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Beers With Character, The Prelude


In the latest Lonerider blog entry, CEO and Chief Drinking Officer Sumit Vohra introduces us to the story of Shotgun Betty.

Confidence in decision-making is a funny thing; it follows a characteristic flow in almost every person. Contemplation turns to introspection, which in turn brings along character dissection. If you are lucky, you have moved on to a positive conclusion after a brief moment of internal good cop, bad cop routine. If you are not, lucky that is, you are in the limbo of procrastination, which is the toughest place to be. Believe me, there are no perfect answers. There are only answers that have to be derived based on the best possible information on hand.

And the answer for me after being embroiled in the world of bits & bytes (Computer Science) and validating the alchemy of compounds (Clinical Research) was a resounding YES. Yes, to one particular fermented beverage: BEER. The question was an easy one too, “If not now, when?”

But this note is not about decision-making or why beer. Beer is one of the ultimate passions and those who sniff-swirl-gulp, as I do, understand that. I wanted to write about why “Lonerider” and in particular wanted to share the beginning of the sexy tough cowgirl we know as Shotgun Betty.


The Beginning
It’s dusk and the wind howls its threnody as if the outcome of the night has already been decided. Somebody will make use of the empty casket outside, and that somebody surely won’t be Betty. Today she is too determined, too tired, and too unwilling to forgive anyone standing in her way. Her eyes are fixed on his and she already knows that he will never get a chance to draw his gun. This fool will die the same way his partner did because some fights you give a wide berth to and he seemed to have forgotten that.

Betty glances at the rest of the bar. The air inside seemed to have taken on a heavy quality and the rest of the patrons seemed frozen as if taking a breath of the gunpowder-laden air will be their last. She allows herself a fleeting memory of Jack and her resolve strengthens behind her weary eyes. This will be the last time she will break up a fight in this town. She shoots her opponent in the leg and as his expletive filled scream fills the saloon she takes one last glance and walks out on the last few years of her life.

As she nears her house, she dismounts her horse and gives him a slap on the rump to shoo him away. She opens the door she never bothers to lock and walks over to her bed. From underneath she slides out a metal box, opens it up, and examines the content. She packs her rucksack with necessities, the box, and what she would need for the road. She also grabs a few sticks of dynamite. Outside she lays out a long fuse, lights it on fire and walks away.

As the explosion brightens the night behind her, she is determined not to look back. She knows there is nothing left for her in this town. She can feel the forlorn gaze of her horse at her back, her only companion besides her trusted Shotgun.  A new day awaits her and the next train out of town has got a ticket with her name on it.


I invite you to join us in our journey. I promise we will have fun along the way.


CEO & Chief Drinking Officer