It's a little bit of a struggle to get off the bike without dropping it in the soft sand, but as I find a place to rest the kickstand that doesn't sink it a foot into the ground, I see his arm move.
OK, he isn't dead. So I go into doctor mode. "Hello, hey buddy, you OK?" "Rraurrrghh" "Oh, you speak Pirate. OK, I see."
I feel a pulse. Strong. Breathing OK. Phew. That smells strong. I see a couple of empty 40 oz'ers strewn about. Could be his, or could have been here before he was. I sit him up. He seems drunk, but coherent. "What's your name?" He says something, but I can't really hear with the earplugs.
"Can you tell me what year it is?"
"2008." He starts to laugh.
"How did you get out here?"
"I was working."
"Have you been drinking?"
He looks at me sheepishly, "yes."
I open his backpack. Some clean clothes, socks, and a slice of pizza neatly tucked in a plastic bag.
"Are you hungry?"
"Do you have anything to drink? It's hot out here."
He lays back down.
I spend a little more time interacting and observing him. I confer with LDF. "What should we do?"
"Well, that lady is going to call the sheriff."
"I can't give him a ride out of here on the bike. Neither of us has passenger pegs, and I don't think he could balance even if we did. We could stay with him..."
"...and what? How's that helping?"
"Do you think it's anything serious wrong with him?"
"No, not now, probably just drunk, but he's not going to last long out here in the sun and heat without anything to drink. Let's leave him some water."
So we took one of our 2 liter bottles from the Sweetcheeks that was full of water, tried to get him to drink some of it, which he did, left it with him, and rode on with the intention of letting someone know as soon as we could.