Just a White Truck

On my walk earlier this week, I came across a white truck from one of the local timber management companies. The driver waved at me and asked if I was the property owner.

It was a normal day, and I was doing my normal walk around the cemetery loop, a walk that I do several times a week. I rarely encounter anyone, hardly ever see cars along that particular section which is just a rough, rutted, dirt road that parallels the railroad tracks.

I didn’t like it.

I had Biscuit the blanket stealing dog with me. He did not look particularly fierce, I am afraid, because he had just finished rolling around in the red dirt, and was covered in pine needle bits and twigs and was wagging his tail, as he does.

I have read enough books that advise women to follow their gut instincts, and if something seems off, or a little strange, to pay attention. We are told not to be nice or polite. We are told to honor our intuition and do whatever we have to do to keep ourselves safe.

It is a bit of a drag that this is how the world is, that this is how it has always been.

I did not like that there was a white truck on my road where I walk.  I did not like that the man talked to me.

Even more? I didn’t like my instinctive response.

“No,” I said cheerfully.  “I am not the property owner. I am just a walker!”

(“Ha ha ha! I nervously chuckled.)

So polite, I am.

Biscuit and I walked past him. He stayed by his truck.

I got a little further down the path. Maybe a minute. I hoped that he would just continue driving the way he was heading, away from me and back toward the other main road.

Then I heard the truck behind me. He must have turned around.

Well darn.

What are the odds?

I swerved off the path before he could see me and veered down a little side road with a “no trespassing” sign. I think there is a house back there somewhere. There were trees and a good amount of cover.

Surely, I was overreacting. Surely, there was nothing to worry about on this beautiful, sunny day on my walk, my ordinary walk, where I feel so safe and at home.

I waited.

The truck stopped.

It was quiet.

I took out my phone, was about to dial a friend, just so someone would know where I was.

Then I saw the driver heading down the path toward me.

So much for hiding.

He said, “You sure like walking the trails around here, don’t you?”

And I politely answered, “Yes, it is so beautiful here!”

Bother.

How often have women gotten into trouble because of this blasted, nearly automatic, courteous, niceness?

Far too often, I am sure.

(Although, honestly, what else could  I have done right then?)

Thankfully, this man kept walking.

So did I, away from him. We passed each other and I got back to where he had parked the white truck. He had placed orange safety cones around it, probably company protocol when employees are out in the field (even if they are on a dirt road with no traffic?)

After he was out of sight, I ran. I felt silly. But I didn’t care. I ran all the way back to the main road, Biscuit next to me, a little confused about why he had to be on his leash and why we were running when we were still by the railroad tracks, far from traffic.

All was well in the end. I went for a walk, my usual walk, and saw a man in a white truck who worked for a timber management company, doing his job.  Still, though.  It was a good reality check, to see my instinctive politeness, and to think about what I might do differently the next time I feel uncomfortable in a place, anyplace, but especially one where I usually am most at home. Probably, in this situation, the smart thing would have been to head back the way I came as soon as I started to feel uncomfortable, back toward houses and nearby neighbors, instead of continuing my normal route.

Later, I spoke with my friend who also walks that path regularly and mentioned what happened. She said that she carries a pocket taser with her, that it is better than pepper spray because the spray can blow back on you when you are outside and hurt you as well. That’s something to think about, I guess.  But I hate that I  have to think about  this (that all women have to think about this). I hate that something as ordinary and lovely and life giving as a daily walk could so easily morph into something dangerous and ugly.