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. I should have changed lanes according to Arizona state law. "Didn't I see the sign at the Arizona border?"

There are only a few dozen signs along the highway when you cross over from California. I was looking for the one for the truck weight station pull off, I explained. Then he told me about the $500 fine. That's highway robbery, I thought but held me 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.