Brewed Musings

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Pint of the Glen Falconer Memorial beer, an Imperial “Steam” beer

A few days ago, I paid my minuscule fare and boarded a Greyhound with the hobos, the impoverished, and some college students all headed south on the I5. Many were headed into the awaiting arms of Frisco and the Pacific Ocean. While I secretly wished I could follow their solemn path, my trip ended in Eugene, Oregon and a brewfest honouring the late Glen Falconer. Little did I know as we skirted through the green, although soon to be brown, valley with the Cascades keeping watch to the East, that I was about to meet a motley group of beatnik brewers ready to welcome me into their family.

The bus was surprisingly quiet. I expected the wailingest of babies, unwatched children, and the drunken ramblings of the masses. So it was almost a dishonour to this solitude for me to put on my headphones so I may have a soundtrack to the scenery passing my window. I felt a lot like Jack: on the road with a bunch of beaten travelers all going on their way to the furthest destinations imaginable. Coincidentally the man next to me had just gotten out of the service and was headed as far south one can reach in the states before crossing the border to Mexico where he was going to live the cheap life off his pension. Jealous, I was ready to toss my plans and join him, but the hold of Brewtopia, Oregon, was too strong. I put these feelings of a Mexico flight aside, returned to my soundtrack, and got lost in my studies of the Inca and a Peruvian flight.

Eugene is only 2+ hours from Portland, but by bus it is over 3 hours, and when we rolled in to the station, I was ready to get off before my back and legs revolted. All my ideas of an escape by bus faded with the cricks and cracks of getting up after 3 hours of cramped-space sitting. So I bade the soldier a hearty good-bye and good luck, and stepped off the bus ready for some coffee, but instead found a brewpub.

After 3 failed attempts at choosing a beer, I finally settled on one they had, ordered some chips, and grabbed the local indie rag. The Uber Pils was my first choice for this sunny 90 degree day, but instead got what I could only assume was Rogue’s version of a California Common - not a bad 4th choice actually. But considering I had a full weekend of drinking beer ahead of me at a brewer’s dinner and at the festival, I only had one and exited the pub.

There was still an hour to kill before the dinner and my friend was still at work, I hoisted my backpack and wandered - a Confucian monk in Eugene. I found a park 2 blocks from the site of the dinner which would serve as a good place to rest before the debauchery get-together of brewers. With my bag as a pillow, I stretched out in the grass under a young sapling, closed my hat over my eyes, and took a nap in the Garden of Eugene.

When I awoke my stomach gave such a horrific howl. In fact, this frightening wolf howl emanating from my empty stomach is what woke me up. After I packed up my humble belongings, I strolled the 2 short blocks to the banquet hall where the dinner was being hosted, my nerves finally getting the best of me. I was sure I would not know a soul aside from my friend who was accompanying me in exchange for a comfy place to sleep. Although that spot under the tree was not to bad, but probably would have either gotten me arrested or even worse. I will take the day bed over that.

In the brewing community it does not matter if you know someone or not, within a matter of minutes someone will take your arm and pull you into to mix.  They will make you feel welcome.  That time did eventually present itself which I will get to shortly.  But after meeting the very busy brewer and organizer, Jamie from local brewery, Ninkasi, I grabbed a pint and found an empty spot at a table and watched the interaction of a close-knit family.  It was from this spot, the site of my shy people gazing, where my Kansas home was swept up by the impending tornado.

The first to greet me after Jamie was Quentin Falconer, the director of the Foundation, followed shortly by my friend who arrived right as the twister of beer geek activity touched the ground.  It was too late…For both of us.  The next 30 minutes was a frenzy of introductions during which I went from nomadic brewer-stranger to literally a part of a good, close family.  And that is how these folk from the Mid-Valley made me feel - like one of the family.

In the Portland brewing circles it is quite easy to get lost amongst the plethora of brewers and breweries despite it displaying a similar family atmosphere.  There are just so many brewers walking around.  Throw a stone in Portland and chances are you will hit a brewer.  Even the home brewers are a community as vast as the Gobi desert.  But this weekend, the Falconers opened their arms and welcomed 2 new brewers into their family.  And Jacob and I humbly and quietly were happy to be a part of it.

During the course of the evening and subsequently the following afternoon at the brewfest, we toasted to the memory of Glen; we drank an incredible amount of beer (not a bad one in the bunch!); and we talked like long lost family members at a summer reunion.  I met great new brewing friends from Walking Man, 21st Amendment, and even John Maier from Rogue Brewing;  A man I can only hope to be like later in my brewing life.

As Saturday came to a close and I had to say good-bye to this grizzled bunch of brewers, I could not help but want to stay.  I had forgotten what it was like living in a small(er) community…I had forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by a “family.”  Of course, I did have to leave.  My job and my dog were waiting for me at the other end of another long Greyhound trip.  But I was certain as I boarded the bus - this time living up to its reputation - this would not be the last time I would see my new family, and it would not be my last trip to Eugene.

Prost!

the confucian brewer