"I’ll explain what it’s about when we get together tomorrow," Flat Matt teased in his subtle, west Texas drawl from the other end of the phone. Apparently my questions would have to wait. "You’ll understand everything," he assured.

Everything? Like maybe why, for instance, a dedicated nocturne such as myself would agree to wake up at 9 a.m. the following day to meet him and his brother? Or how his odd invitation – to don orange coveralls and ride around in a converted beer truck delivering soda pop – evoked suspicions of a deficiency in what I had considered a satisfactory curriculum vitae? 
 
I resigned myself to the reality that, like black holes and the color puce, there were some things beyond understanding. 
  
Neophyte I was not. The coolers around town were inescapable, as was that kitschy man-and-fish billboard off the west end of I-8. A friend of mine, who has been collecting the limited edition bottles since their introduction last month, recently found her fascination affirmed by a conspicuous promotion in midtown Manhattan. While walking down 34th Street, she happened across Macy’s displays: Tall windows featuring the summer’s typical offering of pastel junior wear -- and hundreds upon hundreds of bottles of Jones Soda.
   
But what did it all mean?
  
"First of all, it’s a freedom thing," explained Flat Matt when we met in Pacific Beach for the morning ride-along. His brother, BLK, offered me a vanilla cola. "It’s for the kids," Flat Matt emphasized with the energetic conviction of a man obviously accustomed to coherency at an early hour. "Like the surf/skate/snows – because they understand freedom. We don’t want to throw a program at anyone. We want to give people options so they can keep their minds open."
  
It would have been easy to dismiss such words as little more than marketing rhetoric, but this was Mission Boulevard, not Madison Avenue, and something about the expression on Flat Matt’s face confirmed his noble intentions. Could it be that amid a scheme of corporate politics and bottom lines, this guy was speaking from the heart? I felt my guard slipping away as I sipped at the last of my drink. I was ready to get on with this adventure…Maybe there was something I could understand.
  
With Flat Matt and BLK on either side of me, I assumed a bench-seat perch in the Jones Soda truck, and we were underway. A minute or so had passed when I noticed a BMW cruising alongside us, its passenger exchanging pleasantries with Flat Matt. Moments later, someone on a bicycle shouted a greeting up to him. Were these friends who just coincidently happened by? How about the hippie who was waving from the sidewalk? Or the kid on the skateboard? And the other half-dozen-or-so people who recognized my cohorts in the time it takes to drive a couple of miles... Were they all friends of Flat Matt?
  
"I’m like the milkman used to be," he intimated. "People know who I am, and I know who they are."
  
This was confirmed when we reached our first destination, Luigi’s, where appreciative hoots from inside the Mission Beach eatery hailed the arrival of the gargantuan vehicle with the black flames lapping over the hood. I quickly realized that almost everyone enjoyed a first-name familiarity with the men of Jones Soda - a noteworthy phenomenon to which I would become accustomed after a couple of stops. Amid the fanfare, Flat Matt and BLK unloaded a half dozen beverage crates with synchronized precision, and we were back on the road again. 
  
When we arrived at Reds Coffee Shop in Point Loma, owner Cyndee Fenlon invited us to try her latest concoction – the "Jolted Jones." Part espresso and part Jones Crème Soda, it seemed a fitting beverage by which to bolster one’s reserves for what was sure to become a busy morning. After taking an order, chatting with Cyndee about the trials and tribulations of opening her new coffeehouse, and checking out the "Mad Hatter Tea Room" there, we departed for Hanger 18. 
  
There was something enticingly unconventional about the Jones Soda display inside the Hillcrest skate shop. In a corner near the front window, its dazzling spoils beckoned with the promise of truly alternative liquid refreshment. No Coke. No Pepsi. Just Jones. As I silently marveled at the conspicuous absence of the beverage industry’s behemoths in this cutting edge of retail, Flat Matt seemingly read my mind: "We’re like a gnat buzzing around the face of our bigger competitors – they can’t figure out how we got in, and they can’t swat us away," he joked. 
 
"Can we stand in front of it?" asked the stylist at Hip Hair as she and a coworker posed for a snapshot by the Jones cooler there. "Sure…Why not?" I answered. They were obliging subjects. Though I hadn’t planned on taking photos during this adventure, I had purchased a new camera the day before and was grateful for remembering to bring it along. Things were happening so quickly that hours had passed like minutes and, aside from wanting a personal memento of my experience, there was little doubt that pictures would tell a story mere words could not express.
  
Our last stop was at the infamous Doctor Love’s, where the Doctor himself offered me what he claimed to be the best of battery-operated personal entertainment devices in exchange for a write-up on his place of business. "I think I’ll pass," I replied. I didn’t want to be rude, but the thought of a ménage-a-uno was the furthest thing from my mind. I mean, how could that possibly compare to my ride-along adventure of a lifetime? As much as I hate hype, there was no disputing that if there is a "rock star" in the world of soft drinks, I was feeling its charismatic presence firsthand. Somehow, if possible, I wanted to help get the word out. But what, exactly, was the word?
  
"I guess you could say that we want to use Jones Soda as a tool to take care of the people who have taken care of us," remarked Flat Matt in answer to my conundrum. "We want to bro down with our bros, help out the community by being socially responsible… You know, not mess up the environment, and create jobs for people so they can enjoy their lifestyles. That's it in a nutshell." It seemed a humble exit line from the man in the bright orange suit, but one that made perfect sense under the circumstances. He had been right, after all… I understood everything.