Told by Mack “The Muscle” MacAllister

I don’t trust bartenders who speak in hushed tones.

Nothing good comes from it. They always ask “Do you want to know a secret?” followed by a tale that leads to arrest, hospital visits or someone running shirtless through the jungle at 3 AM.

This was no different.

We sat in Monzón Brewing Co. after a wild ride across Mexico along with almost getting detained at the border when Roxy ‒ because who else would it be ‒ leaned toward the bartender.

“Got anything off the menu?” she asked.

The bartender paused. Then in that quiet secretive tone that triggers every alarm in my head he said:

“A man lives in the jungle… a brewer. People call him El Alquimista. He makes beer so pure or so… illegal… that even the cartel avoids him because they think he has a curse.”

JD almost choked on his beer. “I’m sorry ‒ what?”

Theo who loved research started taking notes. “Define ‘cursed.’”

The bartender gave a smirk. “He refuses tourists. But if you find him as well as win his approval… you’ll taste something that transforms your life.”

Ghost sat back in his chair with crossed arms. “Sounds like nonsense.”

Roxy finished her beer next to slamming the glass on the table.

“Well boys” she grinned “we need to explore the jungle.”

And that told me we would destroy our lives.

Into the jungle (And immediate regret)

I’ve done many stupid things.

Following Roxy into the jungle without a plan stands in my top five.

We rode our bikes out of Puerto Vallarta with poor directions or overconfidence as we headed into the sticky green mass of Sierra Madre mountains.

A note about riding a Harley through the jungle:

It is a bad fucking idea.

The roads turned to dirt tracks next to barely-there footpaths, then to “this looks like an animal trail and we must go back.”

Mosquitoes as big as fighter jets attacked us.

Ghost lost a sandal in a mud pit.

JD got sunburned under the shade.

Theo kept his notes.

But Roxy lived her best moments.

“Come on boys! Where’s your sense of adventure?”

I cleared sweat from my face. “We left it at the brewery with the air conditioning.”

Then we saw it at the point I thought we were lost forever.

A shack in a clearing.

The old man stood next to a huge clay brewing vat. He stirred a thick substance with a wooden staff.

A smell reached us first – fruity or earthy, like old magic mixed with poor choices.

JD spoke out. “Holy shit. We found him.”

El Alquimista.

Meeting the Mad Brewer

The man didn’t look up.

Didn’t say a word.

Just kept stirring.

Roxy moved forward. “Señor… are you El Alquimista?”

The man raised his gaze. His eyes cut like glass.

In perfect English he said, “That depends. Who’s asking?”

I swear to God, JD whimpered.

The most potent beer on Earth

El Alquimista lacked interest in money.

“You want my beer? You must earn it.”

And by “earn it,” he meant:

•            Aid him in the completion of a batch (like grape stomping but messier).

•            Show we could take the power of his drinks (a test we failed right away).

•            Take each sip without questions.

The first taste? A creation unlike any before.

A golden liquid thick as syrup or sweet as heaven ‒ between farmhouse ale and life’s pure magic.

JD cleaned his lips. “This stands… incredible.”

Theo wrote in his notes. “Scents of honey fresh mango plus what seems like ‘pure divine essence.’”

Who took a large taste, shut his eyes hard. “Colors appear in my mind.”

Roxy kept her smile. “I said it would matter.”

And Then it went to hell (Again)

Everything was perfect.

Then we heard the gunshots.

Not at us ‒ not yet.

But close.

El Alquimista didn’t move. He just sighed. “Ah. They’re back.”

Roxy stayed calm. “Who’s back?”

“Some men who claim this land belongs to them” he muttered as he drank his beer like a normal Tuesday.

JD turned white. “Cartel?”

El Alquimista shrugged. “I don’t ask for papers.”

A pair of black SUVs pulled up near the trees before we understood that worrying comment.

JD set down his glass. “So. We’re gonna die.”

Ghost popped his knuckles. “Depends. Could we finish our beers first?”

Mack stood up. “We won’t fight cartel people.”

Roxy flexed her arms. “What if we just run?”

Theo wrote in his notebook. “Do you think they’d let me interview them?”

The answer never came.

Because the first bullet struck the brewing vat ‒ as hell broke loose.

The Great Escape (Why we can’t have nice things)

Have you ever tried to run through a jungle after too much beer?

Let me tell you: It is not fun.

We ran or ducked behind trees with beer in our stomachs as El Alquimista walked like he knew this path.

JD fell over his own dignity.

A branch struck Theo in the face.

Ghost tried to attack someone but failed.

And Roxy?

Roxy kept on laughing.

The way we found our bikes remains a mystery but we sped from that jungle because our lives were at risk.

As we reached the road with sweat and mystery bruises, Roxy lifted a dented bottle of El Alquimista’s beer next to her smile.

“Worth every second.”

JD made a sound. “You’ll lead us to death.”

“Perhaps.” She drank. “But we’ll be well hydrated when it happens.”

The result: A whole jungle now forbids our presence.

Final beer notes: El Alquimista’s jungle brew

•            Taste: A mix of liquid gold as well as poor decisions.

•            Mouthfeel: Rich in a way that touches your soul.

•            Finish: A shadow of remorse that stays with you.

•            Overall: 11/10, would run from bullets again.