It was the summer of 2008. I had been sent to Cal Fire’s base in the city of Ukiah. I had the goal of paying off our home’s mortgage. As I had done in summers past, I saved the per diam that I received by not renting an apartment. I instead slept in the wilderness. My duty cycle was 15 hours a day and I was only allotted one day off every week. And my wife was insistent that I would come home on my day off each week. It seemed money foolish to rent an apartment in my estimation.
I found a place to rest my head that was four miles into the wilderness. One day, as I was pudding along at ten miles per hour on my motorcycle on my way back from my slumber, I saw an elderly man trying in vain to break loose the lug nuts of his car’s flat tire. I stopped to help him. I change the car’s tire for him. Tom invited me to have breakfast with him and his wife. As we ate, Tom mentioned that they heard my motorcycle each day as I passed by. I caught their attention because I honored the speed limit of 20 miles per hour. Tom asked where I went. I told him about my situation. Tom then went on to describe the break-ins of the vehicles and homes of the neighborhood.
Tom said that he suspected the person[s] that are responsible are hold-up in the adjacent wilderness to the community. Tom added that the Sheriff’s Department was unwilling to search for the criminal[s]. I had a powerful KTM 950 Adventure which was the best that money could buy for dual purpose riding. Tom asked with a please if I would keep my eyes open for such people on my travels in the wilderness.
Adventure Mark was way ahead of Tom at the point where Tom mentioned the failings of the Sheriff’s Department. I departed with a thank you for the meal and a promise to keep my eyes open for these people. After I completed my rounds of checking the three airplanes in my charge, I went to the hardware store to buy a green tarp to cover my KTM. I knew just where to set up my surveillance, at a small clearing behind bushes next to the creek just 30 yards above a small reservoir-pond which was constructed by the WPA during the great depression. Funny sidebar: My mother who grew up during those years told me that people joked that WPA really stood for; We Poke Along.
On the second night, I was awakened by the distant sound of a grocery cart being pushed toward me down the rough tarmac paved street. It was overcast when I settled in for the night. To wit, I could not see even my hand in front of my face. Louder and louder the racket from the grocery cart became. As the cart drew next to my position it stopped. A man yelled, “Steve, come down and help me bring this cart up.” There was what appeared to be a small game trail that led up the steep hill where the man had stopped. I had seen that trail from my passages through the area. The man yelled again, “Steve!” Then a few moments later, I heard a bellowing “WHAT” from the top part of the hill.
To my astonishment, the cart pusher described what crime he had committed to induce Steve to come down to help him. All the while shouting at the top of his lungs. The cart pusher had broken into the one Radioshack in town. That store was three miles away. Then they began to quarrel at a screaming volume. My heart was racing and I couldn’t control my breathing. Just then, Steve said who is down there with you? Neither of the two criminals was using flashlights. Never before have I felt such fear. I drew my survival knife in waiting. I have superior-night vision and I couldn’t see a thing; and yet they could! Steve kept insisting there was someone down with the cart pusher. I wondered if my bathed body could be smelled? Even during my high school and college years, my heart hadn’t beat this fast, and this hard during my track events.
After much cajoling, the cart pusher managed to convince Steve to help him lug up the cart. The cart pusher told Steve what they could expect to make from the sale of the ill-gotten goods at the Fleamarket that coming weekend. As their talking faded my heart slowed. I settled back down, I awoke with the rise of the sun. I rolled up my sleeping bag and stowed it in my saddlebag. I then pushed my KTM about one hundred and fifty yards before starting the loud beast.
I went to check on my three charges. I pondered what to do next. The faint of heart would have contacted law enforcement right away. That’s not adventurous enough for me! Obviously, my observation called for more reconnaissance to calculate my options. As luck would have it, the criminals were out of my cellphone coverage, however, their camp area was within my company pager coverage. Hence, if I was needed, all I need do is travel one-half mile toward Ukiah to respond to the page. After the base served lunch, I went back to the game trail that the criminals were using.
Upon my arrival, I locked my beast and started my climb up the hill. The hill was much higher than I had estimated. The top of the hill was mostly flat with scrub oak trees that obscured my line of sight. I walked about 50 yards and came upon the criminals’ lair. There were approximately 30 backpacks next to a three-man dome tent. There was a 10×10 foot blue tarp with pot plant buds drying in the sun. Garbage was strewn all about the campsite area. And the smell of body odor coming from the tent was overwhelming even from 10 feet away. Also, I saw the grocery cart. The cart was mostly filled with keyboards.
As I was about to leave, a man emerged from the tent and he rushed toward me. I put my hand on my knife in the ready. I could tell from his alarm words of challenge that he was Steve. Steve was only wearing shorts, no shoes, just shorts. Steve was at least 7 feet tall. Steve appeared to be only about 160 pounds at the most. Steve was alone at the campsite. After Steve said his piece to explain what I had seen, I departed to consider my next move. I hadn’t seen any evidence of a capital crime. So, Steve and his compadre hadn’t given me cause to go further. And Tom was aware of me also. Moreover, my KTM tied me to this location. I decided for their sake, the taxpayers would have to incur the cost of imprisoning them. Then there is that whole morality thing.
And besides, I wanted to show Tom that I had bested his Sheriff Department. I flagged down the first Deputy that I saw once I got back into town. After some discussion, the Deputy called three other Deputies to our location. I led the Deputies to the head of the game trail. I was instructed to leave much to my disappointment. Tom saw me leading the Deputies. Tom waved me to stop. I didn’t give Tom the details of my adventure. I just told Tom that I had found the persons that he had asked me to keep an eye out for in my travels. That night I had dinner with Tom and his wife.
No good deed goes unpunished. Word got back to Sacramento that I had searched for dopers. You know when you are in trouble when you pick up the company office phone and you hear that the other side is on speakerphone function with your shop steward present. Yes, I was on duty time when I searched for the camp. The powers at be threatened to bring me home unless I promised to not search for more dopers. They asked why I did it. I told the truth. When Tom said please, I was compelled to help because the Sheriff’s Department wasn’t doing its job. I couldn’t fault their admonishment of me because they were concerned for my safety. Lastly, I was correct to work all of that overtime and to save the per diam. We did pay off our home’s mortgage. Just two years later, I was forced into retirement because of my ALS. Who knows, it might be that ALS has extended my life span by forcing me into low-risk behavior. This is the first full account of Mark’s last adventure.