|Organized enough for ya? 9/23|
Sunday. 47th and midtown. High tide, about 5:30 in the afternoon. Water still reading 70F. Air a bit cooler; 'bout 68 (broke out the rubber long sleeve top). Strong NNE winds, 10- 15 mph. contributing to a southbound current that was a force to be reckoned with. Chest high surf that supposed to be somewhat clean. I wasn't feelin' it. At all. I fought it it the entire hour I was out. See, if you fight it, you cannot find your groove. Then that Stoke you drove 45 minutes for to help forget about the heartbreak of another Redskin loss, that Stoke that eases in the cooler autumn temps and the dreaded end-of-session wind chills, that Stoke that just smooths out the wrinkles of the day... it don't happen. Sucks. I fought for position in the lineup for just one ride. Just one. I fought the current. I fought the rips. I fought the close-outs and getting caught inside time and time again. Just one. Among the few times I would sit for a moment to catch my bearings whilst spitting salt watching the shoreline go by like a movie reel, I would find myself thinkin', "I want just one decent ride. Fuc#ing one!" A real kook session, lemme tell ya. And then, a stomach high left with a rare soft shoulder. Snagged it and shot across and down a surprisingly smooth face into the soup. Swung around right into a wall of foam and knocked down backwards. But now I was in knee deep froth, and about six or so blocks down south. Time to walk. Just as I took off I caught a glimpse of three more souls entering the arena. As I trudged back (against that wind chill I mentioned), the Ride had me considering another attempt on the coaster. But as the aforementioned three struggled to find the evening's elusive stoke, I relented. Notice, I did not reconsider...I wanted back in. I relented. No fun, no groove. No groove, no stoke.
|A calmer 9/20. Late evening closed out floater.|
The 7'4" SS gave me my One. One ride, one peace. For that
I am grateful.
The night's warmer, Fordham Brewing's Spiced Harvest Ale. 6.6% ABV, 18 IBUs. Pours amber in color with a thin tan head. I could smell the pumpkin and clove as I brought it to my mouth, but the taste was all clove, ginger, cinnamon, allspice, and nutmeg. Like having pumpkin pie without the pumpkin. A gingerbready maltiness dominates with a light sweetness and hop touch. Compared to the Fall beer selection that is out there, average. Nothing that I thought to stand out. I graded it a C.
|"I've had only two, in dog beers"|
"Need more than that to deal with
those damn 'Skins" -Rogue