Welcome to my World of Wonderment

Our planet is a neat place, full of weird and unusual people doing weird and unusual things. One oddball thing I like to do is geocache. What other activity is there that makes people travel hundreds of miles to climb a mountain, wade a river, and fight a Bigfoot, just to be the first person to sign a piece of paper rolled up in a 35mm film canister stuffed in the knot hole of a tree? I can't think of any other sport that has such a great mix of technology and the wonderful outdoors. A lot of geocaches are placed in a beautiful setting, or hidden in a challenging or unique way, or in a historical setting. Geocaching allows the finder to share in some of the hiders favorite places, and along the way you get to meet some interesting characters, and occasionally learn something new. While this blog is primarily a geocaching blog, I also use this place to post the occasional funny video or weird news story, or as a platform to rant or rave about something I really have to share. But for the most part this website is about you, the weirdo walking around in circles, talking into your GPS unit like it's a phone, pretending your taking pictures of a phone booth to find find the tiniest micro-cache, or circling your car around and around a light pole in a parking lot trying to retrieve a cache without even getting out of your car.


Super Nuts


I've always been attracted to comic book heroes and movies where the main characters have super powers. Recently I've come to realize the reasons for this. I too have a super power. I attract nuts. Now before you go and jump to conclusions, no this is not some super power that Ryan Seacrest would want. What I mean is I put out a vibe that a crazy person could find in the dark. Like zombies looking for fresh brains. Or as my wife put it: On the moon during a nuclear holocaust while on an acid trip, crazy finds me.

Now I'm not sure what causes this, I don't think it is like the old saying: opposites attract. I've always considered myself to be somewhat eccentric. So when I call you nutty, there must be something behind it. Some people might also think that, well ... it takes one to know one. Well... I point out that the Hummingbird and the Ostrich are both of the same species, but not very similar. So maybe I have the nut gene, but it's slightly recessive.

I'm not sure if I inherited my nut gene from my father's side of the family or my mother's. I was told once that my paternal great grandfather kept the same fork in the front pocket of his shirt for years, and would not let anyone touch it or wash it. He would come home, sit at the table and pull out his fork from his breast pocket, eat dinner, wipe his fork with a napkin, and stick it back in his pocket till the next meal. Maybe he was afraid antibacterial soap would weaken his immune system, or may be he thought my grandmother wasn't a very good dish washer, but what I believe is, .... he had a touch of the Nuts.

Now my Mom's side of the family had a few good Nuts also. At one time, my grandmother's sister was committed to a nursing home in South Florida. For some reason (probably the nut gene at work here) she thought she should leave sunny Florida and come live with my grandmother in Indiana. So after several thwarted attempts to leave, she finally called a cab to meet her at the front door, waited till said cab pulled up, and pulled the fire alarm, ..... and here's the Nutty part,.....got in the cab and had the cab driver drive her to Indiana. With no belongings or anything. Now who is Nuttier here, my great-aunt, or the cab driver? I've always pictured my Aunt hobbling out of the nursing home in slippers and a robe, climbing into a cab, and the cab driver saying “Where to, Miss.” And my Aunt would say, “French Lick, Indiana and step on it!” And away they would go with neither one saying a word to each other for a thousand miles.

So may be I come from a perfect storm of Crazy stock.

Cousin Bill

My lovely wife Nikki's family isn't short on Nuts either. One of her more Nutty relations would be cousin Bill, who I have always called “Cousin Bill”. Not just Bill, Cousin Bill, i.e. Cousin It. Like Cousin It, he is a whole other species of odd. One day Nikki received a call from Cousin Bill, asking if he could stay 2 nights with us, while he started a new job. His new job was 100 miles from his current house and only 60 miles from ours. So he wanted to stay with us on a Thursday night and a Friday night and then find a place to rent in Indy over the weekend. This was fine with us, as we had the space, and the few times I had met the guy he seemed perfectly harmless, albeit a little too friendly with the bottle. But don't get me wrong, drinking is not what causes Cousin Bill's Nuttiness, it does however amplify it, to epic proportions.
Well Cousin Bill's two nights' stay turned into, I think, four months. Gilligan's three hour tour took less time. As can happen around Nut people, quite a few out of the ordinary things happened. There was an incident with the EPA, double adultery may be triple if you count his girlfriend, a traffic ticket that turned into a DUI that turned into identity theft, that turned into case dismissed, more adultery, a sunken speed boat, and my favorite, the 5 o'clock in the morning whispering phone call, which I haven't decided yet may be the result of adultery.

Phone rings EARLY (about 5am)in the morning:
Against my better judgment, "Hello?"
“Come pick me up.”
“Are you in jail again?”
“No, I don't know where I am.”
“What do you mean you don't know where you're at?”
“Well I'm at some chicks house.”
“How did you get there?”
“She drove me here from the bar.”
“Have her drive you back.”
“Her and her husband are asleep upstairs.”
“Well how can I get you if I don't know where you're at.”
“Hold on,” Doors open and floor boards creak, now in a far away tone even quieter whisper “Where am I”
“Bennet Lane” I hear an irate female voice say. Doors open and floor board creak.
“Benson Lane”
“Be outside, I'll be there in about 5 minutes”

Now luckily for Cousin Bill I know right where Bennet Lane is, and it's not very far. So I get dressed and drive the few miles over to Bennet Lane, where I see Cousin Bill come running out of a house wearing nothing but a pair of unbuttoned Levi's that he has to hold up to keep from falling off of him, and not doing a very good job of that either. No socks, shoes, shirt, no service. Just pants. As I slow down, he jumps in with out even letting me get stopped and shouts “Go, Go, Go!”

Well I just got to know.....“Where're your clothes Bill?”
“I couldn't find them so I grabbed these pant off the floor, go, go. Them people are crazy!! They had me tied up in the basement and weren't going to let me go. Luckily I got untied and got to the phone. Man they were nuts......”

Somehow I don't think this was the case, but I just let it go.