DoppelBacchanalia: The Sixth Annual Bootlegger's Bliss is Almost Upon Us......

"The majority of wines, almost all spirits, and every one of the beers whose memory I have evoked here have today completely lost their tastes — first on the world market and then locally — with the progress of industry as well as the disappearance or economic re-education of the social classes that had long remained independent of large industrial production, and so too of the various regulations that now prohibit virtually anything that is not industrially produced. The bottles, so that they can still be sold, have faithfully retained their labels; this attention to detail provides the assurance that one can photograph them as they used to be, not drink them." 
—Guy Debord, "Panegyric - Volume I" (1989)
"Suffering results from constraint. A portion of pure delight, no matter how tiny, will hold it at bay.  To work for delight and authentic festivity is barely distinguishable from preparing for a general insurrection."
—Raoul Vaneigem, "The Revolution of Everyday Life"
"Sooner barbarity than boredom."
—Theophile Gautier


This then, is it.  Again.

Fall returns. Leaves renounce their lofty perch and drift (dérive! dérive!) like wayward angels to the waiting earth.  The air, cool and crisp and clean, beckons smoke from blackened chimneys.  Autumn skies whisper elegies to summer evenings past.  The moon is a melancholy mirror.

And the dirt in Pennsylvania, the very dirt to which we all return one day, is already like poison in the wound.*

Now is the season when the Bliss reigns supreme.  Post-Halloween, pre-Thanksgiving, its timing is nothing if not divine.  And this year is different.  This year, the preternatural power of the Bliss to renounce the anhedral, stultifying grip of modern culture is two-fold.  The late, great Terrence McKenna, in speaking of hallucinogens, said, "When in doubt, double the dose."  Indeed.  The Bliss, second to no substance in its herculean ability to transcend the ordinary, to burn the paper throne beneath the ego's bloated ass, to rouse the sinful spirit from the plastic puppet that dutifully bends to the might of the moneyed marionettes, the Bliss, the Bliss is racing toward you on a fat-tired tandem, and over its shoulder can be seen a diabolical double, a dastardly doppelgänger, a querulous Quilty to the hapless Humbert at the helm, leering and drooling and laughing maniacally.  And hell-bent on destruction.

This, my friends, is going to be good.  Stay tuned.

*With profound apologies to the Potentate of Parody, the Prince of Prose, Vladimir Nabokov.

Blissful Thinking...

To the two faithful readers who come back to this blog once a quarter to see if I’ve galvanized myself into throwing pixels on the page once again, I say, "Thank you for your misplaced fidelity!”  To those sloth-like embracers of pop technology who are pushed here via RSS feeds, I say, "Welcome back!"  And to the handful who are led astray each week by less discriminating search engines to find themselves run aground on this oft-barren beach, I say, "Better luck next time."

All these introductory words to say that, yes, the Sixth Annual Bootlegger's Bliss will indeed go down this fall.  Zealots of zymurgy, rejoice!

Here's the status and some fuzzy details:  I am anxiously awaiting word on the availability of a particular venue that would allow us the proper luxury of a two-day event.  The target date is the weekend of Satyrday, November 5 October 29.  Although it's a two-day event, I have taken pains to plan it in such a way as to allow those whose free time is limited the option of attending either one of the two days.  If I the two-day venue logistics don't pan out, then it's back to a one-day event, which would be the aforementioned Satyrday (11/5).  Partakers of Bliss's past can expect an email with details tomorrow evening.

If you haven't brewed, it's late, but you still have time, depending on the style.  My apologies for the procrastination.

Quick Summary of Tentative Details   

Date: Satyrday, October 29, 2011, through Stunday, October 30, 2011
Location: Awaiting Confirmation--if confirmed (likely), this will be a new and fantastic venue
Time:  11:00 a.m.

Beer, Bikes, Be-attitude...

It is finished. The Fifth Annual Bootlegger's Bliss is over. I'll pause a moment to give you all time to grieve.

. . .

Now that all the wailing and gnashing of teeth has concluded, here's a bit of good news: there are a few souveniers floating around in cyberspace. For example, Arne of Log Posse fame was kind enough to capture a few minutes of the Ass-fault Derby™ and Tabletop Trials™ events, and kinder still to unleash them on an unsuspecting and largely somnambulant world.  Submitted for your consideration, one expertly produced video of some of last Satyrday's sot-ridden shenanigans:

Bootleggers Bliss 2010 from arne fleisher on Vimeo.

We were forced to skip these two vital points of the Sacred Estoile (the other three being the ride, the homebrew, and the home-made food) last year, and it's good to see them return again, along with a new one: Jungle-gymnastics (see 2 pix near bottom).

Thanks, Arne!

Ass-fault Derby™...

(Above photo credits: Arne Fleisher)

Tabletop Trials™...

Jungle-gymnastics™...

Colossal thanks to everyone who came out to (again) make this such a fun and unforgettable event! Write-up (and more vids) coming soon, I hope.  Until then, ¡Salud!

12 Hours and Counting...

The Bliss is on like the eponymous video game gorilla.  Everyone who can't make it, well, in every game, there has to be some losers, n'est ce pas?

Bliss turns five this year.  Still just a baby, but what an appetite for all things hedonistic!

Time to rediscover my mountain bike. As for the bottle, let's just say I've got that down pat...

473.176473 milliliters...

Born in the USA. Like the beer it will soon hold.

No Title Necessary...

Bliss–en–scène...

Don't worry, smile and dance
You just can't work life out
Don't let down moods entrance you
Take the wine and shout...
Pete Townshend
Empty Glass
Empty Glass

The venue for the 5th Annual Bootlegger's Bliss is a done deal.  Email with full disclosure (see excerpt below, redacted to protect the guilty and modified slightly for higher entertainment value) has gone out to all the interested parties whose email addies are in my virtual possession.

If you didn't get an email and have the temerity to read this blog with great disinterest and a snide smirk on your chapped lips simply because there is nothing better to do in your pre-planned, ghost-scripted, over-before-it's-biologically-over life, well, get hold of someone who did get the email and show your ass up on the date of this ungodly (unGodly?) Feast of the Immaculate Flocculation, held annually in homage to the sacred yeast-beast,  Saccharomyces Cerevisiae (with a lesser tip-o'-the-Triregnum to sister Saccharomyces Uvarum), that rules the avenues of escape from this work-weary world.

Ah, the Bliss, that personally famous, uber-unique, beer-and-bike extravaganza where the best of two of the best demi-worlds come together with all the excitement, explosive transcendence, and general dissociative euphoria normally reserved for those moments when the corpuscles of Krause have entered the "phase of frenzy" (yeah, it's a sexual reference; look it up already).  It's all about freeing yourself from the shackles of co-opting commerce and the increasingly surreal work-a-day world that steals the visceral and leaves in its place a claptrap chimera that withers under even the most fleeting of gazes. And really, who wants that?

Miss the Bliss and suddenly life seems a tad more tarnished than it did yesterday, a bit more boring, a trifle more tiresome, a dash more dreary.  You've been warned...

Greetings, fellow Bootleggers,


You are receiving this email because either a) you have expressed exceptional taste by evincing an interest in attending the 5th Annual Bootlegger's Bliss, b) I like you and thought you might be interested in this vital metabolically-powered social event, or c) I simply screwed up and you're the random beneficiary, lucky you.  Regardless, PLEASE READ WHAT FOLLOWS IN ITS ENTIRETY.  Amid the clever gems of humor (key word) herein reside important flecks of information designed to help you make the most of your participation.  Yes, it's a wee bit long, but I promise it won't make your brain hurt.  Okay, here goes nothing...


As you know, this year's event takes place at (redacted) in (redacted). Here are the remaining details plus a few reminders so that everyone knows what to expect.


DATE: Satyrday, November 6th.



START TIME: 10:30 a.m. This relatively late start time is to accomodate those with children and the less responsbile sots who overdrank the night before.


VENUE: (Redacted) Please carpool if possible, cuz to 'pool is cool. For directions, plug the addy above into Google Maps, then use the attached map file of the (redacted) area once you arrive at the park proper to make your way to the specific site. Which brings us to...


SITE: (Redacted) This is a covered pavilion that accomodates up to 100 guests--plenty of room.


CONTACT NUMBER: (Redacted) That's me.


TRAIL DESCRIPTION: Length has not been determined yet, but I have my boy Baler on it even as you read this...good thing he works for cheap beer. At any rate, expect a ten- to twelve-mile loop with bailout options. A great mix of almost everything that makes mountain biking desirable: single- and double-track, climbs, descents, logs, roots, more logs, rocks, potential shallow stream crossings, the occasional wayward white cardboard box, broken bones. Single-speed friendly. Newbie friendly, because you can always walk your bike, yeah?


POST-RIDE ACTIVITES: Drinking homebrew, eating homemade food, socializing, engaging in a wheel-folding, bike-breaking ass-fault derby, and possibly trying your hand (the one not holding a beer) at some table-top trialsin' (or at least watching it all) Anything else is between you and the other consenting adult(s).


WHAT TO BRING:
1. Homebrew; a six-pack or equivalent (if you're the guest of a homebrewer, make sure your chaperone brings extra beer to compensate).


2. A homemade dish (food!) and the means to heat it if necessary – something warm and tasty and creative; enough to share (if you're a guest who is not bringing homebrew, here's your chance to shine). I'm pretty sure that electrical outlets will be available and operational--if you plan to use electricity, let me know and I will confirm for you.


3. A bike suitable for riding off-road that will deliver your ass safely to the post-ride potlatch picnic; preferably one you don't mind beating up a little in the post-feast derby...you know, something like a Jones Spaceframe. Single speeds and fixed gears rule, but unicycles absolutely fuckin' DOMINATE!


4. $(Redacted). This is a PER VEHICLE charge because it's late in the season.


5. A good attitude. Leave all your heavy angst behind, preferably at work. If it comes with you, lose it on the trail. Also, drink as much as you want, but please remember to stop early enough to sober up for the drive home or make appropriate arrangements up front to have someone sober do the driving at the end of the day. Killing someone you don't know and who you wouldn't normally (when sober) choose to kill, especially by running them down with several tons of steel, is a horrible thing. This is serious shit.


6. A criminal mentality. I cannot overemphasize the importance of this. If you don't understand what I mean here, be patient. It'll hit you like a thunderous peristaltic epiphany after a little post-Bliss reflection in the days that follow.


7. A camera to take pictures of me and all the mishaps and mysterious malfunctions.


8. Members of your direct family, including kids and pets. I'll try to keep the f-bombs to a minimum.


WHAT TO LEAVE AT HOME:
1. Commercially produced beer, however "micro" in origin. This is all about homebrew. I will personally urinate on the tires of anyone who dares bring commercial beer to the event. Repeatedly. And with pants in the fully dropped position. The Bliss is a DIY-themed potlatch; the Y in DIY stands for You, not Yuengling.


2. Commercially prepared food. The Bliss is a DIY-themed potlatch; the Y in DIY means You, not Yum! Brands, Inc.


RAIN DATE: Undetermined. If it rains in the days BEFORE the event, I'll make a decision and communicate it via email. If it rains the day OF the event, well, a little rain and we ride; a lot of rain and we eat, drink, and be merry, to include a deluge derby and thunder-tympani trials extravaganza.


DISCLAIMER 1: Mountain biking is inherently dangerous! Ride at your own risk. According to the Surgeon General, women should not drinkalcoholic beverages during pregnancy because of the risk of birth defects. Also, consumption of alcoholic beverages your ability to drive a car or operate machinery, and may cause serious health problems, delusions of self-worth and self-image, pathetic pawing of others whom you feel attracted to but would otherwise leave unmolested when sober, Bukowski-like introspection, and& a host of other wonderfully lurid things that give small-minded people something to gossip about. Oh, and drinking and driving blows. Seriously.



DISCLAIMER 2: The Bliss is a DIY type of event. As such, it is subject to change based on a variety of conditions, including, but not limited to, foreseen and unforeseen circumstances, quixotic whims, quaint caprice, poor planning, the wrath of Lady Nature, explosive bouts of diarrhea, spontaneous and not so spontaneous priapism, hebephrenic episodes, the will of the (redacted) National Park Service or other intervening "authority," and the ever unfathomable mood of some ill-defined higher power who never seems to rise much above the collective disposition and personality traits of his/her/its followers and who may or may not decide to mess with us on the day in question, to name but a few. Thus, we may have to improvise.  I like it that way.


That's it! Oh, except to remind you that the Bliss is a semi-underground event that should not be discussed with the kinds of people who might not be so happy with the whole concept. While in the past I have deliberately included an element of appropriation (because I'm cheap and because, frankly, stolen pie tastes better), this year I went and screwed up and made it all legit with the Park Authority. That's right, I sold out. The possibility that each of us might be hit with a (redacted) open container fine if discovered was the deciding factor; if it happened, it would dampen the spirit of the event. So, this year, we are legit. This was a tough decision on my part, believe me. That said, being legit does not mean bring on the fascists, so I'd still like to keep this on the down low all the same. Capiche?


Stay tuned to www.wrenchinthegears.blogspot.com for further details and updates, and because I need an audience of my peers to bolster my fading self-esteem.


Looking forward to seeing you there, drinking your beer, eating your food, and taco-ing your wheel.

A Vayable Alternative and Some Beta on the Bliss...

So, life is good. My Salsa Vaya frameset is lolling languidly in the mitts of Morpheus, in a brown box in the belly of the best bike shop in the Washington Metropolitan Area, bar none, and dreaming of the day I give it legs and let it loose to roam. Soon, my darling...

In Boulder now, at Mountain Sun, enjoying one of their latest offerings, an imperial IPA called Hop Vivant. Tasty, hoppy, alcoholic, and the winner of the 2009 Alpha King Challenge (Pizza Port, a Cali brewery that can do absolutely no wrong when it comes to brewing IPAs, won the Challenge this year), it's held aloft before my beer-bleary eyes and prevented from puddling by a tiny 8-oz goblet that bangs the bill at $4.20 ("no happy hour"). Next up is Temperance (10-oz, goblet, $4.20), a Belgian-American IPA on the order of, I'm guessing (confirmed!), Flying Dog's surprisingly successful Raging Bitch. Boulder is a beer burg, and this fact, along with its proximity to a plethora of pulchritudinous peaks and its passion for pedal-powered transportation, makes it a very alluring destination when one finds oneself with too much time on the hands and just enough jack to pull it off. Highly recommended, if you can tolerate the hipsters and, worse, faux-hipsters (the chief distinguishing factor between the two being the latter's preference for freewheels and expensive—and hence inauthentic—urban clothing. Yeesh.). I've been sampling (sampling?...euphemism alert!) micros and plotting the peaks I plan to tackle in the coming week, weather permitting.

In the meantime, my Hop Cone-fusion Double IPA is in the primary, perking away and dreaming of the upcoming 5th Annual Bootlegger's Bliss. This beer-to-be derives its name from the fact that the hop additions I made to the wort were a random blend of Warrior, Amarillo, and Galena; the pellets pinched from their packets with neither thought nor concern about precise proportions beyond favoring the Warrior for the bittering stage. This mystery mixture, born of haste and helped along by the six beers I drank during a brewing process that concluded well after 1:00 a.m., Friday morning, was the inspiration for the "cone-fusion" part of the title. There, epic mystery solved.

Bliss-goers of the past should expect an email with details early next week. Until then.

Attenuating Circumstances...

A minority of the handful of readers who occasionally visit this blog have begun to ask about this year's Bootlegger's Bliss.

I don't have a lot of details to share at this point, except that the Bliss will indeed take place and that I hope to make this year's event the best ever.  Plans are underway and the date is tentatively set for Satyrday, November 6th.

Mark your calendars and stay tuned for more details...oh, and brew some beer, yeah?

In the meantime, a little background reading for the uninitiated and for those regular readers whose thirst for pretentious prose can never be sufficiently slaked:

— The Cycling Zymurgist Maniblissto —

The history of all hitherto existing cycling events is the history of competitive struggles. Not so with the Bliss.

The Bootlegger's Bliss is a social event, designed to bring together people who share (or are simply curious about) two seemingly disparate passions: homebrewing and mountain biking.

The Bliss is not a race. It does not suffer elitist competition. There are no medals, no podiums, no bragging rights, no prizes. No one's "in it to win it," as the dreadful cliché goes. No one trains for the Bliss. There are no "winners." Or—more precisely—everyone is a winner.

The Bliss is not a drinking contest. It does not suffer wanton drunkenness. It is a tasting, and if you don't know the difference between a tasting and a drinking contest, the Bliss is not for you.

The Bliss is about fun for fun's sake. It is the arrowhead forged in the smithy of the soul, honed in secret, dipped in curare, then trained on the heart of the ogre Boordumb. The lifeblood of the Bliss is participation. There are no spectators; everyone is equally a "criminal" and delights in it. Everyone rides, everyone tastes. Participants are encouraged to front their very best brew, in keeping with the concept of the potlatch, whereby prestige is gained not by amassing coveted property like some plutocratic piggy, but by giving it away.

Leave your money at home. The Bliss is not about commerce—quite the opposite, actually. Aside from the homebrew and homecooking you're asked to bring and share, the Bliss is a free event, generously and officially sponsored by Absolutely No One®. That's the point. From a philosophical perspective, the Bliss was conceived as a small step outside of commerce—a tick in the matted hide of mass-production—and as an appreciation of highly personal, highly potable craftwork against the backdrop of some sweet singletrack. It's a celebration of use value, that immeasurable quality that fills the soul with a sort of natural, ineffable satisfaction too seldom felt in the cold void, the funereal absence, the blanched banality that clings to exchange value like stench to carrion.

Beer Necessities...

Email invitation is out and in your inbox, if you made the list. If you didn't and should have, you know how to reach me.

The 4th Annual Bootlegger's Bliss is on!

Bedlam in Bedford...

"We have to create culture. Don't watch TV, don't read magazines, don't even listen to NPR. Create your own roadshow. The nexus of space and time where you are now is the most immediate sector of your universe, and if you're worrying about Michael Jackson or Bill Clinton or somebody else, then you are disempowered, your giving it all away to icons, icons which are maintained by an electronic media so that you want to dress like X or have lips like Y...this is shit-brained, this kind of thinking. That is all cultural diversion, and what is real is you and your friends and your associations, your highs, your orgasms, your hopes, your plans, your fears. And we are told 'no', we're unimportant, we're peripheral. 'Get a degree, get a job, get a this, get a that.' And then you're a player—you don't want to even play in that game. You want to reclaim your mind and get it out of the hands of the cultural engineers who want to turn you into a half-baked moron consuming all this trash that's being manufactured out of the bones of a dying world."
—Terence McKenna, Writer, Social Critic , Psychonaut, and Ethnobotanist

Yeah.

That's right.

It's on, baby.

Two words: 1) Spring, and 2) Bliss.

The snow is receding around these parts, and 70+ degree temps are in the line-up for the next couple of days. The euphoria of warmer weather will soon come on strong, hitting the unprepared with all the power of a Brompton cocktail. So, what better way to forestall...er, herald the coming spring weather than with a little trip northeast to partake in a gathering that combines mountain biking, homebrew, and beautiful scenery—along with the synesthesia that arises from this potent mixture—into one tidy little package of hepatotoxic chaos? Hmm...let me think...

...damn, um...

...hang on...

...all right, I got nothing.

Seems DmofoT—co-creator with yours truly of the original, beloved Bootlegger's Bliss event—has roused himself from a deep, ursine hibernation just long enough to dig down through a thick blanket of New England snow to the hard permafrost beneath to discover—lo and behold!—some wonderful dirt trails worthy of this supernal piss-drunk pedalfest. So get your brew on, pool your funds in preparation for the petrol fill-ups, and start thinking good thoughts about bikes and beer and Bedford.

The magical date? Satyrday, April 25th.

Location? A nebulous little term that goes like this: Boston's Metro West area (read: Bedford, Massachusetts, and surrounds).

I'll announce more detailed information here soon, as will the Fatboy himself. In the meantime, those of you in the Bedford area may want to read this for some background data. Stay tuned.

Photo credits in order of appearance: Me, D. Ross, J. Divinagracia

Winter Bliss...

Just when you thought you'd heard the last of the Bootlegger's Bliss bluster for the year, out come plans for a Winter Bliss, courtesy of one DmofoT.

That's right, while it's just a blurry phantom—that is to say, a fleeting chimera darting drunkenly from axon to dendrite—right this minute in the mind of one willing Nor'eastern, homebrewing, mountain biking, Northern Virginia ex-pat, there is a very real possibility that the damn thing may actually go down. Oh, and by winter, we mean late spring, maybe April?

Keep an eye on this blog and on Fatboy Deluxe over the next few weeks for details. We're talking Massachusetts as the milieu for the mayhem. By the sword we seek peace, my Orwellian ass!

The (Single)tracking Satyr*...

Beta testing this year's Bootlegger's Bliss homebrew delivery vessel with a superbly crafted Celebration Ale from Sierra Nevada (pic doesn't begin to do it justice). Silenus would surely be proud.

Here's how it stacks up:

• Beer-tight
  
• USA made
  
• Purpose-built
  
• Unique
  
• Limited edition
  
• Dishwasher safe
  
• BPA/BPH/Lead-free
  
• Reusable
  
• Recyclable

One day, I swear, these posts will be about biking.

*With apologies to Sophocles.

Last Call...

...has come and gone. Registration (for lack of a better word) for the 3rd Annual Bootlegger's Bliss is now closed. The final email with all details is cycling through cyberspace even as I type. If you're one of the lucky 35 or so respondents, check your inbox.

What to do if you missed your opportunity to attend? Well, a short length of stout rope, commonly available at your local big box hardware store, might be an option, if you’re good with nooses and have access to an exposed ceiling joist. Handguns are readily available, though in this case a whole box of ammo is a waste—I recommend a full-blued finish, no point in springing for Parkerizing or chrome-plating for a single use. Then there’s the always economical, largely effortless, and practically foolproof gas-stove tête-à-tête. For a host of other clever and not so clever exit strategies, I direct you to Mr. Wataru Tsurumi’s yugaitosho offering, The Complete Manual of Suicide. For inspiration, try Camus' The Myth of Sisyphus.

Or, you could simply suffer along quietly until next year, when the 4th Annual Bootlegger’s Bliss rolls around on drunken wheels. Your choice. Have a nice day.

Oh, and the pint glasses are in. check back here this evening for Here is a sneak peek...

The supply of these babies is limited; distribution will be made in the order of original RSVP for the event. However, all who bring homebrew will receive a glass.

The Devil's in the Details...

(Small slice of a cycling satyr, official mascot of the 3rd Annual Bootlegger's Bliss.)

Tried to run the proposed Bliss course on Sunday, but a hub issue on Donna’s bike meant I took my ride around the toolbox in the parking lot. Meanwhile, the rest of the group, lead by Julie, took off on a partial loop, with the idea they’d meet us again later at a trail junction before continuing the ride. I got the frozen wheel turning again and we rode to the meeting spot to wait for the group and rejoin the ride. Unfortunately, the group was running a little late, and the two of us, thinking that we had somehow missed them, headed down again to the parking lot. We then had the severe misfortune to encounter Sir David Blum, who was waiting out his wife’s ride with the group and keeping an eye on his twin sons. Dave had beer. We had beer. We swapped beers. The prospects of riding quickly gave way to the warming glow of alcohol as the morning chill fled the arms of the rising sun. Misfortune, indeed.

No matter. Riders with impeccable trail judging credentials gave me a full report and this, along with a map Julie was kind enough to offer me, means I’ll be checking out the proposed loop next weekend, along with some other riders, one of whom composed most of the route. It's all coming together nicely.

The Bliss is a runaway half-barrel, loaded down with a roiling elixir of equal parts homebrew, adrenaline, magic, and mayhem, careening down a rocky slope at breakneck speed, giving and asking no quarter of anything in its path as it rolls on to the hop-bitter end. As Pete Townsend put it, there’s no damn thing stops this poem. The Bliss is go!

That’s it for now, except for one important thing: try as the Bliss does to dispense with overt commercial transactions in favor of barter or simple exchange (indeed, this is the whole raison d'etre of the event), the Maryland National Park Service sees no value in aboriginal market practices. Thus, attendees should arrive with three dollars cash in hand to pay the park entry fee.*

*A mere three dollars for a full day of Bliss? I call that a bargain.

Lipstick on a Blind Pig*

Okay, (almost) all hyperbole aside, the 3rd Annual Bootlegger's Bliss is shaping up to be the most successful to date. With 30+ confirmations, another year of brewing expertise under the belts of many attendees, and a brand new venue (rumor has it you can see Russia from the peak of one hill), this one is poised to really set the bar.

Speaking of which, I just sent out an email announcing the venue to all the wise folks who arr-ess-vee-peed to confirm their attendance. Anyone responding at this time to express an interest will roll the dice. And McFate can be a heartless pit-boss.

A little more information: in addition to the ride, the lunch, and the tasting, there will be a trialsy segment and a go-for-broke(n) derby or two (both voluntary). Got a nice, high-end wheelset? Just take out a second mortgage amidst an eroding and ever-more speculative economy (because, good sheep that you are, you've been led to believe that the "free" market¹ is free) to purchase a beautiful new Ti frame?² Leave it all at home or risk crying in your beer and wallowing out your wallet when it's all said and done. The Bliss cares not for sniveling, self-made trifles and pitiful property attachments; its skin and blood and bones are born of strife and resistance and rebellion. Against these things, these beautiful, meaningful things, what chance have you and your petty, narcissistic concerns?

We'll find out the answer to this and many more important questions on Satyrday, November 1^st. Until then, happy homebrewing.


Photo credits: first - B. Ramsey; third - M. Kegley

*From Wikipedia, 'cause some other unpaid individual already did the grunt work (with a little choice editing by yours truly, 'cause it needed it):

A blind pig, also known as a blind tiger, originated in the United States in the 1800s, when blue laws restricted the sale of alcoholic beverages. A saloonkeeper would charge customers to see an attraction (such as an animal), and provide a "complimentary" alcoholic beverage, thus circumventing the law.

It was during the years of prohibition that blind pigs were most common in the U.S.

The blind pig is a classic example of black-market economics, and with the end of prohibition in 1933, most blind pigs had to either become legitimate establishments or close shop. Common current examples of the blind pig (or transgressions of a similar spirit) include the after-hours club, the keg party, and, of course, the ingenious and increasingly infamous modern-day, semi-underground potlatch known as the Bootlegger's Bliss.

A blind pig differed from a speakeasy primarily in that it was essentially a "drinking only" establishment, whereas a speakeasy frequently offered music, dancing and a wide selection of food, too.

1. For a profound, witty, and insightful analysis of the free market and market populism, check out One Market, Under God, by Thomas Frank.

2. Jealousy is indeed a green-eyed monster.

Any Old Porter in a Storm...

As I type these words, the beginnings of my Profligate Porter are aboil, dreaming restlessly of the second infusion of hops, not five minutes away. The steady bass staccato of raindrops exploding on the tarp overhead mingles with the hornet hum of speeding traffic on nearby I-66 and the rush of gas from the turkey-cooker jets at my feet to produce a soundtrack of sorts: thump-varoom-hiss, thump-varoom-hiss...syncopated randomonium. Sitting on a table next to my chair, just within reach, is a Victory Golden Monkey tripel ale, sweating silently. It's midday, Saturday, and it's no day to be riding. Not around here, anyway. Fine with me; this is the day to brew.

The barleywine I originally had in mind was, as I feared, a pipedream of sorts, as it would require a longer time in secondary and too much time aging in the bottle to be properly drinkable come Bliss time. So I went with a robust, fairly high gravity porter. The original name was going to be Procrastination Porter, in light of my circumstances and lifelong behavioral leanings. But that name left something to be desired in the machismo department, so I went with Profligate Porter. (Excuse me while I toss in some Centennial hop pellets. Ah, nothing like the smell of alpha-acid vapors escaping like outlaw spirits from a roiling pot of wort to lift one's mood on an otherwise dreary fall day. No, really.) Fifteen minutes from now, the Irish Moss will make its way into the mix, and after that, some Tettnanger hops to boost the aroma.

Damn, every year it's the same—I scramble to brew beer for my own event,¹ pressing my luck against time. One day I'll get organized, but I don't see it happening anytime soon. At least the drawing should be ready with plenty of time. "Should" being the operative word there.

Ah, well, here's the ingredients for my Profligate Porter, all five gallons of which are now sitting quietly in the primary and awaiting the feast of the yeast, likely commencing sometime in the midnight hour. (Yeah, I took a break between keystrokes to finish up.)

Profligate Porter

Golden Light Dried Malt Extract - 3 lbs
Two Row Pale Malt (crushed) - 16 oz
Crystal Malt (crushed) - 12 oz
Belgian Chocolate Malt (crushed) - 12 oz
Light Liquid Malt Extract - 4 lbs
Nugget hops (bittering) - 1 oz
Centennial hops (flavoring) - 1 oz
Tettnanger hops (aroma) - 1 oz
Tettnanger hops (dry-hop) - 1 oz
Safale S-04 dried ale yeast - 11.5 g (1 packet)
Irish moss - 1 tsp

OG - 1.078 (taken @ 70°F and adjusted)

By the way, if you're planning on attending the Bootlegger's Bliss on November 1st, be sure to shoot me an email (address revealed in this post) asap. In return, I'll reply sometime next week to let you know where it's being held. Fair enough, right?

Late edit: Just checked, and I've got some bubblin' in the airlock, five hours after pitching the yeast. It lives!

1. To be fair, the idea for the Bootlegger's Bliss first coalesced in a pub during a conversation with DmofoT a few years ago. He shares equal blame or credit for the genesis of this event, and, what's more, he's a much better brewer than me, the bastard! Unfortunately (for me), he packed up and left town for Massachusetts a couple years back and, well, it's hard to help from that far away

Cap and Trade - 3rd Annual Bootlegger's Bliss (Update)...

"Live without dead time."
—graffiti, Paris, May 1968

Five weeks and counting down...

Looks like some folks have been busy at the brew kettle lately. Nice. My turn comes this Saturday, when I plan to bring together the necessary elements and ingredients to produce what I trust will become a nice barleywine. That's the plan right now, but I may change my mind after a visit to myLHBS this evening to wrangle supplies. (If you dwell in the DC-metro area, Derek of myLHBS is the man to see for all your brewing needs, including help with recipes and techniques.)

Okay, here’s where things stand on the Bootlegger's Bliss, layed out in order of importance.

First, registration. If you're coming to this little shindig, please do me the courtesy of telling me so now in an email:

BBpotlatch AT gmail DOT com¹

I'll reply back next week with all the details I'd rather not make public. Just a caveat: those who don't respond but plan on showing up risk missing out on a nice bit of largesse to be bestowed (limited basis) on the day of the event. You don't have to get all effusive with the prose in your email, but if you want to mention the style of beer and the type of food you plan to bring, along with who will accompany you, well, that's always welcome dope.

Next up, I’ve got two possible venues from which to choose, both in Maryland and both within an hour of DC. One is last year’s locale, a good one, to be sure, since it was fun for novice and vet alike, and an appropriated pavilion near the action was like a gift from Agathodaemon himself. The other potential venue is a well-known riding mecca, vast and sprawling in comparison, for which I’ve enlisted the help of one Jon Baler in isolating a nice 10- to 12-mile loop. Though the weather this weekend doesn't look promising, I hope to get out on Sunday and scout the route at venue option 2, then make a decision before Monday rolls around.

Lastly, the new Bliss artwork is underway. I’ve got several ideas, one of which is much further along in the execution than the others, but all are fair game at this point. Hope to have an inked, scanned image ready by Sunday evening. If successful, I’ll post a detail of it here. If unsuccessful, blame the beer.

That’s it for now. Happy brewing!

Photo credits: Pic 1, DC Tony; Pic 2, Alexafur; Pic 3, RickyD. Bottom pic is of Derek from myLHBS.

1. In case it isn't immediately clear, when drafting the email, please replace the "AT" with an at sign, and the "DOT" with a dot like the one at the end of this sentence. Capisci?