H.O.T.D.O.G.S. – High-Octane Touring, Devouring Outstanding Grilled Sausages

There’s something special about going back to a place you’ve already been—especially when you return with people who get it. A while back, I rode out to The Dog House solo in Hagerstown, Maryland, after reading a Facebook review. It was one of those quiet, personal rides where the road clears your head, and the destination just happens to serve killer hotdogs. But this time? I came back with the crew. Uncle Beardly. The Stig. Three bikes, zero expectations, and one delicious goal.

It was crisp when we rolled out—one of those mornings where the sun makes promises it doesn’t keep until later. The Stig (We agreed to call him The Stig—partly because he rides like a machine, and mostly because yelling F**kface across a gas station parking lot didn’t feel very family friendly.) pulled in around 10am, and by 10:15 we were carving backroads, chasing curves, throttle therapy, and, yeah... hotdogs.

We dipped into the gentle curves of Route 32, then hit the scenic charm of MD-144 — a narrow, winding, one-lane ribbon of road that makes you feel like you're sneaking through Maryland’s secret backyards. From there, we picked up Route 340 and let the open road guide us. Somewhere around Sandy Hook Road, I had to pull over and strip off my over pants. The sun had punched through the clouds, and with my heavy leather jacket still zipped tight, I was cooking like one of the hotdogs we were chasing. Overheating on a ride is a no-go for me—triggers anxiety, dehydration, and a brain full of “what ifs.” So, quick parking lot pit stop, gear adjusted, vibes restored.

Sandy Hook Road is a gem—snaking alongside the C&O Canal, with homes on one side and adventurers on foot and bike on the other. That road took us to Harper’s Ferry Road, where things really got twisty. As we leaned into the curves heading toward Shepherdstown, I laughed thinking about how I’d been craving a grinder all week. But today, the calorie budget was locked in: hotdogs or bust.

We cut through Rt 67 to 40, and finally rolled into Hagerstown. The energy shifted. Some corners were filled with folks clearly struggling, battling visible addiction. It was sobering—but also a reminder that we were lucky to be doing what we were doing. We found free parking (a win) and made our way to the destination: The Dog House.

So glad my dietician doesn't read my blog.

The Dog House doesn’t mess around.

I went in hard—starving, sweaty, and ready to crush some dogs. First up: the Coney Island Dog—beef hotdog smothered in chili and cheese. Then I doubled down with the Southern Dog, loaded with pulled pork and coleslaw. Toss in a side of fries and you’ve got a full belly and zero regrets.

Honestly, the entire ordering moment felt like this reel: https://www.instagram.com/wolvesofglendale/reel/C9iCo7QPUQ0/?hl=en

Pure chaos, hotdog tunnel vision, and absolutely no thoughts of portion control.

Uncle Beardly and The Stig went with the MacDogs—hotdogs piled high with mac and cheese. They looked insane. I’m definitely getting one next time. (P.S. Today, I'm eating a large salad to repent for lack of self-control.)

Bellies full, we waddled back to the parking lot, saddled up, and aimed the bikes toward home. After a fuel-up, The Stig had one last detour planned, so at a red light, I bid him farewell, and Beardly and I took a different exit and looped back onto MD-144, making our way toward Severn with the sun hanging low and the road humming beneath us.

The ride back was beautiful but hot—my black leather jacket felt like a portable sauna. At one point, riding in the rear, intrusive thoughts started to creep in: Am I overheating? Dehydrated? Should I have worn the mesh jacket? Classic anxiety trying to ride pillion. But then I looked up and saw Beardly and ShaneBot ahead of me, carving through the road. I remembered where I was and what we were doing—three travelers on a rock spinning through the cosmos, half a day, 200 miles, and the dumbest, most joyful reason to ride: a hotdog run.

Sure, it’s time to swap out the leather for something more breathable. But today, the sweat was worth it—for the dogs, the roads, the laughter, and the kind of memories you can only make on two wheels with good company. Ride safe. Eat weird. Take the long way home

Brake, Bite, Breathe

-Dom