cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yet again, good thing I had a pistol Fan mail. I get fan mail. Did you know that? Its really fucking weird. I have had people get in touch with me after reading my stuff here on DL (especially back when I had comments enabled) and I have made some really great, lifelong friends that way. That feels different from the fan mail that I get now as a result of stuff that I do under my real name. The fan mail is about 75% from men. They all want me to come hunting or fishing with them. Sometimes they send recipes. I get these long, passionate emails with poor punctuation where they talk about how important deer/duck/dove/wabbit hunting is to them and their family. It usually gets kinda homoerotic, although I doubt that this was consciously intended. I'm never sure how to respond to this kind of fawning admiration from men. It is so very unseemly. Tomorrow is my LAST DAY AT WORK. Wow. After work today I went fishing, as planned. The trouble was that I had no proper lures and there was no place even remotely on my way that carries them. I ended up slicing up a red rubber band to make a very reasonable bass lure. I fished the creek under that same bridge that I did yesterday. I saw a few bass of over 12 inches but didn't have a clear path to cast over to them. Plenty or small bluegill and sunfish were going for my half-assed lure, but the hook was too big for them and they weren't really what I was after. I heard the low, loud grumble of a couple of motorcycle engines and some extremely loud, bad music up by the bridge. It lingered too long and I realized that they were stopped up there behind my car. The noise all suddenly stopped, which meant they had cut their engines and something was going on. I loaded the snubnosed .38 revolver on my hip, just in case. As I fished, the bikers walked slowly down the embankment. I nodded in their direction and they failed to respond. They stopped halfway down the hill, smoking cigarettes and doing nothing. In the middle of nowhere, with no beach or other attraction by this bridge, there were only 3 plausible reasons for them to be there. Either to rob and kill whomever had parked the car up top (me), to go fishing (they had no rods), or to conduct some type of random illegal activity, such as shooting heroin. One of them, clad in a sleeveless leather jacket walked down the trail in my direction. As I cast my line, I made a point of moving my torso such that my shirt came up and he could see the pistol on one side of my hip and the throwing hatchet hanging in its scabbard on the other side, with a wicked-looking sheath knife beside it. He stopped for a moment, stood there, and walked back to the others. Had it come to it, there was another loaded pistol in my bag with 7 shots ready to go. I don't know what they were up to. They hang out back on the embankment for another 15 minutes or so before leaving. I went through the motions of calmly fishing the entire time but I paid no attention whatsoever to where I cast or where the fish might have been. My full attention was focused on waiting for the moment when I might have to drop the rod in an instant in order to draw my pistol and shoot. Reading this on my screen, I realize how ridiculous it must sound. The stereotypical leather-clad evil bikers, randomly ambushing me by the side of the road. And yet that was precisely what happened. If that one hadn't have seen that I was armed to the teeth and reported back to his friends, I feel very strongly that there would have been some type of violent conflict. Had I not let him see it, probably they would have come down to me and started something and I would have drawn my pistol and they would have retreated, but any time that a weapon must be drawn then there is the potential for terrible things to happen. I did the right thing in tipping my hand rather than letting things go any farther. That is 2 weeks in a row of needing that pistol. First a wayward black bear, and now random dipshit bikers. 9:18 p.m. - 2010-08-30 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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