No trip to town with Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is ever uneventful.
On Friday, I took the blacktop county road less traveled by, because the ROCKERS mining the stones of the earth made my route different.
I was almost home, by cracky! Almost to EmBee's mailbox condo when I saw it. A blue pickup truck that had come up behind me between the auto body guy's shop and the sharp turn on the tree-limb ceilinged section of blacktop just before I cross our low water bridge that was made higher several years back, and no longer floods.
Huh. I wonder where that truck came from all at once. He must be in some kind of hurry. I hate it when people rush up like that. I wonder if he's going up our gravel road. We have a truck that color out here that goes up past the Mansion.
I continued, neither faster nor slower. I was being extra cautious, lest I meet the ROCKERS flatbed semi loaded with boulders. This road does not have room for two on this section. In fact, I had been looking at ruts on that sharp curve just before I noticed the blue pickup behind me. I thought perhaps somebody had indeed met the ROCKERS, and had to back up into that space to let them by. I filed that option away for future reference.
Huh. That blue pickup is getting closer. Too bad, so sad. I'm not rushing. It's not like I'm going to drive on the wrong side of the road and park by the mailbox and reach out my window into EmBee like Farmer H does. No siree, Bob! I'm turning onto the gravel, and I'll park at the side and walk across the blacktop county road to get the mail.
I signaled before the bridge, even. Made the immediate right turn onto gravel the minute my tires were off the bridge. I was waiting for that blue pickup to turn in right on my tail. So I made sure to signal again to pull over at the side.
Huh. Where's that pickup? I didn't hear him gun it and blast past me when I turned. He's not behind me. He's not at the mailboxes. WTF?
I turned around and looked back over the bridge, up the road from whence I had come. THERE was the blue pickup! Just on the other side of the bridge. By that little gravel drive where I caught the mailwoman having her tryst. Allegedly. The place where she parked her US MAIL stickered car, and spent over an hour doing nothing (that I know of) except talk on her cell phone. Though we all know the reception down in that dip is crappy.
Huh. Is that guy WATCHING me? Why did he stop when I did? Maybe not. No need to be so paranoid. But it never hurts to be aware of my surroundings. I guess that pickup guy is getting his own mail. I don't remember seeing that truck at that drive before. But it's not like somebody lives down there. Their driveway pipe washes out every big rainstorm.
I got out to walk over to EmBee. After turning off T-Hoe and taking the keys in my hand, of course. I always do that when I get the mail. I'm not going to let some escaped mental patient (or more likely escaped prisoner from the maximum security prison three miles up the road) jump out of the woods and into my precious vehicle and take off!
Huh. That guy is like Farmer H. Parked on the wrong side of the road. But with his door open, stepping out to get his mail instead of just reaching out the window. Just standing--WAIT A MINUTE! THERE'S NO MAILBOX THERE!
Sweet Gummi Mary! I guess that guy was taking a pee! I don't know what else he could have been doing, stopped there with his door open. He was probably going to pull onto MY gravel road to take his pee, and I spoiled that plan by daring to park on my own gravel road to get my own mail out of my own mailbox, which exists.
That might explain his hurry.