What to do on a cloudy Thursday afternoon in thirty three C heat?

Not much, and certainly nothing physical. Kchalo spares a thought for all the robots doing all that work. To think that the poor ancients would have been busy in such heat. Shocking.

Kchalo turns up the cooling of his reclining chair a notch. Not doing much feels less stressful with a chilly neck-rest helping the body not to sweat more than strictly necessary. Less sweat, less need to raise his beer bottle to drink from it.

Yes, he’s holding an actual beer bottle, well chilled thanks to the convenient fridge under his reclining chair. And he‘s taking actual sips from it.  Kchalo prides himself on his traditional skills. No automatic infusions from a sleeve container for him. He prefers to take in fluids orally, just like the ancients. Yes, there is some exertion involved, but it‘s worth it.

The reward for raising a bottle to the lips to drink, a nice ritual in itself, is a sublime taste experience. 

Some people pretend it’s perfectly replicable, that at the end of the day, the brain can’t tell the difference between drinking for real and the suggestion of the corresponding sensations as conveyed by the next fluid balancer app, but that’s so wrong.

Having heard of the studies supposed to demonstrate the superiority of an infusions-only lifestyle, Kchalo did his own trial and proved the scientists mistaken. His experiment was anything but double-blind, of course, but who the hell cares if the brain can be fooled in an unnatural setting? It’s pleasant, to drink from a beer bottle, period. No need for techie mumbo-jumbo to confirm something as intuitively obvious.

The artificial sensations conveyed by the mind altering substances in the infusion do have an effect, Kchalo won‘t deny this fact.

Yes, there is relief from thirst. It‘s felt rather faster than in an actual drinking experience, as if relief from thirst was the point of drinking beer. There‘s also quite a strong aftertaste of well chilled beer in the mouth. In the proven absence of any fluid that effect is more creepy than pleasant.

Same for the rapid onset slight tipsiness that makes you urge to brag about hacking your delivery drone to have it exceed the speed limit. No one is going to believe you made it fly at Mach 1.2, and scared the neighbors with a nice little sonic boom. You‘re vaguely aware of behaving stupid, but you can‘t resist the fun of the tale.

And the Mach brag is better than the alternative, boozy macho pretense. Everybody so knows that a nerd like Kchalo has a better chance to boost drone speed to impossible levels than to achieve the kind of romantic conquests suggested as mandatory by all screens.

Thinking of which. Kchalo suddenly knows what to do, on a hot Thursday afternoon.

Even more exertion involved than in the act of physically drinking from an actual beer bottle. He‘s going to sweat hard on this one, and so is she, his partner in the strenuous undertaking. But hey, a man has to do what a man loves doing.

To steady his body for the upcoming ordeal, Kchalo reaches into his fridge to pick three spicy high protein cheese cubes he wolfes down without taking the time to munch or savor. Energy input is what counts now. With all this stuff passing through his mouth, he‘ll have to remember to brush his teeth when he takes his shower, but that’s for a later hour. Now he’s going to have fun.

Kchalo pulls down the Virtual Reality visor integrated into his reclining chair, waits for the motion feeder to grab his neck and establish a connection, steadies himself into a well balanced position, with his legs slightly more apart, grabs the armrests, calls on his back and leg muscles to prepare for action hard and fast, takes a deep breath and yells „G Day 89“.

No gentle onset with this episode. Kchalo gets jolted right into the action. All his muscles tense up all at once, making him sweat and puff like a steam engine. He‘s pounding along fast, needs all his alertness to stay on top of events, back and legs aching under the effort.

It’s even worse for the horse, of course, weighed down as it is by Kchalo, the traditional armor and the heavy saddle. But she‘s a tough black mare, racing along the track in a mighty stampede, taking the corners so low the public hums in fear of a fall.

Impossible for the others to keep up with them. After the first round, they’re one length ahead of the field. After the second round, Kchalo and his champion mare no longer recall that field, too busy racing and breathing. In the third and last round, they both feel like dropping dead, but the public cheers them on. They barely make it through the last bend. The mare slips, the public yells in horror, Kchalo shifts his weight, in exactly the right way at exactly the right moment, and they make it, to win the race with five lengths of advance, an all time record.

Kchalo’s back is as sore as a coal miner‘s in the bad old days without robots. He feels like torn up down the middle, what is left of his legs a wobbly mess. But he so loves reenacting Gymkhana Day 2089 at the Ikeja Saddle Club. His parents had brought him to watch the show for his sixth birthday. His dad was carrying him on his shoulders to allow him a better view. He pissed his pants when the mighty frontrunner stumbled. Dad was sweating so badly he didn’t even notice the additional wet and Kchalo went unpunished. Never will he forget that glorious day, never will he tire of reenacting the most exciting event he ever witnessed.