Before mounting our bikes for the day and heading downhill and leaving Beaverdell for the flatter expanses of Rock Creek, we decided to have breakfast at a place recommended to us the night before. A place called "It's Mom's".
Not having seen a restaurant at that end of Beaverdell, we didn't know what to expect. To call it a shack might give you the wrong impression. It was more like a booth that you might find a country fair. One serving ice cream filled waffles or that sweet and salty popcorn everyone seems to like.
Behind the wooden structure a number of tents offered shade and a measure of privacy for diners seated at neatly set tables covered in checkered tablecloths and cutesy homemade napkin holders.
A couple of older guys that we recognized from the restaurant last night were joshing with “Mom” as they slurped their morning coffee and bullshitted the morning away.
“Mom” whose real name was Marge, offered us our own tent after taking our orders and explaining to us that she’d been in business for three years. It would seem that there is not much chance for employment in Beaverdell so Marge made her own job – serving up simple meals and snacks for those who would care to pull off the highway and nosh. An impressive act of self-determination - instead of pulling pogey and living off the government's generosity.
The simple breakfast of a cheese omelette, hash brown potatoes, toast and jam was washed down with strong black coffee and was a far sight more satisfying than the time Roy and I spooned oatmeal into our faces while standing on the road trying to stay warm on a cold Beaverdell morning a couple of years ago.
I was especially pleased to have a knife and fork in my possession for the rest of the trip since I had lost my $12.50 folding spork somewhere at one of our camps and had been wondering how I was going to eat for the rest of the bike trip.