Just the good ol’ boys, never meanin’ no harm, beats all you never saw, been in trouble with the law since the day they was born
Staightenin’ the curves, flattenin’ the hills, someday the mountain might get ’em, but the law never will
Makin’ their way, the only way they know how, that’s just a little bit more than the law will allow
Just the good ol’ boys, wouldn’t change if they could, fightin’ the system, like a true modern day Robbin’ Hood
About two or three days after reporting an arson in a certain place the other year there was a period of some nine months of good ol’ boys in that area riding my bumper even for dozens of miles wherever I went. I could literally set a stopwatch to see how long it would take before I had good ol’ boys (often two ruffians) on the back bumper. Usually no longer than three and half minutes, sometimes less. That was in the days before I got a Thinkware F770 (with front and back cameras with auto-cycling digital recording). After the reporting of the arson, it was like turning on a light switch, every trip out. It was a bit annoying. For no reason I can discern, nine months later, it was like turning off a light switch. Nothing more, except on the rare occasion.
There were a few occasions when some trucks raced up at what must have been twice the speed limit only to slam on the brakes before actually ramming me off the road, then charging, backing off, charging, backing off, weaving aggressively into the ditch and over double-yellow lines, charging, blah blah blah boring. I just didn’t react, always 1/2 mile under the speed limit. Most of that was in the middle of absolutely nowheresville.
But now I think I’ve discerned a motive for some of this activity, which of a sudden has picked up again, not related to the reporting of any arson, but because it’s now much more difficult to acquire hillbilly heroin, opioids, prescription pain-meds, what with Trump’s war on this kind of drug abuse. The price goes up. Addicts need money.
Waiting outside the church after a Sunday Mass is the occasion. As everyone leaves and I take off, the pursuit begins. A junky truck with a couple of good ol’ boys will race up at something like twice the speed limit, get on the bumper, and stay there with evident aggressiveness for the next ten miles, with a half-dozen opportunities to pass, but never taking them, and then simply turning around and returning, upset with themselves for being cowards, in the end, for not taking down the priest with, they presume, the Sunday Mass collection. Hah.
I think it might be a good idea to get a somewhat heavier vehicle than Sassy the Subaru Forester. Dunno. Heavy usually means less agile, and all we have in the mountains are super-curvey roads, which are, in fact, the tourist attraction. But heavy also means hard to do a PIT on (see video above). I’ve so often had people ride just off the back corner of the vehicle while they drove in the passing lane, but never passing, just sitting there in pre-pit-maneuver position. I’ve successfully avoided bad consequences quite a number of times by slamming on the brakes when they were truly off to the side, with them in the same nano-second, literally, also slamming on the brakes, frustrated that they lost their opportunity. No one who is just passing does that, nor do they just ride in the on-coming lane just forever, regardless of double-yellows. Hah.
Guardian angels are really very wonderful, but I’m thinking we’re also supposed to do our part. “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God,” and all that.