Almost in touch with my inner redneck

We've met all kinds of people on this trip. I can't really think of a mean spirited one (of course, like I said earlier, "It's the ones we DON'T meet that are the problem" [some of the passing motorists]). But lots of interesting, nice folks, for sure.
Many of them are completely different than me too. So they're not all "bleeding heart liberals who think we should be more like Jesus and less like Pat Robertson" either.
Like the other day, we passed a convoy of soldiers going up that 4,000' climb from San Diego, into the mountains, at 6mph. Four or 5 vehicles, and the lead vehicle must have overheated, had the hood up. They looked like they were (acting like?) transporting valuable prisoners or somethin', and the first soldier we saw looked nervous, even though he looked like Tom Starr. And "nervous" is not a word that I usually use in the same sentence with "Tom Starr". But anyway, I was thinkin' "What the hell are those two young guys doin', slackin' off at the overheated vehicle. No one has point. If this is a drill they are SO gonna get busted out of that shrub oak stuff behind them". Overheated. Right. This is an ambush!
Ok. Redneck, maybe.
But part of me thinks I would have been a good soldier, better than average, anyway.
Then today, we stopped in Glamis, to grab some shade in the desert and refill our water bottles from our MSR Dromedary. No one around. Then boom. About 10 OHV vehicles pull up and park 2 feet from my spandex clad ass. What do we do? Strike up interesting conversations with dudes proud of their $50,000 sand rails/dune buggies, who are offering us rides; no, insisting we go for a ride with them.
I was tempted.
The tree-hugging, "we burn fossil fuels like there is no consequence - but sure as shit there are ALL kinds of negative consequences to our frivolous use of gas". Tempted. Resisted.
Palo Verde Bar and Grill - fun chatting with the tattooed, pierced fishermen from the Edwards AFB area.
Am I a closet redneck?

Then, as I'm rinsing off my dirty hands, drinkin' a can of Bud, the King of Beers, at the county park a trio of folks show up with a big pickup truck pulling a motorhome and I initially think "Damn, we don't have this park all to ourselves anymore" (in the off-season, it's too late, too hot).
Then I notice the bumper sticker on the back window of the truck: "This is my peace sign", and it's a gun sight. And I think, "Fuck it. I ain't no dumb ass redneck after all."