Saturday, June 29th, 2019. Fort Collins, Colorado.
I was up long before dawn, and we eventually trekked out into the morning to locate eggs. A place called Rainbow came highly recommended by strangers on the internet. We gave it a whirl.
We were squirreled away in an outdoor topiary garden full of dogs. I imagine Heaven to be similar, both in layout and in fare.
They put tortilla chips right up in my eggs. Crazy bastards. Ladygirl got eggs benedict and they very nearly made her cry.
I flagged down one of the manic pixie dream waitresses and asked where I could find sunblock. She directed me to either “a 7/11 around here somewhere, I don’t know”, then gave much more precise directions to a local place called Lucky’s Market, which she described as “huge”. Her hair had green highlights, and she waved her arms around a lot.
Lucky’s was huge. The first half of the store designed to replicate a farmer’s market, with big wooden boxes full of carefully arranged produce for your perusal and selection. The second half was a standard CVS dealie, but all we could find was “pure mineral sunblock” on clearance.
I asked a stock guy for sunblock and he said, “Oh, that’ll be over in apothecary.” He wasn’t joking.
The third half of the store (totaling 150% and explaining its hugeness) was similar to a pharmacy, but much faker. One of the aisles was devoted entirely to tricking people into thinking they were getting high.
Somewhere in Eastern Europe, I wanna say Vienna, there were dozens upon dozens of sketchy tourist storefronts trying to pawn off packages of cookies and “hemp extract” with giant pot leaves emblazoned on them, trying to capitalize on American ignorance about the drug laws of other countries, and also, their own country. Psilocybin has been decriminalized in Denver, meaning it’s bottom-priority. The pigs won’t beat down your door for tripping unless it’s a really slow night for them. That doesn’t mean you get it from Rite-Aid.
Ladygirl spent five minutes weighing the pros and cons of grapefruit vs pear scented sunblock. When she made her decision, we hosed down in front of Lucky’s thaumaturgist hut, then ducked into a laid back teahouse called Harbinger, where I did some tickatackin for an hour.
The hour of the Colorado Brewer’s Festival was fast approaching. We fortified ourself with more borger from a place called Big Al’s.
Pictured by popular request: borger
The soundtrack at was absolutely on point at Big Al’s Borger Manufactory. Seamless transition from lo-fi hip-hop beats to relax and study to, into Bad Religion, then an aggressive, aged Panic at the Disco. Simply superb.
Full of grease and power, we began the arduous two-mile journey to Canvas Stadium, where the beers would be.
I was impressed by the number of trees Colorado keeps on hand, even though this one kind of looked like Hoggle.
We rested briefly on the quad and looked at a thousand jubilant dogs, then completed our mission and approached the stadium gates. George R. R. Martin himself tried to detain us, but that’s a story for another day.
Stay tuned for a proper accounting of the Dark Calculus of the Brewfest.