When I saw the truck parked like that, it made me nervous. It was wedged up into a little brushy wash, and there was no one in it. It could only mean that someone was on foot, up the wash. I'd been up there, but I was the only one. Nobody else walks, especially if it looks to be a bit of a thrashing. Besides, there was a Pink Floyd bumper sticker. I'm not kidding. This did not strike me as normal.
After a bit of a hike myself, I picked up EDO and we idled back down the canyon. The other truck was gone. That made me feel better. But, then, up ahead, I saw it pull out of a little dispersed camp where it had been parked. The truck went down the road and then the brake lights came on. It backed up and stopped. A guy got out, walked over into the brush, picked up a plastic jug, crushed it, and threw it into the back of his vehicle. The guy was of average size and appearance. Nothing too strange, though he did have a muddy streak down the back of his pants. He noticed us and jumped into his rig. Down he went.
I pulled up to the little dispersed site and looked over. It was clean. There was no trash. The guy had cleaned up all the trash. You know: When you're out camping and you finish the two liter bottle of Coke, you just drop it on the ground. Cans. Plastic bags. Dirty diapers. Yep. Just throw that shit on the ground. That's how you do it.
The place had been a mess. I drove by it last week and shook my head. A dump. But this guy had just cleaned it up. He wasn't wearing a uniform. He wasn't on duty. He simply stopped and picked up the trash. Like Jesus. Nothing in it for him. Like Gandhi. The Trash Gandhi. Now that really makes me nervous. A guy who walks and picks up trash. Not normal at all.
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