Whiskey Wednesday is getting a little weird. We’re in this awkward shoulder season between sports and we’re kind of floundering. Breckenwolf has shut down for the season due to an act of God (no kidding), but it’s too cold to start mountain biking after work. I know there are plenty of bikers out there who are riding when it’s 20 degrees and crusty, but that’s not us. We’re too delicate. So we’ve been wandering from activity to activity without purpose. Sometimes we climb, sometimes we play ping pong, sometimes we just go straight to the whiskey. It’s fine, but I’m worried we’re going to get into trouble. We’re like a bunch of herding dogs without a job; We’ll start digging through the trash and licking ourselves if we don’t have something positive to focus on.
Here’s an example. This week, we started with climbing in the gym downtown, but quickly moved to bourbon drinks and charcuterie at the fancy restaurant across the street. My shoulder was hurting and drinking seemed like a smarter option than climbing. Then we spent a couple of hours wandering the streets, hitting “salsa night” at a local cocktail bar before ending up in a tiki bar arguing with some really drunk lady about which small town in New York is more “upstate.” I could care less about how you divide Upstate New York, but arguing about it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
We’re kind of like those kids in high school who had to play organized sports to keep from getting in trouble after school. We’ve been kicked off the team for bad grades, and now we’re spending our free time perfecting our graffiti tags. It’s only a matter of time before we start holding drunken foot races outside the bar. Again.
The one upshot of this awkward shoulder season where we can’t ski or bike is I had the chance to drink some really good beer on Whiskey Wednesday. I started with an IPA from Palmetto Brewing that was juicy and bitter, went into a beautiful saison from Tennessee’s Blackberry Farms (if you like saisons, track it down) and finished with some Miller High Lifes. A lot of Miller High Lifes. I’m not proud of it, but it was the end of the night and my decision-making skills weren’t at their sharpest. Shortly after, I spilled scolding hot soup on my crotch.
Please, get me out of shoulder season before I hurt myself.