PMBAR '22 (part one of some)

I coulda started writing about PMBAR on Sunday.  Coulda, but I didn't.  I came home to no wife, no dog, very few responsibilities to tend to other than down-gearing from the event... yet I couldn't write a thing.  I chose instead to rest my body as well as my brain.  They were both toast.

This was probably the first time our Friday worked out as sorta planned.  We managed to get into Brevard early enough to get a couple beers at The Pisgah Tavern.  Then began the debate over foodings... and should we ride or drive... and then we drove... and then thirty seconds after we got to Oskar Blues, a massive storm blew through that crowded everyone into the non-windward side of the covered seating area... even closer to a band that decided that adjusting the volume to accommodate the huddled masses in front of their speakers was not in order.  Nay, perhaps they raised it even.

Did I mention that I was stressed out these past two or three days because Watts had been exposed to Covid, and we had no idea if our PMBAR was over before it started?

Nah, why would I?

So, no dry tables and no chance of standing in line in the pouring rain at the food truck and no shot at getting back to the van to head somewhere else to fill our empty bellies (which wouldn't have mattered anyways, as we quickly found out that most of Brevard lost power during the storm)... until the dark skies cracked back open to reveal the sun...

and the lorb jeebus once again promised us that he/she would once again not ruin PMBAR for us as she/he knows we are fully capable of doing that ourselves.

Double rainbows, sunshine, beers, and the least lesser-appealing thing on the menu...

Chicken Nugs because red meat stuck in your colon does not count as 'glycogen stores" IMHOMO

Flat-billing flat-landers in a lumpy Waterworld.

Watts, emboldened by the fact that he'd alluded Covid yet again, now wanting to see if he's super-immune to pinkeye after using a brewery toilet.

Back to camp, ride over to registration (because it's only 9:10PM), grab a beer, hangout because it's still too early to give in, and back to camp (again).

Return to home base and find the gift that Jarz had left for us (unbeknownst gifter to us at the time).  Exercising our ability to sometimes recognize that sometimes discretion is the better part of valor, we cooler the beers and head to our respective beds (mine being a cot under Bill Nye's awning).

Somewhere along the way whilst having a beer at either The Pisgah Tavern, Oskar Blues, or at registration, Watts said something about my tendency to make rash decisions at PMBAR.  I immediately punched him in the face and also immediately regretted it because of his tendency to voluntarily expose himself to pinkeye.

"Okay, mebbe I make rash decisions, but I can usually unmuddle my mind as the day goes on, making course corrections from our path of self-destruction that I came up with in the first five minutes after the race starts."

At least, usually.