I walked over to the railings looking out onto Hell Gate, pumped my fist into the air, and yelled out “Bowen!” before returning to my bench with a sheepish grin on my face.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, so tell us about this year’s NYSBRAF event.

And just what would bring this super-fit specimen of humanity (cough!) to such a dilapidated state at the end of each day?

Not the prettiest beer that I have ever had, which was to be expected after spending a night under a table in the back of the bar (the beer, not me), but it was dang tasty; some perfumed hoppiness up front, malt in the middle and a residual bitterness that lures you back for another one.

Well, I managed to follow the route exactly as envisioned, but some of the timings were a bit off, and that is the joy of the under-planned open-ended weekend crawl.

It was going to be over three hours before the celebration beer was to be poured and celebrated, so I sauntered over to an open patch of wall near the back end of the bar area, leaned against it, pulled my belly in so as not to block the folks coming and going from the garden and the khazi, and wondered how I was going to pace myself for the duration.