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Equinox-minded, the earth begins the last leg of this year’s lap around the sun.  As our meandering ramble across the OSU campus winds down, we hunt Between the Towers, our last meeting with Cache Owner Z 748.

Food delivery robots scuttle past and park, cameras busy tracking their path.

As we turn the corner, Ohio Stadium comes into view, flanked by the Toledo Football bus before the big game. Football is the biggest player in the business of college athletics. Name, image and likeness deals earn millions. Star athletes feed the pros. Alumni flock to relive the pageantry and excitement of a new season in the Shoe.

In pursuit of a very different thrill, our GPS locates the lamppost between the towers. Beaming down solar power, the light high above radiates enthusiasm.

Down below, CITO might be a bit of a challenge here. Excavation delivers the cache. Now for the pen? What pen? No pen. Would you ever ask a muggle for a pen? No, never, would you? Well, there aren’t even any muggles around to ask!

Sadly we must unroll the log to take a picture, to be posted as proof of the find. There’s something about not signing your cache name that feels joyless. Whether it’s written on a brand new, official log, or crammed into the last corner of an ancient paper scrap, signing affirms the fellowship of the invisible caching web. But wait, wait! Yes! Way down in the tube! There. Is. A. Pencil.

And that’s what happiness feels like.

Friday afternoon slows to a sleepy stroll on the OSU campus, as classes give way to weekend escapes. Cache Owner TeamMonroes sets our coordinates, as we seek to investigate River Restoration.

The Olentangy River pedestrian bridge carries the footfalls of hundreds of students on their way to and from towering dorms, and transports thousands of fans to and from the Shoe. In this universe-city, 67,000 students are enrolled, 40,000 staff report for work, and billions of dollars flow each year, in the business of college education.

Across town, the community college runs parallel, with 45,000 students. Here, identities blend and complement each other in the classroom, developing expertise, relishing the freedom to contribute as creative members of society.

Our GPS lands in the middle of the bridge. Cache notes tell us that restoration of the Olentangy meant removal of the Fifth Avenue dam, installed over 80 years ago to provide water to cool the university power plant. Now native grasses and trees will fill in, reversing exploitation that, eventually, degraded both weak and strong.

We look up and down the bridge. In every possible hiding spot, spider webs rule. Let’s dig through old cache logs instead.

Finally, we encounter this, masquerading as a pledge of true, eternal love. With a smile and a hat tip, we are on our way.

On this perfect fall weekend, clouds furl their sails in a sky-blue ocean. Tees and shorts scorn approaching winter. For today, we will soak in sunshine. Arriving on the OSU campus to continue Cache Owner Z 748’s series, we set our sights for Diamonds.

Signs for the nearby veterinary clinic guide the business of animal health.

Nearby fields resemble soccer nets, rather than softball diamonds. Over six decades, soccer has crept forward as a premier sport in central Ohio. Transitioning fans and players populate a game that almost anyone can learn to play.

We are at Ground Zero. The lamppost cover prolongs the life of the cache, making it easy to approach and find, and allowing many more happy encounters for our duckling.

Okay, we found the diamonds. Sometimes you just have to settle.

Blue-P is another in the series at OSU placed by Cache Owner Z 748. Awesomely, the cache description bills it as a small parking lot, where muggle traffic cops will hopefully  be detected before we are. Or maybe not. Contactless pay means patrol cars cruise by with cameras, provoking your license plate to rat you out.

On the geotrail, we scope out Football Ground Zero, where the faithful persevere through the disquiet of recent years.

Our GPS lands. Remember it’s a Blue P, not a White P. The rasp of metal against metal as the cover is lifted off. One of those mysteries of life, which, once you know it, nothing is simpler. But until you know it, you look right past it and walk away muttering.

The sign reminds that smokers will be politely asked to put it out. While tobacco remains a cash crop in southern Ohio, cultivation of grapes and strawberries is slowly and mindfully replacing tobacco fields.

No patrol cars around. Instead, Game Day red shows these muggles are serious about Buckeye football.

Seriously.

Hey there, Ty. According to the description, this cache was placed in your honor on the very day of your birth, April 13, 2013, by Cache Owner Z 748.

Now you are nine years old, and we want to report on the state of your island. Secret agents have been coming and going for a long time, and that ol’ pole cover is showing some rust. Right now black tape is what’s holding it all together.

Across from your island, the parking lot is awash with automobiles. Can you find two exactly alike? Each driver insists on expressing their own unique style, color, radio station, and destination. A previous secret agent records that, when they were reporting in, one of these vehicles circled round and round the parking lot, making it very hard to explore your island undetected. Instead of the muggle mafia, it turned out to be a new student driver, learning about that brake pedal. Before we can blink twice, you will be in that car.

We do want to report a massive invasion of bees into the heart of the island. Agents are feeling stung. You must journey back and retake your island. Don’t ask me how. You will know.

Meanwhile, we will leave everything as we found it. Good luck.

Returning to the campus of OSU, we target Before, placed by Cache Owner Z 748 ten years ago.

Our geotrail passes by the mammoth and mushrooming business of health care. A labyrinth of medical franchises fills the space left by tribal sweat lodges, pioneer folk medicine, and house calls from country doctors.

Coordinates land in a parking lot. Across the way is another medical facility. Cache activity tells us of cachers who have signed this log after MRIs, during breaks from medical tests, finding a respite within the friendly log of names, which holds and reassures.

Ground Zero is the lamppost, simplicity itself, yet diffuser of that which dispels the darkness. Taken for granted as a miracle of electricity, the currency of all parking lots, sidewalks and nighttime places where humans go.

And add to that list, held together with electrical tape. The cover lifts and releases the log. In every way looking like an illegal purchase, this addiction costs nothing, leaves no chemical backwash, enhances the mind and rejuvenates the body, connects participants in a worldwide fellowship, and brings a genuine smile. We sign and go.

Driving south on Route 315, we are looking for a series of caches placed by Z 748. High over head, bacon slabs of clouds bubble on a sky-blue griddle. Beside us meanders the Olentangy River, nearing the end of its long journey toward the mighty Scioto.

We pass Bethel, and Henderson, and North Broadway. Friday marks the first day of the weekend for students, and traffic is light.

Our GPS directs us to the Ohio State University, to Chadwick Arboretum, in search of Lakeview. Parking is limited. Ethical considerations — and the lack of a phone camera printer — prevent us from forging the permit in the next car, leaving us permitless.

We set off toward the lake. Gravel chomps underfoot, bug bubbles surround, and safari-hatted researchers with clipboards wander by.

If you saw nothing but nonmetallic trees at Ground Zero, where would you look for a magnetic keyholder? Let’s also throw in a whole clump of muggles. Let’s say most of the muggles suddenly disappear into the woods. Would you approach the one remaining, explain you are geocaching, and ask to examine the metal legs on his picnic table?

Let’s say with the first word out of his mouth, you discover he’s a Bri’ish professor. If he suggests that there are metal tags on some of the trees, where a magnet might attach, would you politely explain why there’s not a bloomin’ chance of that, old boy?

Would you distract him by discussing habitat restoration while your teammate brilliantly locates the cache? In the spirit of international cooperation, would you show him the cache container, because he’s heard such boxes have li’le trinkets?

After it’s all over, would you glance back and catch him looking under the table? In other words, would you muggle a muggle?

If you answered yes to all of the above, you may go directly to your car and arrive just before the parking police. Be sure to wave on the way out.