It's a Bad Idea To Hike With a GPS Meant for the Road

I almost jumped out of my skin when the voice of my long dormant GPS announced into the silence, "You have reached your destination."

I had not reached my destination.  I was sure of two things.  One, I had no idea how to use my GPS for geocaching.  Two, I was no longer in the Plainsboro Preserve.  I leaned against a street light pole and futilely poked at the screen.  I had just emerged from the woods and was standing in a clearing between two houses somewhere in Plainsboro.  An SUV passed by, and I wondered if I qualified as a suspicious person just hanging out in a hoodie, checking an electronic device on a remote corner in the middle of the day.  I thought to be possible and returned to the woods. 

From the cover of trees I checked the map and determined that I was lost.  I vetoed the idea of walking on the street towards the possible location of my car.  I briefly, very briefly, toyed with the idea of calling BP or Diane to come get me.  But even dejected novice geocachers have their pride, so I turned the Tomtom off, shoved it in my pocket, and started retracing my steps. 

I walked along the pond's edge until  I came to the little ridge leading back down to the green rocks.  I hadn't see the green rocks until my foot got slimed on the way in.  Twenty minutes ago I had been happy to see what I thought was a putting green ahead.  There's no reason the Preserve couldn't be adjacent to a golf course.  But the smooth green was actually pond scum and my right foot was a little damp. 

Back up the hill to the railroad tracks.  Stop, look, listen, look again, keep listening.  Go.  Step over.  Step. Step. Step over.  Step. Step. Step over.  Don't even think about tripping.  One more step over.  Down the hill.  What was I doing on the tracks anyway?  Oh, yeah... I was convinced I was going to find a cache on the other side.  Right.

Down into the mostly dry river bank.  Foot on the log.  Hand on the tree.  Get some leverage on the branch.  There we go.  To the right is where I had gone wrong.  To the left is where I was okay to start with before I went wrong.  I remember the big rusty canister.  Duck through the thorn bushes and here I am on the trail.  Slush, slush.  It's always soupy here.  And just half a mile to the parking lot.

Back at the car I was consumed by morbid curiosity.  I restarted the GPS and followed it to the point it claimed as my destination.  I followed it blindly for two or three miles, down a beautiful country road so off the beaten path that the campaign signs hadn't been planted.  I turned into a gorgeous neighborhood and arrived on New Turkey Island Road.  "You have reached your destination."  No cache here, just a lesson.  It's a bad idea to hike with a GPS meant for the road.