Held Up in Arizona, continued.

So the squad car's lights were strobing and throbbing like mad, and I think the patrolman can't be in pursuit of me. I pulled over eventually and wondered what could have been wrong, some equipment violation?

After a long wait of several minutes, a tan clad Highway patrolman approached the cab on the passenger's side and motioned for me to open the door with one hand, his other hand on his service piece.

"It's a good day to die," I thought, as I opened the door.

"What are you doing?" I heard him say.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I dunno."

"You don't know how you are doing?"

"Oh! I thought you said 'What' instead of 'How.' The wind was whistling outside."

Then he held forth, "You need to change lanes away from a patrol car on the shoulder of either side of the road, according to Arizona state law. Didn't you see the sign at the Arizona border?"

"No, there are only a few dozen signs along the highway when you cross over from California. I was looking for the truck weight station pull off," I explained. Then he told me about the $500 fine. That's highway robbery, I thought, but I held my tongue.

"Yes! Arizona has some laws different from the other states," the officer continued. "For instance, if you see anyone carrying a loaded firearm in public, that's legal. If someone breaks into your house, you have the legal right to shoot that person. We follow the constitution in this state."

"I'm glad I live in California," I said.

I have never been Barney Fifed before.