Sylvia 200

When I got home everything was normal.  I went into shower then returned to the still house. I loaded the cooker with a gallon or so of soapy water in the back of the cruiser/van.  There was no cleaning to do to the condenser.  I went on with my plan to fill up twenty or so 12 oz bottles with the hooch.  I got all that done by dark that same day.  My choice became simple take the stuff out for a spin that night, or wait until I had some people lined up to meet me somewhere for a trail run.  There were going to be the same risks regardless of when I did it, so what the fuck, I said to myself.

When I got to the house I had the cook pot and the twenty two bottles of hooch in the back of the less than half a minivan.  I took the cook pot out and changed the water in it before I did anything else.  I emptied the existing water out only after I swished it about a few times.  Then I put about a gallon of very hot water in cook pot in the shower stall.  It just wouldn’t fit anywhere else which was just as well.  I had hot water there and the janitor’s type sink next to it only.  As a matter of fact I didn’t have any kind of water in the kitchen area of the box/house.

The big cook pot was pretty much clean and all the soap out of it went I moved it to the janitor sink.  I couldn’t make water from the faucets on the sink reach but I had managed to clean it.

I took a quick shower, put on a pair of the cargo pants, and a long sleeve tee shirt.  I even wore one of the better looking parka’s.   I usually wore a ratty one to hide my pistol, but now and then I wore a nice one, when I wanted to impress people.  This was my impress the boss moment.

“Hey Monk, do you think your friend bone crusher will be in tonight?”  I left the message for him early in the evening.  While I waited for him to call back I thought about his friend Bone  Crusher.  Every biker club in the country had a member with the nickname Bone Crusher.  Not everyone with that name deserved it, but Monk’s friend did deserve it.

He ran a biker bar and he ran it with a minimum of violence.  He explained to everyone that he ran a neutral country type bar.  “I run the Switzerland of biker bars.” he explained to anyone who would listen.

I didn’t want to drive all the way to Dobson to talk to anyone else.  If I knew he was there, I could swing bye and talk to another dance type club.  A lot of shit ran out of that club, so I had no idea whether it was a good idea to go there.

Then too Jim Boyle and his brother lived in Dobson.  They were party guys,  They liked to deal in the unusual, so they would love the stuff.  I would have to let them sample it, which was a good idea regardless.

I was about to call Boyle, when Monk returned my message.  “Hello there Silvie.  I just called the crusher he will be in tonight and expecting you.  You want me to come over and go in with you?” Monk asked.

“Monk, I get in much more shit with you, than I would without you.  But thanks honey,” I said.

Once Monk killed the connection, I made the call to Boyle.  He said, “Let me meet you somewhere.  We try to keep the business out of house since the Mary Ellen thing.”

I need to stop at that biker bar on the Sparta road first, but I can give you a call after and we can meet.” I offered.

“Works for me,” he said.

So I left County Seat with at least two stops on my schedule.  I headed to the Biker Bar Monk had taken me to almost two years before, when I was still working for the cops.  I never turned on them, so they never had a problem when word went around that I was a cop.  They just remembered the nights I got drunk and screwed guys in the parking lot.  That convinced them that I wasn’t always a cop.  Sometimes I could be just a fun slut.  Then when word smuggled down that I had been cut loose by the other side, they were willing to make room for me.  That didn’t work out quit as they wanted, but nobody went to jail either.

I went into the bar that night with a 12oz fruit drink bottle of pure green dragon.  There are new guys on the door all the time.  I wasn’t surprised when I asked the complete stranger, “Is Bone Crusher around?”  I asked it very respectfully, so if the conversation went rank, I could truthfully said it wasn’t my fault.

“Who the fuck is askin’?” the bad ass looking biker type asked..

“Let me put it this was honey, I met the crusher before and you definitely ain’t him, so run alone and get him.” I said.

“You do not move from this spot till I get back,” he demanded.

“What I can’t even go back to the pool room and give blowjobs oh well,” I said

“I should have known it was you,” the morbidly obese bald man said.

“And I should have known you were still hiding behind fagots with motorcycles.” I kept a close eye on the biker, who had met me at the door,  He looked as though he might want to kick my ass.

“I should let you back those words up Sylvia but it takes so long to find one who will show up for work everyday.”  He looked over to the ones behind the bar.  Those were the ones with the sawed off shotguns hidden under the bar.  They were the ones I really feared.

“Okay Sylvia what the hell you here for now?” he asked.

“Here is the deal Crusher.  I have decided to start brewing some green dragon the way it should be made.  This is distilled from The Marijuana tea.  It ain’t one of those blended things.  I have a very low capacity.  So I’m offering it to a couple of my old customers until I reach the capacity I wan’t to brew.” I said.  “Crusher, it ain’t cheep.”

“If you got a small glass behind the bar, I’ll let you try it free.  Just you and just one time.”  The bartender produced something that looked a lot like a pill cup.  I poured an ounce of the clear looking liquid.  The crusher took it in one mouthful.  Her held it in his mouth a second and then swallowed it.

“That’s some smooth shit Sylvia.  The THC ain’t as fast as smoking it, but it’s smooth and you ain’t gonna be seen smoking it either.  So how much a gallon?”

I’m starting at $2.50 per oz anything less than a gallon.  Each gallon at $300 and here is the deal I can guarantee that price for one order only.  My capacity is low, if someone is willing to pay more for an order to get it, I have to go with the money.  I’ll honor anything we agree to until it is delivered then all bets are off.”

“Let me have the rest of that 12oz bottle for $25 and I’ll shop it around over the next few days.  I want to place an order now for two gallons half now, half on delivery.” he demanded.

That’s fine if you want to risk someone else getting ahead of you in line on the second gallon.  It has to be prepaid to secure your place in the manufacturing schedule.” I said all businesslike.

“Damn you a hard woman, but okay.  I’ll pay you for two gallons in advance.  So when can I expect delivery.”  Crusher asked sticking out his hand to me.

“Two weeks, we want the drop it somewhere else to protect us both.” I said.

“You bet we do,” Crusher agreed.  “You let me know.”

“No notice, just go pick it up,” I said. “Give me your email for the GPS coordinates.”

“Agreed,” Crusher said.

From the Crusher’s parking lot I made arrangements to meet Jim in a McDonald’s Parking lot.  I slipped into his car, when I saw him pull in.  I was seated beside him, when I handed him a note. I said, “So how you doing baby.”

“I’m doing fine.  Why don’t you and I go in to eat.  I haven’t been in one of these in years,” he said,  Not only that but a couple of cops doing an eavesdrop would stand out like a sore thumb,  I had the last 10 oz sample of Green Dragon in my cargo jeans, so I wanted to be careful.

“You know I haven’t had a Big Mac since some asshole decided they were death on a bun.  Fuck it, I’m going to have one and a large order of French fries,” I told the cute little girl behind the counter.  I left the order counter and wandered into the dining room nobody was paying any mind to me.  Even so I sat at the table next to a few teenagers playing rap music at their normal ear splitting volume.

We managed to negotiate a deal.  Jim wanted to shop the hooch around, but he agreed to take the orders, and the money for them, before he called me.  I gave him the same story as I had Crusher,  Prepaid orders were processed before promises.  I headed  home after I closed out my first sales trip.  I decided to wait until the next days to mash.  I could take the ten days minimum it took to cook a batch to shop around the hooch I had on hand.  Maybe I would try to package it in smaller quantities. and sell it at a higher price.  Either way I considered my first trip a success as I undressed for bed.

The next morning I rode the bike hard for two hours.  I felt better when I was all damp and sweaty.  Not only did I sweat on those rides, but I let my mind wander.  While not planning I realized that I felt good about actually creating something.  I knew the state did not approve, but I could still feel good about it.

After my long tiring ride, rather than go straight home to shower, I stopped for breakfast at the Hardee’s in the plaza.  The highway patrol officers were there, some were on duty others were in civilian clothes.  I didn’t sit with them, and they didn’t seem to mind.  I figured they had already learned what they wanted to know.  I hadn’t felt too endangered by them, so I was fine with it.

After my shower and two more cups of coffee, I moved the water trailer with the empty clean plastic 32 gallon trash can sitting on top of it.  I attached a short piece of hose to the janitor type sink in my bathroom area.  I ran the hose to the water trailer and turned it on.  During my first mash in I had used a ten gallon water cooler.  This time was for real.

The trailer had been easy to swing around empty but the 30 gals of waster added one hell of a lot of weight to it.  When I got the trash can almost full, I turned off the water.  Then I pulled the trailer, with the disconnected hose from the utility sink as well, as the water tank back to the storage building.  The water tank was closed so I knew it was staying clean.  Once I had all the supplies ready, I stopped to have one last cup of coffee and study the lay of the land.

It took me a half hour to do my security sweep of the land and the computer tapes.  I felt that no matter what happened later, I was starting with as clean a slate as possible.

I began by milling the corn from the deer feed corn.  I ground thirty pounds of it.  I planned to mash in 30 Gallons so I needed thirty pounds of corn meal.  I had been able to back the water trailer up close to the storage room door.  I put the empty trash can right beside it.  I put the thirty pounds of meal into the can about 15 or 20 lbs at first, with the balance to be added later.

I was ready for the water.  My solution for getting the water from the trailer to the mash barrel was to dip it with a plastic iced tea pitcher.  After I had the barrel about half full of water I found the new electric drill with the stirring ladle drill bit attached.  It wasn’t as long as I would have liked but it might do.  It didn’t reach near deep enough, but I had known that it wouldn’t reach the bottom from the beginning.  That is why I had a very clean piece of pine shelving I could use as a boat paddle in case I needed it to reach the bottom.  I had even done a quick trimming to shape it a little like a canoe paddle.

I had the grain completely dissolved in the mash barrel using only half the necessary water.  I unhooked the cruiser van from trailer and drove to the box house with a thirty pound bag of sugar.  I had a new paint bucker sitting in the floor of my box house while I ate a frozen Meat Loaf TV dinner.

While I ate the dinner and drank diet coke, I also heated water in my teapot.  It heated water very quickly.  While I finished that dinner I was able to heat the pot several times.  I was able to make a simple syrup of the thirty pounds of sugar in about an hour.  I took the time to check my security camera and the audio as well.  Since everything looked good, I carried the simply syrup in a large water bottle.

The last thing I needed to do after supper was to grind three pounds of pot stalks.  So I went back to the storage building to take care of that.  I put them in the mix along with my simply syrup and the activated yeast.  The las thing I did was to finish filling of the mash barrel and stretch a white piece of sheetlike material over the top.  It was held in place by bungee chords wrapped around the barrel.  I had cleaned everything and then I wore rubber gloves for all my chores.  I was going to have to wait to see how long I could keep it up.

I left the box house after changing into something not quite so smelly.  I went to the Pub for a couple of beers on the first night after I mashed in.  I had done some checking with my lawyer friends and decided to take repeat orders by email and deliver the product in a dead drop.    If the ABC investigators got on to me, catching me wouldn’t be easy.  Then making the connections necessary to prosecute me wouldn’t be easy either.  All that in order to pursue a small time moonshiner, who would most likely only be of interest to the local law dogs, might just slip through the cracks.

That is how me, The Brit, and Bob the lawyer saw it.  So I left the pub at 9PM with two 12 oz bottles of hooch in the car.  I decided to take $30 for each of them, or sell them for $3 an oz.  I had a list of dealers from Bob the lawyer.  He specialized in bootleggers, so he knew his shit.  Bob had also heard of me.

It was 10:30PM when I arrived at the club in Dobson.  It was a dance club which held only a beer license.  “Hello,” I said to the female owner.  “A mutual friend said you might be interested in something unique.”

“Oh who is the friend, and what is the unique product?” she asked.

“His name is Bob and he works at a different kind of bar.  The product is green dragon.  He said you would know what it is.” I said to the grandmotherly looking woman.

“Oh is it real green dragon, or some blended shit,” the owner asked.

“It was distilled right along with the corn liquor.  I know because I distilled it.” I said.

“You let me try it, and if it’s what you say it is, I’ll buy a gallon from you,” she said.

“Don’t you want to know what I’m asking for a gallon?” I asked.

“Let me try, it then we will talk money,” she said.

I poured about two ounces in a glass then returned the glass to the bar.  I stood watching while she knocked it back.  She had to do it in two swallows.  “Holy shit baby, if that shit effects me as good as it tastes, you got a deal.”

“$500 a gallon gets you priority delivery,” I said.  I sat in the club for about an hour while the shit kicked in.

“When can you deliver the first gallon?” she asked.

“Pay in advance and I can dead drop a gallon tomorrow night by the dark of the moon,” I said with a smile.

“Okay then bring it,” she said opening the register and removing the cash. “My name is Ramona.”

“Mine is Sylvia,” I replied.

“Yeah Bob said you might be by to see me.  Try to drop the product after midnight so that I can stop by to pick it up after I close this place.  I also got a friend.  I’ll see if he wants any.”

“That would be nice but my capacity is low so I don’t promise to have it on hand or even delivery dates,” I said.

“Fair enough,” she said.

I gave her the bulletin board address and the order information before I left.  I drove straight home and checked the mash.  It was still cooking off.  It made it’s own heat but it was chilly outside the building.  I was still concerned that there might need to be some heat in the storage building to make it all work.  But then I remembered I would have the cook pot to a hundred and seventy five degrees soon.  When I set the pumps in the creek the water would flow more or less continual.  If there was a problem I would know for sure soon enough.

After a good night sleep I rode the bike two hours around town checking things out.  Nothing looked out of place, so I took a shower when I returned home.  I dressed in my work clothes which where pretty much the clothes that I had on at any give time.  I owned very few fancy clothes.  No matter what I was wearing, at any given time I was likely to lean down and start working on something.  I had no clothes sense.

I moved the two used automobile batteries I used to power the pumps to the back of the Cruiser.  After that I moved them to the box house where I attached a battery charger which I had also found in a storage locker.  I had sent two others just like it to the flea market vendor for sale. It would take the batteries most all day to charge, but the mash still had at least two or three more days to cook off.

I removed the pump from the creek while the sun was at its warmest,  I did that so I reconstructed my rock damn.  It was no Hoover dam, but I was still proud of it.  All it had to do was make a pool of water behind it deep enough to hide the pump.  The pump had to be strong enough to pump the water uphill about ten feet to the reservoir.  From the reservoir it ran into the orange ten gallon water cooler that I used for a condenser.  From the hose attached to the bottom of the cooler the water went back to the creek.

After I improved the water situation for the condenser, I move on to making sure I could get enough bottles.  I spent the time till dark checking out recycle spots and found the ideal one for me.  There was a gym in the plaza area outside Dobson that recycle hundreds of water bottles a day.  They probably recycled enough in one day to cover a full run.  I just had to come up with a way to take them without appearing to be suspicious.  I was still trying to figure it out, when I drove by on my way to drop off the gallon of green dragon for Ramona.  I drove by the place I guess hoping I would find what I found, but I certainly never expected it.

The trash from the gym was outside.  It was stored in really large clear plastic bags.  I could see that the bags contained well over a hundred bottles each.  The gym still had a car in the parking lot so I went on to make my drop.  I put the gray grocery bag with the green dragon inside behind a bush beside a highway sign.  I sent Ramona the GPS coordinates.  Since it was my first time doing business with her, I put a game camera on the pickup site.  Just to make sure there was no misunderstandings.

Then I headed back home and found the gym’s parking lot empty.  So I quickly circled behind the concrete block building to load two of the bags filled with plastic bottles into the cruiser van.  After that I drove home and went to bed  I still needed to figure a way to sanitize the bottles.  Hell I didn’t even know the capacity of the bottles, but those were challenges for the next day.

5AM seems to come even earlier, when you don’t get to bed until 3AM.  Sometimes I wonder, if a couple of hours sleep isn’t worse then no sleep.  Regardless, the morning air was getting cool enough to wake me instantly.  After a quick breakfast of animal fat on a biscuit, I got back  home at seven thirty.  I slipped on a parka that was lined with a jersey material before I walked up to the storage building.

The mash had been working five days before it appeared ready to cook.  I knew there was a short window for best results, so I decided that I might start after lunch.  It might be a little early so I had to force myself to consider waiting a little longer.   It was hard for me to get it, the patience thing I mean.

I checked the Internet, while I ate takeout from McDonalds.  I had tried a BigMac and fell right back into my addiction to fast food.  I was working on the withdrawal, I told myself.  I found from my bulletin board that the delivery had been pickup by Ramona.

So I ran by before I went cooking to pick up my game camera.  Sure as hell when I checked it, there she was getting the plastic bag and running with it.  I drove from the chore straight home to figure out what I was going to do with the water bottles.

The first thing I did was find three large cardboard boxes, which still seemed to hold their shape.  I sorted through the bottle and found that they were mostly half a liter or one liter bottles.  I had expected others, but I probably shouldn’t have been surprised.  Also they were mostly one brand, which I’m sure the gym sold.

So I needed four to make a gallon of containers.  Fifteen of them would cover a full run it might take a little more but I figured I would clean up twenty four and see how that did.  I separated the bottles before I stored them in the trailer.  I took ten of the one liter size and began working on them.  I took them down to my bathroom.

The one thing my shower and sink had was some hot water.  It also had a super hot on demand wanter delivery system.  So the first thing I did was run them through with cold water to get every drop of old water from them.  Them I took a cloth dampened with a sanitizer made with soap and chlorine bleach. Finally I flushed them with super hot water, then put a drop of sanitizer into the bottles and let them sit and hour.  Then I came back and flushed them again with the super hot water.  I loaded the bottles in a milk crate to dry and took them to the storage building.  While I was there I check the mash again.

I made my decision then.  After the next day’s bike ride I was going to start cooking, and all that was involved with it.  When I got home I was exhausted, so I fell into bed well before midnight.  I slept like someone in a coma.  I wasn’t hot, I wasn’t cold, I wasn’t hungry or thirsty, and I didn’t need to pee in the middle of the night.  I just breathed in and breathed out for ten hours.

When I woke, I kicked my bike into gear and away I rode.  I rode for two hours as I did most mornings.  I stopped by the Hardee’s for biscuits before locking myself into the still house.

Before I closed the door on myself I filled the reservoir which was quite a bit larger that the condenser so I should be able to turn the pump off now and then.  Hell that would likely be my only job to amount to anything for the next eight hours or so.

I began by dipping and straining about ten gallons of mash.  I had it in the cooker and ready to go in a few short minutes.  I also had well over half the mash left in the barrel.  I added approx 1 pound of pot grind before I started it to cook.  Once I got the cooker all sealed up, I slid the fire ring under it and off she went.

Once it reached 125 degrees I could feel the pipe between the cooker and condenser heating up.  When the cooker reached 175 degrees I began to work at the gas control to try to control the temp.  I also kept the pump going but turned it off now and then so I wouldn’t float the trailer away.

Six and one half hours later I felt like it had finished cooking, so I pulled the fire ring.  I emptied and cleaned the cooker a little before I started again with a new pound of pot grind and all the old stuff in the bottom of the cooker and started it again.  I ran it two more times before I shut it down completely.  In just over 24hours I made 6 gallons of the green dragon.  It was however 170 proof.  Since I had combined it all together it took adding about a gallon of bottled water to get it down to about 120 proof.  I bottled 4 gallons, give or take, in one liter bottles, 2 gallons, give or take, in 1/2 liter bottles and one gallon, give or take in 10 oz bottles.

About cindypress

sorry it is a mystery.
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14 Responses to Sylvia 200

  1. jack says:

    Sylvia is going to have a mash disposal problem soon. could feed it to chickens but the stalk might present a problem with that

  2. cindypress says:

    fertilizer for the land fit only to hold the earth together.

  3. Walt says:

    Congratulations on another milestone — 200 Chapters.

    I’m caught up now. Did 199 last night and 200 this morning. Also added Ramona (bar owner) to the cast.

    VA cancelled my appointment yesterday. The lady that does the tests called in sick. With their backlog it may be March or April before I get another appt. Still have 3 other appointments this month, 2 at Ft Knox and one at VA in Louisville. Phun Phun

  4. KO says:

    No, no no . . . WHEN you get to 300! It has been, and continutes to be, a fantastic story and congratulations on your 200th Chapter. I’ve enjoyed each and every one along the way! Thank you, thank you and THANK YOU! 😀

  5. Barney R says:

    Might I add my congratulations on your 200th chapter. As always you make my date when i read the next chapter. Walt, i understand. The VA is so bad here i won’t even got it there. I tend to go to the VA at Temple or the hospital at Ft. Sam.

    • Barney R says:

      Boy i must really need to go to bed, i can’t believe i misspelled so may words in that last comment.

    • Walt says:

      Barney I know what you mean as I have heard good and bad about VA hospitals. Let’s face it, no VA, or any business, is excellent, good, fair, or poor all depending on the quality of the people working in them. Seems like these days people are more concerned about getting a paycheck than working for it. As for VA I think their problem is they are so overloaded with patients they just can’t keep up and probably discourages workers.

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