This morning I crept out of the Airbnb at quarter to six while the family slept soundly. I set out to take part in the infamous Tucson Shootout ride, known as one of the spiciest group rides in the continental United States.
I would love to report to you that, yes, the rumors are true. And, yes, ya girl could hang with the pack. And that, yes, the pace is spicier than a Hot Tamale. But, at mile forty five of the slated one-oh-five the Saguaro had its way with my rubber and I found myself at a cool zero mph with a thorn in my tire and a Sonoran hot dog on my mind (IYKYK - but, patience, we will get there).
I was a-okay with the turn of events. The pancake-flat landscape and fifty-six degree weather allowed for an all-out effort on the part of yours truly. It was one of those afternoons where you find yourself mumbling to yourself, what a day to be alive!
Feeling rebarbative, the dessert threw another curve ball and I found myself with a second flat…two miles from a bike shop. Had there been so much as one cloud freckling the visage of the sun, I can't say I'd've been so cheerful. But the clear skies buoyed me into solution-finding-mode.
Digression: Over the last few years I've come to identify as a Solar Powered Person, SPP for short. The weather in Texas has left me feeling bereft. I have longed for the whisper of a person I once was over the summer. Her optimism, her energy, her socializing abilities. But here in the desert, she came back with a caustic optimism that would have chafed even the least negative of Nancys. End Digression.
I limped my bike to the shop (pausing every quarter mile to air up), changed the tire, and refilled my bike bag with fresh tubes lest the arid landscape try to pull another fast one on me. All was hunky dory.
Except! The only problem with this detour was my stomach. After rough housing with the soul of the Sonoran Desert, pervasive thoughts of the Sonoran Dog began to fetch a bit of airspace in my mind.
Sonoran Hot Dog (noun): a style of hot dog that originated in Hermosillo, the capital of the Mexican state of Sonora, in the late 1980s. It is popular in Tucson, Phoenix and elsewhere in southern Arizona. It consists of a hot dog that is wrapped in bacon and grilled, served on a bolillo-style hot dog bun, and topped with pinto beans, onions, tomatoes, and a variety of additional condiments, often including mayonnaise, mustard, and jalapeño salsa. [Source: Wikipedia]
We all know where this is going so I'm going to fast forward in time to the part where I got that dog in me.
My vegan friend Lily (oh, the irony!) directed me to a highly-rated doguero on my route home called Quesadilla. Boy Howdy! This four dollar meal may be one of the most delicious things I’ve tasted in my thirty-two years on this earth. I scarfed that puppy down with gusto, only pausing to inspect the final bite: hey, this was not the canonical Sonoran Dog I was promised! It was missing the beans! Ah well, I thought, seems I'll have to try another location (tomorrow?). The "Sonoran Hot Dog Restaurant" Google search renders a surfeit of options that just recalling all the scrolling I did makes my thumb tired.
Until tomorrow, dog,
Cayla
P.s. if you’ve made it this far and are wondering, where’s the beef?! I promise you, these dogs are best peeped en persona. While delectable to the taste buds, ain’t nobody here consented to a newsletter full of weiner pics.
I grew up eating those hot dogs. Hoping you find those beans because that is the special thing. 🙂