It’s a hiking story where all the pain, suffering, and tribulation is based on a lust for adventure in the community.

So long as a small town has citizens, they’ll have somewhere to throw their frustrations. So long as you’re listening for it, cities have groups and locations, nations have celebrities and politicians, country roads have that-guy-of-the-day. When there’s an insatiable clique of mild housewives out for thrills, they have police on speed dial just in case they forget the three numbers.

A buddy of mine takes walks with a walking stick every day, as a spiritual thing he does. With flowing hair from nearly every part of his head, and a 4ft stick, he’s a sight to behold. He has to smile and wave at every car that passes on our lonely roads just so they don’t look at him like sasquatch.

I join him every now and then, to get outside and have a passive conversation or two about our families. He’s a nice guy once you get past the hair.

Some folk will never get past the hair. Out on a walk one sunny day, with his stick hoisted onto his shoulders, a smartcar with a spoiler zooms by right quickly around a curve and out of sight. The weird part was the police vehicle that approached him five minutes later. Ignoring the speed limits to endanger themselves and private property instead of verifying, they called local forces to alert of a tall creature with a firearm.

Thankfully, there was no conflict or arrest. It troubles me to think people would crave something to happen, to even disrupt the daily lives of others with the town’s manpower. Personal involvement in neighborhood affairs builds character and connections.