Sunday, Vicky and I decided to get our bikes out and actually… what does one do with these things again?…
See, we had been using the bikes as dust collectors/art installations in our garage for some time but we figured using them for the reason we bought them – you know, to actually ride them – might be nice to try, too.
So, on Monday, Vicky and I actually rode down the Santa Ana River for five miles (well, five miles round trip). Vicky did really well and, with the exception of those jerks who think the trail is their personal gym and how dare we share it with them, it was really nice. This got me thinking that, being out of work and all, it would be pretty cool to go for ten miles – even more! That’s the thing with me lately; I’m loving anything free! And I’m lusting after anything that burns fat!
Not that I’m not also a huge pig. After our ride, Vicky and I were both famished, dying for something good to eat. I thought about Mutt Lynch’s, this great burger joint by Newport Pier. Driving down there, we both realized what a dope I was – hello! Memorial Day! Newport Pier! Hello!
So, instead, we started heading south on PCH, when we realized that a Cheesecake Factory was coming up soon, at Fashion Island. We pulled over, went on up… and waited… and waited… shit, Cheesecake’s always so busy! But that’s okay. I can be patient. Because it’s also damned good!
When we got our table, I was so famished – and, by that time, the craving for a big, fat, greasy, sloppy cheeseburger was so strong – I was ready to order a burger with the sliders as an appetizer. Instead, Vicky and I split a salad and we both ordered our burgers. Vicky ordered with burger on a baguette ordeal but I went with something called the Tons of Fun Burger. It was the same price as their regular burger so I figured it couldn’t be that much fun or that much of a ton.
Then, they brought it out.
And this is why I’m calling this “Hitting the Spot”. This thing was amazing. Big. Greasy. Sloppy. It was the size of my head! I picked it up, looking like Guy on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, like an ad for a big, greasy burger, and committed myself to eating it all, fitting the whole mother in my mouth, without losing it to gravity, entropy, and grease. My god. It was amazing. Hot and messy. It transcended eating; I was in bliss.
Just one table over, our waitress had to deal with this problem customer who wasn’t satisfied with anything. I hate those people, the ones who go to restaurants simply to complain and work the manager for a free meal. So, after I was through with my burger – and, I’m telling you, that last bite, with hardly any dripped onto my plate and none dripped anywhere else, was a grateful surrendering into what I knew was the loss of any benefit our bike ride earlier provided – I made sure to express my pleasure to our waitress. I don’t often tell anyone about how good a meal I had, as Vicky knows my life is far too often mostly about regret and the anticipation of regret, but that was the first time in a long time I could remember having a very distinct craving satisfied so completely.
Later today, when the sun comes up, I’m going to take that ten-mile ride. I doubt I’ll have a burger after – the odds just aren’t with me.