Geocaching Adventures Are Not For the Faint-Hearted

It seemed like a good idea--Ben was away at a football game (*gasp!*) and we had the afternoon to ourselves.  Not enough time to go to the zoo or Sea World, not enough time to drive to a state park.  "How about Geocaching!?"

Blank looks.  "Naw mom.  I want to stay here."

Calculating the number of hours they had already watched TV today in my head.  "Nope.  You're going to love it.  It's like a treasure hunt."

So we look up the website.  Try to download it to my phone.  Apple User ID disabled.  Nothing fixes it.  No security questions are right.  Hmm.

Write down the coordinates, examine the pictures, figure out how to install the bike rack on the van.  Load everything up, and two liters of water.

Get to the park just down the road (where the bike path is--but too busy of a road to just ride to it).  Unload everyone and everything.  Myra rides 45 feet and stops for a rest.  Gets off her bike, "I'm just gonna walk my horse now." Runs along side it, pushing it along.  Expending waaay more energy that way than just riding it.

Find the first turn off.  Clark's bike chain falls off.
Search for the little blue ball.  Nothing.
See a roadrunner!
Eva gets cactus spines in her finger.
Without GPS, geocaching is really, really hard.

Back to the bikes.  More horse walking.  Hot, did I mention how hot and humid it is in September.  Worse than June this year.  Find the next turn off.

Walk through the weeds.  Ant bites, stinging nettle.  Call Thad for help.  "How do I do coordinates on Google Maps?" He walks me through it.  Now we have GPS!  Phone battery dies.

Climb a few trees.  Everyone takes their shoes off.  Everyone has to put their shoes back on.  More stinging nettle and ant bites.  Myra walks barefoot across the scrub and howls with pain.  I look into her face and say, "If you aren't going to think things through--I cannot help you. No one can help you."

Climb the tree where the cache is supposed to be.  No cache.  Put shoes back on.  Myra crying.  Sara crying.  More scratches and thorns.  Walk back to the bikes.  Clark's chain is off.  I tear the chain guard off with my bare hands.  Tell Sara to "Go away" because she can't stop crying and I'm losing it. LOSING IT.

Back to the path.  Myra is comfortably sitting in the bike stroller with Sara, while her "horse" is stranded back on the path. "Uh-uh.  You get out and ride your bike home, or you owe me $40."  Giddy-up.

Clark's chain falls off again.

We run out of water.

My back tire suddenly and immediately deflates just as we are getting close to the trail head.  At least it had the decency to wait until the end.

We go home and have a dinner of beef jerky and homemade bread.  I try to explain that the reason I was so upset was because of PTA.  But I think it might have been a combination of causes.