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Jogging in underwear?

June 27, 2012

Hmmm. Someone is very mixed up. I just got stopped by a nervous Yolo County Sheriff on the way home from jogging. He asked me what I was doing out so late (10 pm). I thought it was none of his business, but kept that to myself.

“I was jogging.”

“?! At this hour…?!” A pause. “Do you have anything illegal on you?” He showed his flashlight up and down my body. “Do you usually go jogging this late?”

“Yes. It’s the coolest time of the day. What’s this all about?”

He said someone had phoned the sheriff with a sighting of a woman running wildly down the road in her underwear (well, I did have on a pair of men’s boxers, my normal running attire), screaming (that wouldn’t have been me) and waving her arms (again, that wasn’t me). The sheriff looked meaningfully at my boxers and made me sit in the back seat of his car before he searched mine thoroughly. He found: a new comforter set for my B&B Cache Creek Inn, a new sheet set for same, and rocks and logs in the trunk. He shown his light on some suspicious brown drips down the outside of my trunk. “What’s that?”

“Squirrel poop. I park under oaks in my driveway.”

Squirrel poop?!!”  I guess he’d never seen any.

The logs were scavenged from almond tree trimmings I had found along the road. Almond wood burns hottest and these logs just fit my wood burning stove. The rocks…ah! I had not only gone jogging along the banks of Bear Creek, I had stopped to explore some new swimming holes. On the other side of Bear Creek had been a landslide I wanted to see, so I waded across the creek bed. The water was warm and refreshing. I walked over to the landslide – eureka! – some lovely large flagstones that I could use for my garden. It was getting dark, so I hefted one stone leaving others for tomorrow, and recrossed the creek then set the rock on a big fallen pine while I clambered over. I carried the stone to the roadside and continued my jog. After returning to my car, I lifted it into the trunk and set it atop the logs and other stones I had found earlier.

Meanwhile, I was still sitting in the back of the sheriff’s car, hot, thirsty and worried about my hens and ducks which still hadn’t been locked away for the night. I had gulped a few swigs from Cache Creek while jogging but still needed hydrating. I complained to the sheriff that I wanted to go home. He asked me where I lived and when I said I owned a B&B just up the road, he asked who else owned the B&B (“Me!” I said) and noticing I was wearing a wedding band asked, “Well, where’s your husband?”

That’s where I drew the line. I said, “Why do you want to know?” He called a superior on his phone and said I was being uncooperative. I said loudly from the back seat, “I am not!”

Eventually I was let go, but not before I insisted for more of an explanation. He said other sheriffs had a man in custody just up the road and he was wondering if that man was my husband. That poor guy was probably the kayaker I had encountered at the county line while gulping the Cache Creek water. He had just completed a three day wilderness run on his inflatable kayak and was waiting for his partner to get the car.

 

 

 

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