Nice and dark that beer. What I'm drinking now is too but it's just plain old Jack and coke. It's not fancy or exclusive but in all the world there is nothing like it. It has a distinctive taste. I would know it out of a thousand other whiskies. I would pass out among that many but it's true nonetheless. It is a singular taste and here's to it no matter how course or common. I'm not saying I wouldn't pass it over in favor of Glenlivet on most occasions but sometimes it is just right. Hell, I lived on it during my days in service. It went well with the flavor of being owned.
I've been to the distillery. Johnny loaned us his Harley for a trip we took together. Then he turned every ride into a race. That's not the way I ride. If I have to go around curves so hard the pipes drag I'm out. A ride in the Smokies ought to be relaxing. And what if I had been going fast when that deer froze in the road on the way to that waterfall? It barely got out of the way when I squalled brakes anyway. Not worth dying for. Not at this stage of life. We had to disengage after most of the trip was done and go our own way. I love the guy and love that he married my cousin who I love and went through so much for but holy crap he is too macho.
Anyway we went to the distillery at Lynchburg, Tennessee. Took the tour. Got to breathe the fermenting mash by lifting the vat doors. They have to do that anyway so why not get tourists to pay for the pleasure? Saw the spring where they get the water. Saw old Jacks office and the safe that killed him. Really it was his suspicion that did him in. Jack didn't trust that his accountant was keeping the books right so he came back to the office after he left and attempted to open the safe. When he couldn't he kicked it. A large safe. Think about that. Well in the morning, after sleeping the night there, the accountant came in and opened the safe and low and behold everything checked out fine. Jack was not fine. His foot swelled with gangrene and they cut it off. Then up to his knee. Then up to his crotch. Then death. There is a moral in that.
But I'll drink to Jack tonight. To a one of a kind sour mash. To the memories of my AF buds, the degenerates. To all my buds for that matter.