Cache Information: A sly hide placed adjacent to one of my favorite spots along the Custis trail. Geocaching has always seemed to be more than a pastime as it allows for a certain amount of artistic expression. It serves as a medium where cache owners can express themselves. They can showcase their sculpting talents by crafting a tricky hide to fool the eyes or a field puzzle to boggle the mind. They can take finders to curious, out of the ordinary places or transport them completely to a world inside the wonderful stories they weave. While the story presented below is one I wrote for a writing contest, and honestly has little if anything to do with the cache, I thought it would be nice to add as it ticks one of the boxes on the 'qualties of a great cache' checklist. Perhaps after searching finders could take a moment to sit on the nearby bench and spin a little yarn of their own. If you're interested but lacking inspiration, picture a scene from a television show or movie, a distinctive one that you can 'paint' with your word. And if you need help with the hide, the pond has quite a few turtles willing to lend a hand. Good luck and happy hunting!
Story:
“Hurry up or we’re going to miss it!” I shouted to Ben as I jumped out of the car, restless from twenty minutes of circling for a space. “It’s nine fifteen, we only have a few minutes!”
“I’m coming!” Ben stammered back as he broke into a slow jog to catch up. Whirling around almost as an afterthought, he raised his arm and double tapped the plipper eliciting a resonant honk. While Arlington wasn’t a lawless town, and not even the most destitute thieves had any business breaking into a battered green hatchback, you never knew what the street-wandering crowds might do at one of these events.
In what could not exactly be described as running or even jogging, we made our way at a purposeful pace across the 17th street bridge, skipping steps as we descended a concrete flight of stairs towards the park. Today was the first of August and in a scant few minutes The Alignment was going to occur. Annually on this day at nine thirty-two in the morning, the physical shadows of the sculptures in Dark Star Park perfectly aligned with their metal effigies on the ground. We had driven by earlier to scope out how busy the event would be and, upon seeing only a smattering of people and an Arlington event tent, we had concluded that we could safely grab a quick breakfast without missing much.
Apparently, this was a mistake as we now found ourselves submerged in a populous sea of onlookers eagerly awaiting the same spectacle we had come to see. A cloudless sky allowed a vigorous summer sun to blare down on us which on one hand made for optimal shadow-making conditions, but on the other had us quickly sweating profusely. As we navigated the crowd, searching for a spot to watch, I noticed live new age music and an announcer talking about the history of the park in the background. The anodyne music seemed to fit the event, adding an almost interstellar vibe as the speaker babbled on about The Alignment.
As the clock struck the half hour, the music began to soften and the crowd’s idle murmuring softened. Thirty more seconds ticked by as I peeked my head around the shoulder of a couple onlookers but as the magical minute arrived and Perfect Alignment was achieved, something happened. With all the shadows aligned, the ground started to ripple. Maybe I was just delirious from dehydration but the expressions on those in the crowd convinced me otherwise. Slowly at first, the ripple began to spread, starting from the central ‘fallen star’ of the park until it engulfed the entire traffic island.
You would think in a situation like this that people would run in fear but they stood transfixed as if they were a flock of deer gazing into headlights. Rhythmically, the moving of the earth came to a peak as a cream-colored pedestal gently emerged from the ground. A lovely Corinthian-styled piece, I doubted if I had ever before seen such an ornate piece and sitting atop it was what looked to be a cup of coffee? I couldn’t be sure as I was half a dozen yards from it but the tapering cylinder-shape seemed pretty unmistakable. Looking around, it was then that I noticed the previously swaying soil has since stilled, along with everything and everyone else nearby. Awestruck, we stood there spellbound, eyes transfixed on the paper cup until an elderly bicyclist broke the silence.
“Well, do you think we should drink it?” he asked no one in particular as he carefully strode towards the cup. Gingerly, he picked it up and with a look of bemusement speckled with hints of fear, he took a sip. As his eyes glazed over into a glossy surreal white, he began to speak in a new potent voice,
“For three centuries, there has been no true Earl of Arlington since I, Sir Henry Bennet, the original Earl passed my title on to my daughter Isabella who in turn sullied the name by becoming betrothed to that Fitzroy swine. As tradition dictates, with the passing of three turns the mantle has been cleansed making it ripe again for the taking. Rather than repeat the error of passing it by blood, I seek one who is truly worthy of the title. The title shall be bestowed upon the one who empties this chalice of ambrosia but to dissuade the hordes from spoiling the feat, those unjust to sip upon my splendor will find themselves made mute or mad!”
Upon the old man’s final word as if a switch was suddenly flipped, the world seemed to spring back alive. A quiet murmur began to grow amongst the crowd that had been quite ready to disperse after The Alignment had come and gone. Some stepped nervously towards the cup, attempting to completed the challenge while I, someone who is not normally the religious type, began to pray for all the crazy politicians across the Potomac to make the trip and become mute. I stuck around more bemused than anything and watched as a few young bucks tried their luck, some becoming cracked and others finding their voices had vanished.
Dulcet notes of lavender arrived on the gentle breeze from the garden as I sipped my morning cup of earl grey. The blend of bergamot and lavender danced on my palate as I lazily gazed down from the lower piazza, eventually letting my eyes settle on a lonely wren. It’s golden brown plumage softly rustling in the wind. Four whole months had passed since The Alignment and while thousands had tried, no one had succeed yet. The year was quickly coming to a close and cup remained. The day after the challenge was issued, the site was quarantined by the CDC who were wary of the health ramifications of this bewitched beverage and more than slightly suspicious of a cup that continually refilled itself. Scientists had attempted to study the ‘ambrosia’ but found their carefully collected samples evaporated before they could perform even the most rudimentary of tests. All we knew anecdotally from the ones who undertook the challenge was that the liquid tasted something like a pumpkin spice latte.
To me, this sounded like some sort of millennial fairytale garbage. At first, the story was a local sensation, with local blogs reporting on it. In Peter’s Take, he had said that this ‘Percolation on a Pedestal’ was the modern version of the ‘Sword in the Stone’ and that the government shouldn’t be stopping people from trying what might be the only ‘modern miracle of the millennium’. He always did have a way with phrases and on the surface, I agreed with him, but tacitly rebutted that those who attempted to pull the sword from the stone didn’t go mad or mute from their efforts.
Within a week, the story had been picked up on all the major news networks with spoofs and sketches even being presented in on late night TV. While the material seemed mostly there, these comedic commentaries fell flat as they simply couldn’t compete with reality but, to be fair, little could these days. This widespread attention from the media did actually do some good though, as eventually the government was pressured into lifting the quarantine thus allowing the challenge to resume.
Despite the heavy consequences of failure, hordes of potential Earls swarmed the park as everyone wanted a shot at the title. I was not one of those people as I had noticed a flaw that others seemed to have missed. While everyone knew that the one who emptied the cup would become Earl, no one knew what benefits came of possessing the title. Perhaps the Earl would be ‘rewarded’ with the powers of a demigod but dragged off to another plane of existence; leaving family and friends behind. Also, I have a number of food allergies and couldn’t be sure if this ‘otherworldly nectar’ would just leave me keeled over in anaphylactic shock. As time passed, the number of contenders dwindled and the cup with its accompanying challenge became an endemic inside joke of sorts. People started odd religions around the ‘Godly Goblet’ and some clever local made a mint selling bumper stickers depicting the cup and the slogan ‘Find Common Grounds’. But these fads fell as quickly as they rose as time marches on past all of us and eventually the cup became just another featured spot on the map alongside The Pentagon and the W&OD Trail.
Two years had passed since ‘The Alignment of Nineteen’ and a thousand-strong crowd was gathered again today, counting down the minutes until nine thirty two. Surrounding roads had been closed and stadium seats assembled for what had become the occasion of the year in Arlington. As if synchronized with the event, the sky was devoid of clouds but as temperatures had only been on the rise in recent years, the heat was well into the triple digits. Despite the feeling of being in a furnace, the crowd was in a jovial mood, laughing and joking about sampling from ‘The Crazy Cup’ or ‘The Mute Mug’.
Many were half expecting a geyser to rush out from the cup like it had the past year since no one had completed the challenge but instead it remained still as stone. Two minutes ticked away and the crowd drunk in the sight as the shadows fell into place. As the penumbras played about, the elderly man who had been possessed into issuing the original edict, earning him a sliver of fame and the role as the announcer of the event began his closing remarks,
“I would like to wholeheartedly thank everyone for taking part in another Alignment. While there didn’t seem to be any theatrics this year, the memory and vision of Nancy Holt lives on in the work Arlington County has done to foster interest in…”
As if seized by the same supreme spirit, he grew pale and began to faulter. Thick beads of sweat dripped from his nose and chin as he gasped and waved his arms as if searching something to grab hold of for support. Collapsing onto the ground, the audience remained frozen until a boy of about twelve pushed his way past the masses, jumped the fence around the sculpture garden, and swiped the cup from the pedestal. He swiftly made his way to the ailing old man and, cradling the man’s wrinkled head in his youthful arms, fed him the drink. While those who had previously imbibed from the cup found it to be ‘bottomless’ and failed, the boy gave the man every last drop and tossed the empty tumbler aside, caring more about a life than some controversial cup. Cautiously walking over and picking up the empty cup, I noticed etched into the bottom the words ‘We make a living by what we get but we make a life by what we give’.