CSAUP

“A man once told me …” that a late backblast is better than no backblast; thus, to drum up hype for the July Brew Ruck, it’s time to reflect a little on what we recall from the Memorial Day Weekend Brew Ruck.

Remember, my rule is ruck CSAUP backblasts follow the format “Who was there? What did we do? What did we learn?”

WHO WAS THERE?

12 pax, broken down thusly:

Regulars – Class Act, Han Solo, Gingerbilly, Editor (QIC), Onions, Excellent, Dr. Freud, Bob Villa, Optimus, Scarecrow.

FNG Cicerone – Dr. Freud’s much-ballyhooed beer geek neighbor, early 2000s Merrillville grad, knows Bozo, hospital name Brandon, hilarious dude, was in the Air Force for a “hot” minute, played the Lonely Island Pandora station on some of the longer movements. 

FNG Deep Squat – Class Act’s brother, he saw the Solon Robinson memorial at the cemetery and the moniker “Squatter King” and then asked for that as his name. We decided we will have a squat competition and traveling trophy for squatter king one of these months. Hospital name Matt Carter. We settled on deep squat since his long background from years of cantankerous military service, combined with his salty vernacular and experience in uncomfortable defecations made him an expert deep squatter. 

Billy Zane/FNG Invictus – As we were posted up at Scarecrow’s, this 29-year-old South African former rugby player asked if he could party with us and park at Bert’s old house. He parked down the street and joined us for a few hours. He found common ground with many of us and assumed we were headed to the square and didn’t take many innuendo-laced comments about the duties of the new guy too seriously until we passed the square and got closer to cultish hot spots like the other cemetery and the forest. Dr. Freud has his number and will need to re-H!

WHAT DID WE DO?

The idea was to start at 6 p.m., have some suds, reverently visit a few cemeteries, which would cross off up to THREE tasks from GORUCK (separate patch), GORUCK Tribe, and/or Rucking Challenges, and visit some houses on the east side of Main Street and probably not pick up any buzzed South African golfers. Yet, as Robert Frost said, “Yet knowing how way leads on to way …” we accomplished some but not all of that. We were coming off a HHH beatdown and on the precipice of a 104-comment T-shirt argument. It was hot. All of it.

At 5:54 p.m. I exited the shower after a long day of pre-work to clear the evening, sauntered to the window in only a towel in case any early pax wanted a show. No one was there. At 6:02 no one was there, Troy time in effect. At 6:12 or so Onions and gingerbilly made their first visits to my house and of course checked out the patch boards. As early arrivals, they received the reflective F3 NorthWind ruck patch and one of dozens of extra Ice Cream Ruck patches. Luckily for gingerbilly when we finally left around 7, there was an ice cream truck on Daytons slinging ice cream, so he earned his patch right then and there. 

Dr. Freud brought a carload of bald guys who seemed to have shown up with some pregaming under their belts. 

Everyone gathered little by little for an hour, with Han Solo last and Bob Villa so behind that he got dropped off around 8 at Scarecrow’s house.

After a few rounds of samples at my house we went to Maplewood Memorial Cemetery. A few Septembers ago we did the virtual Snowdrop event in CP, and I learned there is a column down the middle of the cemetery with some excellent patriotic decor that will put most Americans’ hearts and minds in the right spot to realize the reason for the season when it comes to Memorial Day. We were mostly silent, phones in pockets, reverent. I saw the tombstone of a man whose wake I attended last October and a plot for his still-living wife, who was a huge part of me having my current job. Strangers or familiar faces, it was fitting to honor them all. 

From there we went to Scarecrow’s house and added numerous rounds of brews, Gingerbilly’s daily merkins, racier and racier jokes, Bob Villa, and of course Invictus. We cut west on South Street and had a brief pause at the 9/11 memorial on the corner of South and Main, First United Methodist Church. There was some back and forth about half-staff flags, and we proceeded. We got to the St. Mary Cemetery and did not stay long because the reverence was fleeting, as was daylight. 

We were swayed by Han Solo to take a major detour to his house through some land islands, wooded trails, fancy backyards and hellacious Ellendale hills. We made it and were rewarded with a dusty but amazing bottle from Han Solo’s cellar. Cicerone realized he had been there before as the two share many friends in the brewing community and both have an affinity for home-brewing and growing their own ingredients. 

We made the long trek back to my house for a grand total of just about seven miles for the whole night. We did a great COT, named the folks, a few people left, and the rest of headed to Dr. Freud’s until a little after 1 a.m. to conclude an absolutely EPIC evening of fellowship. 

We also had a FANTASTIC spread of delicious beers contributed from all pax, the jewel being Solo’s 2014 BoCo Vanilla, all except for that burnt banana one, which was awful. 

WHAT DID WE LEARN?

Among other things since forgotten:

*Minty remains a stone cold beauty. 

*Optimus was CLUTCH asking if we needed anything else from the liquor store as I had badly needed supplies to keep the M at bay all night. 

*Cicerone said he has a sister involved in one of the world’s oldest professions.

*Deep Squat and I share a lifelong rivalry with a certain star at the center of our solar system. 

*Onions actually loathes onions. 

*The hills in Ellendale still really suck. 

*Class Act’s Joker laugh still rocks. 

*Gingerbilly never got his Quest bars. 

*Scarecrow’s phone battery has much more stamina than mine. There’s an analogy there somewhere. 

*The TWSS virus is alive and well even when certain people are absent.

*Class Act doesn’t see his brother enough. 

*Scarecrow was clutch with the location sharing live pin online. Super clever. 

*Han Solo was “right down the street” on a street named … I-65. 

*If we concentrate and blur some lines enough, we can name a brew ruck or beer share or at least a night ruck with midpoint or endex beers in nearly EVERY month starting with January 2020. That’s awesome when you think about it. 

*Waiting five weeks to write a backblast kind of shrinks this section of one. 

*If the rule about burpees as trade for swearing or inappropriate commentary were in effect on this particular night, we might have needed an ambulance.