I just dug this entry out of my collection of starts for blog entries. I’d started this story sometime last year when I was still living in Healdsburg. I used to walk around Fitch Mountain every Sunday morning with my neighbours. We called ourselves Fitch Mountain Fitness. I haven’t seen my neighbours for awhile, let alone walk around the mountain. Carol broke her leg in the winter (skiing) and she’s just started being able to walk. I miss those walks with my neighbours. I miss my neighbours. Oh well. I can’t really complain about where I’m at. My neighbours are further away but they are still my friends.
I wrote this the day that our walk was spoiled by some self-appointed asshole acting as a self-appointed policeman. We were some pissed off–well, for a while anyway.
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Yesterday, on our regular walk around the Fitch Mountain with my group of neighbours (Fitch Mountain Fitness), we decided to take a road less travelled. Christine showed us that we could take Scenic Lane, cut across a field and pop out on the other side. However, this time, there was a big gate and a NO TRESPASSING sign. So, we just continued on the way of Scenic Lane.
At the end of Scenic Lane, there was what looked like a well-worn path to the other side (or so we believed). We started in. On the way, we paused to take in the visuals of Geyser Peak and Alexander Valley. Pretty spectacular. We are very lucky to live in Sonoma County. We ended up at a dirt road. We turned left onto the dirt road and started up to where we might find the road to take us home. As we just started in one direction, a big old Cadillac SUV turned the corner and approached us. We could hear the yappy dog before it stopped. The driver was as intense, but silent. He rolled down the passenger window.
“You are trespassing.” Yap. Yap. Yap. The yappy dog is a Jack Russell terrier.
“Oh. We’re sorry. We’re just trying to get to Powell. Does this road join Powell?”
“You are trespassing.” Yap. Yap. Yap. Paws on the window, right in our faces.
“Well. We are trying to find our way out. We just want to get to Powell Street.”
“Go back the way you came.” Yap. Yap. He pushed the dog out of his way so he could glare at us.
Three of us started explaining all at once. “We took the path at the end of Scenic Lane. There weren’t any NO TRESPASSING signs. How were we supposed to know? We’re not bad people. We’re just out for a walk.”
“Get off this property.”
Now we are getting annoyed. We were just out for a pleasant walk. “Who are you? Do you own this property? We didn’t see any NO TRESPASSING signs. What if we just walk up this hill? Can we get out? What’s the fastest way off the property?”
“Get off this property. Now.” He rolls up the window and continues on down the hill in the opposite direction in which we were headed.
Half of us decide to go back the way we came. Half of us decide to keep challenging him. Carol starts up the hill to see if there is a locked gate or something at the top. Mela starts back the way we came. Christine keeps yelling at the insolent man about how he needs to get a life and how, if he did, he wouldn’t have to ruin our pleasant Sunday hike. Who pissed in his cornflakes that morning? Why does he feel the need to police this bit of road? Was he hiding something? Maybe he had a crop of pot or something.
I was torn: challenge the impudence or retreat? I didn’t know if we were trespassing. But, there weren’t any signs. The man had pulled out of sight just around the corner and had gotten out of his car to make sure we went back the way we came!!! Eventually, all of us followed Mela. Carol was fuming. She does not like to retreat nor retrace her steps. She is refreshing that way. Christine and Carol ended up shouting comments over their shoulders while following Mela’s and my retreat. The best comment came from Christine. She was so mad she could hardly speak. She belligerently sputtered: “You! You! You are just a fat bastard with a limp dick and a dog that needs therapy!”
We all started to laugh. It was enough to lighten the mood. We went back the way we came, back round the mountain, and back home. Laughing. Laughing and shouting: “You are just a fat bastard with a limp dick and a dog that needs therapy!” Then laughing some more.
that’s funny. I miss those walks. I forgot when that happened and that it was like 2 months after I was able to put weight on my broken leg. I just had the metal removed from my leg on April 22, 2015. It feels better and I’m glad I did it.