Unfiltered in Halifax. This guy is the king of monster IPA's. All their social media says "fuck" a lot. He's a totally irreverent bastard and I'm happy to call him a friend.
This was 5 days and 562 miles into the most grueling ride I've ever done. I was filthy, hungry and exhausted but mostly hungry. Despite having somewhat of a biker bar look and feel to it, I was definitely out of place here. Generally I like to be the 'grey man', blending in and being low key, but I've gotta admit I kind of enjoyed that feeling of being out of place; it reminded me of an old western story.
It felt like all eyes were on me as I waited for my grub, but it was probably 'cause my table was almost directly under the TV and the big game was on. I put my nose to the bag with only my fingers, no wastin' time with them fancy eatin' irons. I chugged down plenty of Adam's Ale, keepin' mind to steer clear of the prairie dew. I had to stay sharp lookin' for anyone looking to kick up a row and, besides, with a long ride still ahead of me I had no time for the barrel fever. Apparently I looked rugged enough because no one challenged me to a duel, no lead was slung and my talkin' iron never got unshucked. I did get a big (mostly) toothy smile from a jingled looking biker chick near the door as I was leaving. I gave her a small smile and nod but kept movin'. I ain't lookin' for no left handed wife and I definitely ain't looking for no trouble... just a hot plate and somewhere to rest my head for the night before hittin' the dusty trail in the mornin'.
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