“its a marvelous night for a moondance” van morrison Warriors and Friends gathered at the canyon intersection, eager to get onto the ride of the evening. The waxing moon hung in the clear sky above the horizon of the Santa Anas, beckoning us on to our adventure. No one suspected the excitement we would find… There has been much debate over the centuries, between artists and scientists, of the effects the moon has on the human psyche. Folklore tells of men going mad under a full moon, hospitals and police agencies say that admissions and crime increase under the cold gray light, but science will tell you that no documentable correlation can be found between moon cycles and human emotion. I’ve always found the scientist type to be too devoid of feeling for their own good. Being more of a poet myself, I have always felt the effect of the waxing moon. It brings an excitement to the surface of ordinary life as though a pot has been stirred and the adventurous ingredients, previously settled and buried, are brought intoxicatingly into the mixture of thought and emotion. Animal instincts, progressively buried by the slow evolution of polite society, are brought back into awareness. Senses come alive with the anticipation of what may lay around the next bend… But, the ride began innocently enough. At 7 PM, we were all at the Black Star / Silverado intersection eager to head up to Beek’s. The crew was at least twenty strong. Lare Dog, who truly deserves the honor of being the ride host, had cooked up some chili and dogs to eat, and beers and other refreshments were packed up and loaded into Dances’ truck. Lare was driving up as ride support, with a party to ensue at Main Divide and Beek’s. Lare took off in the truck out in front, to be there at the top, ready, when we all arrived. The wonderful thing about these rides is the relaxed and easy atmosphere of the group. Some hammer hard out the gate, in friendly competition, while others settle back for an enjoyable social ride, chatting away. And it’s easy to move between the groups, riding hard when you feel like it and enjoying easy conversation while you catch your breath. This easy camaraderie is, for me, what the Warrior’s represents. Sure, we’ve got a mission statement and responsibilities, but the friendship in a common joyous pursuit is the glue that binds us together. I started hard, wanting to dash ahead, find a nice photo op in the waning daylight, to get pics of the group. Past the gate, I looked back a couple of times, didn’t see anyone in my shadow, and kept looking for the perfect spot, chasing the daylight. I come around the left hander, just at the wooden bridge, and there’s Lare -Dog stopped in the road. My first thought was that he was waiting for us to catch up, but then I saw Art Tuttle walking away, muttering something about not trusting anyone. He must have been addressing the comment to Lare, as I don’t think he had yet seen me. Having run into Art and his attitude too many times in my life, I immediately piped back that I didn’t trust him, either. Now, for all I know, Lare-Dog had probably convinced him to let us pass without incident, and then I came along and spoiled everything. But, having heard his BS about the access road being private property so many times over the years, I was immediately angry at the thought that, once again, I had to deal with this knuckle dragging disgrace to humanity. He had his tractor parked and idling at the side of the road, just blocking the road enough to make it tough for Lare to drive the truck through. He walked slowly back over to the tractor and started to look at something on it when I walked up behind him and asked him if he would please move it just a bit so Lare could drive through. He said that he was in no hurry, to which I replied that we were and for him to move his rusty pile of junk off the road. Well, it just got better from there. By this time, Dances and the rest of the group rounded the corner and saw the commotion that was beginning to arise. Dances comes up to Art right away and starts telling him to move, that he was blocking public access to the forest. Art goes into some tirade about doing homework on the access issue. It just devolved into a shouting match at that point with Dances right in Art’s face. With all of us standing around him, I thought for sure that that worthless lump would relent, but Art just stood there with his hands in his pockets and obstinate as ever. Dances and most of the group then went around him and continued up. Lare decided that the best course, so as not to totally ruin our ride, was for him to just turn the truck around and head back to the B. The rest of us would complete our ride to Beek’s and back, and then enjoy the meal at the bottom. Not quite as nice as the prospect of enjoying hot dogs, chili and beer with the view of the city lights afforded by the altitude of the Main Divide, but it would have to do. It’s a good thing Lare-Dog was their to turn into mediator, because if it had been me driving, I probably would have just run the lump of crap over. As Lare turned around and the balance of the group had already rode on ahead, it was just Tim and I, and the single speed contingent of Tink, Keith and Mark left. We headed on up the road. There was plenty of adrenaline flowing in my moon maddened veins at this point, so I jumped out of the saddle and pushed hard, trying to catch the others that had forged on ahead. While I was pedaling hard and furiously, Tim was keeping an easy, even relaxed pace, staying right with me (and pulling away at will). Drat the burning in my lungs and legs! But, I was able to keep up the pace pretty much all the way to Main Divide. Tim dropped off when we caught up to Sherry, and I just kept going, reeling in Matt, Suzanne, Jason, then Ken on my way to Main Divide. At the top, I found Preston and Angelica not quite sure where Beek’s Place actually was. I led them the final quarter mile to Beek’s, where Dances, Soaring Falcon and the others were already rested and relaxed. It was such a lovely view, with the lights of Orange County and LA on one side and Corona on the back side of main Divide. The moon, three-quarters full, shone brilliantly in the clear night’s sky above the pines surrounding Beek’s. There was still the faintest glow of the day’s sun in the far western horizon. The stars were shimmering in the inky color of the night, and the doppler golf ball above us reflected the light from the second sun. I heard someone comment that people spend thousands of dollars to come to a view like this, a thought I’ve had many times. We are truly blessed to live where we do and be able to enjoy the lives we lead. We are really fortunate to live in paradise as we do, even if we do share it with the occasional bum. Recharged, we saddled back up for the quick trip down. Again, I dashed out in front thinking I just wanted to check on Art before the others arrived. But, Treve, Jeff and, not too far back, Tim, were in hot pursuit and were on me in short order. Flying down towards Hidden Ranch, we owned the night. After passing the cattle grate, I felt the back end of my bike fishing around a little. “Is my tire flat?” I shouted behind me. Treve informed that it was. So, while changing the tube, the others caught up. Except for the Single Speed Cotillion of Keith, Tink and Mark, who could be seen back up the road, searching for a singletrack in the darkness. Tire repaired with NASCAR quickness (when’s the last time you’ve seen a NASCAR reference in a mountain bike story?), we were off again. Without incident, we were back out at the bottom of the Canyon, with Tim leading the way at frightening (to me anyway) speeds. Lare-Dog was there at the turn leading directly into the canyon, waiting patiently for us to arrive. As the rest of the crew rode past and towards the cars, I reached for a beer. I had been expecting one at the top of the climb and could wait no longer. Lare related that shortly after our encounter with Art, he had hauled ass out of the canyon past Lare sitting in the truck. I guess he had to run report us to the Sheriff’s office. We got back to the cars and the feast that were supposed to have enjoyed at the top was set out. Hot dogs, chili and beer made the evening perfect, as we all ate and chatted about our adventure. Lare-Dog had done wonders with the meal and he deserves a hearty thanks from all of us for his efforts. I remarked to Gregg that it just doesn’t get any better, nor does it need to be. Friends, food and frolick - these are the stuff of life lived to its fullest. I know I will look forward to next month’s adventure with eager anticipation.  Epilogue I called the Sheriff’s office today to inquire about the legality of the public using Black Star. While on hold, the deputy on duty called the US Forestry Service. People there checked with each other and came back with the answer we all know - public access to the forest is granted on Black Star Canyon road. I declined to file a report on Art’s behavior. I have also sent an email to Supervisor Bill Campbell, whose Third District includes Black Star. I will forward any response from his office. I have since heard back from Mr. Ignacio Ochoa at the Orange County Public Works Dept and he writes: “As long as you limit your use of  the road to the public easement and otherwise comply with other related rules of the road, no person may prevent your use of the facility.” Howls at the Moon