Adventure 612: Folsom Recreational Area/Post C

Folsom Prison

I know what Johnny Cash meant when he heard that train a comin' because some things are unavoidable. Liz and I couldn't avoid the massive presence of Folsom prison today as we ticked off fifty more miles along the trail. Meanwhile, my Bunny enjoyed herself on the veranda under the shade of the trailer's awning. She did walk the trail along the ridge of the dam above the prison. A good day was enjoyed by all. For Liz and I, the ride was eventful as it was full of power riders, stroller walkers, recumbent riders, ladies walking, and so many other eye catching spectacles that we hardly noticed the four hours we spent on our bikes. This trail, which begins at Old Sac and ends at Beale's point is surely one of the best rides in America, and since it follows the American River, it surely claims its place among the elite rail trails. It screams, "Hey, we're California. What are you?" and I must say, there's much to be said for this area. It's clearly a land of the well healed. Teslas are like Prius around here. But then I remember just before I get self-conscious. I live in paradise. A common ride for me is the Centennial trail. A normal ride for me is the Trail of the Coeurd Alenes. And if I want exotic, I merely ride the Hiawatha Trail, so forgive me, California, if I'm not Californicating all over your place. That being said, I really like it here, and I'm really glad I've been able to spend time here because the last few days here have proven that life is good, especially these days. However, I would be remiss if I didn't mention another irony. Now that we've kicked Bernie to to the side in favor of good Old Joe, and our current leadership continues to deflect and deceive, consider the irony of an under educated single mother raising four kids on waitress salary. She lives at the bottom of the barrel. She subsists of picking up quarters customers have left behind. Present, then, a pandemic capable of shaking even the most fortunate. Imagine them afraid to be served by the lowly. What then of the waitress? Who will pay her rent? Who will feed her kids? Will loans to businesses trickle down? Maybe. Maybe not. But the whole thing reeks of an irony that begs the question. What is best for all, and given that, are you willing to give your share for everyone's benefit?

The veranda.

 Happy hour: nuts, cheese, apples, bourbon, and beer. Clearly, life is good.

 A couple of happy "campfire" babes.

And off we go to the twilight of sweet dreams.