Like the mystique enveloping a great Victorian novel, this fateful June night was The Turn of the Brew for a select two. Both hardened veterans of the Lehigh Valley's mountainous heights and serpentine suburbs, Kraus and Egervary revisited a constellation from their high school orbit. To these young men, the cinders on the Emmaus track still glimmer with the blood and sweat of youthful struggles in taming their wild gaits. This particular night the soft pockets of dirt and grit filled with tearful rain as the two graced their tracks upon it once more. Forces greater than the lure of Riverdale girls at a PA Key Club Convention, a Freeze-Pop binge at the Delaney house, or even a pitcher of sangria in Torremolinos continue to tug apart, as time will do. But before the bright city lights or country moonlight beckon, we commemorate this, a humble race.
Under the novice yet enthusiastic regulation of Scott Galla, veteran Kraus showed Egervary the finer points of beer miling. Despite efforts to carry south a new nastiness acquired in Middletown, the skanky warmness of High Life was too much by the fourth brew. Imbibing imitated mastication as a warm sip spittled back up, the anti-summer-lemonade if ever there was one. Egervary, nonchalantly stripping down from street clothes after scaling the prickly fence, had a jolly stride throughout, belying his savage attitude and sharp temper. After a few reminders and small row with Kraus during the third beer, Egervary rediscovered the fighting spirit and did not succumb to the bush-leagueness of the DNF. Sending back up food particles like he hadn't handled food for months, Alex truly was a survivor and victor that evening. And a souvenir to boot, bringing the '00 lore of wit and trickery full circle.
Under the novice yet enthusiastic regulation of Scott Galla, veteran Kraus showed Egervary the finer points of beer miling. Despite efforts to carry south a new nastiness acquired in Middletown, the skanky warmness of High Life was too much by the fourth brew. Imbibing imitated mastication as a warm sip spittled back up, the anti-summer-lemonade if ever there was one. Egervary, nonchalantly stripping down from street clothes after scaling the prickly fence, had a jolly stride throughout, belying his savage attitude and sharp temper. After a few reminders and small row with Kraus during the third beer, Egervary rediscovered the fighting spirit and did not succumb to the bush-leagueness of the DNF. Sending back up food particles like he hadn't handled food for months, Alex truly was a survivor and victor that evening. And a souvenir to boot, bringing the '00 lore of wit and trickery full circle.