Last few times I drove through Arcata on the way to visit family and Pac_Nor Barreling in Brookings, I came to the conclusion that Arcata had transformed into a picturesque free-range asylum.
On one occasion the wife and I stopped for lunch, only to be surrounded by the cloying stench of marijuana smog, most likely coming from the "Joint" Drug Task Force incinerator, "Whoa dude, this is some town!" I remarked in my best Cheech Marin impersonation. We ate, but were still hungry when we left.
On another trip through, a long haired wimpy boy with a Humboldt State decal on his barely running Toyota pickup swerved at my truck, flipping me the bird and honking his horn. Must have been my "Drill American Oil" bumper sticker.
The entire town appeared to be making ready for a Grateful Dead concert, now at least I know where the population of Laytonville disappears to on EBT card replenishment days.
Carry an AR-15 in Arcata? Dude, it oughta be mandatory.