The sun is slowly crawling towards the horizon and the shadows are just starting to get a touch long as I slide over in the saddle, feathered the front brake and dropped the bike down a gear before entering the beginning of a right-left-right-left sequence of escalating smiles, spectacularly wild opposing bends in the road and damn near daydream like excitement.

As each successive corner connects to the next and flips the other way, it’s hard to ignore that it’s the middle of the week, the roads are empty and it’s December. Somewhere in the back of my mind I can’t quite fathom that this is in fact real. That I’m here, today…

And that the old man is following right behind me.

We’re alone and yet we’re together, riding a curving oasis of a road up a rapidly rising mountain towards a three-hundred and sixty degree million-mile vista.

Emotionally it seems like it’s been a years since I last got a ride in with the old man. You get busy, your schedule is in state of flux, things slide, things move, and before you know it some of the most important aspects of life – the things you truly hold dear - inadvertently keep getting pushed to the sidelines. Keep getting mentioned in phrases that start with words like, ‘next’, ‘later’, or ‘soon’. Words that don’t turn into memories, they simply get displaced, along with a dozen other activities in the name of what needs to get done today.

But every so often you have to just say screw it, the memories are more important then the work.

In truth, I’m not quite sure how or when the old man and I hit upon the idea that it was time for a father-son ride in the new neck of the woods. But I’m glad we did. There’s something beautiful about being able to share new roads with old friends.

The South Grade of Palomar and I are getting along famously when I head into the next continual corner that reaches around the mountain face. This is my fourth or fifth time up here and while I can’t yet visually describe the entire route, the road is clearly becoming my friend. This is becoming home. For the old man, this is the first trip up to the top – something he’s only heard me talk about. And even though I’m focused on the asphalt, in the back of mind I keep wondering what he thinks of the grade. What he thinks of the new roads.

It takes only a few seconds to find out.

After pulling into the parking lot outside of Mother’s Kitchen on the top of Palomar Mountain, the old man pops his helmet off and says just one word,

“Dynamite!”

I knowingly nod back.

“That was simply dynamite!” he says again as I watch his mind process what he’s just experienced. “That’s as good a road as I’ve ever ridden”…

With gargantuan smiles hanging on our faces we enter Mother’s to grab a quick bite and catch up. The easy way to describe the place would be to say that it’s a classic rustic café - but in truth it’s got far more character then that would express. Somewhere in the middle of the pine tree meets comfort food aesthetic you realize that while this is in fact a famed biker hang-out, it’s also a warmer, friendlier, more congenial place to share a moment and spend some time with someone you care about.

Looking over the hand written menu on the wall, the old man keeps chuckling to himself. Partly because he’s already reliving his ride up here and perhaps also because he recognizes just how long its been since we jointly attacked a curvy road surface.

After a few seconds a gal’s face pops up behind the counter. “Welcome to Mother’s”, she says with a grin.

I smile back as I hear Milt say, “This is my first time up here, it’s beautiful!”

“Welcome to paradise,” she answers without missing a beat, “what can I get you?”