Circumnavigator, Part 1

by Matt Dunn

Nearing Chicago. Interstate 80 becomes a gnarled mass of eight-lane gray-way; bumper-to-bumper semis burp Jake Brakes violently at one another. The heavy rain was no good for visibility. I squinted intently at each passing sign, jerking my head back and forth, scared to look away from the behemoths that box me in. Is this Calumet? Exit two where are you? Exit one you're no fun.

The road trip was off to inauspicious beginnings.

I had set for myself the fairly unreasonable yet entirely pleasant goal of a six day, late summer road trip: circumnavigate our little corner of the upper Midwest in search of good beer, good times, old friends, and wild brown trout. Check, check, check, and check. I have returned from my many missions triumphant.

Because of the severity of such a venture I dare not recount the entire tale in one sitting. Small doses, state by state, the best approaches, well laid plans. Today: Indiana. Next time: Chicago. Thirdly: Wisconsin. Then: THE WORLD.

First stop: Lafayette Brewing Company in Lafayette, IN. Not West Lafayette. Just Lafayette. A beautiful day here. Still well south of the storms that would later make threading Chicago traffic such a joy. I stop on the square at a local coffee shop and accidentally put skim milk in my Sumatra Mandheling. Such is life. If they would have had that canister more clearly labeled this disaster could have been averted. Coffee down the hatch. Moving on.

The Lafayette Brewing Company is a very pleasant place. Pleasant locale, pleasant bar, pleasant people, pleasant beer, it's all just so damn pleasant I can't even stand it. The two real ales pulsing from the hand pump help. Weeping Hog IPA is a well done English style beer with sturdy yet balanced earthy, lemon-rind hop character and a touch of fruity fermentation flavors. The Phoenix strong ale packs a compact punch at 7.5% abv. But it's very drinkable given it's high perceived dryness. Due mostly to the hefty all-Phoenix hopping? A whisper of smoke? Tobacco? A little roasty? A little toasty? A little bit just right pull me another half-pint?

Read in a whiney voice: 'Three Floyds, hop gods. We worship at your humulonic altar.' Yes. The Three Floyds are liberal and magical with the hop. But Lafayette's Common Ale, as I've said before, is Ultimate Fighting Championship tough. Bas Rutten tough. Royce Gracie tough. A bold, hoppy, plucky little bastard that will employ its rusty Pancrase grappling technique on your tongue for fun. Then slather a dab of caramel here and a dob of lacquer there in an attempt to make amends. I love this beer.

But wait! That's not all! For a limited time try Lafayette's 85 ale and receive this double-team lupulin trouncing for free! Beautiful, bitter, citrusy Centennial and Cascade hops weigh in at a combined 85 IBUs, yet, BEHOLD- the pale nature of this fine brew! A light colored beer with massive hop character? BELIEVE IT!

Whoa- I shake it off, look around, climb down from atop the bar. Chris seems bewildered by my outburst. Finish my water, hit the head, and leave via the front door. Then I go back inside to use the lavatory facilities again. I was drinking a lot of water. And that large coffee. And there we go, on the road. More coffee. A large bottle of water. I'm stopping at a McDonalds not 20 minutes later, relieving my bladder. And once again at a BP. Stuck in traffic heading west on 80 I really have to go, but there's the rain, exit 2, exit 1, no fun, blah blah.

Whoooooomp. There it is.

After driving aimlessly around a sea of industrial complex I arrive at Three Floyds. There was day-old dried puke in the parking lot. Welcome.

Many different beers are available at the brewpub, beers you probably won't find in a bottle or on tap most places. Alpha Kong, Deesko Berliner Weisse, Red Tendon Baltic Porter. And a Kolsch? A Weizen? Jesus man. What the hell's the story here? Confused, I tuck into a Falstaff goblet of the sour Deesko wheat beer. No syrup please. It was very dry. Astringent even. And fairly sour. Tart. Perhaps the syrups are a good addition.

Then it was on to a Schlitz pilsner glass filled with Calumet Kolsch. Not much of a Kolsch. It's too big. Too hard to hide that signature Three Floyds flourish. The glossy, space-age hop character and slick honey candy camp for adults. A delicious beer. Live Phish was playing on the stereo. I ordered a delicious and artery clogging Scotch egg to wash down the brews. Life was good.

Slightly taken aback: ìYoung miss, I almost didn't see you there what with your camouflage pants and all. I'd like to sample the Baltic porter please. Stain my teeth brown, you know.î Very rich. I'll take a half pint please. The rush of a raging river rips responsibly with sweet chocolate, hefty body, heady hops. No chance to indulge in the guest beers now. The siren call of Stone Ruination was difficult to resist, but resist it I did.

Supping ice water, cooling down, chatting with the good man to my right, an endless font of information about the greater Chicagoland area, I discern that to return to the highway at this time of the afternoon would not be a good idea. 5pm. Rush hour. He wouldn't leave until 6:30, 7:00 even. So I order a pint of Pride and Joy Mild, some calamari, and sit tight, watching ESPN seriously underrate Penn State's 2006 squad on the large flat panel. Ohio State's gonna win the Big 10? I hope not. That calamari had whole baby octopi in it. And they tasted like wings. Slurping tiny tendrils eight at a time. No lie.

And thus it was that I returned to the road, Lake View bound. No bathroom breaks now. Just hold on tight. Construction. Riding the shoulder and looking for signs. Ambiguous detour signs. Lanes narrow. Stay in your lane. Trucks use left lane. Lanes disappear. Traffic jam at Soldier Field. Who goes to these preseason games anyway?

The rain stops. Traffic mysteriously dissipates. Open my windows. Exit at Belmont and roll leisurely through Chicago fog and stop signs on peaceful streets, my tires making a pleasant sound on the wet road. I have arrived. Parking was not great, bumped that car, whoops-and we're off. On the bus to The Hop Leaf, way up town. A small fire breaks out later in the evening. Goose Island and real live debauchery at The Map Room await. Stay tuned.