Some of my friends are cave raiders. I think the actual term is "spelunker," but that makes them sound like a 1960s British children's program, instead of folks who spend way too long going outside so that they can go inside. Still, any subculture is a potential object of hyperfocus, so I decided to tag along, just in case the latest hole in the Earth they found was unusually cool this time.
First, I should introduce my friends, so that you know who I'm talking about. Metamorphic Marie and I have been pals since university. Back then, she was in geology, and I was trying to avoid the campus police by hiding under her car. Her friend, Fissure Filipoly ("It's Italian," she said, without explaining any further or how to spell it) was big into geysers.
They needed someone to drive, being as both of them were currently under probation for stealing a big chunk of very attractive basalt from the museum. In their defence, it was just sitting there on the loading dock. Anyone could have made that mistake and come back with a Mitsubishi diesel forklift that they didn't own, then blow the fork seals trying to lift a 2000kg chunk of igneous stone into the back of a $20 U-Haul truck rental. Importantly, they didn't complain too much. In fact, they seemed thrilled by the unusual grain structure of the rust in the back seat.
When we arrived at the cave, we realized it was a big ol' tourist trap. There were a huge line of regular people waiting to go inside the grotto, and someone was even selling t-shirts up near the front. I had seen this kind of thing before. Swarms of advertising robots had invaded their most precious hobby forum and convinced them through a false consensus that a totally soft, boring, cave was in fact a hardcore pothole-phile's dream.
We left immediately, of course. Mostly because my car was dieseling the entire time out in the parking lot and someone called the fire department because they were worried it might explode. That's the problem with cave tourism these days: no willingness to take a risk.
