Diesel mechanic Chris Wimmer, 51, wore the lederhosen. He put on his pine-green Bavarian hat. He sipped the Spaten.
Now he’s thinking about taking his love of Oktoberfest all the way back to Germany.
“My dad wasn’t born in Germany, but his parents’ parents were genuine Germans,” Wimmer said.
“I want to go to Germany. The history — my ancestry. And I am a World War II buff.”
Such was the endless afternoon under blue sky and golden leaves as thousands joined Wimmer and his dozen costumed friends at this festival, which started at Munich in 1810 when Bavarian Crown Prince Ludwig married Princess Therese and the party got out of hand. Since 1969, Denver has been holding one of the larger Oktoberfests. It has evolved into a six-day affair that started Friday and continues next weekend, downtown on Larimer Street, between 20th and 22nd streets, just east of Coors Field.
Some, such as Wimmer, had German roots. Others came from Ireland, Ethiopia, Mexico, south Asia. Lacking German ancestry did not keep scores from donning the lederhosen or eye-catching blue beermaid attire. A 77-year-old visitor from Peru, Vlady Zegarra of Cuzco, taking his first stroll up Larimer, saw the action and plunged in — nearly qualifying for the championship rounds against men and women half his age in the stein-hoisting competition.
Denver’s party proved more than festive this year, at least by the measurements of Denver Environmental Health investigator Nate Mueller, who stood in a doorway by the keg-bowling cage aiming his Quest 2900 sound-level meter and registered 90 decibels.
That probably put Oktoberfest in violation of the city sound ordinance, Mueller said. “They don’t have a festival exemption. They’re supposed to only be at 55 decibels.”
He wrote down the details for a supervisor Monday to consider a ticket that could cost Oktoberfest organizers up to $1,000.
Few participants, if any, noticed noise, least of all Autumn Hoffmeier, 35, an apartment complex manager who was preoccupied with Shamus, a 170-pound Irish wolfhound-Great Dane.
“A lap dog,” Hoffmeier said, savoring a beer after cradling the pup.
“He warmed my insides.”
As expected, Sunday’s stein-hoisting — competitors must hold up two 32-ounce beers, the heavy dark kind, in glass steins as long as possible — drew spectators watching for the slightest violations of rules: no bending the elbows or spilling, arms must remain about chest level, etc.
Retired high school science teacher Diana Stordeur, 56, selling ceramic steins ($40 full), tried to follow it but the crowd was distracting. More than 350,000 typically show up over the six days.
“This event brings a very diverse group of people, some with German backgrounds. You have other people just getting into German culture. I just saw a Hindu man in lederhosen.”
But beer and steins are the main thing, Stordeur said, observing that the man who hoisted steins up the longest — nearly 9 minutes — did so early in the day.
“The competitors have been incredibly weak ever since,” she said. “The more beer they drink, the shakier they get. You’d think beer would undo any pain.”
