Gumshoe Val Solves the Case

On my way home yesterday, a white truck shot out of a gravel road near my turnoff. I'd just crossed over the oft-flooded low water bridge, and was nearing the sharp right turn that takes me up and over the hill to EmBee's mailbox condo. I figured maybe the guy didn't see me, because there's a lot of foliage along that area, and some slight curves. So I was not shaking my arthritic fist at him for his driving shenanigans. No harm, no foul.

It came out of a gravel road that has its own concrete low-water bridge that's often flooded. In fact, the owner has dredged the creek with a backhoe before in an attempt to clear the channel. I know that, because the backhoe was parked beside the bridge, and also beside a large pile of creek gravel. Hick once declared that he needed some gravel for a project, and went down to load some up. He does that all the time with the silty sand down by the main low-water bridge on the county road. I'd cautioned him at the time that this guy might not want Hick taking his gravel. "He won't mind. I'll be helping him, really. I'll get rid of it, so it doesn't wash back into the creek."

Apparently, this gravel guy had a game camera, and saw Hick loading up. Because the third time he went down there, the guy came out and said, "So YOU'RE the one who's been stealing my rock! Stop it!" Hick said sorry, that he thought gravel dredged out of the creek was free for the taking. That's the story according to Hick. He unloaded the Gator, and came back home.

Anyhoo...back to my hot pursuit of this white truck. It wasn't going all that fast. I was almost to my turn-off, so I wasn't too put-out by the lollygagging. At first I thought, "Look at this rumpus-hole, he's in the middle of the road going up this hill!" And then I thought, "Look at this rumpus-hole, he's on the wrong side of the road going up this hill!" I didn't like the fact that this guy was actually driving up the ONCOMING LANE. There's no center line, but I can tell where my half of the road is, and where it's not. I thought White Truck Dude might be looking in his wide mirrors at me and wondering where I came from. When such poor lane choice continued, I figured he must be texting. Because nobody in their right mind crests a hill in the oncoming lane. In fact, I kept T-Hoe back a bit so I'd be able to stop before the imminent collision.

The truck was a tricked-out crew cab with wide, wide side mirrors, and a fancy paint job. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but if I had such a truck, I'd be a bit more careful with it, and not drive up the middle of the road on a blind hill. It's not like he was driving a $400 Sanford & Son truck.

White Truck Dude pulled off to the left at the top of the hill, into a semi-circle drive at a house we'll say belongs to Chilly. This is just a drive for the mailman, not a drive all the way up to the house. "Huh. Maybe that guy is messing with Chilly's mail! I've never seen that truck out here. It doesn't belong to Chilly. Unless he got a new one." I went on down the hill, and pulled over to the right, still on the road, to get out and check my own mail. After two or three minutes, here came that White Truck Dude. Going slow. I felt like he was eyeballing me. I waited in front of T-Hoe's bumper for the truck to pass.

White Truck Dude turned into my gravel road. It looked like he was going to stop beside the creek. "Huh. Does he live up in here? Am I in the way of him checking his mail. Wait! He was at Chilly's mailbox. Maybe it's someone putting stuff in mailboxes. Or STEALING MAIL!" My suspicions were not alleviated when White Truck Dude pulled farther up the gravel road. Started to stop. Then went on. I turned in and followed. That's how I get home, you know.

I was so suspicious that I grabbed my phone to take a picture.

I figured that one wasn't good enough evidence for the police when they attempted to crack the rural mailbox theft ring. Also, I had my finger in the way. YOU try driving a 2008 Tahoe up a gravel road tailing a ne'er-do-well while snapping a picture. So I took another one.

White Truck Dude continued to drive on the wrong side of the road, but everyone does that out here. He was either a really bad driver, drunk, texting, or avoiding holes he knew were in the road. At the first gravel road off this one, he turned left. That road is a dead-end. Even so, I was worried that he might go around or over the barricade up in there, and loop back, and see me going up my own driveway! Can't have that! He might have seen me take his picture!

My garage door wouldn't open! Five tries. Six! The dogs had run out under the carport, and were looking at me like, "What in the Not-Heaven are you doing?" They were ready to trot into the garage for a sniff, see if any cat kibble had been spilled, or if the gray cat they torment was inside, and then trot back out. TRY! TRY! TRY! This was like a horror movie! I didn't want that guy to see where I lived! FINALLY the door clanked open. I stuck my head out the people door for a minute, listening for a truck on the gravel road, before I went out. The coast was clear.

When Hick got home, I showed him the pictures on my phone. "Do you know who this truck belongs to?"

"Oh. That's Knobby's truck."

"Does he live out here?"

"He lives over on the other side. By that Italian guy who blocked the road. Why?"

"Well, he came out in front of me at the bridge where you stole the gravel, and he drove on the wrong side all the way up the hill, and he pulled in and stopped at Chilly's mailbox, then came down to our road, and kept pulling over, then going, and turned at the first road."

"He might have a mailbox up there. He lives in behind Chilly. He's an odd duck." (Sorry, blog buddy fishducky, Hick is known to be bloggically incorrect. He meant no offense.)

So...Val solved the case of the suspicious pickup truck. Still, what business did White Truck Dude have down at the bridge? Hope he wasn't stealing gravel! And what's with stopping at Chilly's mailbox? And why was he pulling over? You don't think he was suspicious of ME, do you? That's ridiculous!

Sometimes...the paranoia wins.