I stop at the overlook like I tend to do, cut off the bike and take note of a fellow parked in a black luxury car. He turns around as I pull up. I nod, as I also tend to do at anyone I come across.
Thinking nothing of him, I proceed to my spot in the woods. I pack my pipe, light up and begin to take in the warm, rolling hills. As I exhale my first hit, I hear the snapping of branches behind me.
I turn to see the guy from the car stepping through the brush. He halts about 10 feet away and makes a remark about the wonderful weather. I respond in kind. Then he asks what I'm doing.
"I'm smoking a bowl, man," starting to sense where this might be going. He comes closer and asks if it's good. I reply that it's alright.
"Well, it smells good," he says. "Looks good too."
He puts out his hand and tells me his name. Trying to find a balance between being polite and dropping a hint, I shake his hand and identify myself.
He then reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder. Instinctively, I move to remove it, but the man withdraws.
"It's OK. I'm just being friendly," he pleads.
"Dude, I'm married."
"So am I," he responds, flashing his band. "But I still love men. Why don't you let me suck you off? I've got a condom."
"No," I say. "That isn't my thing."
"OK," he says, relenting. "You're a nice man. Have a good day."
As he departs, I wish him well.
I finish my smoke and gather my gear. When I get back to my bike, the fellow is again in his car. But this time he doesn't turn around.
I put on my helmet and gloves, crank up the bike and start to roll. As I pass the car, he reaches out and waves. I flash him the peace sign and go.