Adventures, Food

Truckaroo

Time to recap an adventure. Earlier this week we were invited to go with a group of friends to TRUCKEROO, D.C.’s premier food truck festival. I had my reservations. With food trucks, you usually pay a lot of money for small quantities of an inferior product. Your eating is mostly done on your feet with one hand. The upside is that the food comes to you. By my train of thought, then, making a trip to a food truck eliminates the upside. Unless you make it an adventure.

We concocted an awesome plan. We’d ride our bikes to the Metro station, where I’d drop Rachel off. She’d Metro into work, as usual, while I biked to my work. After I finished work, I would bike to the venue, meeting Rachel there (she’d Metro). After we were done fooding, I’d bike all the way back to the original Metro station. Rachel would Metro back. We’d collect her bike and ride home (into the sunset). It was a good plan.

We got up excited for our adventure. One street into it, and we realize this journey was not going to work out so well. See, when I drew up our route, I picked a route that would take us on quiet residential streets to avoid the stress of competing with traffic. I thought I had circumvented the hills, which—as it turns out—was not the case. Have you ever climbed K2? We have. In fact, we biked half of it first. Also, I didn’t know K2 was in our neighborhood! Anyway, we walked a lot, and were a few minutes later than normal; nothing horrible, just longer than we were expecting.

I biked over to work and we continued our day as we normally do. Adventure, continued.

I began the ride to the festival making really good time. I had already covered roughly half of the distance in about fifteen minutes. Excellent timing. I took a short water break by Gravelly Point, and continued. Things got stressful after Gravelly Point; I began to encounter pedestrians. Crossing the bridge into D.C., I encountered swarms and swarms of tourists, all here to see the cherry blossoms in peak bloom. I think there were more people than blossoms. There were so many that I was obliged to dismount and walk a good distance. It slowed me down a bit, but that was fine because I had made such good timing on the first leg. I walked past the southwest wharf, and found myself caught in the aroma of Friday fish fries. That’s significant, because I’m really not a huge fan of fish. Eventually, the paths cleared and I mounted my bike and rode the rest of the way to the venue.

There were a lot of choices, but I had done my homework and knew which truck I wanted—the Cajunator. I’d had a hankering for Cajun earlier, and the hankering was intensified by the stroll past the wharf. I got in line thinking I would get a shrimp po’ boy; as I approached the register however I heard my mouth say, “Fried catfish, red beans and rice, please.” I had a craving for fish, strange as it seems. Rachel and I agreed to get a cheesesteak at another truck, too, and we could share as we liked.

The catfish was divine. Very good. Hit the spot. The cheesesteak was also very tasty. The red beans and rice didn’t have a lot of taste, but had a little heat, so they were okay; they were more of a filler anyway. All in all, a success. We had good company, too, which is always a plus.

Then we began our trip home. The sky was threatening rain, so rather than biking to the Metro, I hopped aboard with Rachel and my bicycle, and we rode the Metro back to the Metro. I should probably use their real stop names, but it’s late and I’m tired. Why am I tired, you ask, if I rode the Metro? We still had a two mile trip home from the original Metro. We walked half, rode half, and made it home tired, but happy.

I love Rachel and the good attitude she brings on our adventures. She’s a trooper and I’m blessed to have her.

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