Caspian announced on Wednesday that he had "been doing a lot of reading" about analog living, which in retrospect was the first sign. He said it like it was a medical diagnosis. Like a doctor had looked at his screen time and said, son, you need to become a cartographer immediately or you will not survive the summer.
By Thursday morning he had a theory. The theory was this: the national mood was pointing clearly toward hand-drawn maps, the Roots scavenger hunt was proof that Richmond itself was asking for this, and the incoming heat wave meant people were going to be outside anyway, so why not make it intentional. Why not make it a journey. He used the word "pilgrimage" twice before I had finished my coffee. I want that on the record.
The map was beautiful, I'll give him that. He'd used a real pen, the nice one from his desk drawer that he treats like a family heirloom, and he'd drawn little landmarks with their own tiny illustrations. The Carillon had a flag. The river had little wave lines. There was a star over what I think was supposed to be Scott's Addition with the words "the energy is right here right now" written in very small letters. It looked like the kind of thing you'd frame if the scale had been anywhere close to correct.
It was not anywhere close to correct.
The first clue led us to what Caspian described as "a riverside overlook," which was a construction fence. He stood in front of it with the map and the expression of a man recalculating, except he was doing the recalculating silently and confidently, which is the most dangerous combination. "This is the Brown's Island project," he said, like he was briefing me. "We adapt." He drew a small arrow on the map with a pen he had brought specifically for amendments. He had brought a pen for amendments.
By eleven-thirty it was eighty-two degrees and climbing and we had taken three detours, all of which Caspian referred to as "alternate routes" and none of which appeared on the original map. I had eaten a granola bar. He had eaten nothing because he was "too in the zone." At one point he stopped walking, stared at the heat shimmer rising off the pavement on Broad Street, and said, quietly but with complete sincerity, "we're close." I asked what the shimmer had to do with proximity. He said it was a good sign. I asked him to define good sign. He gestured at the air.
The Roots situation, when we finally arrived, was wonderful — the new Innsbrook scavenger hunt energy was genuinely fun and the bowls were excellent and I told Caspian this and he looked at me like I had just confirmed everything he had ever believed about himself. "The map worked," he said. I pointed out that we had arrived by completely ignoring the last two clues and just using my phone. He said the phone was "a supplement." He said the journey was the point.
Here is the thing I keep running into with Caspian: he is not wrong in a way that makes him easy to argue with. The day was actually lovely. We walked a lot of Richmond. We saw the river and the construction and the shimmer and a soccer bar in Scott's Addition that appeared to be trying to get a TV mounted in time for something urgent. We had good bowls. It was ninety-five degrees by Friday and we'd done the whole thing on the last reasonable day of the week, which Caspian also claims to have planned, and I cannot prove that he didn't.
He still has the map. He ironed it flat and put it back in the folder where he keeps "documents of significance." He has already mentioned, twice, that he's been thinking about doing one for the fall. He wants to include elevation data this time. He asked if I knew where you get elevation data. I said I didn't know. He said he'd figure it out.
I believe him. That's the thing. I completely believe him.