Now that was a nice courthouse! But I had to criticize the red brick annex in the back that didn’t quite match the rest of the building. Alright, maybe “criticize” is too strong of a word, but merely “noting” it seemed too little. What I also “noted” were the giant white bales which I assume were straw and not cotton sitting on the lawn. I can only assume it was the base for some kind of rural snowman equivalent. Gauche, but I’m just a tourist so I held my tongue (until I got back home).
The cache was in the neighboring town of Bude. I needed to stop for gas anyway and noticed there was a cache right across the road. After a quick look left, right, and left again, I popped across to a small cemetery, no bigger than forty by forty feet. On one of the corned fence posts was a bison tube so easy peasy lemon squeezy, but I also noted how comfortable I’d become with cemeteries. I still don’t go in them at night, but where they once provoked thought and consideration, they are now mundane in a way they never were before. Unless they contain an extraordinary gravestone or marker, they barely register with me anymore. And I haven’t entirely decided how I feel about that.
I was running ahead on the day even though I couldn’t escape the feeling I was running behind. And I didn’t even have a hard stopping point; I was headed home so as long as I returned the rental car on time-ish, I was fine. So I turned back east to add a couple more counties to the trip before it was over by heading to…
Geocaching While Black 