P. T. Barnum you have no game when it comes to the greatest show on earth. That honor now belongs to MRC/NECS’s own Braveheart, who has morphed Beer Cross from a back alley excuse to drink and ride bikes to an amazing spectacle that left non–racers in awe and spectators with sore arms and sore ribs. When asked how he managed to pull such an extravaganza off Braveheart provided this candid response for our cameras
But before we can get into
the details one must rewind the tape to earlier in the day as final
preparations kicked into high gear. With Mrs C-Dubbs coming later in the day I
mounted the trusty D2R2 chariot complete with flask full of Del Maguay mounted
and headed off with my Sherpa pack of clothes. Having survived the massive
grind up Cherry Hill Rd I arrived at the Braveheart Beer Cross compound winded
but spirits buoyed by the ability to do a bit of pre non race partying. With
our Master of Ceremonies picking up the final 30 bags of ice required to chill
all of the beverages I did a bit of social time with Mrs Braveheart and set
about finalizing preparations for the upper deck gauntlet. The arrival of Large
Marge and her bounty of party supplies meant only one thing – time to head to
the man cave for a Board of Directors meeting , some serious cocktailing and a
bit of inspiration from the cockpit of Large Marge.
Fully inspired, Braveheart and I set about
marking the local roads with the necessary signage to guide all non racers to
the momentary center of the universe.
Satisfied that our mission
had been accomplished the Master of Ceremony and I headed back to Rancho
Malerio, parked at the man cave where further inspiration had us scrambling
around like over caffeinated Chihuahuas putting on the final touches on the
most feared section of any Beer Cross event – the party zone- a place that has been know to sort the men
from the boys, the women from the girls and your lunch from your stomach.
Trophy Table
Putting those cinch straps to good use
Our Host and Hostess - The King & Queen of Non Race Parties
Paul "Static Cling" LeTour
From here it was a 2 Dales
Pale Ale apiece as we marked off the course of death. Right as this task was
finished Top Chef arrived with Paul Le Tour and while Mr Static Cling put the
final touches on his costume the full Board of Directors met in the Large Marge
boardroom to discuss the course. A quick recon lap, a couple of minor
alterations (I would regret these changes once the race was under way) and all
that was left was the final layout of options non racers could select each lap
and trust me if you went the non alcoholic route it was going to be painful.
The
choices were –
- · Glass of Hurricane Kitty (perhaps one of the finest
yeasty malted beverages)
- · Jalapenos
- · Spicy pickled pepper eggs
- · Sardines
- · English version of Twinkies
- · Spam
We saved putting out the Spam for last not
wanting to risk spoilage in the warmer temps. Alas this would prove to make no
difference, as we opened the can we were greeted with a rank odor akin to a can
of soft cat food. After a couple of minutes of gagging we donned the HAZMAT
suits and doled out the quantities to be consumed on each lap. Satisfied with
the destruction and havoc that the party station would cause it was off to the
main house for the gathering of non racers.
A final inspirational board
of directors meeting in the Large Marge boardroom and it was off to the start
for a final round of shots and the reading of the non race non rules.
One advantage of being a
board member is knowing that non rules can’t be broken since there are no rules
at a non race. While others might have been less knowledgeable on this Top Chef
and I quickly plotted strategy and with Braveheart belting out “On your marks”,
“Get set”, we ran for the bikes and quickly sprinted for the first stop at the
party zone.
Strategic bike placement put C-Dubbs into the lead going into the
new course section through the woods but in a turn of karma kickback a stick
reached up, grabbed hold of my chain and did a full nelson on the rear
derailleur.
And the winner is stick
As Top Chef went past it
looked like Beer Cross was over and I would be spending the balance of the
event at the party zone. Then like a hot kiss at the end of a wet fist it dawned
on me, this is Beer Cross and in Cx carrying your bike is a part of the race.
Shouldering my ride I ran to the beer zone where TC and I toasted with a
Hurricane Kitty before setting off. Earlier you will recall time was spent
prepping the upper deck gauntlet, well here is how it went on the first pass
through as TC did circles around a despondent Anthony Wiener who kept screaming
that he had won the election and that Cindy Leathers was full of shit.
The rare New England Big Finger, a distant cousin of Big Foot and mutant offspring of Mikesquatch
With Top Chef (aka Bones)
leading the charge, C-Dubbs being heckled by all non racers and unruly crowd
members and the water balloon gauntlet out of ammo everyone moved to the man
cave to egg on participants on their selection each lap. From what little I
remember on each pass through Top Chef always seemed to be parked at the keg
and was clearly enjoying the local micro brew on tap. Meanwhile the peanut
gallery was constantly chanting for someone, anyone to brave one of the
peppered/pickled eggs – clearly they wanted to see the Technicolor yawn that
Beer Cross has become famous for. I don’t know if anyone actually opted for
these but myself, I opted for the speed route through the man cave and hammered
Del Maguay from the flask mounted on my bike each time through until the flask
was dry at which point I turned to the jalapenos with a Hurricane Kitty chaser.
The combination of a lot of
mescal, a good helping of Hurricane Kitty, countless jalapenos and a lot of
running was reeking havoc with the lower regions of my belly and more than once
on the descent to the bonfire pit I had to hold back the rising tide of unhappy
food combinations. Noticing the screwed up look on my face our male ballerina
noted how he was only able to get half a piece of Spam down before it came back
up for a final look at the real world. Activity at the man cave was fierce with
Mrs Top Chef (aka Hooty) having a go at the dizzy bat and careening off into
the deep weeds while her team mate, Lil' Kim merely heckled all of us and encouraged mass
consumption of alcoholic beverages.
With special guest timing
judge, the Mayor, counting down the final minutes (the insanity went on for a
full 40) the carnage continued to pile up with Lil’ Marge and the child seat
crashing, Tex Obamador (the north of the border cousin of El – Obamador)
blowing out his bottom bracket and parking it at the Man Cave and our WWF Death
Wrestler leaving a trail of empty Dale’s around the course. With time over and
everyone gathered at the man cave, it was one final drink off before heading
out on the parade finish with our master of ceremonies showing the way.
As non racers milled about
the bonfire consuming even moar beer and Patron the judges went about the grueling
task determining the various winners (everyone was warned at the beginning that
being the first across the line was no assurance of winning). When the dust finally
settled and the coffee house smoke cleared, the judges came to these final
conclusions –
- · Booby Prize and a growler of Hurricane Kitty – Lil’
Marge (I mean really, how can you non race with a child seat and not have your
kid in it)
- · First Place Team & Women and a growler of
Hurricane Kitty – Mrs Top Chef and Lil’ Kim (proof that an owl can drink and
fall down)
- · Most Laps (and certainly most beer consumed) and a
growler of Hurricane Kitty – Top Chef (everyone’s hat is off to a man that can
pound them like Top Chef did still bring home the bacon)
- · 2013 Beer Cross Champion and the new Beer Cross
Trophy- the mighty Viking Helmet – C-Dubbs (thus proving the correct saying is
not “walk softly and carry a big stick” rather “run drunkingly because of a
little stick”)
We will leave you with these final shots and
videos so that those who did make it can see what their drunken minds could not
remember and those that didn’t show can cry over split milk until next year.
Stay tuned for a lot of pictures but until then the final “knighting of
C-Dubbs”.
Tex Obamador, Norte Americano relative of El-Obamador
The evening's festivities menu
Sweet dreams
