Suitably picturesque. Another small county bunched up together here with a bunch of other counties. This is nothing like having to drive hundreds of miles between locations way out in the West. The part of me that is goal oriented is pleased that I can just zip from one location to the next and get so much done. The part of me that enjoys the poetry of the open road is sad. The urban predator in me is just hungering to get back to something I can think of as civilization. It’s strange seeing the facets of myself roll about in such a way, especially since the urban part of me is usually in ascendancy. Sure, it likes to put down the burden and relax from time to time, but it’s usually driving the ship of my state. I’m sure Freud or Jung have written volumes on this, but I’ve never been interested in the psychological end of the sciences, or really ANY of the softer sciences. But these are the things that go through my head when I’m out here.
The cache was a camoed bottle hidden on the side of a hill at a barbecue joint. No, I still don’t have photos because busy thinking about psychology instead. I wouldn’t have even remembered this cache until I remembered that I dropped a trackable in it; a travel bug attached to a spent .50 cal shell. I would have left it at the military museum in Canton if the cache had been big enough, but them’s the breaks. And once I was done skittering on the hillside, I got back to the car and shot over to…
Geocaching While Black 