HI, MY NAME IS KEVIN CORRIGAN

Things I Thought While Running, Vol 1!

“Why is that doggy in the road by itself?”

“Oh. It’s just a cat. It’s probably an outdoor cat.”

“Wait it is a dog. It’s a small stupid dog. I kind of looks like a pug, but fluffier”

“Hahaha he’s chasing me and barking at me. He’s mad. I wonder if I’m faster than a small dog.”

“He sure gave up fast.”

“That was really funny. I’m glad that happened.”

“Why is that doggy in the road by itself?”

“Am I supposed to do something? I’m not going to knock on random doors at 10:30 pm and ask if it’s their dog. I’m not going to catch him, he’ll bite me.”

“I guess I didn’t do anything since I’m still running.”

Fuck You, Mother Nature

I went to Sandy Hook today.

Around noon today, I was frantically trying to stuff my month-old bike into the cab of my pick-up truck. I had been waiting to meet a friend when the skies opened up.  I thought it would be best to get the bike out of the rain and then seek shelter in her car, since she’d be there any minute. There was thunder in the distance.

My first attempt to smoosh my bike in through the driver-side door failed. Bikes are made of metal and don’t smoosh well. I took a moment to dry it off with a beach blanket, then opened up the passenger door to give it another go. By now the clouds were puking rain. The bed of my truck had become a swimming pool.

I lifted the bike above my head and carried it around the car. One more try. The sky flashed bright white. I looked up to see the beginning of a lightning bolt directly above me. I was sure I was going to get hit. Time seemed to stand still as I tempted the clouds with my two-wheeled lightning rod. Instead, it streaked through the heavens, toward the beach. The thunder was instant and explosive. It scared the shit out of me. I threw my bike in the back of my truck and ran into the car.

Kim arrived shortly after and jumped in her car to wait out the storm. The rain got even more intense for a bit, but it was fun to watch from inside the safety of a car. Then emergency vehicles started showing up. I’d eventually count three ambulances, a firetruck and assorted police and park rangers.

When the rain died down we tried to leave, but were told we couldn’t until the ambulances cleared out. We decided to wait at the beach, which also turned out to be closed off. I was beginning to suspect what had happened. Someone had been struck by lighting. We were sitting on some rocks by the beach pavillion when Kim noticed something.

“I feel really uncomfortable right now,” she said. “I think that’s a body bag.”

She was pointing to a large white object toward the water. Park rangers, paramedics and cops were inspecting the area. I assured her that it wasn’t, they would have at least taken them to hospital. They would have tried to save them.

I was wrong. It was a body bag.

People around us were exchanging stories about what had happened. A man was fishing and he got struck. Even his shoes had burned up. We’d later learn that the bolt hit three people. The man was 38 and died instantly. The other two were taken to the hospital.

With our cars trapped and the storm gone, we decided to continue our original plan and bike the park. There’s a nice, paved 5-mile  trail that runs up the peninsula, and when we got to the end we stopped for lunch. The faint sound of thunder faded in again as dark puffy clouds snuck past the hills in the distance. We ducked into a nearby historic house before mother nature attacked again.

The house was had been an officer’s house back in WW2, and had been restored. It looked as though we’d just stepped out of a time-traveling delorean. There was a book about being a good army wife on the desk, and cleaning products with rascist charicatures on the packaging in the cupboard. We spent two hours hiding inside, mostly talking to the park historian. He assured us that most items in the house were authentic, right down to the panes of glass in the window, but lamented that one couch in the parlor was from the 1920s.

“It’ll do, for now,” He said.

I felt like a civilian in a war movie, hiding until the bombers passed.

When the winds were no longer ripping across the grass, I thought it might be time to head back to the cars. It was getting late and, although the storm hadn’t gone, the sun was peaking out in the west. We left the 1940s and found the present still pretty threatening. It was still raining hard. It was still windy. There was still lightning. What the hell, it was calm enough. We went for it.

I peddled as hard as I could for the 5-miles back. The rain got harder as we went. We were riding back into the storm, but there was no going back. I wasn’t scared in the woods that surrounded us during the first half. I only started getting uncomforable when we made it back to the beaches, when I was very clearly the tallest object in the immediate area. I made a conscious effort to keep my head low and peddled harder.

A loud crash of thunder rattled the area, and all I could think about was how I didn’t want to die and have all the TV news reporters make cliche comments like “Well they say it’s one in a one in a million chance, but sometime’s lightning DOES strike twice.”

We finally made it back to the cars. The parking lot was empty, except for three news vans. Channel 4 from New York interviewed Kim and I. The reporter, who was wearing a skirt and blouse in the still-heavy rain, was mostly concerned with getting a good description of the lightning. She told us we’d be on at 6.

As I drove home I couldn’t help but think about how much worse it could have been for us. We got to the beach an hour later than planned. I was originally going to park about a mile out of the park and bike in. We would have been stranded on our bikes during the worst part of the storm. We wouldn’t have been able to hide in our cars.

I got home just in time to see myself on TV.

I’m a beer enthusiast. Don’t get the wrong idea. I was never into frat parties. I don’t drink budweiser, and I rarely get drunk. I’d equate my fondness of beer to that of a fine coffee connoisseur; I enjoy picking apart the minor differences that seperate one brew from the next, and learning about the intricacies that cause them. I’ve even brewed my own beer 2 times to date.

One of the most fun ways to learn about beer is to drink new beers. I’m always sifting throught the store shelves for something I’ve never tried before. I know a lot of people would like to understand beer better and get new brew recommendations, but don’t feel like putting in the effort. Fear not. For you beer drinkers, and my own ego, I’m going to start writing brew reviews here on my blog.

Here’s a mini-review to kick things off:

Red Bridge
This is the most disappointing beer I’ve ever had. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the other 5 left in the pack. More in-depth review coming soon.