Downstairs, Marin tells Patrick she needs a spinning class. Marin...seriously? This town doesn't look like it has so much as a Payless; you really think it has a gym? Patrick has no idea what spinning is, and when she tells him, he starts babbling about how pointless it is. Marin calms down enough to apologize for the previous night, and to say that she missed her flight, but really needs to get out of Elmo. "Yeah, and you missed my radio show this morning," Patrick adds faux-casually. Marin looks genuinely distressed at her bad form, and apologizes for that as well. Patrick: "I had to interview my mom. Again." Marin says that Patrick really wouldn't have wanted her on the air today. Patrick tells Marin he thinks he's got something for her.

On the porch, Patrick introduces Marin to an aged bicycle, and hands her a can of bear spray. Marin regards it for a second, and then starts liberally spraying herself with it. Patrick gently tells her that she's to use it on the bear, if she runs into one. Wouldn't that...make her kind of sick? Or smell like a bear's predator's pee or something? I'm going to be honest; bear spray is not really my area of expertise.

Marin, in her green suede pumps from yesterday, rides through town -- WITHOUT A HELMET, for shame -- not really respecting pedestrians' right of way. She rides clean out of town, barely skidding to a stop on the gravelly edge of a cliff, where she stops for a moment to take in the gorgeous mountain view.

Later, Marin's back in her hotel room, freshly showered, and casually opens her closet to decide what to wear. Presumably, she wasn't considering anything made of raccoon, though she may rethink that now that she's spotted the one sitting in there snacking on a pointy flat. She gasps and slams the door closed, cowering away and calling for Sara or Patrick. No dice.

Later still, Marin's barricaded the raccoon in the closet by leaning an armchair against the door; she sits on the bed, still in her towel, clutching a heavy-looking knickknack in case the raccoon decides to chew his way out. A knock comes on the door to the hall, which Marin opens without turning her back on the closet: standing there is Jack. He says he heard she had a 911. "So you're a cop?" she sputters. He says he's a fish and game biologist; the sheriff called him. Taking in Marin's towel (and matching towel turban, of course), he cracks, "Is that what they're wearing in New York nowadays?" That's what they're wearing in Toronto, for sure -- sometimes accessorized with Ugg boots. (Shut up, they're warm, and I only wear them in the house.) Marin testily explains that all of her clothes are in the closet, with the raccoon. Even her underthings? She had two suitcases; she didn't pack a t-shirt and a pair of jeans? What was she going to wear while spinning -- she didn't even put her workout clothes in a drawer? Look, put her in a towel so she can have a re-meet-cute with the guy from the bar, but make it plausible, Bicks. Jack sets down a cage and confidently strides over to the closet; Marin stands by, knickknack locked and loaded. Jack cracks the door, and then closes it again, putting on some heavy-duty raccoon-handling gloves as he tells her what they have is a large, possibly rabid raccoon: "You're going to want to wait outside." "I'm not leaving that animal alone with my favorite purple faux-croc flats!" Marin declares. Marin, those shoes are ruined. Remember the good times the three of you had and move on. Jack presses his point, and Marin resists until he tells her "they go for the neck." At this, Marin flounces out to the hall.