There is no reason to apologize for where I’ve been. I haven’t been anywhere. And you shouldn’t have been anywhere either. While I do have back content I could work on, it feels disingenuous to continue with this charade of pleasantries when the world feels like it is falling apart around us and at any given moment I will be on my knees, pleading with the Canadian border patrol to grant me refugee status to enter their country. As we speak, I sit a mere forty minute drive from Ontario, and knowing that despite being so close, I couldn’t be further from entry destroys me. When I wrote my last post in March, I was unemployed but hopeful. I was planning on going back to Denver, probably. I was planning on going back to my job at ink!. I was planning on resuming my graduate degree in the fall.

I had so many plans. We all did. We planned to get married or divorced, to have baby showers and graduation parties and road trips and European adventures. Our job offers were rescinded, our internships canceled, our workplaces closed permanently. We planned to drink at beer gardens and taprooms with doors open to the summer sun, laughing about the blip on the radar, our brief time out in April.

But we didn’t get any of those things. Here we are on the eve of August, and we are backpedalling. We are pushing kids into schools where they will spread disease to one another and then back to their parents and teachers. We are implementing mask mandates now that should’ve been put in place months ago. We are watching as the entire world turns their back on us, these infected, sickly little monster’s plagued by disease and American exceptionalism. We haven’t gotten back to our lives. Or beer.

I’m still unemployed, for those wondering. Of course I am. I apply to jobs and they respond to me with charming emails like “lol we actually aren’t hiring right now sorry” or “this position no longer exists.” I haven’t been to a bar since March 6th. Even longer since I’ve been in a brewery’s taproom. I left a life behind in Denver that I will never get to resume, a life that was broken and incomplete and inconsequential. A life that in the moment seemed dull, tedious, expensive, but now like a specific kind of freedom that only months of being locked up with your family at 27 years old can reveal to you. I miss both the mountains and the desolate eastern Colorado landscape. I miss letting middle aged men talk to me in exchange for them buying me a beer, getting their hopes up and dashing them when I walk out without concern. So, here is today’s post. A long forgotten memory of a brewery I visited back when my Mercury Sable had power steering. On this day, I went to Pueblo.

My trip to Pueblo started as most of my trips did, with no intention. I believe it started with me driving to Colorado Springs to go to Target. Did I need to go to a Target forty five minutes away in Colorado Springs when I lived half a mile from a Target that also had a Chick-fil-a, dispensary, and strip club all in the same parking lot? No. Of course not. Although I did hate that Target and would usually go to one in Aurora anyways. But I was gonna go to Colorado Springs that day. I did that sometimes. It was an easy drive down I-25, listening to music, sun shining, warming my unheated car although it was January.

But I cruised through Target and landed my ass in Pueblo. And it was so early in the day that there was nowhere to drink because who opens a brewery at 10am? Yeah, that’s how early it was guys. Like 10 in the morning. I drove around the small town, that I found charming with their colorful murals and small shops. I think my first intention was actually to get coffee, not beer, but I failed to find somewhere suitable for coffee. I couldn’t tell you why, though, because it is now August and this happened, as I have previously stated, in January.

I think I spent a lot of time just driving around Pueblo. I must’ve. But, like I said, the memories are hazy now. But at some point, as the morning grew to late morning, I figured I could probably find a brewpub to lunch and liquor. Beer and brunch? Neither of those are totally accurate but “lunch and beer” don’t flow as well. Alliterations aside, I couldn’t find a brewery in Pueblo that was open that early in the day to feed both my stomach and my soul. But in West Pueblo*, I found a place that had sandwiches and beer. My love languages**.

Wow. I just dove into my notes to discover that I have none, which is not a surprise to anyone who’s been following this journey with me. The last brewery I have notes on is Danielmark’s and the only note on that one is “these people are so racist that they’re making fun of a Jewish man for practicing Judaism and observing Hanukah. And metal straws? Very weird about me coming in. It’s fine. I’m fine.” If you guys read that post, none of those notes should surprise you. I just didn’t talk about them in that post because for some reason, I felt like I needed to protect the people of that brewery because I did end up having a good time there, which yeah. I’m sorry, but I befriended said Jewish man who was mocked for practicing Judaism so I did my part that day. (I did not befriend him because he was Jewish in an act of tokenism, I just befriended him. He was from Glendale! Wisconsin. Not Glendale, Colorado, which is kinda where I lived at the time.)

But we are not here to talk about the Jewish man, lesbian, and romantically involved child I encountered at a different brewery in a different state that already had a post. We’re here to talk about the beer I drank at Reservoir Brewing.

Except. Again. No notes. I checked into one beer on Untapp’d. The beer was called the Speedboat and I gave it 4.5 out of 5 stars. It was an American IPA. I must’ve really liked it.

But, here’s what I do remember and will say about this brewery. It was welcoming. I mean, there was no one in there at noon on a Friday in January. But the owner, Mike, shook my hand and greeted me and bullshitted with me about beer and the brewery. I love that. I love bullshitting with men at breweries, especially ones who don’t talk down to condescend to me about beer because I am a woman. (To be noted, I love bullshitting with all folx everywhere, breweries, coffee shops, gas stations that inexplicably have the best chili in town, everywhere). I don’t know if craft beer is becoming more inclusive towards women or if it’s just my charming personality (this is a joke), but I am finding it easier and more fulfilling to talk to men who are passionate about beer without feeling like they’re being a dick to me. I mean, maybe it’s specifically men in the industry that are easier to talk to. I still encounter plenty of men who are just enthusiasts, such as myself, who are dicks. But whatever.

I love shaking hands with brewery owners. Or, I mean, I used to in the Before Time when I wasn’t so aware that a handshake could lead to an infection that I could give to my grandfather and kill one of the few men I love. I love brewery owners. I love people who have turned their passions into careers. I think that is why I refuse to let this oft-neglected blog die. I don’t know if I want to professionally write about beer, but it is something I am passionate about. Drinking beer and making snide remarks about it months later on the internet for one person to read (‘sup Smittsonian).

I also had a flight of beers while I was here that I made no notes on, don’t know the names of, and cannot make any comments about. But I did enjoy my time here.

I also met a married man, who gave me his phone number at this bar, and while I should not be exchanging contact info with married men (especially not married men who’s teenaged son calls while I am putting my number IN THE MARRIED MAN’S PHONE), I do like talking to these people. I like talking to these fucked up, broken, wrong, inappropriate excuses of humans to figure out how they got to this point. Also, this married man was a train engineer and worked on high speed rail technology and we had a great conversation about how high speed rail technology is real, feasible, and accessible in the US but our politicians and governing bodies refuse to allow us to implement the structures that are VERY real and work for other countries. He was a good time. Until he wanted my info and said that if I had had too much to drink (I hadn’t) I was welcome to sleep it off at his place (I didn’t).

I think part of the reason why I haven’t been able to write about any of these places since the pandemic started is because of fear and sadness. I am afraid to check in on places like this to see that the pandemic has forced them to close their doors permanently. But I am happy to report that while trying to get the link to their main website, I also saw a news article about how they’re managing to stay afloat despite the new challenges to business.

Some of my best memories in Colorado involve me drinking alone at these out of the way breweries. We know that it was a constant joke about how I refused to write about anything I drank in the city of Denver, and I held that promise pretty damn well. I don’t think I ever wrote about any Denver proper breweries. I mean, I still could. There’s still time. I went to enough of them. But it was these breweries in Pueblo West or Walsenburg or Sterling where I met and connected with people. Don’t get me wrong, I made some great friends in Colorado (maybe one great friend, but I love her to death. Hey Ally if you’re reading this. I miss you.) but a weird quirk of my introvert-ism is that I flourish in nearly empty taprooms, listening to middle aged men bitch about sports and traffic. I might hate large crowds (even pre-pandemic) or going to parties where I only know a handful of people or turning up to places I am invited alone. But I love being alone in public. And I miss it.

I miss drinking out. I miss beer on a Wednesday afternoon. I miss craft beer culture. I miss being pretentious. I miss saying talking about different kinds of hops earnestly. I miss all of it. But I’m not running back to it right now. We can’t give up. We can’t stop fighting. Please wear your masks. Wash your hands. Get your beers to go. Drink with pals on Zoom or in backyards where you meticulously measured out where the lawn chairs can sit (I have done this). I want to get back to public intoxication but I need your help. (I also want to see my grandpa who I haven’t seen since Christmas and that breaks my heart because it’s 81 and although he’s healthy now, he’s getting older and has so many health problems in the past and still technically has breast cancer although we don’t talk about it because I don’t think it matters? But like, he has cancer? But it’s just like… treated with a pill and I think in December they will finally declare him cancer free but like? He’s an old man with breast cancer, I love him and that is super weird of him to have breast cancer and I don’t love that he got cancer but I love that my weirdo grandpa had to get breast cancer because he is a weirdo and has to be weird about everything. Also, I want my grandpa to see another, real true baseball season, not this shitshow that they are putting on. Okay. That’s enough about my grandpa.) I just miss beer, my dudes.

*I cited this as West Pueblo but it has come to my attention it is actually in Pueblo West. I couldn’t just edited it, but we all know that I believe in complete and total transparency here on this blog.

**This is a lie. I do not like sandwiches in general.

Being from Wisconsin, I thought I understood Rural America. But recently, since going to Cheyenne and the Stock Show and now the way I’ve spent my day today*, I can assure you. What I thought was rural is nothing compared to the summers I spent up north with my grandpa in rural Wisconsin. This is a different kind of rural. And true and genuine vast nothingness. On my journey today, Google Maps took me weaving and winding down long and unceasing lengths of unpaved roads, without seeing another car for miles upon miles. There was truly nothing. No houses. No animals. No people. Just these sprawling fields of grain and wheat and open space. Flat and yellow meeting at the horizon against this piercing blue sky I never knew could exist in a real world.

America is a big bitch.

But, I guess that why it’s nearly impossible to apply any successful European social policies in place in a country like this. Where our states rival the sizes of some of Europes biggest countries. We are special and cute and unique and also man do we fckn suck.

But anyways, I still found beer in this vast and sprawling nothingness. I found a brewery in Sterling, Colorado called Parts and Labor where I spent my first Adventure Day of 2020.

Upon walking in, I found a brewery overrun with dozens upon dozens of children. I am not fucking kidding. There were kids everywhere and a handful of adults who were in charge of this large brood of children. I guess that’s what happens when you live in Bumfuck Colorado. You fuck, have a kid, fuck, have another kid, fight, fight some more, decided that you need to do something to save the marriage, and have a third kid. And then, before you know it, you’re at a brewery on a Saturday afternoon with a few of your couple friends and a million kids running amok while you’re drinking to forget the mistakes you made.

Anyways, I ordered two different drinks while at Parts and Labor. Scratch that, I ordered three different drinks. I could definitely just got back and delete the part where I said “two” and replace it with “three” but I’m about nothing but authenticity and honesty here. But I now remember why I got that third beer and I will get to that when I get to it.

The first beer I got was their Hop Tropic, which was an APA. Based on my Untappd, I really liked it and gave it 4.25/5.

While enjoying this delightful treat of a beer, the children and their keepers started to clear out. And then this is when I became so upset by the existence of men. Because the men were planning on sending their kids off with their wives, who had to cook dinner and throw loads of laundry in, while they were all making plans to go golfing on this balmy January day we were enjoying. Like, how dare they?

The second beer that I had was the Boost Joose, which is a milkshake IPA and I gave it a 5/5. How amazing that beer must’ve been.

At this point, I was planning on wrapping it up. And then a man walked in, and made a comment about how there was no one sitting at the bar except me, and then sat down immediately next to me. Which, like, what the fuck. That is not something I have time for. He was also at least fifteen years older than me. At. Least. And, my fucking around with middle aged men days are… not behind me, but they’re mostly ahead of me. Like, I’m not quite there yet. Except. I don’t know. Anyways, I wasn’t about this move.

And then he offered to buy me a drink. And, by law and birthright, I am to never refuse an offer of a free drink. So I did get a third beer.

I got the Camshaft kolsch. I gave it a 3/5 on Untappd. And then I slammed this beer and bounced. I didn’t need to drink three beers in bumfuck Colorado. I didn’t need to get the whole life’s story of a man who lives in a hotel in town (from Houston, doesn’t want to settle down, his baby brother has kids and is married and is miserable and he doesn’t want that life for himself. Not that I can blame him).

And then suddenly, as quickly as I rolled into this brewery, I rolled out. Onto my next stop on my journey of Adventure Day.

*I started writing this on my phone when I did my first Adventure Day of 2020 but obviously that day has come and gone and now I’m finishing this Golden Content at a different brewery apart of a different day of days.

Bee boop bee. I promised this post almost three weeks ago and never wrote it. Boop beep beep boop. But honestly, after the posting schedule I was cranking out in January, did you really expect that shit to last indefinitely? I have already lived a whole lifetime this year. From the time I saw Uncut Gems until I saw CATS for the last time, which was an intervening period of 19 days, I was a person that I did not recognize and I started to refer to as potentially manic. I was always in a good mood and I wasn’t sleeping much and I was doing really fucking stupid shit without concern for the consequences. And then I saw CATS for the last time and my whole world changed? I don’t know.

BUT before I saw CATS for the last time, that very same day, on Saturday, January 18th I went to a brewery in Milwaukee that had opened in the intervening six months since I had moved to Denver. I went to Dead Bird Brewing with Nicole in the Brewer’s Hill neighborhood and Imma tell you about it.

I was in Milwaukee for both a million reasons about also seemingly no reason at all. The weekend was this wildly magical and surreal experience, where it highlighted all the things about the city that I love and miss but also showed me that the city isn’t changing. There is no reason to rush back there (except for the fact that it is incredibly cheap to live there) because nothing is happening. And, if anything, I don’t want to be there this summer for the DNC because traffic. But whatever whatever. I was in Milwaukee, so I had to do what you do when you’re in Milwaukee. I had to eat sausage and cheese and beer.

And that’s what this bitch did. My whole fam, and Nicole, went to Vanguard for lunch. Then Nicole and I went up to Stone Creek for some coffee and I was reminded that I love their coffee so. fucking. much. It’s honestly offensive and unfair that they are allowed to have such good coffee and I was so. so. so. unhappy working there. And then after a posse of burly Milwaukeeans pushed Nicole’s car out of a snow bank, we went to Dead Bird.

I’m going to start at the end. I loved it. Walking in was exactly where I want to spend my Saturday afternoon. I didn’t know much about the brewery going in because my friends don’t go up to that neighborhood (or anywhere lately it sounds like?) and again, they opened after I moved, but I walked in to find something so delightful. This is what Denver needs, my dudes! Lowkey taprooms! Breweries that don’t rely on gimmick! There were old arcade games. A small bar. A friendly staff. What. A fucking. Concept. Beertenders who are personable and friendly? Christ. Every brewery I’ve been to in Denver (not that you would know, because I don’t write about those!) the beertenders are a wild mix of disinterested and pretentious? I don’t know. I’ve been to many lovely breweries in Colorado where this is not the case (posts coming soon maybe). But there is something about Denver?

I assume this will say “Cheers Milwaukee” eventually.

Anyways, we drank.

Nicole and I rocked out a flight. I would love to tell you which beers on this flight we drank, but I did not make any notes (as usual) and I also did not check into any of these beers on Untappd. So it’s a mystery. But I do know that there was a clear divide between her beer tastes and mine.

I do know that the one on the end was a hard seltzer? Maybe? I don’t remember. You guys can’t count on me for much these days. It’s just a miracle that I am even drinking beer and writing about how I am drinking those beers.

We also each had a pint. I might’ve had two? And then we played Tetris! Anyways, I loved this place. I don’t know what else I have to say about it. There beer was good. Their bartenders were amazing. And they had pinball and other old arcade cabinets. So like, if you’re up near MLK, check them out. They have a parking lot.

Yah girl got old man. I don’t know how this happened or when it happened but fuck man, I. Got. Old. And to celebrate the dawning of my 28th trip around this celestial monolith we call the Sun, I took a nap! I also drank beer. So, don’t worry about turning 27 changing me to my core. I’m still the same girl. A girl who likes to take naps and also drink beer. And who forgets to eat dinner, which is also what happened to me on this particular night. I did come home, have another beer and eat a block of bleu cheese as a “nightcap” so… Okay, I think this is just who I am at this point.

Anyways, I went to SomePlace Else Brewing in Arvada. A suburb of the city I had never been before. My first note on the entire city of Arvada is that man it was dark. There were no streetlights. I could see stars? It was wild. It was also very hard to find this brewery because it’s in a 1970s looking office park that is not lit. At all. Off a weird rural access road that is also… not lit. It was so very dark. I was on the phone with Nicole the whole time just letting her know how dark it was. So dark. The darkness, it was consuming.

But I found the brewery! I’m persistent, as we all know. I stroll in, there’s like two people playing skeeball and then through a small corridor was the actual bar situation where the bartender (owner?) was sitting and chitchatting at the table with someone about whatever whatever. I don’t think it matters to the story. But when he saw me, he hopped into action and became the nicest man possible to lead me on my journey of beer.

Now, here’s the plot twist of this entire endeavor, but one that I can assure you did not set any kind of new precedent. I took notes? I mean, I took notes! Like the good old days when I thought there might be a chance of me being a Good Blogger™.

So, the first beer I had was the Hazy 2020 NEIPA.

Oh my fucking God y’all. While I was looking at my notes, my hand slipped because I was holding my phone weird because it’s charging and I accidentally deleted the whole note. I cannot make this dumb shit up. Oh. My. God. I’m going to try to just remember what I’ve read before the deletion.

I also had the Spock’s Brain, which I remember really liking. I also think I got told that that is their most popular IPA on tap. Maybe?

I also had an apricot kolsch, maybe? Maybe I liked it? I don’t know because I deleted the whole fckn note.

But, there is something important and special about this brewery and the reason why I schlepped all tf way up to Arvada just to drink beer although it’s on the Northwest side of the city and I live in Southeast Denver and it’s because. They have. Pinball machines! And we all now that yah girl. Loves her. Some pinball!

The downside, though, is that I forgot my five dollars in cash I had set aside for some pinballin’ and only had one singular dollar I could use to play. But I still got some good ‘balls in. The most notable thing about their pinball machines is that they’re all classic cabinets. Old timey games that still make you work for it. Also, and this was the biggest deal to me, they had a machine that I was extremely familiar with because it was the same machine my grandpa used to have in his basement growing up.  I had never seen that machine in the wild, and now, here I was, reliving my youth! On my 27th birthday! Drinking beer! Playing with balls*! Could it get any better?

I mean, probably. I could’ve spent my birthday with friends or family. Someone else could’ve bought me my beer. I could’ve met Tommy of the musical Tommy. Someone could’ve called me the pinball wizard. But alas, none of that happened. But I still had a good birthday and a good time at this brewery.

*Pinballs

Alright, friends. I’m going to open this blog post with a simple apology. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever I say and whatever comes from this post because I do not know how to make this sound any less condescending than it probably does. I have deleted this entire post several times because I just sound like the biggest asshole whenever talking about this brewery. Not that I’m shitting on it. I just sound like I’m talking about it like I am better than it, which I am not. So, let’s jump into it and know that I am not trying to sound like a big time “beerfluencer” (pay me pls) because we all know that’s not who I am. I have humble roots. I’m from Wisconsin. I’m kind and polite. But whatever. We’ll see how this goes.

The events I am about to recount take place on the final day of the previous decade. I believe that some of my most recently posted posts may have mentioned that I was in Cheyenne, and that’s because I wrote them at a cafe in Cheyenne. I was in Cheyenne because I found out, as one does, that it’s less than two hours from Denver! And I had never even been to Wyoming! So why. Not. Go?!!! My plans for the day were simple(ish). I decided to head up to Boulder to get coffee at Boxcar Coffee Roasters because they were named by Mental Floss as the best coffee roaster in Colorado. Then I was going to go to Everyday Joe’s in Fort Collins because Mental Floss also named them the best coffee shop in Colorado. From there I was going to grab a beer in Cheyenne, then go to the grocery store, buy myself a steak, and be home by 8pm to make myself a steak and then I would celebrate 2020 at 10pm when the new year would dawn on the east coast and then immediately go to bed because I worked all day on the first.

Next to none of this happened, however. Instead I skipped all the coffee shops on my list and went deadass right to Cheyenne without much of a plan. I bummed around town, trying to get a feel for it. What I was not prepared to encounter in the biggest town in Wyoming is it being so fucking small. But they do have a Toppers. I drove by it and did a literal U-turn to head back to get some Topperstix to find out that it’s not open yet. But soon. Of course, at this moment I thought to myself hm, I guess I’ll have to come back to Cheyenne for some Topperstix. But whatever, fine. Break my heart why don’t cha. But from there, I found a coffee shop to fuel up in and work on the blog for a little bit. I did the thing that I do a lot. I rolled into a town with no plan and coffee shops are a great place to formulate a plan. I had to figure out where I wanted to drink and what I wanted to do.

But I guess I was not prepared for there to be next to no choices for me. Remember when I was like “Baltimore is the only place that does nothave a boom craft beer scene” ?? Well, that was in 2017, a lifetime ago, and now I discovered that the place that actually does not have a “booming” craft beer scene is apparently the entire fucking state of Wyoming. Which is fair, I supposed. When you look at how the state is, they virtually don’t matter. They have the minimum number of votes in the electoral college. I don’t exactly know what their major exports are? The entire state’s population is smaller than the city of Milwaukee. But fuck, get these people some more craft beer! But then again, I ended up going to a brewery and I really enjoyed their beer, so… 🤷🏽‍♀️

Anyways, the brewery I went to was Danielmark’s Brewing Company. The reason why I chose that place was 1) The internet said it was in an old house and I thought that was interesting and 2) The other brewery, Accomplice, said something about being a self serve brewery and the thought of having to learn a system at a brewery involving pouring my own beer stressed me out. It’s the same reason why I never drank wine at Black Sheep. I don’t have the level of ability to learn systems. That’s where I draw the line.

So the first thing I should note about Danielmark’s is that it’s actually, literally an old house. And walking into it felt like walking into someone’s living room. And everyone that was in there turned and looked at me like I was a weirdo stranger just walking into a football party that I was not invited to in someone’s living room . It didn’t help that when I got carded, my ID loud and proud says “this bitch is from some bullshit city” and then I became very aware that I was dressed like an asshole. I mean, it was comfy clothes to me. Leggings, Phish tank top, flannel over top. But between that outfit, my dumbass hipster asshole glasses, my hair that is currently varying shades of blue, black, and faded gray on the bleached ends, I looked like someone who got lost on their way to a Bon Iver concert. Or a Dead and Co concert where Justin Vernon joins on stage to close out the first set with the band. (If this sounds like a very specific example, it’s because this is quite literally what happened when we saw Dead and Co last year). 

And I know this is a beer blog and not a fashion blog, but there is something I’ve become very aware of in the last six months since I moved and it’s a lot about how I dress. I don’t think about what I wear, I just kinda wear what is comfy. Like, full disclosure. That Phish tank top I was wearing? I was only wearing it because I wore it to bed the night before and didn’t wholly change out of my pajamas. I was wearing leggings because I didn’t feel like wearing jeans. I was wearing a flannel because I left my coat in Milwaukee and my hoodie hasn’t been washed in an obscenely long time and cannot, in good faith, be worn in public until it goes through the wash. But even me in my lazy clothes put me at a different fashion stance than everyone else. Everyone was in jeans, t-shirts, flannels but worn with a more authentic and functional flare than I was wearing. Their hoodies were thick and warm. We all dressed with the same intention, comfort over looks, but even with the same intention, I very much looked differently than them. I don’t know what this is supposed to mean, but I need everyone to know that I was immediately an “other” among this group of regulars.

The first beer I ordered was the Bluesitra, recommended to me by the bartender/owner of the establishment. It’s their house IPA and I did really enjoy it. Thanks for the rec, ma’am. The beer was good.

The second beer I had was the pale ale. Also very good.

I should also mention that the University of Wyoming was playing in a Bowl game while I was there, which I was not prepared for. But they ended up crushing the other team, which created a jovial environment. So by the time I was on my second beer, I was now no longer the weirdo girl who just stumbled into this brewery that they were not prepared to see, but now the weirdo girl who was loudly talking about how charming and quaint she found Cheyenne with the people she was sitting by. Yes guys. I was only two beers in and I was sitting there making it well-fucking-known that small town life wasn’t for me but that’s because I don’t know what has happened to me in the last twenty six years of life, or the last six months of me living in Denver, or two years in Bay View, or all my time in the Orlando/Kissimmee area or just my general demeanor and personality as a pretentious asshole hipster but fuck man. Yah girl was not quiet about how small town living would not be for me.

But no one seemed to give a shit. They still were nice to me. And honestly, I’ve missed that in Denver. Back home in Milwaukee, we talked to each other. We made friends at the bar. I once gave a stranger a list of local resources for adaptive equipment in the Milwaukee area when she was in town from Cleveland trying to help her uncle who had a stroke. We hugged at the end of the night. I befriend bartenders and old traveling salesmen just passing through. I like to talk to them about whatever they want, use my vast pub trivia knowledge to be able to make one intellectual comment about something I know nothing about to keep strangers engaged. It works! This is what we do in Milwaukee. We talk to each other!

The people of Denver don’t do that.

The people of Cheyenne, Wyoming do. And I missed that. I miss people being friendly. I know I’m an asshole but I’m personable but the people of Denver aren’t. They’re suspicious and maybe that’s what real cities are like and I’m not from a real city. I’m from Milwaukee. It might be about the same size as Denver but is it a real city? Or is it an illusion? A figment of a misremembered time? A time that never existed? Does any of this matter? Has any of this ever mattered?

Anyways, I had a third beer. I popped back to the Bluesitra. Then I opted for the Corson, for my fourth, which was a lager. When I ordered this Corson is when everyone was suddenly like “Girl, should you really be having another beer? You have to drive back to Denver?” And I was like “lol y’all have no idea.” It wasn’t like I was throwing these back in an hour. Time had elapsed. I was at hour three of my visit ordering a fourth beer. And I am a beerfluencer (apart of my 2020 is just calling myself what I want to be. I want to be a beerfluencer so now I’m calling myself a beerfluencer so fuck you guys). I can drink four beers in three hours. I am fine!

I also had a four ounce of another beer that I do not remember the name of. The problem with that beer and thank CHRIST I got a four ounce of it was because man. The tap list listed it at 9.8% and the bartender was like “this batch came out 11%” and I was like 😮😮😮. I’m gonna say this last 4 ounce pour of the 11% beer is what is responsible for enabling the rest of my night in Cheyenne but that is not a story for here. That is a story for my memoir Maelstrom which is only hypothetical but I picked that title out like six years and now I just embrace it.

Anyways, welcome to 2020. 2019 started with a whimper and ended with a bang. Here’s to a new year with new beer. Who knows where it’s gonna take us but does it even fucking matter anymore? Let’s get stupid.

It’s legitimately comical isn’t it? Like, these posts keep rolling out in an unprecedented frequency and with every new post there seems to be no sign I’ve ever even been to Denver? Like, I think maybe the closest I’ve “been” according to this blog at this point is like, Aurora? I swear I live in Denver. But I’m just not ~vibin~ with Denver. Although, if you’re curious as to where I am the “should I stay or should I go?” front, I’m on the stay. I’m developing that dangerous kind of freedom around here. And, as much as I love you guys (my friends back in Milwaukee), being home for Christmas (and again in a few weeks for Doughboys) has reminded me how absolutely soul-sucking that environment can be. It’s a city that demands we settle and I might be giving up but I’m not settling yet.

But anyways, back to the blog. It’s gotta be unhealthy for me to open every single one of these with a weird lament about what life is and how life became as it is. Whatever. My sister’s visited the first weekend of November and we went up to Estes for the day and had lunch at the Estes Park Brewery!

We ate at a weird time of the day, which would probably partially account for the fact that there was only one large family with a million kids running around in there and no one else. But I don’t know how to adequetely describe the weird Wisconsin Northwoods vibe of this place. Like, it felt like the back hall of a VFW and not a brewpub or anywhere fit for people to actually visit? Too harsh?

Anyways, I had two beers and my sisters and I had an app sampler because we decided that maybe we wanted to eat somewhere else. (Somewhere else ended up just being Freddy’s in Longmont like hours and hours later). The first beer I had was a Renegade IPA which I gave 2/5 on untappd. Which, ooft. Brutal. I don’t have any notes (of course) so I don’t know why I didn’t like it. I just know that I didn’t. And then the second beer I had was The Shining APA which I gave an even crueler 1.75 on Untappd.

This is so uncharacteristically mean of me, but I also know that the whole experience at the brewpub was also just kind of unwelcoming. The apps felt like microwaved fare. The server was weirdly perturbed that we were there? I don’t know. Whatever. If you’re ever in Estes, do whatever the fuck you want. But I would recommend dressing in period attire and getting a drink at the Stanley Hotel instead.

(My sisters and I did the nighttime Stanley Hotel tour and 10/10, would recommend).

Long story short, I’m in Fort Collins right now. And I’m about to write about a brewery in Colorado Springs. Although my last post was about a brewery in Fort Collins, which I wrote in Cheyenne. Now, you might be wondering why I’m just never in fucking Denver and the answer I have for that is… Denver is so boring. And you guys know that because I’ve railed about it before. But yeah, I’m bored of Denver and that didn’t take long. I know. But I also should mention that I’m warming up to the sun. January is still fresh at the time of this writing, but it feels like the winter might be more bearable here because it’s never bitterly cold and the sun comes out everyday. I mean, not that the sun coming out every day is necessarily a good thing. It kinda drives me crazy. But it makes the winter seem manageable to an extent.

But you guys didn’t come here for a weather report. You came here for a beer report. So let me tell you about Bristol Brewing Company in Colorado Springs!

So, I went there back in October because I’m still that far behind. I don’t know why I decided to check out Colorado Springs that day. I just know that I was in an adventuring mood, so I took off south on I-25 and set out to get beer somewhere. And the place that I landed to get beer was this old elementary school that has been converted into a small public market that had a coffee shop, a little couple little vendor stands, and a brewery/brewpub.

I still didn’t make notes for this place, I should mention. But I did check into beers on Untappd, so that’s something. The first beer I had was the Fresh Hop Hazy Pale Ale, which I gave a 3.5. So I guess I thought it was fine. The second beer I had was the Ivywild School Tropical Pale Ale, which I gave a 2.25, so I’m going to assume that I didn’t like it.

But pause here for history! Brief history. Mostly just a side comment about whatever whatever. The old school was called Ivywild School, so it’s nice that they were out here paying homage to the building they were desecrating with their hipster beer culture. (I kid, the whole environment was quite lovely).

The last beer that I had there was the IPA Twenty-Five which I gave a 3.75, so I’m assuming that this meant I liked it.

While at the brewery, I met a nice guy from Eau Claire who had never been to Milwaukee, which was appalling to me. But I guess when you live an hour from the Twin Cities, why bother driving four hours south to the shithole that is the city of Milwaukee when you’ve got these shining gems of cities like, right there. Although, like, c’mon. Milwaukee is class and culture although the first homicide of 2020 was of a 13 month of baby and I’m constantly surviving being a victim of crime.

I also met a nice man from southwest Colorado who chatted me up about other breweries in the state that I’ve got to check out. It was nice. I like chatting people up at bars. It’s how I get approximately forty percent of all my social interactions, strangers in bars.

After I closed out, I wandered down the hall to order a coffee and sandwich just to put some carbs in my belly to soak up the alcohol before I chose to drive. That’s where I sat and emotionally whipped up that Enlightened post, which, until recently was the last post I wrote for months and months and months.

Anyways, I had a good time there even if I found the beers middle of the road. The environment is more of a family friend brew-pub than a tap room with a light sandwich and app menu, but it was still cool. I love weird old buildings (which Denver is sorely lacking), so repurposing an old school and getting to drink in it while the bathrooms are still covered in murals done by children or for children or about children is nice. Check it out if you’re ever in Colorado Springs, I supposed.