Far…
We stopped for lunch in Wilmington, DE. The ride till that point had been sort of hairy. There were lots of fight-or-flight moments with motorists trying to jump the line ahead of us in the turn lanes. We chased one guy down who nearly took Marty off his bike and reported him to the cops. Mentally we were exhausted and ready for a change of pace.
We found a place called Libby’s on Yelp that sounded like a good, locals only kind of place, but they were closed. Marty walked over to the barbershop and asked where we should eat. Everyone playfully argued amongst themselves and sent us over to a weekend fish fry at the People’s Settlement.
When we rode up on a our bikes with all our gear people were relaxing in patches of shade, bullshitting with each other, eating fried fish, chicken, and shrimp. We knew we had found a special place.
They had three propane fryers running. The fryers seemed seasoned but somewhat improvised with their Suess-like heat vents made out of air duct piping that was discolored from the heat. The business was operated by a family: the fish man, the fish momma, and their kids.
We asked if they had crab cakes, “No, no… and don’t mention them around my husband.” We all ordered the fish sandwich with fries. It was more than we could possibly eat normally, but we had all just pedaled about 45 miles.
A police officer showed up and was greeted with affection. “See that”, Marty said. “My dad always told me to eat where cops do; they know where everything is and what is cheap and good.”
We exchanged a few stories about our bike tour to those who were curious and the fish man himself invited me to come perform sometime. Done. Then we gathered our satiated bodies up and perched them back on the bikes.
On our route back out to Highway 13 we weaved through a pretty shuttered-up neighborhood in East Wilmington. The houses that were occupied seemed to spill people out on to the front steps and sidewalks. Everyone waived, asked where we were going, “You going across the country ‘er somethin’?” “Kind of”, I said.
I was riding caboose when a little boy jogged up beside me and asked what we were doing. He couldn’t have been more than 12. “We’re on a music tour, it’s just by bike”, I explained. “Oh”, he said, “well… can I come with you?” Jokingly I replied, “sure, hop on.” Without a second thought he jumped on the back of my Xtracycle. A little stunned and a little impressed I let a few seconds go by. We turned the corner. I asked, “how far do you want to go?” he took a moment and replied, “far…”
The shouts from his house started to get louder as everyone began to realize that he really intended to hitch a ride. He hung for as long as he could. “Man, my Momma’s calling me, I got to go.”
And without another word he hopped off the bike.
