While my stomach grumbled the words to "Achy Breaky Heart", and Byron whined the chorus to "Off The Wall", our mashup didn't distract me from my search for lay-bys, and when I found one, I pulled in like an F1 pit stop, such was the urgency of my next job. Sorry.

Aside: Unusually, I felt like this time, it might not be a bad idea to take the taser with me as I attended to the rest of my stop. No particular reason, but I obeyed my instinct, as I always do.

After business comes pleasure. I put Byron's mat out (he gets sore elbows if he lays on the gravel) and topped up his water, then set about making a brew. The sun was out and so were my glistening pecs, by which, I mean my unathletic A-cups. It was a glorious day and I was in the mood for writing. And tea.

With the Masala Chai brewing in the cup, I set myself down on the back door step with my notebook and wrote another episode of the upcoming story collection, "Cubicle Days". Chuffed with my work, and greatly appreciative of the moment, I put down my book and stared out into the empty forest road. As the light hit it from left of center, I took a snap with the Helios and threw it, carelessly, back into the van. That's because I'm so hard core, I mistreat my equipment and then wonder why it gives up on me.

Just then, a motorbike pulled up behind me. Nothing unusual, there. It's actually quite a common occurence. But as soon as I saw the bike, I got a strong vibe. Nasty. I watched as the biker took off his helmet and I didn't like this guy from the first moment. Unusually, he started talking to me from over there in his spot. He asked me where I was going and where I was coming from. Now, you might think this kind of small talk is harmless enough, but in all my years and trips, nobody ever pulled over and started asking me questions before. Well, you know, except Hawaii Five-O. It was weird. It felt weird. I took the safety off my taser and kept it in my hand. Yes, it was that kind of vibe.

Then he started to approach me with a strange smile on his face. I started to get serial killer vibes. Byron, at the end of his leash, snarled and barked aggressively at the man, and this time, I didn't try to calm him down. I wanted to be unapproachable. The man hardly batted an eyelid, although he did stop approaching. Then he went back to his bike and opened his seat box. I started to casually pack up my things and make like I was already leaving. The man started taking off his clothes and it was all I could do to act normal and slide into the cabin, locking the doors behind me and making a fast exit from the lay-by.

Checking in the rear-view, as I took off, I was half expecting him to catch me up at some point, and I was strategizing my responses to various possible events, not excluding pulling a Rockford on his punk ass and sending him off the road. I guess I'd been to Dodge, and that would be the Dodge that you're supposed to get the hell outta.

Never forget, traveling buddies, as fun as road trips are, you're still dealing with real life. Take care of yourselves and listen to your instincts.

That's changed the vibe of this picture quite a bit, hasn't it?