Bear Republic BreweryAugust, 2007 The indianabeer.com Webmaster woke with a jolt to the bleating SKRONK! SKRONK! SKRONK! of the alarm clock. This confused him somewhat. He was certain he was on vacation. But was he, really? The deafening pings from the alarm bounced around his brain like a pinball making it difficult to think. Then he got an elbow to the ribs. "Time to get up. Are you all packed?" she asked, flicking off the alarm. "Ah, ummmm." It was all coming back to him now. The much-anticipated journey to San Francisco had begun. "Yeah, sure." "Toothbrush?" she asked. "No, I gotta use it first," he muttered. "Deodorant?" "Same." He dr He shoved earplugs into his ears, leaned his seat back, and checked his notes of the places they had decided to go or experience. Little Italy. Chinatown. Castro. Farmer's Market. Haight. Bourbon and Branch. Zeitgeist. Dim Sum. Top of the Mark. The Tadisch. Sonoma Wine Tour... Whhhhhaaaaaat? That's right, he agreed to go on a wine tour. With her. All day. ALL FREAKING DAY! He began to sweat. He began to add it all up in his mind... Tasting fees. Expensive lunch. $25 bottles of wine.. Could he do it? Could he hold it together without going postal? After two days of decent weather for exploring, fog enveloped the city. Cold mist made him shiver as they waited for the van to pick them up. If there is a bright side to all of this, he thought, it's that I'll enjoy some warm sunshine for a day. The tour guide bounced out of the van to greet them. "Glad you are joining us!" he said with an insincere and sticky smile, "You're in luck! I'm doing an extended tour with you today! Three extra hours to enjoy tasting!" With that the webmaster's heart sunk to his feet. His mouth became dry and he almost collapsed. He pulled himself into the van and lodged himself next to a crazy Canadian professor. "How's it goin' eh?" In his mind he began equating the experience he was about to endure to time on various torture devices. 5 minutes at the whipping post. No, 10 minutes on the rack. No, getting thrown into a tank of leaches. It was a futile exercise. I'll just have to escape. The van pulled away and crossed the golden gate, his wife all smiles. Winery after pretentious winery began to wear on the fabric of his being. His previous mental calculations were becoming all too real as receipts replaced the bills in his wallet. One more tasting and he would have to pawn his Timex. Th He instantly plotted his escape... A bad back? Too medical. An emergency phone call? Too serious. Disappearing? Too alarming. He tapped his wife on the shoulder... "Honey, I don't feel well. I'm going to head over to that book store and read the paper. I'll catch up with the group in an hour." Brilliant! He entered Bear Republic expecting to find suits sipping hefeweizen in a haughty-taughty stainless-steel 10 dollar-a-beer gastropub. It wasn't so. The atmosphere at Bear Republic was a radical departure from its dollar-sucking surroundings. He noticed the old hardwood floor, scuffed from decades of use. Above was exposed duct-work and a whimsical arrangement of bicycles hanging from the ceiling every which way.
Gravitating toward the copper-topped bar our castaway slid onto a stool and perused the menu. $4 pints across the board.
"WHA DA YA WANT?" Growled the blonde bartender. Given the gravity of the situation he started with Racer X, an 8.4% hyper-hopped Double IPA. The brew washed away the Zinfandel-encrusted remnants lodged between his taste buds. It was a heavenly moment of mega-hopped malt that brought him back to reality. He took a minute to look around at all the nick-knacks, brewing vessels, signs, and biker chicks. A sign read "Beer to Go: Bombers, six-packs, 5 gallon kegs, 15.5 gallon kegs..." He thought: I wonder if the group would appreciate a few bombers for the drive back.. NAHH!
Next up was a Big Bear Black which delivered a big burnt bunch of toasted malt that punched through the porter/stout style and rattled his mind. Wow! Strolling through the beergarden and checking his watch he sadly realized that the group would soon be looking for him. It was a horrible reality that he would actually have to chug the second half of his beer (Gasp! from the beer geeks). Gulp, gulp, gulp...
He wandered back inside and slammed his pint glass on the bar, bidding farewell to the bartender. On the way back to Frisco the van drove up the mountain for a sunset view of the Golden Gate Bridge and city beyond. Cameras clicked all around them. "How did you like the tour?" she asked. He pondered for a moment and gave the politically correct response. "It was alright. I liked the bookstore!"
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agged himself from bed and began the usual pre-trip rituals with his wife closely monitoring his every move. There were closing doors, zippers zipping, coffee pouring, and much yawning. The couple wheeled their suitcases out to the Indianabeer.com Limo and was whisked off to Indianapolis International Airport.
e pilgrims docked at the cute, little winery-outlet town of Healdsburg. They poured out of the van and fell in line behind the guide, trudging like tourists to the next $37 bottle of Pinot Noire. But then they rounded the corner and he spotted an oasis down the street, 
