Cameron II (Electric Boogaloo)

Three commentaries from my trip to scenic Cameron…

1. Oh, Jeebus, I hate micros in trees.  I think everybody finds them mundane, but I have begun to hate them.  I’ve gotten to the point where if I realize it’s a micro in a tree, I seriously consider turning around and looking for something else.  To be fair, it’s partially because I have trouble spotting them.  My daughters (yes, I have daughters) seem to be able to spot them with barely a thought but they give me no end of trouble usually (the micros, not the daughters [mostly]).  Especially when they’re back in wooded areas that could totally handle a bigger cache because nobody goes in there, but it has to be something the size of my little finger inside this three acres of forest, right?

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2. So, I’m done signing a cache log on my trusty clipboard (best hiding implement ever!) when I notice a white guy in a white truck parked about 15 yards away looking at me.  I had seen the truck come into the parking lot but otherwise, I stuck to my purpose.  I nodded to him as I took the cache back to its hiding place and he nodded back.  I placed it, made some professional looking notations on the clipboard, and returned to my car.  I got in and was just about to start my engine when I notice him walking up to my window.  He’s a big dude, but I’m not too worried because a) I’m relatively safe in my car and b) he’s dressed lightly enough that I can tell he isn’t packing (for the record, that’s not just a black concern, that’s a general Texas concern) so I lower the window to see what he wants.  He starts asking me questions about if the building has some kind of problem, possibly electrical since I was near the AC compressor and junction boxes.  Now, he doesn’t look like he works there (unshaven with linen-esque shorts and a bermuda shirt at an insurance agency?) and has no obvious connection to the place.  Why is it he’s asking me what I’m doing there?  I wonder…  That said, while I could have come up with a plausible story (I can always do that), I tell him about geocaching.  Because I’m not taking any chance on anybody thinking I’m up to no good.  That is a risk I can’t afford to take.

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3. I passed up on a cache search.  It’s near the cornerstone of an old building that had burned down (the town’s first high school, actually).  Problem is that somebody’s house was right next to it.  It was a micro that wasn’t in a tree.  And I wasn’t going to take a chance on getting too close to somebody’s house.  So I didn’t.

And I think that’s about all I want to say about Cameron.  Unfortunately, it’s probably going to be a week or two before I can make another trip.  There’s a wheel bearing dying on my car so driving an hour away from home doesn’t seem the wisest thing to do this week…

 

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