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There comes a time for every man where he finds himself at a crossroads. And at this moment, he must choose a path that will forever shape the rest of his years. Lives are forever and irrevocably shaped in these moments. These choices then become cast in stone, and provide the foundations for all that is built upon them. For me that moment occurred this past December.

I was torn inside, anguishing from the great chasm that split me from the core of my being. I was being pulled in two diametrically opposed directions, encapsulated best by Shakespeare’s famous wondering... "To shave or not to shave?"

Thrust upon the precipice of such a monumental decision, the marrow of my bones quivered at the implications of what my steely shiny razor might do...

Ever since a young child I had the same dream as every other little boy. This, of course, was becoming the World Natural Full Beard Champion. Yes, the cardboard box I grew up in as a child was littered (literally) with pictures of all the great Long Beards. Yokiv Strioker, the famous Russian champion of '68. Longuni Beardini, Italian sensation that dominated the scene in the 70's. And who could forget Thom "Dirty" Harry, the Swedish great and only man to win the worlds 5 times in a row. The list goes on and on, but alas, I digress. Winning this great honor was a life's quest for me. For two years I had groomed a magnificent beard that had reached 14 inches in length and showed now signs of stopping. Then, out of nowhere, I found myself in the greatest quandary I had ever known.

The High Sierra Beard and Moustache Festival was 6 months away. I knew I had a good chance at taking top prize, thus securing a spot on the coveted Beard Team USA (the first step towards my plan for international beard growing dominance). But Fate threw a wrench into it all, when I discovered that there were going to be two, yes two divisions at this year’s festival. A full beard competition and a partial beard competition. I knew at this moment I could not be a complete champion unless I won both divisions at the same time. Then, and only then, could I walk in the pantheon of the greats and know I am the greatest beard growing guy out there, ever, for all time, that means out of everyone, past, present, future (and everything else in between, infinity plus two).

But how could I do this. If I shaved for the partial beard competition, I would no longer be able to compete in the full beard division. What to do? I went to vistit my good friend and advisor, Don Juan. Under his supervision, I relented to my crazed state, and the answer came to me in vision where the shape of a neon painted donkey with three legs came sliding down on a porcelain rainbow braying in haiku the answer to my woes. The great neon tripod beast of burden told me to shave my beard off, and make a beard wig with it. Then I was to grow another beard, and shave it exotically for the partial beard division. When it came time for the competition, I was told to wear a white suit with a red shirt and enter the full beard division with my beard wig, and then use my current exotically shaved beard in the partial beard competition. If I did this, my success would appear in twos. Wow, that must mean I would win both divisions!

Gasping, exhausted, and weak from my 22nd straight day of a peyote induced vision quest, I collapsed into a two day slumber, at peace inside with the knowledge of what I must now do. Upon awaking, I shaved off my beard and created a striking beard wig, forever preserving the glory of two years of unbridled hair grown (minus two incidents involving a stove in El Salvador and a campfire in Yosemite). I then put myself on a rigorous program of eating hair growing foods and a healthy daily supplement of vitamins from BALCO (they told me they were giving me "vitamins", honest. I mean, why would they lie? How was I supposed to know they were giving me steroids? I thought everyone grew hair on their toenails...).

My arrival at the High Sierra Beard and Moustache festival was your usual high profile outing. Press conferences, evenings around town at all the hot spots, beautiful women clamoring for my attention and a little tug or nuzzle of the "beard". I maintained my discipline and kept to my stringent pre competition routine of yogurt baths in the morning, riding the camel in the woods in the afternoon, and a partying like a wild man until dawn.

I felt in fine shape as I stepped up to the registration booth the day of the competition. In the partial beard division I drew the lucky number 5. It is lucky, because it is two less than seven (which is also a lucky number), but since all good things come in twos, and that five is the sum of the first two prime numbers (two and three), and that today was two days less than the square root of 22, being two away from seven seemed really lucky. Sensing luck on my side, I worked my partial beard with all that I had, slipping the male judges money and whispering promises I could never keep into the ears of the female judges. When all the contestants had shown their stuff, I felt confident I would prove victorious. After all, with my brilliant deduction of how important the number two was for the day, how could I lose? Irony, it seems, is not without a sense of humor. I ended up placing second in the division.

For the full beard competition, I was starting to feel outgunned. I had not anticipated the level of costuming and beard sculpting that I was seeing on my competitors. I had also received word from an inside source that I had bribed to rig the competition in my favor (a very nice lady from France, she used to be a judge with figure skating or something like that...), that my "beard wig" was not being seen as a legitimate beard. My confidence was visibly shaken, and my performance when displaying my beard suffered. I ended up placing a dismal 4th. As we all know, 2 x 2 = 4. I hate the number 2, just for the record. Alas, it was not all for not, I did received a wonderful beer mug to commemorate my participation in the beard competition, as well as a grand T shirt and coupon for a gondola ride for, yes, you guessed it, "two" adults there at squaw valley.

The event organizers were great hosts, and the spirit there was truly festive. I am looking forward to next years competition, where I hope to put the lessons learned this year into use and come back with the unprecedented "two division" win. In the immortal words of Nascar sensation Ricky Bobby, “You are either first, or last”.

It’s time to Shake and Bake baby! See ya all there next year!