Wherein I find that the land and people Kate Wolf sung about suck.

My crummy smells like old man. It's a combination of compulsive bay leaf collecting, the water jug leaking onto the tarp and molding, and linen scented Lysol as a boot disinfectant. I am not a Sudden Oak Death vector.

So I always figured that a young lady traveling alone is exempt from the social rule about picking up hitchhikers. I still feel guilty as I drive by them- I cannot yet package "You understand, dude." into a fleeting glance- but I drive by them. Like a wise woman.

There I was in the hills above Pacheco, playing the most depressing game I know* when I saw a man walking alongside the road. I figured he was just headed towards a friend's house, but he stuck out his thumb as I drove by. In my rearview mirror, I registered that he was wearing dress shoes and a nice shirt. He was maybe 20 miles from town. It was 2 PM.

*I call the game "Does someone live in that shack?" The answer is yes, but they don't speak English.

I couldn't find a place with an out-of-repair fence (best indicator of public ownership), resident landlords, lack of no trespassing signs, or appropriate site qualities. I looked down a couple of other roads, but they led to gated communities. I was not deemed worthy of entry. I turned back down the road, hoping to see something I'd missed. I did not.

I did see my hitchhiker, 14 miles from town, still walking. It was 90* and 5:30pm. No one had picked him up. I entertained fleeting thought about people heading home from work offering him a ride- even though it was the wrong direction. I drove past.

I stopped at a park on serpentine, hiked around looking for non serpentine a little, ate some soup, and gave myself a pep talk about not trespassing. The other moral conundrum in my life is The Work Must Get Done vs. But That Land Belongs To A Person And They Did Not Say You Could. Like the hitchhiking one, I feel bad every time the Work Does Not Get Done, even though I know I'm acting correctly. I read a couple of signs about the local river water; apparently it has both giardia and toxic levels of magnesium. Then I turned around and drove back towards town.

Twelve miles out, I saw him again. It was less than an hour to dark, and he was slowing down. Like a fool, I slowed down too. I thought about how clever a rapist would have to be to walk eight miles in order to get a ride. I thought about how being tired and hot might push someone into behavior they wouldn't normally consider. I wrestled my bear spray into the gap between me and the door, checked my cell phone reception (nothing) and pulled over.

So he'd had a car fight with his wife, and decided to walk to town instead of riding back with her. She's not his real wife, he explained, he's divorced from his real wife. He doesn't like arguments- but he didn't realize how far from town he was. He didn't need any water- he'd been drinking out of the river. (Same river) He was very grateful for the ride- he was very tired. However, his doctor has been pressuring him to get more exercise since he was diagnosed with diabetes, so this might be for the best. He'd been walking since noon. He talked a lot so that neither of us would think about how stupid I'd been to pick up a strange man in the middle of nowhere. I dropped him off at the gas station and we shook hands. I now feel guilty for not picking him up the first time I saw him.

When I got to the motel, I opened the door. The forgotten bear spray fell on the pavement, but fortunately did not go off.

ATTENTION PEOPLE OF PACHECO: YOU HAVE FAILED THE SOCIAL CONTRACT.