This is a story of bad decisions, failure, and – ultimately – redemption. Shortly after my arrival, Kai mentioned in passing the ‘Auckland Beer Mile,’ a set of 9 pubs that stretches out from Mt. Eden through the meandering neighborhoods of Kingsland. The Auckland Beer Mile is not even a mile. It’s closer to two. And more importantly, I don’t know why they call it a mile at all! They use the metric system! But, most importantly, The Auckland Beer Mile is not a destination: it is a challenge. It took us two-and-a-half months of laborious planning, preparing, and training, but finally (on a Wednesday….Ed.) we made it.

An Auspicious Morning:

It started off poorly. I woke up to find my identity had been stolen and spent the entire morning – in which I had planned to get work done – on the phone with the bank. So it goes. Kai had been working the night phone at the hostel the night prior, and had to deal with shenanigans involving the police, nudity, and a woman that can scale sheer brick walls like Spider-Man. Obviously, my day was worse; but I tried to empathize with him as we walked to the bus.

As a side note: this was a fraternal endeavor. Christa had better things to do…apparently…but anyway, as Dulcinea is never presented personally by Cervantes, so will Christa not be present except in the final act of what was to be a veeerrry long adventure. We boarded the bus: myself, the mighty Quixote, leading my Sancho Panza to glory (Kai note – these roles are reversed, obviously. Nic had no idea where he was going. [Nic counter-note – Quite the opposite! Quixote never knew where he was headed either.])

After Noon; Before Food – The Great Gambit.

We began at Galbraith’s: an old fashioned pub producing English style cask-ale. They also do pilsners. Fantastic beer garden. The inside combines a homey pub vibe with a Colonial British Officer’s Club vibe – I think its the lofty ceilings and roominess – so I felt like a hobbit in Bree. Anyway, it was 1 pm and nice enough, so we decided to sit outside. We spent a pint lovingly discussing how our writings were being ignored by mainstream society. We concluded, through a thorough and mathematical process, that mainstream society was wrong.

At the end of this pint, Kai asked if I had eaten.

‘My God, man! With my identity stolen? How could a man eat – in the midst of such – serious affairs!’

‘I haven’t eaten.’

‘How could you even ask? With such important, disastrous, matters in the world!’

‘Because, I’m hungry.’

‘Fine, fine. Of course.’

These are the words with which Kai sealed his, and our, doom. But this by the by.

Floating on:

Now – we had to make a sacrifice for this trip. Small Gods brewing was not open on Wednesday, but as it was the only day that could work, we accepted it. Christa and I had already been there, so I figured I could beat Kai to the record and steal his glory, anyhow.

So we went to Brothers. Quick Review: Good happy hour, wide selection, feels like you’re in every warehouse brewery north of Redding and south of Canada. Beer: decent. Kai was starting to get tired, so I pushed him onward.

Next stop: Churly’s. This is a retro diner that got turned into a brewery. Behemoth makes some alright beers, but, while it’s a place I really liked, it’s not a place I’d go back to. Not for any particular reason. It just feels kinda out of the way, and more like a diner. It’s a fine place, but its Aristotelian essence is simply not that of a drinking place. They do have a wall of dogs…and they’ve made a variety of Ukrainian and Anti-Trump beers. So it’s at least a decent place to vote with your dollar.

At this point I noticed – not without alarm – that my trusty companion was beginning to flag. He was growing tired. Our discourse slowed, the Dionysian spark was stifled: I could feel madness slowly slipping from my grasp, the surface tension of grey monotonous reality pressing against the top of my skull. In a word: horror. But we still had one more chance. Garage Project.

Just down the road, in an unremarkable part of town, is Garage Project. I think they make their own stuff. It’s fine. I had a porter that was spiced a little oddly to my taste, and Kai had a Dill Pickle Sour. Yes. It tasted exactly like it sounded. He also ate a ham and cheese. So the sour made sense as a condiment. But he couldn’t finish it, and we had to split it, taking turns chugging what was, in ideality and, far more horrifying, reality, Shine and Pick-Juice.

I am not proud of this moment.

A Grand, Intoxicating Innocence:

Our next stop was close by: St. Leonards Brewing. I was hoping it could break our slump and release us from our Apollonian prison: raving, maniacal. I desperately wanted it to open Pandora’s Box, and for us to discover solely a mirror.

But St. Leonards was closed. This was the beginning of the end.

‘Kai,’ I said.

‘Yes, sire?’

‘This presents us with quite the pickle.’

‘But we’ve just had pickle, sire!’

At this point Kai had taken to calling me Sire. I was not entirely certain as to why, but I recognized the Divine Right of my authority, and, in my wisdom, allowed him to continue. Maybe he was right about my monarchical authority. After all, he was right about the pickle.

At this point, we had a few places left and they were a 15 minute walk away. Madness had slipped my grasp: the stifling darkness of mundanity infected us. There were three more places:

• Urbanaut
• 605 Brewing
• Beer Spot

Urbanaut is a fantastic brewery. We had some more food there, as I was feeling a bit peckish by then. I highly recommend Urbanaut, as does Kai. It receives two thumbs up. Brewing Bigly.

It’s not only a quality brewery with a great bit of neon scenery, and the Atlanta IPA that I have a soft spot for, but I seem to remember the food was good (do you remember much at all? -Ed.) I had an item of food. A unit. It may have involved beef. Dunno. Kai had some halloumi fries.

605 was next. Do not recommend. Imagine your favorite hipster coffee shop (you know the one, where the only colors are black or white and succulents hang from the exposed rafters). Now imagine it’s a dive bar. Incongruous. See Kai’s reaction:

At this point, we were slogging through. Sleepiness had fallen upon us, and we had never reached the golden moment of having an astonishingly silly conversation. We were in quest of it, but it would not be granted. Our quest was a tragedy, full of hubris. And beer.

Final stop: Beer Spot. It’s a great place, but at this point in the night a growing sense of defeat had crippled the glorious hopes that flowered only earlier that afternoon. Darkness consumed the land. By which I mean it was night now. We had our final pints.

‘Are you hungry?’ Kai asked.

‘Yeah…did we eat anything?’ I asked.

‘Dunno.’

And that was that.

Or was it?

Two Days Later: Light in the Darkness

The next day was one of my days given over to sloth. I was regaled with fear, anxiety, thoughts of impending death. I slept too much. Christa made me soup. It was a great kindness. I told her of our defeat.

‘We didn’t – we didn’t make it. We just got tired.’

‘Ok,’ she said.

‘You don’t understand! We got tired! We crapped out!’

‘Ok,’ she said. This time I detected a hint of sarcasm. But – no – impossible. Not from my darling wife.

‘It was a tragedy,’ I endeavored to explain. ‘Like Oedipus. Or Napoleon! From the Heights!’ – I swished my hand – ‘comes the fall!’

‘Ok,’ she said. Yes. It was sarcasm.

Friday Night: Redemption

Friday we decided to go get gelato with Kai. It was a little walk to the shop in Ponsonby, and the gelato was delicious. Afterward he recommended a taqueria ‘only a short distance away,’ and 5 miles later we discovered it. It was less good. But most importantly for this post-script: on the way back, Kai mentioned we could swing by St. Leonards. This was the only pub I had missed, and the three of us decided to finally finish what had begun on Wednesday.

‘It’s perfect Kai! It’s – the heroes journey!’ I exclaimed.

‘Indeed,’ he said.

‘My god!’

‘Indeed.’

It was at this moment I discovered a most curious coincidence: Christa and I had, in fact, been to St. Leonards before. It was on our trip to see the Blues a month prior, but I had forgotten the name.

St. Leonards is a quality spot. A fine garden. Good beer. Like Urbanaut, it receives unreservedly our commendations. Christa checked and discovered that not only was Small Gods open, but we could make it there before they closed.

Trust the River:

We did it. It took 55 hours, but it was done. We slipped in to Small Gods just before 8 and had a final, celebratory, pint. Kai had completed the Golden Mile for the first time. It turned out I had completed it on Wednesday anyway, but now it was for certain: the history books. There was much rejoicing. Afterward, the three of us went back up the street. After a block we were standing just across from Galbraith’s, where it all began.

‘Finish it off?’ I asked.

‘Is this the spot with the nice garden?’ Christa asked.

‘They do have a nice garden…’ Kai acquiesced.