We went riding on our motorcycle with Jim and Kim, two retired cops from New York state. Just south of Inverness we cruised down a picturesque road that
meandered along a marshy river. We
stopped for lunch at a place called Sleepy Hollow, a place another motorcycle friend had seen on a
former ride. The windowless building
looked like a gigantic chicken coop as the walls and roof were constructed of
corrugated steel. It was situated along
the river under huge oak trees, Spanish moss draping from their limbs. 
“Bikers Welcome” read the sign out front
but upon entering the restaurant I concluded that we were not the typical
bikers that frequented this eatery.
Several tough looking men were perched on stools at the bar. The woman who took our order had a hard edge
to her and was also the cook and bartender.
“We don’t have any coffee” she replied in a cheery tone to my request
for one. Imagine, a restaurant that
doesn’t serve coffee. Our ice water was
served in huge, styrofoam cups and lunch was presented in styrofoam takeout
containers accompanied by plastic cutlery.
Behind the bar was a sign, “we don’t call 911” and beside it a photo of
a gun. The washrooms doors were
designated, “Sows” and “Boars”. A man
at the bar who we surmised to be the owner seemed unconcerned about offending
any of the patrons as he repeatedly seasoned his loud conversation with foul
words. Well this sow has to pee,” I
said getting up from the table, leaving the others laughing.
You know the old adage, “don’t judge a book
by its cover”. The food and the service
was very good at Sleepy Hollow.
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