Geography Reference
In-Depth Information
clothes laid out next to the bed. I'm out the door in a minute, and I enter the coordinates on
the way.”
“So you're like a doctor.”
“Well, I don't get the money.”
TheFTFjunkiesareoftenthemostsocialofgeocachers,sincethey'retheonlyoneswho
so often converge on the same cache at the same time. Bryan knows and likes his nemeses,
even though he's not the most beloved figure on the local circuit. “I've been accused of
cheating,”hesighs.“Iguessthey'rebotheredthatIgetsomany,butifyouwanttoget'em,
get up off the couch and go get 'em! There's nothing stopping you.” He's seen cars squeal
up to new cache locations only to have their angry drivers scowl at him or slam their fists
on the car roof in frustration when they see that there are already flashlights combing the
forest. No one, after all, remembers the
second
team to climb Everest.
He's also learned over time where his rivals live, based on which geocaches they've
beaten him to—FTFers, like street gangs, develop “turf.” So Bryan decided to broaden his
turf by analyzing where new geocaches would appear and at what time of day. “I started
seeing a pattern,” he says. “So I would actually drive over and sit centrally located, where
I thought they were coming up.” He still spends some nights at his favorite spot, the Foster
Road on-ramp to I-205, camped in his car like a cop on a stakeout, waiting patiently for
new prey to appear on his BlackBerry or laptop. Most nights, sooner or later, one does.
“And then I take off. I'm out of there.”
I don't get instant notifications of new geocaches, so in my short geocaching career I've
never even come close to an FTF. Then, one drizzly afternoon as I'm walking out of the
grocerystore,Iidlypullupthegeocachingapponmyphoneandselect“FindNearbyGeo-
caches.” I'm just blocks from home, and I motored through all the caches in my neighbor-
hood months ago, so I'm not expecting to see anything close by. But there sits a blue ques-
tionmarkatthetopofthelist:amysterycacheIdon'trecognize, justamileortwoaway.I
bringupitsfulllisting,anditlookslikeasimplelogicpuzzle.Evenbetter,itwaspublished
less than two hours ago and the user log is still empty. I race home and spend ten minutes
scribbling away at the problem with a pencil, and finally produce some likely-looking co-
ordinates. When I bring them up on Google Earth, they turn out to be the end of a biking
trail just five minutes from my house. Is a local “Scubasonic” type already en route, or do
I have a chance? I grab my car keys and take the stairs down to the garage three steps at
time, adrenaline-infused blood throbbing in my ears.
“Hey, are you going out?” calls Mindy from the kitchen. “Dylan forgot his piano topics.
Can you drop them off at Janetta's before his lesson starts?”
Is she serious? How can she not know what's at stake here?
“No!”
I bellow, slamming
the garage door behind me.
In the car, I stare at myself in the rearview mirror for a moment. What have I become?
I'm yelling at my family and sabotaging their piano lessons, and for what? So that my sig-
