Sure enough, as the writer and photographer follow Force the two miles to the salon, Force is on the phone. He drives cautiously, a far cry from the days when he would pop out of the top of his burning car. Force walks in and is immediately ushered to the rear so that his hair can be washed.

"Hey, you wanna hair cut?" Force asks the writer after taking five steps.

"I'm good," the writer answers.

The shampoo session allows Force an opportunity to catch up with the hairdresser, who's not worked on his hair for about a year. It's not that Force has an exclusive barber, but their schedules haven't been compatible in that time frame. In the 20 minutes it takes to complete the task, Force has caught up with her family. He has the same effect on virtually everyone, an instant old friend.

Force is joined by the writer once again as the cutting process begins.

"I'm here to find out what John puts in his hair to keep the gray away," the writer jokes to the hairdresser.

"I don't use anything, it's all natural," Force replies. "You think I could get something like that past Coil?"

He also discovers he can't get a bad haircut past his hairdresser. "Who cut your hair last?" she asks, a serious tone in her voice, enough to arch eyebrows from Force and his entourage. "Whoever did, did a bad job."

"I did," Force admits. "I couldn't get my helmet to fit so I whacked it. At St. Louis. Can you fix it?"

One can picture Force with pair of scissors in his trailer, cutting his hair to get on his helmet, trying to keep it from Coil and Fedderly. If they had found out, he would have been the target of cruel jokes for eternity.

"It'll take a while," answered the hairdresser.

It's really no time for questions. Within the next few days, Force will be the subject of numerous photo shoots for various projects and products. His life is about endorsement, and sponsors expect they'll get the famous Force grin below a hat bearing their logo.

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