It's vacation time ... and that means liberation.
Liberation from my usual aerodynamic bike clothing of choice, stiff 130 psi tires/tyres, the "need for speed," the pursuit of fitness and endorphins, and the urge to try to add 1 mph to the average speed...in place of a more simplified form of fun.
Instead, the road bike stayed home and the fatter-wheel bikes went on vacay. A more easy upright stance; a little off-road trail as the sense of exploration invites; sightseeing cruising speeds; smelling the roses, and discovering the new.
Especially new places to grab a bite to eat...and satisfying a hearty cyclist's appetite on an all-afternoon ride.
Clydesdale, Rodale, Airedale ...
There's a spot off the Cap Cod Rail Trail that I promised not to reveal — it's very small and the seating is pretty limited, one waitress ... and if an entire bike club drops in, they might have a melt-down, but if you've taken the step to come here then there are enough clues here.
If you're riding all day, chances are you're going to get hungry ... or bonk. Some are minimalists and will get nice and skinny cycling. Me, I have not yet quite evolved from responding to calorie burned with calorie chowed down upon. There's something so satisfying about that balance, and trying oh-so-hard not to wind up on the heavier side of it.
Sure, for hard-core pedalgrinders, clif bars, gu gels and pbj sarnies are fine, but for those looking for epicurean fancies and a relaxing time, the detour for pie or burrito — or whatever takes your fancy — is an indulgence that is easily excused by the simple fact you're on vacation.
So in '08, and again this year, on the way from Dennis, Mass., up to Long Pond, back down to the CCRT bike rotary before Harwich, and then eastward in the general direction of Chatham, we got the urge to nosh. I figured a simple southward detour would quickly re-connect us with civilization.
We passed a tall steepled church and hit busy Main Street. And voila, instantly appeared an ideal little restaurant/cafe.
With my UK background, where lots of things end in -dale ... anything that ends with "-dale" I am pretty much automatically conditioned to pronounce in a way that rhymes with "Clydesdale, Rodale, or Airedale," so when I intoned the name of this cafe in my Brit style, I must have been figuring on country nosh, a ploughman's lunch, shepherd's pie ... that kind of thing.
The family laughed their arses off. The sombrero emblem didn't quite shout out bangers and mash.
Nope, this was a small mexican restaurant, and I had just epic failed my Spanish pronunciation -- the ending of the name should have been "da-lay" as in "the the road to Mandalay."
Anyway, it's nothing fancy; just good solid Mexican fare, a good guacamole, a very fresh salsa and homemade tortilla chips, spot-hitting quesadillas, burritos, enchiladas, ... just don't try to eat it all!
As much as I'd like to be, I'm no long distance road bike rider — my vertebrae just rebel in radical ways that end up in MRIs and months of physical therapy. But after lunch here, you better eat light, or you might want to "ride it off" for a couple more hours.
The view from inside the secret nosh spot
GG peruses the menu. Just don't eat too much unless you plan to ride for another 4 hours
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