Flying Car, Paranormal Investigators

       Woo Hoo! Flying car dream. I was driving, flying, with N, S and C were also with us. We stopped at a farm house and enjoyed a meal while interviewing them about their crop circles and mutant animals, which they didn't actually have any to show us. I appears that some men from the government came and took their animals away, but at least gave them enough money to buy new stock. They are waiting until next spring to see if the crop circles and mutations return. We agree to come back again, and I promise to bring them some real California oranges and lemons from the trees in our back yards.
       In the end we figured we had met some very cool people and the trip was well worth it. We got lost flying back out of the place, and I couldn't convince N to allow me to fly high in the air and just head west until we spotted a big city or road. At one point we ended up looking out across a mountain gorge, and the road had ended at an abandoned gravel pit. We decided to camp out. When N and C had fallen asleep we gently lifted off and climbed into the night sky. It only took a few minutes to see the lights of a small town and we descended to the ground outside of town and drove in to refuel. Unfortunately the station was closed, so we had to wait until morning.
       When the sun came up and the station opened we found out that we were in Wyoming, a little further North than we would have expected to be, but still, closer to home. While we were filling up and the women were getting stuff for breakfast, the garage owner started telling us about the bunch of bigfoot hunters that had just left town.
       "They left too soon, though. He was back last night, rummaging through the trash bins behind the cafe."
       "Cool. Do you think anyone would mind if we interviewed folks about it? We write for a magazine that does stories about the people who experience events like this."
       "Townsfolk are pretty protective of this bigfoot fella, so you aren't planning on shooting him, are you?"
       "Only with a camera, if we come across him. Like I said, I'm actually more interested in the people of your town, how they feel about bigfoot, what they really believe is going on, how it changes their lives, if it changes their lives."
       "That's different, most of the group that just left had tranq guns and cameras and night vision gear."
       "Probably scared your bigfoot away."
       "I think someone from the town was hiding him."
       Now, I thought that was a very interesting comment. S wanted to go home, thinking this was a big hoax, but I thought that made it all the more interesting. N and C decided they liked the town, so we decided to stay another night, even though it would mean driving in shifts to get home by the end of the week.
       By lunch time a good portion of the town had turned up to check us out. After looking at our web sight and reading some of what S and I had written (S was still writing fiction mostly, he even had a couple of fans in the crowd) the townspeople were willing to talk to us, admitting that they told some different versions of the story to 'tourists' and the more rude of the investigators. We asked them to tell us those stories as well, just so we could have them documented. I realized we would be coming back here, too, there was just so much local folklore being spontaneously generated.
       We checked the girls into a hotel room, and S and I camped out in the van, overlooking the garbage bins. Sure enough, about 11:30 a woman came out of the cafe, put a couple of pans of something down, then went in and shut everything down. A few minutes later, a hairy man, not a bigfoot, crept out of the forest edge and raided the bins and ate the contents of the pan. We got some good night vision images, but decided not to take any flash pictures.
       "That's not a big foot."
       "Never thought it was," I replied, "but this is far more intersting."
       In the morning I talked to the hotel clerk and showed her the photographs we'd taken.
       "He's not hurting anyone, and he seems to be happy."
       "We're not going to invade his privacy, and we don't want to disrupt your tourist industry. I'd like to talk to him, if possible."
       "Only, no one can talk to him, he runs from everyone. You can leave messages for him, sometimes he writes back. We leave him books from the library sometimes. He always returns them on time."
       I brought out a couple of our books, wrote a note explaining that they were gifts, from the authors, and that we'd love to tell his story, too. He could write us, or talk with us, next time we were around. (Spring break, I wrote the dates.)
       "If there is anyone he regularly corresponds with, we'd love to talk to them, perhaps they would be willing to help exchange messages."
       "I don't know if he'll go for that, he's vanished for weeks at a time if he thinks someone is stalking him."
       "We'll be out of town this morning, so no pressure. We'd just like someone to relay any messages back to us that might come along."
       "I think I can find someone to do that."
       "Thanks."
       By the time I'd finished chatting with the clerk we were loaded up and ready to go. I grabbed a little breakfast roll and some juice and we hit the road.