Flashback #1 The Rod and Reel

January 2009 -ish

If you have ever been a poor traveler or broke student you will be more than familiar with the importance of predrinking. As too with sneaking in sachets of alcohol to sporting events and clubs, hiding bottles of wine in parking lots, beers in bushes, half-jacks in jackets, and vodka bottles in handbags. Pre-drinking is key to obtaining optimum drunkeness (somewhere between a numb face and performing failed stagedives) and minimal spending. In Aspen, a ritzy town with extravagant prices pre-drinking wasn’t an option but a necessity. Enter the Rod ‘n’ Reel and the perfect answer to our then perturbment.



We were staying an hour’s bus ride from the town of Aspen, where the action, clubs and Brazilian girls were. We could drink on the bus in our gatorade bottles spiced with cheap vodka, which we did, but we stumbled upon a better solution. Aspen itself is the Monte Carlo of North American skiing. There I walked past Heidi Klum in the street (she acted casual about it), caught a lift with Hilary Swank (she too, masked her giddiness) and rubbed shoulders with other celebrities in equally abritrary ways. And while these stars were living the high life in their mansions and hotel suites we were drinking in public parks in -20 degrees celcius, changing rooms and our preferred Mcdonald’s where the Rod ‘n’Reel came to prominence. In the land of the free, unlike Africa, refills are free at fast-food outlets. This blew our minds at first. Being African and therefore losing our shit at anything vaguely free we took full advantage of this. A friend from home, Ian Greig used to build up his thirst and at the end of the day would“get his money’s worth” for a small coke continuously refilled for the two hour period he would spend there. We slowly caught onto how this could slip into our predrinking ritual - perfectly. What was perfect was that 1.75 litres of Vodka was a relative steal (despite the imminent blindness), there was an upstairs area, no security and the added bonus of a framed fishing rod and reel to add to the aesthetics. To add to the attraction, the clubs we were interested in, primarily Chelsea’s and primarily on Wednesdays Ladies’ nights, was one street away. Talk about location. With this discovery, we approached this new drinking venue with all the abundant fervour and passion that we naturally showed for intoxication.



We rendezvoused at the bottle store where we had an account under the name of ‘The Barton Boys’. This was the name of our blinding vodka and would spark obvious amazement by the staff each and every time we insisted on buying this 1.75 litres of loveliness. I think we bought 18 bottles in the month of January 2009. That’s not bad considering we barely had money for food, but lets not fuss on priorites. The excitement, like in every bottle store, was ripe and we skipped off with our loot to the oasis that is Mcdonald’s. Giggling, we each ordered one small coke and ran upstairs and set upon our business of getting wasted in public.

We were merrily making our way through our first drink in the far corner of the upstairs level when we noticed our company. Two stalls away were two large men in overalls and a young woman. After peeking at them a few times we noticed that one of the overalled men was in on this game of ours too. He was also intermiitently spicing up his 7up. We were instantly buzzing by the possibility that we had stumbled upon a secret society, a glorious underworld and decided to spark up a conversation with our apparent drinking buddy. He took no time to impress us with his drunkeness which was vastly beyond ours. He stood up and made the slightly baffling claim that he was in fact Sasquatch. It was only slightly baffling because he did look woodlandish, and had a hermit-esqueness to him. He pronounced that he was in fact Sasquatch and that we should take a picture of him to send into the tabloids if we wanted some quick money. Despite this exclamation we befriended the behemoth and even shared our drinks with him. His effect on the events dissipated when his drunkkenness overwhelmed him and a quietness presided and soon enough we were at his previous level and heading out to devastate dancefloors, steal drinks, inadvertantly insult girls and other usual shenanigans. And so the illustrious ritual of the Rod ‘n Reel was instigated.



With the succes of the first meeting, word spread of the location’s excellent proximity to the clubs, cheap mix and festive environment and the second meeting had more members with some regulars, such as Sasquatch. We were ecstatic to see him again, screaming “Sasquatch”in baffled hysterics. He too was there drinking again, as I assume he did every day.
(There were various 'Sasquatch Sightings' throughout the season. Callum claimed to have seen him walking around the Buttermilk ski slopes holding a spade and looking busy. I personally saw him two more times. One was when he impossibly snuck into this fancy party that was held at my place of work, a restaurant\bar where I dominated as security, and he stomped around helping himself to the free drinks. He was still in his overalls and I have no idea how he got in, but I certainly wasn't going to kick him out. The second and last time I saw him was in a square where there was a live band playing. He had found a seat a few meters away from the band, had the ever present spiced up gatorade bottle with him and between screams of encouragement for the band had muffled sobs and I saw him crying quietly to himself. That was a pretty sad scene but I will rather choose to remember the good times related to Sasquatch.)
The highlight of this second Rod ‘n’Reel session, as they were being referred to after the decoration of our drinking corner, was Sasquatch taking off his overall and pants. I cannot recall why but I do recall that it did happen, all the way down to his underpants, to his delight and our shock. Before long we were having farewell parties at The Rod, and were getting too rowdy for the exasperated staff who were threatening us with calling police. To be fair, we were too brave for our own good, taking no effort to hide our innebriation, our cackling increasing with every visit on our way to refill our ‘small cokes’,spilling our drinks and laughing about it, leaving the place a shambles and being allround drunkards. And in an instant we were all banned from Mcdonald’s, which made that Jeff’s third place in Aspen to be banned from.

It didn’t last for long, but the prime of the Rod ‘n’Reel was sublime, a certain ‘beating of the system’, and allowed us to remember very little of those nights that started with a bottle of 1.75 litre Barton, a small coke and Sasquatch taking off his pants.