Guideline #1032

Don't go to a beer festival by yourself.

It just happened. No big deal. I ended up in a small room surrounded by beer in Beautiful Northern California with no one to share it with.

I know the beers Very Well. The people not so well. I do know them, not personally, but culturally. This is Fort Bragg. Most of these people know each other. It's a good vibe, small town social event. I've been to a lot of them. Everyone checking everyone out, drinking beer, country band on stage, raining off and on outside, good times. Lots of Beardos, and not in that bicycle, vegan, former messenger, over thirty, bartender, vegetarian, bike mechanic, It's wintertime!, got two kids and a blog kinda way.

So I don't know anybody. GG went to the beach. Dre is late. Don't blame him at all, and it's just as well. $30 to get in and I've already had 85 percent of the beers offered before. I talked to a few favorites. Brian Hunt, local extremist, at Moonlight. Rodger Davis, another interesting local, at Triple Rock. I tasted a few new things, Six Rivers, and some of my regulars. Dropped a few SALTS cards on those who looked like they might pop a tin, and left. It was a fine time, but Dre can spend the thirty down at North Coast.

I've got a nice beer buzz working well at this point. I'm walking across Fort Bragg, happy to be here. Along the way I call A23 to check in and tell him it's his fault I didn't have anybody to talk to at the beer fest.

He tells me I've got to look for a bar, can't remember the name, just off the main drag.

It's like you've died and gone to bar heaven

At that very moment I look up from my shoes and see a sign.

Is it called the Golden West?

Yes, Yes It Is. See if Kip's still there.

Kip says, "Hi".