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a case for road beers
Saturday, September 12 2026
I took Charlotte for two nearly identical walks, one in the late morning and one in the afternoon. Both went down the Gulleys Trail and then cut over to the Stick Trail, and both times I added to that wall I am building above the head of one of the Gulleys. In the morning, though, Neville seemed like he wanted to come, something I had to prevent. So I barricaded him in the house but left the door to the south deck open and barricaded the outdoor entrance to that with some expandable wooden gate panels designed to restrict the movement of children. It wouldn't be too hard to use some sort of fence-like structure to also allow Neville access to a small patch of yard to take care of his biological needs, but we're probably a little too far into his treatment for that to be worth making.
This afternoon, I took the dogs with me when I drove out to 9W to run some errands, beginning with Lowes. I was in there to look for objects made of springy wire I could clip over the tops of the raised seams of the screened-in porch to hold down the flashing. The best thing I could find were hitch pin clips, of which I ended up buying four. But as I was deliberating about what to get, it occured to me that I could just use rare earth magnets. And if I used construction adhesive, the magnets could be removed once that cured! Sometimes it takes a roundabout process to stumble upon an idea that should've been obvious from the start. While there, I also got a supposedly very hard and fairly small drillbit and a couple of large eye bolts. I let the dogs out in the parking lot after making my purchases, mostly so Neville (who is back on the prednisone) could urinate.
Then at the Hannford on 9W, I bought the sort of staples I need when Gretchen's not around, particularly bagels, orange juice, a loaf of possibly whole-wheat sourdough bread, nuts, vegan icecream, and Dragon's Milk Imperial Stout. While I was in the Hannaford, I randomy ran across Mark G. and his wife Lynne. As you might recall, the other day Mark had randomly driven by when I was in the driveway and we had a conversation for the first time in ten years. I hadn't seen Lynne in even longer, and now here hair has all turned grey. "We're getting so old!" Mark observed, and I shrugged and said "that's what happens!" I pointed out that he was wearing a different flat-earth teeshirt than the one he'd worn the other day. "I can't stop!" he declared, adding jokingly that his wife was going to divorce him.
Next I got a half gallon of gin, a large bottle of cheap shiraz and a smaller, more expensive bottle to replace one I'd busted into last night.
On the way home, I went out of my way to visit the Tibetan Center thrift store, where I found several good things: a cellphone bracket that clips onto one of the fins of a dashboard (though the fins on the Chevy Bolt turned out to the too wide for it), a ratchet strap, and set of headphones with an analog transmitter to allow wireless enjoyment of any audio that can be reached with a phono plug. (Such devices rarely work when they arrive at a thrift store, and initially it seemed like this one didn't either, but then it started working, though not very well; perhaps I can fix it.)
While I was doing my thrifting, Neville and particularly Charlotte were barking at a beautiful female brindle pit bull in the driver's seat of the truck parked next to them. Charlotte's high piercing bark led the woman staffing the thrift store checkout to expect a much smaller dog, but when she went out to see she was surprised to see that Charlotte is nearly full-size.
On the drive back east on Route 28, I passed another thrift store on the right with a lot of their goods dragged out and displayed like a yard sale. So I stopped to have a look around. They had some good tools, particularly clamps. But the prices on everything seemed like the kind designed to hook tourists from Manhattan, so I didn't even bother going into the store itself. It was only then that I discovered a large blob of reddish-brown bean sauce dried into the fabric near the front neckline of my teeshirt; it had been there since last night when I'd eaten a tin of Trader Joe's giant beans in tomato sauce.
As I was driving around and drinking a bottle of Dragon's Milk, it occurred to me why it is that I loved a good road beer. Part of it is that it is forbidden, and by engaging in that small act of criminality, I can to enjoy something that is denied to people who are more law-abiding. I also realized that every time a Jelly Roll song comes on the country music station, I change back to WDST, the local boomer-adjacent rock station. I don't know precisely what I don't like about Jelly Roll, but it's some combination of his ernest (and perhaps authentic) religion-infused humility and that gravelly twang he sings with. Also, I feel like facial tattoos are a cheat code to success at jobs where the presentation of your face is a large part of what you do, and that people with them are probably not as talented as equally-famous people without them.
The nascent stone wall along the Gulleys Trail as it passes across the head of one of two major gulleys, viewed from the south. Note that a dead tree fell partially in the trail some time in the past few days. Click to enlarge.
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