Ok, I finally broke down the walls of suspicion, cast my normal paranoia (don't get excited JoeMama, not that paranoid) and decided to embark on a journey of trust. I had long promised the DOF, known as Redbeard Emeritus, that I would commence a sojourn to his palatial estate in the area of Jackson, Ca. It was a last minute hastily arranged trip, but then again, aren't they all? Friday night and we are exchanging e-mails. I am hedging and dodging as I know the missus has a honeydo list as long as my......arm. After protracted negotiations, I finally commit to a Saturday launch. Saturday morning arrives and I am up at the crack of...well....about 10:00. It's a bit foggy but the oh so reliable weather.com site says it's gonna hit 80. I get out and shine up the bike just a bit. Rumor has it that RB has picked up a shiny new scoot so I don't wanna be looking shabby. As I prepare to jet, I realize that due to a re-formatting of the hard drive (another story about the booger eatin' moron at Samsung that sent me a corrupted file...) I no longer have the directions. Hell, I think it was somewhere up near Murphys outside of Angels Camp. I'm hammer down.

The sun has come out and it's a beautiful day. I head on out through the east bay and get on 580. I'm tempted to stop at Livermore Harley on the way out, but hell, I've got an agenda. I notice numerous American flags on the vehicles as I make good time on the slab. I've over the Altamont Pass in a jiffy. The wind is light, at my back, and traffic is sparse. Down through Tracy through 205 and onto 99 North. Off at 120 and I catch the east side of Manteca. American flags are everywhere. On cars and on businesses and homes. I get out of Manteca and into the orchards and fields outside of town. The sky is clear and the weather perfect for riding. I've got country belting out of the radio and they are playing nothing but down home patriotic songs. I pull into one of my favorite towns, Escalon. For those of you who have never been through it, it is classic small town Americana. Small churches, Mom and Pop stores, tractors and pick up trucks. I see that someone has put red, white, and blue streamers on every light pole through town. As I pass through I begin to notice a trend. Everyone on the road seems just a bit more polite. No jockeying for position, cutting people off, etc. I guess a bit of compassion has sparked in the hearts of the average driver.

I pass through town and it's back to the fields and orchards once again. The good tunes just keep coming interspersed with comments made by the President, other political and world leaders and celebrities. As I glance around I see farmers working their orchards, ranchers herding cattle, children playing in grass lawns near Victorian style ranch homes spread around the countryside, people buying and selling at road side fruit and vegetable stands, families towing campers headed for a weekend of fun, and truckers hauling local goods to some distant location. The combination of the music and scenery is inspiring. Some of the tension, anxiety, anger, and apprehension of the last couple of days begins to melt away. As I look around I see the beauty and strength of this great nation laid before me without pretensions. I begin to reflect just a bit on a post I made just previously about my political views. I begin to wonder if perhaps I was just a bit harsh. Emotions were high. I had just spent all of that infamous Tuesday working in our department's Emergency Operations Center (EOC). All the brass present from the Chief on down. 5 TV's tuned to the major stations. An inundation of bad news all day long from 0600 to 1800, 12 hours of saturation. Writing ops plans, news releases, conferring with the FBI, ATF, Fire Department, political figures, etc. Then a Wednesday and Thursday watching the tragedy continue to unfold. Friday was more of the same. Some time during this roller coaster I posted some opinions regarding Democrats and liberals.

In retrospect, I probably offended some folks that I would more than likely get along with just fine. I make no apologies for my views on the sanctity of life, the right to bear arms, the right to privacy from government intrusions, etc. But, perhaps there are some Democrats who share these opinions. Perhaps my view of Democrats has been a bit jaded considering my residence in the People's Republic of California, in the San Francisco Bay Area no less. Possibly my exposure to the most liberal gun hating, fanatically politically correct, racial quota demanding, absolute right to choose, pacifism at all costs, fruitcakes that I deal with all the time who proudly wear the labels of "liberal" and usually claim the Democratic Party as their affiliation have skewed my view. So, it would not be out of the question that I have used a rather broad brush to paint all Democrats with. As I look around me and breath in the essence of the things that I love so much about this country, I realize that I have probably categorized a lot of good folks into a class of people that maybe they didn't quite deserve. To those folks who claim political affiliation with the Democratic Party who do not fit the "liberal" description above, you have my sincere apology. The greatest strength of this country lies in it's diversity and our ability to respect the beliefs of others without forcing our opinions on them. I reflect that I have a broad variety of friends that hold a rather varied political view and that we have all managed to get along just fine. My load feels a bit lightened as I determine to write this portion of the ride report when I get back.

Subject: Short ride, long report (Part 2)

I approach Oakdale and head into this small city. There is a significant increase in American Flags. I see that the City of Oakdale has erected a large American Flag approx. 1 per block, spaced about 30 yards apart on both sides of the road. Passing through Oakdale you drive south through the city, then make a left and head east towards Yosemite. The entire route through the city, about 2-3 miles is festooned with these flags. Nearly every business flies a flag, colored bunting, streamers, all in red, white, and blue. It was a phenomenal site. Damn, these guys must all be Republicans! (Rimshot) I pass through Oakdale and hit the countryside once more. The route from Oakdale to Jamestown changes to rolling hills dotted with Oak trees. Ranches dot the countryside. Decades old stone fences still stand. Abandoned barns and buildings lend a historic feel. The weather has gotten toasty and I'm glad I shed the leather coat in a quick stop at the Oakdale Burger King (gack!, home to the worlds worst burgers) lot. I ride into Jamestown and once again the pull of Jamestown H-D calls. I fight off temptation, and pass on through. I see several rides at the shop and then again down the road at the little burger stand. I know they have great beer batter onion rings which is damn near like anonymous road trip sex with some filly you gave your friends name who is just drunk enough to forget the whole thing anyway to as far as I'm concerned. Ok, maybe not that good, but really good anyway. I head on up to Sonora and get off on the business route and head into town. I get to enjoy about 10 minutes of site seeing as the damn light won't change due to my bike not being enough metal mass to set off the sensor. I curse the traffic engineers gainfully employed by the City of Sonora and all their offspring with several Jerry Falwell commemorative ancient pagan ritualistic hexes. Finally I'm making the left onto 49 and headed through the bar/antique store/knick knack shop/tourist zone. I see a couple of bars that I faintly recall from a New Year's Eve past. Flashes of memories come rolling back from a night of over indulgence and resultant denials of responsibility. Minutes later I'm out of Sonora and back into the country. The ride from Sonora north changes from rolling hills to steep hills dotted with Oak but also Pine. The road gets a bit more winding and is interspersed with flat fields and more secluded homes. Nearly every farm and ranch proudly flies the stars and stripes. I pass over New Melones reservoir on the bridge and look down to see people enjoying the day in their ski boats. The reservoir is down a bit but is still being used heavily. As I approach Angels Camp, I have seen a steady increase of fire trucks from numerous agencies driving back southbound on 49. I pull into Angels Camp and the fire rigs are everywhere. I haven't really been following the fire situation but it is clearly going strong.

I pull over and figure I'll call RB to get the final directions. Murphys is just up the road and I'm no doubt just a few minutes out. I make the connection and find out that I am waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay off. I still have a ways to go up to Jackson. Ah well, the ride is a beaut and I can live with it. I'm back on the road but now I'm stuck behind a line of fire trucks headed north. Up past San Andreas. We crawl up towards Mokelumne Hill, and I mean crawl. I try and figure out where in the world the name Mokelumne came from. Sounds Hawaiian but I figure it has to be American Indian. For some reason the name makes me think of small elf like creatures but then I realize I'm thinking of Menehune's. A summer spent on Maui back in the seventies and that's all I remember? The crawl begins to wear thin at 25 mph. Finally I take a deep breath and think about what these fire fighters have probably been through these last few days and decide that I can endure a bit of a delay. At some point we pass a chain link enclosed abandoned building that was called the "Butte Store" or something similar. Clearly ruins from several decades ago with a plaque nearby explaining it's fame. I am tempted to stop since I am somewhat of a history/archeology/anthropology fan but it will have to wait for another trip along with the Mark Twain cabin. Finally the fire rigs pull over and wave us by. I give them a toot on the horn and a thumbs up. All the fire fighters wave and the line of cars responds in kind. Large flags fly from each rig.

Finally I'm pulling into Jackson and know I'm nearby. I follow the directions and next thing I know, there in all it's splendor is the Redbeard Emeritus palatial estate. I pull up to the gates and take advantage of the valet parking. The butler leads me through the immaculate grounds. I begin to wish I'd packed a sack lunch as we walk through miles of tailored gardens, babbling streams, majestic trees and meticulous landscaping. I'm thinking they might have a B and B somewhere near the mid point and wonder if we'll make the house by nightfall. Finally we reach the front door. Another butler announces my presence as I am ushered into a grand entryway. The butler escorts me to the Great Room to wait. After being kept on hold for about 20 minutes the butler returns and escorts me down a long hallway to the Smoking Room. I am invited to indulge myself in a brandy and illegal Cuban cigar. After an eternity the mighty man himself makes a grand entrance. I am amazed at the transformation from the pictures I have seen on the various sites. RB strides into the room wearing an English riding jacket, breeches, satin white shirt and highly polished boots. He has a riding crop which he snaps impatiently on his heel as he glares at me. I stand. He steps forward. Soon we are eye to eyeball. You can cut the tension with a knife. A fire crackles in the fireplace. In the distance, I can hear the sounds of numerous servants scurrying about the mansion occupied with some mundane task. Neither of us blinks. I can feel the blood pounding in my ears. There is more testosterone flowing than a WWF smackdown. Or am I thinking steroids?....

Finally the stalemate is broken as I detect the slightest twitch of his left eye. He lunges, I sidestep. We grapple back and forth. I pivot, he parries. I leg sweep, he dodges. He shoves, I feint. He leverages, I maneuver. The air is filled with the sounds of shuffles, grunts, and muted swearing as we toss each other about the room in a dance of death. Furniture is toppled. Paintings are knocked from the walls. Chairs are snapped like matchsticks with flying bodies. Twenty minutes later it is a stalemate. Suddenly the butler steps into the room and lets out a squeal of surprise (You gotta fire that guy RB, he's gotta be wearing comfortable shoes with that voice...). In a flash, I have the advantage. I lunge forward, sidestep, and in a lightening move, I have penetrated his defenses. Moments later, the coup de etat. A giant wedgie. One that even my jaded offspring would be proud of. Suddenly it is all over. RB slumps into a leather armchair in disgrace. BVD's hanging out the back of his riding britches like white flag of defeat. The butler blushes and slinks from the room. I hear he, and the maid, howling in laughter down the hall. RB give me a malevolent stare, leaps from the chair, and slaps me on the back with a sudden grin. Minutes later we are enjoying a good port accompanied by one of those slightly less than legal Maduros.

Oh all right damnit! The guy just walked down the driveway, invited me up and we cracked open a Sierra Nevada. It just sounded so damn boring. All the hype and next thing you know we are ensconced in a couple of comfy lawn chairs downing a frosty one and lying about our sex lives. Can't a guy have a little fun once in a while? It's not like testilying for deity of your choices sake....

Subject: Short ride, long report (Part 3)

After supporting the Sierra Nevada's capitalistic efforts for an hour or so, and a guided tour around a very nice historical home, RB and I decide to head on out for some local vittles. We hop on the scoots and head on down to Mel's Diner. The rumors are true. RB has an official DOF fully loaded geezer glide. And it sure is puuuuuurty. Not quite as nice as my lucky green ride but nice nevertheless. We get a table at Mel's and I head to the little bull riders room. When I return I see a man cut from the same cloth. RB has ordered himself a beer already. I opt for the tasty formaldehyde laced Corona with lime and we make our orders. I go for the sourdough burger with onion rings. RB chooses the age old standard, the cheeseburger. Now the true test of this establishment will be seen. The onion rings arrive. They are excellent. Not enough beer in the batter to receive the highest rating, but excellent nevertheless. And the burger was again, quite tasty. We swap backgrounds, discuss a bit of politics, and head on back to the homestead. The phone rings off and on and I realize that this guy has got to know a few folks in his day. Jon Morgan (sp?) drops a line and I am warned that another Netscum is going to make an appearance. True to his word, Jon shows up and we continue to salute the brewing efforts of Sierra Nevada. Mr. Daniels made an appearance as well. Despite my affinity for his products, I did have to ride after all. For the next couple of hours we swap road stories, express our opinions, tell jokes, admit stuff about our pasts that I know will of course NEVER GET OUT ....and get to know each other a bit. RB's neighbors (lurkers in RMH) show up and it's damn near an official party. Nice folks. Eventually we talk cop stuff and I get the chance to explain in a professional manner why we are all perfect and how everyone else is fouled up. Before you know it the sun has fallen and night is upon us. I know RB has some plans for the evening and I have a ride ahead of me. We say our goodbyes and I'm back on the road. Of course I take the easier route home. 88 back to 99 south to 205 to 580 back through the east bay and then home. The weather had cooled and by the time I get home I am frozen solid and my leg is cramping, a hot shower cures what ails ya shortly. As I write this and reflect on the trip, I am glad I was finally able to make some time. The ride was outstanding and I had a chance to meet some good folks face to face. RB was a gracious host and a gentleman. Sorry RB, I know I'm ruining your rep. Mr. Morgan struck me terribly familiar for some reason despite us never meeting, or so we believe. All in all, a day well spent.