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Coastal Cruising

Beach Day Flashback: Cruising in the Egged Zone

Cops, Cars and Chickens: Another Weird Coastal Road Tale

An egg for the egger

By John Leighty

I saw the flashing red light just as I was about to gear down to the next time zone.

The farm town was only a blink along Northern California’s Coast Highway One and the sheriff’s four-wheel drive Bronco looked bigger than the starship Enterprise when it hovered in behind my sputtering paisley vintage Jeep.

“Damn,” I muttered, winding down the window and exhaling a vape of sweet smoke that floated down the dusty road past a clucking red hen and encircled the menacing cruiser.

Paisley Jeep

The cracked rear-view mirror revealed a short, stocky deputy dawg shuffling my way. I’d already flailed through my coat pockets for my wallet without any luck. I had no clue where it could be, but maybe ...

Tap, tap. From my kneeling position on the floor, the hatless lawman fused into a giant pair of cheap blue-tinted sunglasses, from which he re-emerged as I straightened up from the futile search for an ID.

“Do you know why I stopped you,” he chirped, gently adjusting a bag slung over his shoulder. The hen nipped at his boot and clucked.

“No siree Bronco Bob, I guess I wasn’t paying attention and … ”

“Well, you were going 110 in a 25 mile per hour zone.”

“You’re kidding! This snail won’t even go that fast.”

“Sixty then?” he winked. The hen squawked.

“Maybe 50, and uh, I might have been spacing out a bit, I’ve had a rough couple days … with the solar flares and all.”

“Yeah, and Mercury going retrograde . . .This your, uh, car?”

“Yeah, kinda. I like your shades ... Xaviers?”

“Rembrandts, on sale at the Over-The-Hill Market.”

“Cool. Maybe I’ll get a few dozen.”

“It’s not like buying oysters,” he said, glancing at his watch. He shook his wrist and tapped the timepiece irritably. “Tell you what, I’ll let you off easy this time, but you shouldn’t drive so stoned in the daytime.”

“No tickee, no problem. No license either, I don’t know where the hell my wallet is …”

The big man motioned for silence, then reached into a leather pouch slung over his left shoulder. The hen flapped her feathers. The sky darkened.

“There’s just one thing, smart-ass,” he said, a white object curled in his right hand. The splat jolted my brain as mellow yellow oozed over the windshield – the bastard egged me!

Coast Highway sunset

“Lucky you,” he said, shaking the empty satchel and giving me a warning stare: “Next time, it’s a three egger!”

The shock and awe sent the startled hen flapping through the open window onto the passenger seat as I hit the windshield washer button and wheeled out, feathers flying, rolling toward my beach shack hideaway at nearby Coyote Cove.

Cool Chic

---

Now I’ve got a speckled chicken that likes to cluck and coo;

She’s in a little cage and I’m not sure what to do

I’ll give her seeds and water if she lays an egg or two;

But her coup needs aired and freshened cause it’s filling up with poo!

I like the hen

    I dig her trip

      I just don’t need this chicken shit!

"Wasn't That a Mighty Storm" performed live by Tom Rush, 2012-09-15 at C...