Rasputin Haunts My Dreams

Ok, that would be Old Rasputin Imperial Stout, brewed in NorCal with a 9% alcohol content. They should require a prescription for this stuff, seriously. How the hell is this bike related?

So, this long time customer walks into the bike store. He suggests that, in the spirit of the holidays, we hoist this beer he likes. But before I take my first sip, he whispers " this won't get you drunk so much as high". Ok, whatever. So I consume said spirits (on an empty stomach I might add), bid farewell to my colleagues, and start the ride home.

A mile in, I'm feeling the warm glow that good spirits typically provide. Two miles in, I have a full on Chernobyl burn, and completely miss the turn for home that I've made hundreds of times before. A few minutes later, I find myself at a busy intersection staring at a hockey rink and water tower, both of which I'm pretty sure didn't grow next to my house during the day. Apparently, I have ridden an extra mile or so up a gradual hill in heavy traffic on streets that feel like they're covered in oatmeal, just lost in what I'm not sure.

Getting my groove back on, I somehow find my way home without falling. Once home, I pass out on the first horizontal surface I could find, which fortunately was my bed. At least I had my helmet on. And my helmet mounted blinky has so traumatized the cat, he'll never come near me again.

Following a short coma, the missus and I went out for pizza and beer at Savoy's in St. Paul. After Rasputin, Newcastle tasted like warm dish water. I am really getting too old for this.

As Paula tells Andy in 40 Year Old Virgin == "I'm discreet, but I'll haunt your dreams". Rasputin was anything but but I'm pretty sure I'll have nightmares.

Thanks Tom. Lets do crack next time and get it over with.

Cheers