Yes.  In theory I’d like to exclusively hit unique local restaurants, but for less than two bucks I can get a calorie-laden snack that may be somewhat quasi-healthy (think Grilled Chicken Burrito, or ½-pound Cheesy Rice and Bean Burrito).

Went into the Port Angeles location.  Incredibly slow service.  Bad sign for a fast-food joint.  First cause, teenage rookie at the till with incredibly short attention span.  Second cause, manager who would break into idle conversation with short-attention-spanned rook while he was trying to take customer orders.  Third cause, finicky Port Angeleans with all sorts of crazy questions and ideas about what they should expect at a cookie cutter burritorium.  “What’s in a bean burrito?”  “Can I get a bean burrito, but I’d like to add chicken to it?”  “I’d like the Grilled Chicken Burrito, but please hold the rice.”  Fourth cause, attempt to personalize the formican glare of the Taco Bell experience by taking down everyone’s name as they place their order, rather than just issue them a number as their cash register is wont to do.  (Here’s short-attention-spanned teenager trying to ask names, remember them, write them down, reassociate them with their number as the order actually comes up, and then mispronounce them to the delight and disinterest of every diner.)

My favorite customer was a slightly overweight woman using a cane (which one felt she had as more of a prop than an actual implement of stabilization…..especially when she completely put it to one side as she sampled and poured out and resampled each of the offered fountain drinks).  “I don’t want anything spicy.  I cannot have anything spicy.  What do you have which doesn’t have anything spicy in it?”  (Which begs the question, “why Taco Bell?”)  After deciding on her order, she ambled over to the condiment display and stuffed her purse full–literally, stuffed full–with packets of Fire Sauce.

What?!

As Maxx suggests, maybe she is a criminal mastermind, establishing her alibi.

Dad at Coleman Dock

On Tuesday, unbeknownst to me, my dad tried to rejoin me for the bike ride. He called my cell a few times, but I had it off to save batteries (and may not have heard the ring in my bag over the traffic noise of Highway 101 anyhow).

He made a pretty good guess about where I’d be, and so he parked his car at Discovery Bay and biked up to Port Angeles. We must have barely missed one another. I took a detour in Port Angeles to a Taco Bell; and again near Sequim at a country store. My dad detoured a couple times off Highway 101 to the paralleling and more pleasant Old Gardiner Road. We literally must have cycled right past each other.

I got to my damp camp at Sequim Bay State Park, set-up my tent, showered, started to prepare dinner, and opened my phone to a bevy of messages from dad. The last one has him at the Aircrest Motel in Port Angeles (the same dive I had stayed at two nights earlier) about four beers into the evening. Though I would love his company and the beer, I am not going to cycle 17 plus miles back up to Port Angeles that night. So we agree to meet in the morning.

We biked together the next morning to Discovery Bay. The road conditions were lame. Narrow shoulders, high speed traffic, dampness everywhere, too loud to talk. My legs were totally shot, so I struggled to keep up with my dad. I’m hoping though, that trying to keep up was a good thing and will help expand my legs for later in the journey. All the cafes and restaurants along the way were closed. So no breakfast.

But dad did buy me a mocha at an espresso stand, and picked up a jar of extra small oysters for himself (which will be a real treat for him as long as he remembers to take them out of the car as soon as he gets back to Mercer Island).

I didn’t even remember to get a photograph. So I’m posting this one from the Coleman Ferry Terminal in Seattle. It was a short ride together, but I appreciated dad’s effort and the company.