When I was travelling around the country on my motorcycle,

I was crossing West over I10.

At about Beaumont, Texas, where I10 turns North I noticed the lights were on behind me.

Mr. State Trooper wanted to see me.

I pulled over to the side of the road, and pulled my license out of my pocket and took my helmet off.

“Where you headed boy?” He drawled from behind his mirrored shades.

“Phoenix, Sir” I replied politely.

“You’re carrying a lot of gear”, He noted.

“Just enough” I replied.

“What’s in the trunk?” He asked.

“My kitchen”, I told him as I opened it up.

“Empty it”, he said.

And I did, my cook stove, pots, fuel, everything including the can of creamed corn.

“What’s with the creamed corn?” He asked.

“That’s my last resort food”, I told him, “that’s the last thing I would ever eat.”

“Saddlebag?” He said pointing to the Left bag.

So I emptied it. The skillet, tarp and whatnot.

“Other saddle bag?” He pointed

I emptied it. When I got to my copy of Walden, he reached for the book. I handed it to him.

“Commie crap”, he said, and tossed it into the brush off the road.

I just stood there and stared. I was totally defenseless. There was nothing to say or do. That was a prized possession, given to me by a dear friend.

“What’s in the duffel bag?” He asked.

“My clothes” I said.

“Empty it.”

So I emptied my clothes right there on the side of I10. Dirty laundry and all.

“Good enough”, he said. And turned, walked back to his car, got in and took off.

I proceeded to re-pack my life’s belongings and went on my way.

It was only then, as I was running through 4th to 5th gear accelerating that I realized that he never took my license or ran my plates. That means that no one knew that he had me pulled over other than he and I and the passing traffic.

My blood ran cold.