Using a mix of old-school local newspaper maps and Google Maps, I navigated through back roads, country lanes, main streets, and everything in between. The miles accumulated, the hours ticked by, and I lost myself in thought. It was, to me, pretty perfect.

Along the way, I got a bit lost and found myself in a small, ghostly town called Cairo, Illinois. The buildings were abandoned and decaying, and sidewalks were overtaken by saplings and various flowering weeds. There wasn’t a soul in sight, so I decided to pull over, give the car a break, and take a walk on foot.

This was the kind of town where I could spend hours photographing and documenting. Coming from where I do, it’s surreal to see a place like Cairo left to deteriorate.

Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me, “What you doing, man?” I turned to see a disheveled man who made it clear he was carrying a gun by lifting his tattered shirt.

I stood there, frozen for what felt like an eternity, though it was only a few seconds before my fight-or-flight response kicked in. “Okay, I’m going,” I said, my voice trembling. I hurried back to the car, buckled up, and quickly drove out of town.

Fifteen minutes later, having calmed down a bit from the encounter, I saw blue and red flashing lights in the rearview mirror. Like any cautious driver, I signalled right, slowed down, and pulled over. The police officer didn’t overtake me. “What now?!” I muttered to myself as I stopped and turned off the ignition.

The officer approached, and we locked eyes. I rolled down the window. “We have reports of a disturbance in the area. License and registration documents. Now,” Officer Cook said with a snarl.

I reached for the glove box to get the documents. “STOP! Don’t move! Sir, do. Not. Move!” he yelled through a raspy voice. I heard a click and shuffle. When I looked back, Officer Cook had drawn his gun and was pointing it directly at me.

I froze, my heart racing. “What are you doing?” Officer Cook demanded, glaring at me as if I were his worst enemy. “I’m getting the documents out for you,” I said cautiously. “Get them, slowly!” He shouted.

I reached into the glove box as slowly as possible, trying to avoid any sudden movements that might trigger his gun. I pulled out the Florida vehicle registration from the rental company and my British driver’s license.

Officer Cook holstered his gun, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He snatched the documents from me and scrutinised them closely. “You do know your vehicle registration has expired, don’t you? As the driver, it’s your responsibility,” he said, maintaining a stern gaze. “This is a rental car, Officer. I didn’t know the registration had expired. I apologise. I can get it fixed,” I said, my voice wavering.

Officer Cook, probably reluctant to return the paperwork, handed the documents back and told me to “Get gone, now.”

Moral of the story, folks: Check your car rental documents. Be aware of your surroundings. And remember, even in a town that seems quiet, rundown, and abandoned, there’s likely someone who has endured difficult times. Stay safe out there.

MrUO - out on the road in four wheels, exploring what this country has to offer.