Now I’m as likely as the next guy with a strong gag reflex to hang out at an establishment with the word “poop” in the name, but I heard that the Poop Deck was a New England sports bar, so I had to check it out.
Every once in a while, the girl and I feel like it’s a good idea to ride our bikes from Santa Monica down to Hermosa Beach, drink some beers, and then ride back. The ride home is usually filled with life lessons about dehydration, but after a couple months the body forgets and it’s time for another ride. Well it was time for another ride. We hopped on the bikes and headed south on what would be a great beach cruiser ride if it wasn’t for that damn marina (seriously can’t we build a bridge or something? Maybe a ramp? I’d go for it.)
We stopped in at Good Stuff for a veggie burger and monster-sized soda and then made our way to the Poop Deck. There’s something cool about going from the bright rays of Hermosa Beach to the shadowy darkness of a beach bar. We got a couple beers (or more, who’s counting) and headed back north (seriously think about that marina thing) with an always mandatory stop off at the rest rooms at Fisherman’s Village. I like the Poop Deck, I’d be there on the daily if I lived down there and was an alcoholic.
