When I was 19, I spent a lot of time wandering the west coast. I was a pretty naive girl. I decided to backpack the Lost Coast (close to Eureka, CA) and as I was driving the long single lane dirt road to get to the starting point, I noticed a completely out of place Escalade tailgating me hard. I finally pulled over and let them pass. Not long after, I get to what looks like a tiny little grocery store. The only other car is the Escalade. I head inside and see four huge guys talking to the shop owner behind the counter. These guys were enormous, all four were easily around 6’4-6’6 and three of them looked like pure iron. The leader had the longest dreads I had ever seen. These guys were tough and their persona resonated all the way to the door where I was standing. They immediately stopped talking and looked at me. They were not smiling, and the dreadlock fellow had scars all over his face. I turned around and walked out, headed down to the coast and did my backpacking thing. When I finished, I hitched a few rides back to my car. The different locals who picked me told me stories about the massive amounts of marijuana being grown in the area and the patrols used to secure the crops. They thoroughly warned me not to camp in the area and to NEVER leave the road. “People die out here” they said. So, yeah. California pot mafia.