Barbecue House for breakfast, where they know our names and pretty much have the orders committed to memory, too. So naturally there were new people working there this morning. Now they have to be taught about “The Usual.”
That is about as bad as it gets: This young lady does not know what I want for breakfast. And she will make me say my name out loud before caffeine. Also, she will spell it wrong on the order.
It is a tough life, you know.
Love Barbecue House. Professors, students, athletes, old people, folks passing through and people who built the city, all under one roof. One of the former football coaches was in this morning and told Mr. Price, who owns the place, that he’d see him at church on Sunday. We learned later today that that coach just got a new job at another school, and so we won’t see him or his family any more, which is a shame.
There is always some news at Price’s Barbecue House.
Took a ride this afternoon, a slightly challenging 20 mile route, my best ride as I build back up. I passed this pond:
Lovely day for a ride, no?
I went out 10 miles, found a school and tried to turn around there. This was about the time that the school was dismissing for the day, and so every high school student with a car was lining up to begin their weekend. One guy serenaded me with a bit of Bicycle Race. A 21st century high schooler knowing a mildly successful 34-year-old Queen song seems an odd thing. I credit your parents, kid, and also the Internet.
High schoolers with cars and trucks while acting like high schools versus one guy on a 17-pound bike seemed a losing deal, so I waited them out. There wasn’t a cloud in the deep, dark blue sky. Just a beautiful afternoon.
It was a good ride, too, except for the two hills on that particular route which always get the better of me.
Right around that halfway point I also saw this old shack:
I love places like this. I used to climb around them. I still might, but not this one in particular. Looks like a good cross wind would topple it. So I just glanced in through the openings. Hard to tell what used to go on here, but someone spent a lot of time inside. Maybe raised a little family, and probably the cattle in the pasture across the road.
Once upon a time this house was the only thing around for a few miles. The person who built that place probably liked it that way. Probably buried in a cramped city cemetery today, but we’ll never know for sure. Whatever history is in there is probably just left to the family, and that always has a peculiar way of becoming opaque.
Dinner tonight was at Laredo’s, one of the better Mexican restaurant in town. (Try the enchiladas.) It is a big place, and busy, so I don’t have any cute little anecdotes about town. They turn the place over in a hurry, though. We had to park in an overflow lot and there must have been 30 people waiting to be seated, but we got a table within 10 minutes or so.
Our salsa had every pepper in the place.
And then we had ice cream. Because it was in the low 40s, after all.
