Home again, again

Maybe I should just stop going anywhere. Or maybe stop going home. Things happen, after all.

Yesterday as I'm heading home, I turn into the short access road that Ts into the street that loops through our subdivision. Pretty simple and straightforward, right? Only there's a big, white crew cab pickup flying at me from the left fork of the T. Startled out of my lassitude, I hit the brakes. Just in time, too. Because from the right fork comes a trashy, white Trans-Am looking thing dragging a trail of wire fencing, black tarp and a broken fence post from its rear bumper. Would've slammed right into me had I not stopped moments earlier. As it is, the car weaves between myself and the truck, with the truck jumping in pursuit.

At this point I'm wondering if some idiots are racing through the neighborhood or something equally stupid.

The main road, from which the afore-mentioned access road connects to, is currently barricaded right past said access road because of construction on the new school going up next door. The car makes to go around these barricades, but ends up going into the ditch as another white crew cab pickup comes around the barricade and cuts him off.

The fact that these may very well be work trucks from the construction site finally begins to sink into my baffled brain.

The car lurches out of the ditch into the road, pretty much out of control by this point. Tires are squealing all over the place, and that fence, tarp and broken post are whipping all around. He seems on the verge of tearing off down the road in the direction from whence I just came--and making for the interstate--when a third truck cuts him off from that direction. So he takes to the opposite ditch, which is deeper and steeper, and apparently gets stuck.

Cue the police car. It comes flying in from the construction site, lights flashing, and screeches to a halt on the road adjacent to the stuck car, which is gunning its engine trying very hard to become un-stuck. The officer jumps out, instantly draws his gun and runs around to the passenger door.

That snapped my out of my slack-jawed spectator mode. If there was even the possibility of bullets flying, I didn't want to be anywhere near there. In the paper this morning, there were no arrest reports that obviously related to yesterday's events, but there was one in which a fellow was arrested for cocaine possession, failure to appear, violating court orders, criminal mischief and a laundry list of other moral failings. I figure he's our man.

And that ruined fence, tarp and post are still lying out there in the ditch beside the road, a monument to low-budget Dukes of Hazzard reenactments.

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