt that swaggered a Cal football win over Stanford away back in 1982 with “The Play” diagramed there on my chest, involving six laterals for a touchdown that knocked over half the Stanford band waiting in the end zone to celebrate Stanford’s seemingly certain victory. Well, those Stanford grads took to looking at me like I had tested positive for Covid, but then when I asked a lady for one little cookie when I could see she had two, she gave them both to me. So I do love them Stanford grads, though by the end of Dave’s fascinating tour, I found myself biting my nails in anticipation of a looming earthquake or lava flow, and promised myself that I would go to confession on the following Sunday. — For more than 35 years, in over 4,000 performances, columnist and Chautauquan McAvoy Layne has been dedicated to preserving the wit and wisdom of “The Wild Humorist of the Pacific Slope,” Mark Twain. As Layne puts it: “It’s like being a Monday through Friday preacher, whose sermon, though not reverently pious, is fervently American." Want to hear McAvoy Layne tell it? Go here for an audio version of this column.