Over the weekend, yours truly thought in his infinite wisdom it would be easy to remember roughly where this little shack was, maybe that even it would be metro accessible. I couldn't have been more wrong, and walking around in the 95 degree, 95% humidity hell wasn't helping the memory bank. I needed some assistance from a source who also would appreciate the hunt for great Mexican food.
"Pat, I need to borrow that tire pump u have."Following a serious re hydrating session, rain storm and making sure no newly pumped air in my bike's tires had been lost, the next morning, with a renewed sense of vigor, I biked the exact same path taken a year ago. Roughly ten miles later, it was there just like I remembered it. Squeezed in between a run down auto parts store, frame shop and dump truck yard. However, not even close to the metro and been open since 10 a.m. serving cervezas to the soccer faithful, in walked one sweaty gringo. "Cerveza por f$%^&ing favor!" was going through my mind, but rather I politely ordered a carne asada burrito and Tecate. Probably not going to be the last time I make this trip.
Let's be clear about one thing: certain digestive items are worth a long bike ride, burritos being one of them. Vanilla-soy-latte-half-crap-decafs, are not. While most peopled plunked down in the froufrou coffee boutiques in Bethesda, up the road at El Norteno, across from Walter Reed Medical Center, was a belligerent biker enjoying a half English, half Spanish conversation with some soccer fans and two giggling waitresses. When one saw me yawn, she recommended "a shAWt tequila", I think. Suddenly, Saturday didn't seem so bad.
