Pit Stop

      “Drug Check Point in 5 Miles”, the mobile sign flashed at me.

      Sometime in the past seven or eight years, “they” closed the Bennet rest stop.  As far as I know, there is no rest stop between Vail pass and Arriba, now.

      I exit I-70 before Arriba.  Once in a while, I need to make a stop while eastbound, especially if I have business to conduct in Limon.  Cedar Point beckons.  Cedar Point sits on a high point between the rest of Eastern Colorado and the Front Range.  I think it is the highest point on the railroad between Genoa and Denver.

       Cedar Point is about as close to the middle of nowhere as you can get on I-70.  It provides a rest stop with a view.  Going south (I think, might be west) from the I-70 exit, you climb up a hill via a gravel road.  From the hilltop, you can see for miles and miles in nearly every direction.

      Standing there, you are not invisible to I-70 traffic, but it would take an eagle eye for anyone travelling the interstate to notice that you are relieving yourself in the wide-open spaces while enjoying the view.  Lumps of weathered Kleenex caught in the ditch weeds suggest that squatters also have used this place for a rest stop.

     Situated on top of the hill, you can see if anyone should approach via the county road from either direction.  It doesn’t exactly replace the Bennet rest stop, no tourist brochures or hazardous road or weather conditions, but it works.  It is a marvelous view, too.

      “Drug checkpoint in 5 miles?”  Less than that to Cedar Point exit.  They will probably be watching that exit.  Anyone carrying drugs will want to exit before the five miles.

     I really didn’t think about that very long, and in a couple of miles, I nearly forgot about it.  I exited at Cedar Point.  Nobody.  Nothing.  I hesitated at the stop sign and turned right up the gravel road.  An abandoned Suburban sat by the side of the road.  I slowed, looked, nobody in it, so on I went.  A few yards brought me to the apex. 

     I pulled over, stopped, and unfastened my seatbelt.  Before I could open my door, a white SUV with blue/red (I think) lights flashing screeched to a stop ten yards behind me.  I exited and met the sheriff’s deputy about half way between our vehicles.

      “We are checking on you,” he announced.

      “I figured that,” I replied.

     “You live around here?”  I told him about the farm and its location, indicated my license plate.  I figured they would check that out, as well as my driver’s license.

      “Why are you stopping here?” he asked.

      “I’m headed for Limon, to the barbershop.  I really need to take a leak.”  While we were having this exchange, a second white vehicle with lights flashing pulled up behind the first sheriff’s vehicle and another deputy jumped out and approached.

      “He needs to use the bathroom,” the first deputy yelled back to the approaching second deputy.  They both laughed.

       “Well, don’t blow away,” the second deputy said.

      “I’ll stand over here,” I said, indicating the leeward side of my pickup.

      “Well, have a good day,” the first deputy said, extending his hand for me to shake.  I was a little surprised, but I shook his hand.  He returned to his vehicle and headed farther down the road.  The second deputy burned a U-turn and headed back the way he came, but he stopped a few yards down the road.

      So I stepped beside the pickup and did my business.  I tried to marvel at the view, but other thoughts crowded into my head.  What was I thinking?  I should have known I would attract attention by exiting here. 

     They didn’t even ask to see my driver’s license.  I think I must look guilty, based on the frequency of my undergoing extra scrutiny in airports by TSA.  The brevity of my interview and the trust the deputies placed in me didn’t add up to other experiences I have had with law enforcement personnel.   

      I restored my personal garments, rounded the pickup, and prepared to hit the road again.  The second deputy was still sitting a few yards away, the first deputy had turned around and was headed my way again.  I assumed he preferred to follow me, so I pulled out ahead of him and headed back towards the interstate.

      I had an escort in front and behind me.  As we neared the interstate, I saw at least three more lawmen at work.  Two were investigating a van they had stopped going up the entrance ramp to eastbound I-70.  The third was approaching an eighteen-wheeler that was slowing to a stop at the stop sign on the exit.

      Where had they come from?  I didn’t see a thing when I exited, no vehicles, nothing.  They must have been hiding on the north side of the interstate where eastbound traffic could not see them.  There were at least four official vehicles including my two escorts.

      I turned up the entrance ramp, past the stopped van, and on my way to a haircut.  I got to the Highway 86 exit before it dawned on me I had gone more than five miles since that flashing sign.  There was no drug checkpoint.  I might not even have noticed that if there hadn’t been a conglomeration of police vehicles on the overpass for Highway 86. 

      Aha!  The druggies would take the first exit they see after the flashing mobile sign warning of a drug checkpoint.  Self-incrimination.  Westbound druggies would take the Highway 86 exit.

      All in all, it was an interesting and educational morning.  It may turn out to be behavior altering as well.    

      In future, I may just call on the Flying J folks.  They have two restrooms for customers of the fuel stop, the convenience store and the I-Hop.  The restaurant people will think I am a customer of the convenience store while the convenience store folks will think I’m going to the restaurant.  No need to tell them that I am just going.

       I’ll miss the marvelous view.