Strong Beer Fest | Part 3

I may have oversold this chapter with that “pure unadulterated insanity” business, but some strange and amusing things did happen (as they sometimes do when alcohol’s involved). Here are the festival’s oddest moments.

The Ugly

1. The wall o’ toilets

Against a building on the park’s eastern edge stood twenty or so bright orange porta-potties. Groups of people milled about outside them, swaying as they waited. After much drinking, my bladder led me over there. I soon stepped inside a carrot-colored room and gazed down into that unholy cauldron. Gross.

But then I noticed a sign on the wall. “$2,000 fine for dumping hazardous waste.” And I had a camera. Too easy. I reached down, unvelcroed the leather case on my belt, and whipped out the megapixels. Then I heard a click, the battery hatch swung open, and two AA batteries tumbled into the abyss. My neighbors must’ve heard two plunks and a “dammit!” and assumed I was muscling through some difficulties. After this mishap I stopped drinking, but my buzz lasted a while longer judging by the gibberish in my

2. Tasting notes

This part will probably seem similar to my drunken review because it’s almost exactly the same thing. I found some scraps of paper in my pocket after the festival, and they contained gems of wisdom like, “why’s there grass in my pockets?” I wrote about grass extensively.

Apparently my accomplice, Ryan, stole my note pad and wrote a poem about beer, which I have posted below, spelling errors and all:

This cup
Empty hops
Epmpty malts
Thoroughfair of tastes
You smell of caramel
You smell of flawers
Golden brown
tasty like some
Or a crimson
Blood colored brew
tell me…
Does the bitterness
make you think
of an empty oak cask
aged at the bottem
sediment so profound and
so distinct
Like a ten penny
and an old dive
following a trappist
monk on his way
to the inebreator

Well met, my friend. But the next event of the day will really make you wonder


The festival had ended, and although I’d stopped drinking long before the last beer was served, I needed a bit more time before driving. So we made for a sittin’ tree, but a Native American gentleman in his early middle age stopped us. He inquired about the beer festival, then asked if we’d be willing to help him buy a beer of his own. I was admiring the straightforwardness of his panhandling pitch when Ryan extended a five dollar bill. Then everything went bananas.

He said thanks, took us each by the hand, and began muttering in a distinctly non-Englishy language. It escalated into some light chanting, and he got a little grabby. He also started dancing, sort of. Suddenly he stopped, thanked us again, and walked away. We plopped down against the tree, thoroughly befuddled. Thankfully, our confusion was disrupted when we received some

4. Free beer

A young man walked by carrying a box. His job appeared to be removing leftovers as other men disassembled and packed up the festival. Noticing us, he asked, “You like beer?” I might have responded with “duh” (hopefully something nicer), and, like the patron saint of beer himself, he pulled out a bomber of Great Divide’s Yeti Imperial Stout and handed it to us. We almost wept.

So the event ended on a high note. The protagonists emerged victorious despite numerous setbacks, and, in the end, it was an entertaining and fruitful day. Now let us never speak of it again.

4 Responses to “Strong Beer Fest | Part 3”
  1. FIL says:

    1. hahahahahahah!
    2. ??????? eh?
    3. you win — couldn’t top that on my best/worst day
    4. holy crap! That does it I’m going next year & bringin a video camera (no one would beleive any of it otherwise)

  2. Shane says:

    Those three articles were amazing – I did some chuckling. Your beer wisdom appears to grow, grasshopper.

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