Up on the mountain (such as it was)

We went on vacation last week, stayed in a rental place north of Lock Haven, deep in the fracking territory. Seriously, there were water trucks, dump trucks, cranes, and lots of white pickup trucks on the road all day and all night. Not really that bad, though: they'd obviously been well-indoctrinated into the idea that being rude on the road was not a good idea. They were mostly friendly, and the roads were in pretty good shape (there were some obvious problems -- potholes, grooves -- and they were all marked for repair).

Anyway! We went up Friday the 19th, got in, made dinner, and just listened to the insects and the rain. Next day we got up and headed over to the Pine Creek Rail Trail, parked at the Waterville Access. This required a 4 mile trip down a fairly rough and narrow dirt road, Lower Pine Bottom, an exhilarating ride we'd make several more times in the coming week (it was necessitated by bridge work on Rt. 44). We rode 22 miles on the trail, a beautiful day to ride. I fried up some delish pork chops for dinner, with tomato salad and roasted potatoes. We were drinking Sly Fox Pils and Sierra Nevada Torpedo, Bulleit Bourbon, and some New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. Another peaceful night.

Sunday we made the 10:30 mass at Annunciation Church in Williamsport -- a rollicking mass, we'd walked into a parish consolidation fight! -- and then met my friend Sam Komlenic and his wife Amy (and two friends Doc and Carlene) at Bullfrog for an excellent brunch. I had a couple beers and a delicious "breakfast bowl," everyone enjoyed the food and beer, a great time at table. Sam and Amy went back to the rental with us and stayed overnight.

As dinner was cooking, Sam got out his box of whiskey, and I got out mine. My box was mostly for him -- stuff I had picked up for him elsewhere -- and a bottle of aged genever (8 year old genever is surprisingly whisky-like!); his box was much cooler: antique Pennsylvania whiskeys. The one on the left, labeled simply "Large," is indeed Large whiskey, from the Large Distillery in Large, Pennsylvania, a true Monongahela Rye, and it had held up beautifully, a very nice whiskey indeed. It was quite an afternoon and evening; educational.

Then Sam and our friend John Lelak and I got into a political discussion -- John's a Fox News Republican, Sam's a libertarian-leaning liberal Democrat (no, really), and I'm ornery -- and yelled and pounded on the table and had another drink and laughed at it all. Why, we thought, couldn't the Congress work like this? At one point, Sam was telling a story about fireworks and brought down the lights -- literally -- but we fixed that. It was a good night.

Monday we all went down to State College -- that's the area where Sam and Amy live -- where we made a stop at Hogs Galore to buy pork products -- delicious sausage, Canadian bacon, and ham -- and then to the Creamery at Penn State, and finally dinner at Otto's. Another good day!


Tuesday, we all drove up to Wellsboro, where John headed for home, Cathy and Nora (and Nora's friend Kate) had lunch and did some shopping...and Thomas and I mounted up and rode south on the Trail. We had a great day for it, and the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon was breath-takingly beautiful: blue skies, steep tree-covered hills, and the constant cool companionship of Pine Creek burbling alongside. We rode downstream about 34 miles, then took a break for dinner at the Hotel Manor in Slate Run. It was great: fresh Sam Adam Ofest and SNPA, great crab cakes, and some lightly fried calamari. Back on the bikes and on to the Waterville Access Area, where we loaded the bikes on the Fit (we'd left it there in the morning) and back up Lower Pine Bottom to the cabin: a 50.3 mile ride for the day!

Wednesday was a pretty lazy day; we mostly hung around the cabin, read, did a little walking, cooked up some eggs and bacon for lunch. Cathy and I went into town for groceries and got caught up on email at a great coffee shop, Avenue 209. We also bought beer at the Old Corner, a nice little bar and bottleshop in Lock Haven. I got a 12-pack of Franziskaner and a sixer of Troegenator (my bro-in-law Curt was coming, and he doesn't like hops), and took them to the counter. "I'll have to ring these up separate," the guy says. OMG, I'd forgotten PA's screwy beer takeout law: only 192 oz. maximum at a time! He had to ring them up separately (see the receipts?), and I actually had to take the Franz out to the car and come back in to get the Troegenator in order to be legal. Can you believe it? And this law...accomplishes something? The PA Liquor Code needs an enema.

We headed back up the mountain (it was about 1500 feet higher than in Lock Haven) and made dinner. Then about 7:30 that night, we heard a noise...I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and took the video you see here, of a black bear calmly walking up past our cars; looked to be about a 300 lb. bear. Pretty exciting; I've seen plenty of wildlife in PA, and there were wild turkey and deer all over, but that's the first time I've seen a bear up close.

Wednesday night, late, Curt, his son Patrick, my niece Evelyn, and my mother-in-law showed up. We talked, had some beers, and hit the sack late. Thursday I took my bike into Lock Haven to The Bike Gallery to get a busted spoke fixed, dropped off laundry to be done, and went back up the mountain. Then we all went to Woolrich and did some shopping at the outlet store (I got the shirt I'm wearing right now), I picked up the bike, and went back to the cabin. Dinner and more reading ensued, and some card-playing.

Friday we went bike riding again -- seven of us! -- and I went to pick up the laundry in the afternoon. I refueled the Fit, and by golly if I didn't need to hit a men's room just as I was heading by the Old Corner...had a couple pints of Otto's Red Mo with the owner of the Bike Gallery -- a pleasant coincidence, and he told me about the six rattlesnakes his friend had seen along the trail that week! -- then went up the mountain again. We decided to go out for dinner, and went back up the creek to Hotel Manor -- that's the view from the deck. Dinner was quite nice again -- I had a New Orleans pasta in cream sauce with andouille, shrimp, and chicken -- but the drive back...there was an accident on the road to the cabin, and we sat on the road for an hour and a half. Luckily we were able to keep ourselves amused!

The next morning...we'd watched the news, and heard about Irene, and thought about the Corgis -- who were kenneled on the Delaware River -- and decided to cut things short a day and head home. We packed up, said good-bye, and headed southwest. It was uneventful, the dogs were very happy to see us...and Irene left us largely untouched. A good week.

Backyard Ale House in Scranton (and a couple more bars for fun)

I was up in the Poconos with the family last week, resting and relaxing (and having a great time riding the D&H rail trail: I rode every day of the vacation but Thursday, when it poured rain). Wednesday it got hot, and I decided that there were things I'd rather do in the afternoon than ride...like go to bars. Our family friend, John Lelak, went along with me in the Saab (I don't think I mentioned that: we bought a 1984 Saab 900 (28,000 original miles!) for the kids, which became our second car when Thomas had an accident in the Passat in late June). We went back into the hills, a mile up a dirt road, to Chet's Place.

Chet's Place is a sprawling complex of entertainment. Besides the bar, there's a dance floor, a softball diamond (for the bar's team, still alive in the playoffs), volleyball courts by the lake...like the sign said, "Welcome to Chetsville." We went in, sat at the bar, and ordered draft Yuenglings. I'm not sure what we did get, but it wasn't Lager: maltier, with a strong note of caramel. Not unpleasant at all, but not Yuengling Lager. I ordered a bottle of Lager to be sure, and clearly got a different beer. Honey Brown, maybe? Dunno. But things got real pleasant when the fellow down the bar asked, "Are you the guys who came in the old Saab? That thing is cherry, real nice. What is that, an '84?" Wow, good guess! So we talked cars for a while, had a good time, and then we headed out.

We drove down into Dickson City. I got a swimsuit (apparently I packed all mine away!), a gaudy pink flowery surf model (no, there are no pictures) that was on close-out for $3.75, and then we hit a Starbuck's where I got caught up on e-mail using their WiFi (and got caught up on sleep by abusing their caffeine). After that, it was into Scranton, where we dropped anchor outside the Backyard Ale House, right across the street from the county courthouse in the middle of town.

We thought we were alone in the place; the front barroom, cool and clean, was empty except for a bartender. John and I sat down and I started looking at taphandles, then asked her for a list. As she handed it to me, she started asking me what beer I liked. "I like all kinds," I said, "I just want to see what you have." She kept after me, making suggestions (most of them, like the ones of the people who would follow her, were IPAs or double IPAs). I wanted something light -- I was driving -- refreshing -- it really was hot -- and not too outrageous -- John's pretty new to craft beer. Ha! "Two Palms," I said. The keg blew during the first pour. Crap, back to thinking! By this time, we had three other people behind the bar trying to help out. I made it quick: Franziskaners! Keg was just put on, and all she got was foam.

I was already looking at the bottles by now, and got John a Newcastle (which he really enjoyed), and a can of Mama's Little Yella Pils for myself. Perfect. Then we strolled out back, and that was great! Open patio, felt more like the shore than downtown Scranton. We sat at the very nice outdoor bar, along with a bunch of business casual-types from across the street, and relaxed. When it was time for my next beer, I decided to keep the can theme going with something I hadn't had a chance to try yet: 21st Amendment's Back in Black dark IPA. Unfortunately, I think I got an off can; there was a sourness to it that went beyond huskiness. The bartender agreed. (I do not mean to sound critical of BYAH here; we liked the place, they just had a bad run of luck on the beers I happened to choose, and their instincts were right on the continued trying to find me a beer; I'm not a normal customer!) I left the remainder, and we headed to our next stop, an old hotel bar I had once spotted quite by chance on a drive through Scranton, and had been hankering to try out: the Hotel Sun.

Before we got there, though, I spotted the returned Coney Island of Scranton! I pulled the Saab in under the railroad bridge, and dragged John into the place. The Coney Island burned in April, 2008 (a still unsolved arson, sad to say), but they've recently re-opened, with a larger kitchen, but painstakingly restored black-and-white tile floor and wooden booths. And the Texas Hot sauce (greek sauce, 'chili,' coney island sauce) was superb on the custom-made split, short wieners. I love it when a place is good. I was wrecking my diet this week (I'd wind up gaining back a little, despite all the biking), but it was worth it.

The Hotel Sun...I don't know why I like places like this. Smokey, run-down, foul-mouthed patrons, crap booze selection (but almost always clean, fresh draft Yuengling); it could be any of a number of hotel bars I've been to in PA. But it's so solid, so real, so authentic, I just can't help myself. This is, as my friends would say, a Hunt bar, a place we can walk into and feel comfortable, a place where you could get a shot of spearmint schnapps and not worry about what your cocktailian friends might think (er, if you wanted to; I didn't actually, though I almost got Rock n Rye). We had one, and headed home.

Postscriptually...we all went out to Arcaro & Genell's in Old Forge for dinner on Saturday night (at the advice of Scranton native and good friend Rich Pawlak). We got the famous Old Forge pizza (plain red and broccoli white, again on Rich's recommendation), and it was delish. We also split two pitchers of house Chianti, which was tasty and went great with this classic red-gravy Italian menu. Definitely recommended if you're in the area (don't even ask about the beer...); as Pawlak said, "My mom's pick every time." Smart woman.

Surprised in the Boonies

James Carville truly earned my enmity when he coined his famous evaluation of my home state: "Pennsylvania is Philadelphia and Pittsburgh with Alabama in between." (Apparently, it doesn't still apply, if it ever did; see this study of the evaluation by political pollster G. Terry Madonna.) As someone who grew up in between, I take that personally. No slant on Alabama -- oh, hell, yes, it is a slant on Alabama, and I think you know why!

Be that as it may, the beer scene out in the hinterlands -- with worthy exceptions like the state's excellent crop of small breweries and brewpubs like Elk Creek, Berwick, Sprague Farm, Bullfrog and the like -- is pretty damn sad. Yuengling, Schmidt's, and an ocean of Coors Light is what you'll find when you get off the Interstates north of I-80 and west of the Susquehanna till you get to Pittsburgh or Erie (with the booming exception of the Wyoming Valley, and a couple islands like State College and Williamsport).

At least, that's what I thought until last Friday. I was in Nicholson, PA, with my bro-in-law Curt, picking up a bookcase Cathy had purchased the day before at Endless Collections (neat little antique store that also carries Endless Mountains Coffee, which I heartily recommend). We got the bookcase in the back of the Jetta, and then wandered down the hill into town; there was a florist there (The Pinery) that also sold local cheeses, and we got some LeRaysville XXX-Sharp Cheddar that was just fantastic. Two doors down was The Office, a local bar, plastered with Coors Light banners in anticipation of the town fair that night, and they were advertising 13 taps in the window, so we figured, what the hell?

Hey, you can see the picture above; you know what we were expecting. 13 taps of Lite, Light, and more Light, Yueng-thing, probably Busch and Keystone, with buckets of Slim Jims and smoke. Take a look at the picture here: it was smokey (there's an exemption you can work around in PA if your food sales are under a certain percentage of your total take), and there were a fair number of missing teeth (really, it was obvious, and the sign made us wonder about how they went missing: "Warning: if you are involved in a fight here, you are out of here! For Good!") but we were dead wrong about the taps. The taps behind the bar were just what we expected, but at the end of the bar, right out in the open, were seven free-standing taps that the bartender was happy to serve us from: Tröegs Trogenator and Pale Ale, Allagash White, Hoegaarden, and Ommegang Witte (hey, it was HOT!), DFH 60 Minute, and ... wait for it...Steenbrugge Tripel.

What the... We quickly got a glass of each Tröegs ($3.50 for real 16 oz. pints!), and found them to be cold, reasonably fresh, and delicious. We didn't get any weird looks (although the bartender was a little confused about the Tröegs/Trogenator thing), we didn't catch any crap. Maybe they just put it on, Curt wondered, but I think the chances of us just happening to walk in as that happened were slim.

That's pretty awesome. When you consider that the convenience store down the road from our rental had a pretty respectable sixpack selection (AND sold gasoline...sorry, MBDA, that really isn't illegal in PA), you start getting the idea that things are going on that make the continued growth of craft beer both unsurprising, and likely to be sustainable. People like this stuff. I'm not sure who's drinking it in Nicholson (which is not a tourist town by any stretch of the imagination, although the bridge is breath-taking), but clearly someone is. This is a pretty big deal...in a pretty small town.

Still Not Feeling Well...but the beer's good

I'm up in the Poconos with my in-laws, and while I'm still not feeling very well (had a good day yesterday, but I'm sneezing and coughing worse than ever today), Carl and I tapped into a delicious sixtel of Sierra Nevada Celebration late yesterday afternoon, supplementing it with a bottle of Berentzen Apfelkorn schnapps. That was all pretty damned good. I had to do some work this morning -- writing the New Products column for the next issue of Malt Advocate -- but I'm ready to get a little more of that now. Hops are medicinal, aren't they?

Cheers, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Flies, Skeeters, Michelob, and Noah

Hey, I've been gone...case you didn't notice. We took a trip to the Adirondacks to go camping with my brother-in-law Chris and his kids. We love it up there, but...a ton of mosquitoes and bugs, and it rained and rained and rained. At one point Cathy said, "That's it, I'm not cooking in the rain any more. Lunch is on me, let's go into town." Good thing we did, because about halfway through lunch I was sure there was a big cow and a flat rock outside...

We salved our soggy pride with Sly Fox Phoenix Pale Ale, cans of that all-malt Michelob, some assorted Saranacs, Lake Placid Ubu, Long Trail IPA (really interesting hops in that one, and bursting with flavor), and one scary-delicious bottle of Blue Point Old Howling Bastard. It got clear and starry after everyone but me and Chris and the Bastard hit the sleeping bags, and that was pretty good.

We also had a great lunch on the way home at the Northampton Diner in Mayfield, near Great Sacandaga Lake. A hustling, bustling old classic diner, and we sat at the counter right opposite the grill. The food was good, and all I could think was how great it would be to be having coffee and pancakes there next winter.

Mt. Washington: Wow.

We're on vacation, and I'm just taking a moment before checking out of our hotel this morning to tell you that we drove up the Mt. Washington Auto Road yesterday. Phenomenal. Just an incredible view (that's Thomas looking down on it all), and an awesome road -- the Passat took it in stride, no over-heating, hardly used the brakes on the way down -- and a great brewpub meal after we got down at the Moat Mountain Smokehouse and Brewery in North Conway, NH. Whew. Gotta go get one more great diner breakfast at the Littleton Diner. More when I get a moment.