Yesterday was almost the perfect day to be out and about, so Karen and I, and her sister Diane and her fella Roy went for a Vespa ride out in the country. We like to explore little country roads on our motorscooters and find new hole in wall eating places, and yesterday we found all that, plus a bit of real America.
Warm and partly cloudy, we rode up north from Di's place in Olney and took small roads till we hit Rt 144 and turned west. Heading down the road at a nice speed for admiring the rolling farmland, we passed through the town of Lisbon, and the smell of grilling meat was heavy on the air. There was a gas station with a side buisness of having those big black BBQ cookers. We made a u-turn and pulled in to have lunch. it's funny, but when your hungrey the smell of fresh grilling meat is not to be denied. Must go back to our neolithic genes.
They had quite a set-up there, one big cooker had chickens BBQ'ing, and the other had beef. Racks of ribs, slabs of brisket. Karen and I opted for the sliced brisket with a side order of country fries. Of course the beef was served on paper plates with plastic knives and forks. I can report that it was some of the best BBQ'd meat I ever ate, but the plastic knives were not up to the task. Not that the meat was tough, not at all. Just that the particular kind of plastic knives they had did not have any little plastic "teeth" like some do. Faced with the hunger driven need to feed, the pocket knives came out. Karen had her number 8 Opinel in her purse, and I had one of my soddies. We sat there at the picnic table and enjoyed out food, and the young 17 or 18 year old kid who was manning the BBQ saw us using our pocket knives and came over out of interest. I then knew that we were in real farm country when I can pull out a knife in public and instead of sheeple recoiling, someone comes over to see what we have and talk knives with us.
He had never seen an Opinel and was impressed with the edge and simple lock, and he said some of his family had sodbusters in thier pockets. He then took out a well worn Schrade Old Timer stockman, and told us his dad had given it to him several Christmas's ago. it was very deeply patina'd, with the blades a dark grey. The brown saw cut delrin handles were worn enough in some spots that the lines of the saw cuts were very shallow. But it had been very well cared for, there were no broken blade tips like you see on some knives, and it was very sharp. We talked knives while we ate, and he waited on some other drive up customers, serving sliced beef and ribs.
I watched him portion out a half a rack of ribs to a customer, using an Old Hickory butcher knife to half the rack, and it sliced right through the rack. Obviously very sharp. I complimented him on his sharp knives, and he took out a deeply concaved old carborundum stone from under the table and proudly showed me he knew how to sharpen a knife. And he was a nice kid. He always said "yes mam" to Karen and called me sir, and he even had his ball cap on the right way. It was like somehow we had ridden into a twilight zone rift to a very long time ago. Somehow we rode down a little country road and ended up in Mayberry. I half expected to see Andy pull up for lunch in his '62 Ford patrol car.
Lunch over, I felt strangly reluctant to leave, but the road waited. We climbed back on our Vespa's and cruised out of Lisbon Maryland, down the road back to the future, and I had the thought that maybe we could sell the house and fine a nice little farm house up that-a-way. Karen and I had been talking of late about moving someplace slower, a bit more suited for retirement. So had her sis Di, and her man Roy. We'd looked toward the Carolina's, but here was a place out of time almost in our backyard.
It would be nice to live someplace that I could take out a pocket knife for something, and have somebody ask " What've you got there? " and take out his own to show.
I wonder if they still whittle down in front of the general store in Lisbon?
Warm and partly cloudy, we rode up north from Di's place in Olney and took small roads till we hit Rt 144 and turned west. Heading down the road at a nice speed for admiring the rolling farmland, we passed through the town of Lisbon, and the smell of grilling meat was heavy on the air. There was a gas station with a side buisness of having those big black BBQ cookers. We made a u-turn and pulled in to have lunch. it's funny, but when your hungrey the smell of fresh grilling meat is not to be denied. Must go back to our neolithic genes.
They had quite a set-up there, one big cooker had chickens BBQ'ing, and the other had beef. Racks of ribs, slabs of brisket. Karen and I opted for the sliced brisket with a side order of country fries. Of course the beef was served on paper plates with plastic knives and forks. I can report that it was some of the best BBQ'd meat I ever ate, but the plastic knives were not up to the task. Not that the meat was tough, not at all. Just that the particular kind of plastic knives they had did not have any little plastic "teeth" like some do. Faced with the hunger driven need to feed, the pocket knives came out. Karen had her number 8 Opinel in her purse, and I had one of my soddies. We sat there at the picnic table and enjoyed out food, and the young 17 or 18 year old kid who was manning the BBQ saw us using our pocket knives and came over out of interest. I then knew that we were in real farm country when I can pull out a knife in public and instead of sheeple recoiling, someone comes over to see what we have and talk knives with us.
He had never seen an Opinel and was impressed with the edge and simple lock, and he said some of his family had sodbusters in thier pockets. He then took out a well worn Schrade Old Timer stockman, and told us his dad had given it to him several Christmas's ago. it was very deeply patina'd, with the blades a dark grey. The brown saw cut delrin handles were worn enough in some spots that the lines of the saw cuts were very shallow. But it had been very well cared for, there were no broken blade tips like you see on some knives, and it was very sharp. We talked knives while we ate, and he waited on some other drive up customers, serving sliced beef and ribs.
I watched him portion out a half a rack of ribs to a customer, using an Old Hickory butcher knife to half the rack, and it sliced right through the rack. Obviously very sharp. I complimented him on his sharp knives, and he took out a deeply concaved old carborundum stone from under the table and proudly showed me he knew how to sharpen a knife. And he was a nice kid. He always said "yes mam" to Karen and called me sir, and he even had his ball cap on the right way. It was like somehow we had ridden into a twilight zone rift to a very long time ago. Somehow we rode down a little country road and ended up in Mayberry. I half expected to see Andy pull up for lunch in his '62 Ford patrol car.
Lunch over, I felt strangly reluctant to leave, but the road waited. We climbed back on our Vespa's and cruised out of Lisbon Maryland, down the road back to the future, and I had the thought that maybe we could sell the house and fine a nice little farm house up that-a-way. Karen and I had been talking of late about moving someplace slower, a bit more suited for retirement. So had her sis Di, and her man Roy. We'd looked toward the Carolina's, but here was a place out of time almost in our backyard.
It would be nice to live someplace that I could take out a pocket knife for something, and have somebody ask " What've you got there? " and take out his own to show.
I wonder if they still whittle down in front of the general store in Lisbon?
