It was a slow drive after sunset as we scanned the ditches for deer or any animal that might unexpectedly pop up in front of the car. We settled into quietly singing along with the CD’s playing on the car deck. It kept us awake and alert without the distraction of conversation. More than half way home, the turn-off to Martinsdale loomed up quickly from the dark and John turned without signaling. People don’t use their turn-indicators much here. I have signaled just just for fun when turning from one lonely gravel road to another. But last night in the deeply black high plains, driving slow and trying to stay clear of the deer and the ditches, suddenly the flashing red and blue appeared in the side mirror. I turned to John and said “I think we are being pulled over.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and guessed we were. There is no shoulder on Highway 294, so John stopped in the road and became more of a hazard than the deer or lack of signals. But we complied with the officer’s requests and questions without fear. Besides having nothing to conceal we don’t fit stereotypes for trouble. We are white and middle-class and older. The officer was very young, but respectful, though dressed for war. The lights, the uniform, and the guns were more of a strange apparition than a threat or a comfort.