A look of disgust fell across his boyish visage before he announced in his perfect Cambridge-educated English accent;
Good Lord you American's know no boundaries! CHEESE-IS-NOT-A-BREAKFAST-FOOD!
The verbal dart bounced off like rubber as Jenny squirted a top layer of honey over the breakfast taco, folded it neatly and handed it over. I smiled, dipped the delicacy into my coffee and devoured half in a single bite. I chewed with a content smile, swallowed and reminded young David,
Wasn't porridge the meal that Oliver Twist was served three times a day as an orphan in a Parrish Workhouse? Why on earth would you subject yourself to the same daily punishment?
Without hesitation or missing his next spoonful of tasteless pale mush David retorted,
Of course they served porridge; That way the boys all felt rich, lucky and fortunate. It is truly the breakfast of Kings.
I smirked, inhaled the remainder of my breakfast sandwich and washed it down with the balance of my coffee.
You have obviously never had a decent breakfast scramble, and it doesn't change the fact that oatmeal tastes like shit David, I retorted just to be sure that I had the last word.
Those who know me well can attest to the fact that I often can't be bothered with polite niceties and feel more comfortable with folks who are sarcastic, witty and a little bit politically incorrect. My suspect social skills favor those who are not easily offended as well.
Within moments of meeting Dave and Tom at Honeyman State Park, I could tell that they were my type of folks. Drinking tall Budweiser beers while tossing a rugby ball inches over the heads of fellow tourists long before they bothered to change out of their matching Union Jack jersey's that reeked of sweat gained my respect in a minute and announced to World that fun was high on their priority list.
When the road becomes your home, you seek the community of those you feel the most kinship to. David and Tom's easy smiles, quick charm and ability tolerate my sophomoric humor made them easy to like. For the next ten days Jen and I shared campsites, meals, beers, and many laughs as we built a friendship with our new British companions. While much of the cycling along the Pacific Coast was nothing short of stunning; sharing inside jokes, trading juvenile insults, and celebrating idiosyncratic norms of both our cultures will remain my most most vivid and joyous memories of the Pacific Tour.
San Francisco marks a fork in the road for Jen and me. Wednesday we will turn our noses east, brave the heat of the Sacramento Valley and head into the steeps of the Sierra Mountains. As we depart this ocean for the other and leave behind the cool mornings and magical sunsets of the Pacific Coast, it is the familiar faces of companions from the road that I will miss the most. I am saddened to leave some new friends behind but I am confident that the next bend in the road will bring another opportunity for camaraderie with those I do not yet know.