Fish and chips, please

I’ve been craving fish and chips for about a week. The American equivalent to that – or maybe just the Oklahoma equivalent – is to crave Long John Silver’s. It still exists, right? Basically, it’s just deep-fried everything on greasy paper.

The last time this happened to me was when I moved to Mexico. For the first year every time I returned to the states, my first stop after arrival was LJS’s (Remember, Tara?)

I don’t eat at LJS’s. Hadn’t since I was a kid. Haven’t since that first year in Mexico. Now I’m craving that again. The only thing I could figure out then and I think I’ve confirmed it now is that craving fish and chips is a sign that I’m not getting the daily intake of fat to which I’m accustomed or which I need.

Maybe that’s why my first week on the road I ate a half pound of butter. Even considered putting it in my coffee, but I ran out piling it on my bread. Burning calories in the cold make me see how reasonable eating whale blubber might be. I’m not there yet and wouldn’t know where to find it anyway, but it’s an idea.

These are the things I’m thinking while waiting on the fried fish I ordered at the only restaurant in Saltstraumen where I’m spending my day off. While Saltstraumen is special because of the flow of water between two fjords – they call it a maelstrom – which makes it great for fishing, I just took a day off because it was time for a day off.

For one thing, my cycling clothes were getting ripe. For another, I didn’t get to a stopping place until 9 pm yesterday and then had to work out some issues on my return flight next month. Thanks to mi hija Cynthia Burkhart for being the go-between.

So I did laundry in the morning and I walked up to this restaurant looking for some fried fish. At first the restaurant guy looked right through me. It’s kind of a nice restaurant. I don’t know who or what he thought I was. I’m guessing I’m looking a little rough, a little like the riff raff from down the hill. I think I’ve seen Norwegian riff raff and, yeah, I probably do look a little like that.

I also look a little overdressed quantity-wise, not quality-wise. While the locals are wearing shorts and maybe a windbreaker, I’m dressed for Arctic survival. Thermal pretty much everything. I’m sure the cyclists i meet on the road are wondering if there’s a dramatic temperature drop up ahead when they see me.

Nevertheless, I’ve about got the cycling clothes figured out for 54 to 58 degrees for minimum sweating uphill and sufficient coverage downhill. …While others are solving the world’s problems, I’m busy working out what to wear.

This is my life right now.

Left the archipelagos on the Moskenes-Bodø ferry yesterday. It was a 60-mile three-hour crossing. I did what I do best on ferries: I fell asleep. Now comes the mainland. If my mileage-keeping is correct, I’ve got just over 1,000 miles to go.

The fish was good, by the way. Not Long John Silver’s, but it’ll do. Norway comes in dead last on most national cuisine rankings, so…we’ll call it a win!