Good fun in the bad part of Detroit

Words and photo by Telegraphy

Geocashing, the wonderful hobby of exploring around this earth of ours searching for little pill-bottle sized objects with the aid of the Global Positioning System. My friend, will call him "Steve" (for protection of his innocence)- his real name is Steve folks, is a avid "Geocacher". When I say avid, I mean his been involved in this hobby for a year now and already he's tracked down and found almost 1,500 of this buggers. So today he wanted to go out Geocaching..... In where? "Detroit" he said to me in a stern voice with his usual amusing undertone. "Detroit?" - I said questioning his logic. Do Geocacher actually venture through and beyond the racial and economic border that's known as Detroit? Answering that question was only a matter of Steve shoving a PDA cell phone screen in my face where a Geocaching map of Detroit with all of it's caches display in plan view. "Wow", with expletives spewing out of my vocal orifice,"theres that many caches in Detroit". So off we went, with my brother as our chauffeur for the afternoon. Driving around Detroit's eastside, all three of us piled inside my brothers car. Steve,the navigator - manned the GPS unit where he directed the driver to the destination. With his abundant enthusiasm and stamina for fun, this guy is a force to be wreaken. My brother, the driver - with his is a offensive automobilist skills, weaving in and out of lanes and pot-hole ridden side-streets with the fluidity of a accountant on his tenth cup of coffee. Myself - the backseat driver, with my un-canny urge to be silent and hard to talk to, I am a cab drivers wet-dream come true. All three of us form a group of freinds in a car, having good clean fun in a bad and dirty part of "dirty Dirt-troit", will along the coarce of the afternoon, have a adventure that any other joe-sixpack just dosen't have on any given day of the work week. You see, bad things only happen to a group of fun seeking people when their having a good time. Any other time, when life feels dull and predictible, you can smell trouble a mile away. Case in point - we where searcing for "caches" on Gratiot and the Grand Blvd. After finding the pillbottle sized "cache", which by the way was hiden on the wide open center island of the Grand Blvd. You want to fell conspicuois? Try being apart of a group of white people searching up and down trees and utility poles, all the while locals from around the area looking at you with remorse. Anyway, I noticed on the southeast corner, the large ornately decorated abandon church. With enthousasium I said, "lets explore, urban that is". So keeping the car parked in the lot of the sterio typical urban supermarket, we went on foot to the abandoned church. Like pilgrams on their way to some religious cult gathering in a distent land, we made our way across Gratoit to where the church was prodominty standing in ruins.
Finding our way in side the church though a broken window at ground level, all three of us "had a time" reconnoitring this closed for buisness place of worship. After tip toeing around decaying religious structures for 15 minutes, we walked back to the car, got in and my brother started up car only to hear a loud roar from the engine. My brother with a perplexed look on his face, shouted, "your !@#$!@#$ me". I peeked under the car. With a missing pipe from the down-pipe exhaust, all with neat and clean cut marks stairing right at me. I knew that someone with a battery operated cutting wheel, stole a straight section of pipe. Now why the !@#$ would someone want to steal just a pipe and not the expensive catalytic converter. You know, the part that cost you $250 and not the $2.95 straight pipe? W.T.F, my brothers car got hit by a muffler mugger. So now we were officially apart of the community, all with authentic sounding ghetto cruiser.

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