Our new-found fun: Geocaching

When I first heard the word "geocache" I looked up its definition and instantly fell in love with the idea that the whole world is a treasure hunt. Not only are there thousands of geocaches waiting to be found, there are some nearly within walking distance of my home.

Fascinated, I called a friend and said, "Hey, John is going to be gone for the evening. Wanna go geocaching with Mary and me?"

Within minutes I had her hooked, just as I knew I would. We started with the one at a park near my house but, though it was labeled "easy," we couldn't find it. Concluding that someone must have taken it, we set out undaunted for the geocache a block away.

I think it was after we walked through a parking lot and were behind a couple of buildings that we started second-guessing ourselves. "We aren't trespassing, are we?" I could imagine a jail cell full of innocent geocachers, child and toddler included. But the back alley opened up into the parking lot of a fire station and my cell phone chimed, signaling we were getting close to the geocache.

"It must be along the rail," we reasoned. And there it was. A battered Altoids box (bearing a log sheet and a few trinkets to trade with the ones I brought along) had been tucked out of sight on the back of the railing. We were triumphant.

Our first geocache. . .including Barb who sent me the picture
 of the geocache in the grass (above) a few days later by way of
telling me that she was
still hooked and finding them without me.

Our find boosted the mood of the evening and we bagged two more before it was the children's bedtime and too dark to continue looking.

Since then, I have stopped along the route I'm driving to find more geocaches, intrigued that the green dots marking their position on my phone change to yellow smiley faces when I log them. John and I also spent part of a rare date poking around in a public bus stop along a busy road looking for an elusive geocache. Geocaching isn't for the self-conscious.

That was reaffirmed this past week when my mom, sister and I were geocaching and waiting to cross the road until a red car passed by. Only. . .it stopped beside us and a concerned motorist rolled down his window to ask if we needed help. I can't imagine why. Three ladies wandering down a road with the four-ways blinking on their van behind them is perfectly normal, right?

We were in high spirits and cheerfully said, "Don't worry about us; we are geocaching."

He looked at us uncertainly. "What did you say?" He had never heard of it, poor man. Think of all the fun he has missed out on.

"We're searching for a geocache. Look it up when you get a chance. Go to Geocaching.com." He was looking at us blankly enough that I hoped he would take our suggestion if for no other reason than to clear our good names.

Reluctantly, he drove away, almost as if it went against his gentlemanly nature to leave three women stranded along the road when their mental health must clearly be in question. Within minutes another vehicle stopped and a relative of ours leaned out, "What are you girls doing?" From the tone of his voice and the look on his face, I gathered that he wasn't the geocaching type.

We explained the game, but his expression when driving away looked like the previous guy's: uncertainty (hopefully not for our sanity) was mixed with the blank look of realizing he had understood our entire explanation but still had no clue what we were talking about.

The cheap entertainment of a worldwide treasure hunt continues to interest me. I looked at a map of Ghana to see there are 15 geocaches hidden there. In that case, our family fun can continue after our move, though I can only imagine all the questions we will get in that well-populated country. Chances are that we'll grow very familiar with the "I-heard-you-but-don't-understand-you-at-all" look.

But signing "The Thing Finder" on log sheets on another continent might be worth the risk.