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Kingwood Memorial Park
This cache at Kingwood Memorial Park lands us in front of a historical marker. When the War for Independence left the new government with debts to pay, the sale of Ohio land helped to finance that loan repayment. Vast acres purchased by land speculators have trickled down to the one-home lots we see today. We learn that Williamsville was laid out here two centuries ago, on acreage purchased by Anson Williams. He hoped his town would endure, but it did not. Thus ended his turn in the game of Ohio country Monopoly.
On this particular game square, a park flowing in trees and sunshine has not been bought out.
Here in a gently flowering space, each name finds a place to rest. We move quietly.
Abegujrfg fvqr bs oevqtr, says Cache Owner msmandi’s hint. As promised, it is northwest side of bridge. We are grateful.
We do not miss the signs of hope which comfort those who mourn here.
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Sore Buns
Morning traffic flows down Route 23. Semis hop on and off this fluid raceway stretching from Lake Erie, south through Toledo, Marion, and Delaware, crawling past Columbus, with a nod to Chillicothe, ending its state-long marathon at the Ohio River in Portsmouth.
Our geotrail winds through the maze of all those on their way to school. Daycares, preschools, elementaries, middles and highs carry on the business of children and education.
The GPS lands at the Gooding Tavern. Built in 1827, this restaurenterpreneur offered respite from the spine-jolting dried mud of Route 23. As the population of Ohio ballooned from 50,000 in 1800 to 1.5 million by 1840, energetic business owners were there to help.
Sore Buns, placed by Cache Owner Kihap, also means wet feet. On these crisp, fall mornings, the sleepyhead sun is getting up ever later. Walking up and down and up and down, shoes drip in the morning dew.
Across the way, ever-larger churches carry on the business of souls. And statuesque wires power the business of everything.
When we find it, the cache quivers on that fragile thread between past and future, while the sentinel house stands strong.
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Apple of Their Eyes
With a GPS location at Green Lawn Cemetery, Apple of Their Eyes asks to be found. Greenlawn Avenue takes you to Green Lawn Cemetery. Like two quarreling in-laws, neither has changed their punctuation to match the other.
The firehouse looms large over our geotrail. While we are buried in our lives, these sentries keep watch.
We pass with trepidation, adding gawker delay to our slow geo progress.
Finally our GPS lands. A grove of pines, living and dying, encircles this spot of emerald luminescence.
As fresh, innocent and sweet as the one word hint Baby are the small gravestones. Carved into the stones are Baby Charles, Baby Alice, and just Baby. From 1907 to 1908, as Indian territory is absorbed into Oklahoma, as new immigrants pour into Ellis Island, as the stock market is rescued by Wall Street bankers, and as the Ford Model T is launched, tiny graves are dug and hearts mourn.
We find the Apple of Their Eyes. The cache name, the hint, the container and the spot render a bittersweet elegy to the ageless and indestructible bonds between human hearts.
The evening shadows stretch long over the gravestones. The guardian tree leans down. As Cache Owner msmandi’s notes request, we pay our respects, encircled by the great heart of others who have also found this place.
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Another Cache in Green Lawn?!
As we wind toward the southernmost parts of Columbus, Cache Owner msmandi asks us to find Another Cache in Green Lawn?! In this cemetery, the graves of governors, business magnates, and presidential families are paid due respect by a procession of cache signatures.
The fall season has officially begun. We pass alternating clusters of stalled traffic and orange barrels. Yellow buses will never be taken for granted again. Even college drivers new to the city are given unexpected grace.
Garmin takes us to a closed gate, and we drive eight blocks around the iron fence. Lame cemetery jokes and “it was the road you just passed” finally get us there.
On this lingering day of summer, fading leaves trickle through the memorials of fallen soldiers. Civil War, both North and South.
Korea and the Great War. The Second World War and Vietnam.
With silent astonishment, the names march in formation, logging the conflicts for land, power, and wealth that have written human history.
Our GPS lands. This mighty queen of the pines enfolds us, gentle sigh of the wind through her branches whispering gracious peace to all who wander here.
The cache log nestles in a felicitous birch sprig, holding vigil over a spot that is no longer lonely.
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A Common Misconception
It is A Common Misconception that parking garages are for parking cars. Cache Owner tonyburkhart has placed one hide, at Ground Zero in a parking garage, across from Columbus Commons.
On this hot day, the metal carriages wait patiently, air conditioners draining in apologetic spots on the cement floor. GPS bounces. Maybe a picture on the shared geocaching site logs will save us.
Across the way, at the Commons, enjoy the view of summer’s last fireworks of color. This tiny space is loved and honored as the ancient grandmother among her towering offspring. Sheltering trees and flowers and food, it nourishes eyes which look down from a thousand windows.
Look down, look all around, but only if you are on the up and up will you stretch your experience.
Well done, clue master and web loggers and cache finder.
Trees begin to light in yellow flame as fall approaches.
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Jimmy’s Main place
Navigating downtown Columbus to Main Street, we seek Jimmy’s Main place, where Cache Owner Fireman Phil promises Jimmy is always around.
The city breathes deeply. Summer’s end is celebrated with green patchwork stitched into every corner.
Black and grey of lamppost and sidewalk blur in flamboyant textures of pink, white, sea green. Gardener souls must sing.
Here the window washers never stop and never get tired.
There the windows reflect a job well done.
And here the newest city transplant buries its mournful, defeated head in the weeds, not quite sure how it all works.
Our geotrail hits a snag. No bushwhacking allowed in this jungle.
Our GPS lands us at last. We are in the parking lot where Jimmy’s place stood and then washed away in the inexorable tide of urban development.
Throughout the past ten years of this cache’s weblogs, photos shared as clues tell the story: Jimmy’s flamboyant black and purple Main Bar sign, light from the bar twinkling onto a night cacher, and the last image of Jimmys, windows boarded up.
Like the cache, did Jimmy’s fall through the cracks?
Don’t worry, Jimmy. You are not forgotten.
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40 on 40 for Life after 40 – Bummer
40 on 40 for Life after 40 – Bummer carries us into the soul of Cache Owner Cariboubous, as this tiny cache connects the shores of 39 and 41.
We are on the Broad Street bridge. Here, pushed forward by wagons, carts, and inevitably the Model T, the National Road avoided a watery demise.
At our feet, the Santa Maria sits like Apollo 11, marking a journey which changed the world. Swirling beneath us, the Scioto River carries all birchbark canoes, and flatboats, and canal boats, and steamboats into a distant past.
Upriver, the railroad bridge alone holds its own, still transporting that perfect invention, the train.
On the other side of the river stands City Hall, where the people of this great city come and go, working out the details of Truth, Beauty, Honor, and Love in their community life.
At last our GPS has landed us. Look up, look down, look all around. Pose for silly tourist pictures while you reach high on the lamppost. Ten buses come and go. Everyone is a muggle, and everyone is a searcher; all blend and none ask.
Steady, don’t be cross. Of course it was there, when you looked one more time.
Life on the other side of 40 turns out to be good.
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At the end of my rope
The cache description warns us that this is a revenge cache, placed by RifleMan81 over 12 years ago. RifleMan admits he is out to frustrate urban hiders who have handed him Did Not Finds.
Our brand new Veterans Memorial crosses the trail as we set out to find At the end of my rope.
The century-old train marker still does its job, reassuring us that we are at Ground Zero, Columbus, Ohio. So far, so good.
Our GPS lands us near the balustrade railing just before the Broad Street bridge. The ubiquitous presence of limestone in buildings, fields, bridges, and all manner of cement throughout Ohio does not diminish its beauty here.
We pull up RifleMan81, hoping to be in time, but he is gone.
We leave our memorial here.
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Cap City Skyline Stash
Whether they call it Cowtown or Cbus, Columbus still shines as our one and only Cap City. Plunging into the heart of downtown, we set off to find the Skyline Stash promised by gs886.
Glass, metal, cement and asphalt envelope us in a forest of design. Ads for lawyers, cancer experts and vodka reflect today’s worry list.
Over the murmur of traffic and construction, church bells toll the quarter hour.
Our geotrail leads us into the Statehouse. Pinks and purples blend as hibiscus nods to towering neighbors.
Don’t forget to salute the flag.
Pillars, both marble and invisible, hold together the intricate processes which run our state. Informative signs name these pillars: knowledge, participation, justice, inalienable rights, liberty, tolerance, equality.
House and Senate bring together those to whom the pillars are entrusted.
Supreme Court judges the conflicts that liberty and justice will bring.
In the office of the governor rests statewide leadership for the pillars.
Gs386 has led us on quite a trail, and we are grateful. Wait, what? Did you sign the log? I didn’t. Where was it? OK, we got distracted.
Out the back door of the Statehouse, across the Great Seal, with encouragement from our state motto.
Up and up and out of the parking garage. Cap City Skyline bursts upon us. Where to start looking??
Hopefully not down.
Below us spread the buildings which are busy with the activities of the pillars. Government. Business. Faith. And the media. Carry on.
Muggle guy next door is getting a little concerned.
Fortunately our impersonation of HVAC inspectors works, and we sign off on our inspection. Time to take a long lunch.
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Pac-Man’s Return
We are east of Alum Creek Lake, where Route 36 meets I-71. Here Long_Lost_Cacher has placed a city cache. Wendys, Starbucks, and McDonalds raise their colorful signs, luring the hungry traveler. The careful cultivation of commercial kitchens and food supply chains has resulted in a bountiful crop of whoppers, chicken nuggets, and iced coffee.
A field of asphalt leads us to that man-made tree, the light pole. Across the parking lot, human dwellings rise in comfortable gray siding, topped with stylishly peaked roofs.
We are looking for Pac-Man’s Return, calling us back to the yellow pie chart gobbling up white dots in an ancient video arcade, as legendary as a T-Rex. With grateful ease, we locate the old Atari case in the skirt of the light pole and sign the log.
When we read the sign on the light pole, it says that when things look upside down, they probably are.
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