Caching In Read Online Free PDF Page A

Potholes, the trail is fifty-five kilometers long.
    Chris and I get on at Atkins Road, which shortens our ride a lot. It’s still a long way, though, and it takes all morning for us to get to the Potholes.
    It’s a sunny day, so there are lots of people on the trail—joggers, skaters, families with strollers and dogs, and other cyclists. There are lots of girls, too, and some of them are pretty hot. But Chris and I are on a mission. We don’t have time for sightseeing. As we get into the more wooded areas, the pavement turns to gravel and hard-packed dirt, and the crowds thin out. Now it’s mostly hikers, a few cyclists and the occasional horse and rider.
    After rattling over a wooden bridge, Chris and I pull over to the side of the trail for a water break.
    I take a long swig from my water bottle and then wipe my forehead with my arm. I squint up at the sun. It’s starting to get hot. “How much farther do you think?” I say. “My legs have turned to spaghetti, and my butt is numb.”
    â€œI don’t know,” Chris replies. “But we have to be getting close. Maybe we should figure out the rest of the clues.” He rattles them off like he’s a tape recorder. “ Remember, this isn’t a picnic. Billy loves Sara. Be prepared for danger and be on edge. Good luck finding your nest egg. ”
    â€œWell, if the clue writer is sticking to a pattern, all those things are going to come up in that order,” I tell him.
    Chris looks at me, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
    â€œThink about it. Nothing so far has been mixed up. All the pieces of the longitude and latitude coordinates in the obituary were listed in the right order. We didn’t have to rearrange them. And the first two clues from the letter have been in order too.” I shrug. “I’m just sayin’.”
    Chris frowns for a second. Finally, he mutters, “You’re right. I should have thought of that.”
    I take another swig of water to hide my smile. Chris is a smart guy, so whenever I get one past him, I feel like I’ve won an Olympic medal.
    â€œSo you think this isn’t a picnic is coming up next?” he says.
    I bob my head. “Yeah.”
    Chris gets back on his bike. “Okay, then. I guess we keep our eyes open for something that screams picnic.”
    That something appears around the next bend. Not only does it scream at us, it practically jumps onto the trail.
    This part of the Galloping Goose is totally owned by Mother Nature. It’s a forest. On one side, the trees go on forever. On the other side, they come and go in clumps. They disappear completely sometimes, and that’s when you realize you’re near the edge of a cliff.
    It’s like that when we round the bend. The trees on one side suddenly vanish, exposing a clearing between the forever-blue sky and the rushing water and rocks of the Sooke River.
    And right in the middle of the clearing is a picnic table.
    Chris and I spot it at the same time and race straight for it. You’d think we’d found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
    â€œThis has to be the place,” Chris says, throwing down his bike. I can tell he’s excited.
    I am too. “So what now?” I pant.
    â€œ Billy loves Sara .”
    Suddenly the clue makes sense. “I bet you anything that’s carved somewhere on the table,” I say.
    But it isn’t. Chris and I look everywhere, but all that’s scratched into the wood is a lightning bolt and the name of a band.
    â€œI was so sure there would be a lover’s heart carved into the table,” I sigh.
    â€œThere’s not,” Chris says as he stands up and starts walking toward the cliff.
    â€œYou don’t need to get suicidal about it,” I say. But when Chris keeps on walking, I add, “Hey, man, be careful. It’s dangerous over there.”
    It’s like he doesn’t hear me. When he finally