Colorado - Part 7

I wake up in Boulder, having evidently fallen asleep on the ski lift and missed my stop. The hotel smells awful, but it's nice and expensive so I shut up about it. "Go Texas Blaze," it says on the lobby; I'm assuming a sports team, but can't help but think that Colorado has got Texas beat when it comes to blazing.
The Purell machine spits a limp stream of Everclear at me after my half-assed workout with tiny, low-liability hotel dumbbells. The peppermint tea in the lobby takes the edge off the queasy feeling of the ride over and the hang over. Last night's Mezcal hasn't been quick in saying goodbye, and the ride over was scenic and seasick in equal parts.
A fancy vegetarian dinner and a pair of purple yoga pants that come in a little bag make me feel right at home in Boulder, land of new-age hippies and Avery Brewing, but it's the latter that has my interest. I get a ride over and realize that it's Uncle Jacob day, and that means a bunch of Really Great Shit is on draft in the secret-stash back room. My eyes light up like Christmas in July.

Hand of Buddha
Light with some wheat and citrus. The intro to a surely wild evening, and a reminder of mindfulness in the tasting experience.

Brazo Rollizo
Smells of tequila barrels and tastes like BEEFY ARM. Jerky, some tequila, lots of wood and smoke with caramelly malt. The barrel aged version of Trogdor (see below), the name is supposed to mean "beefy arm." The young man beside me (from Mexico) assures me that it does not. Further, he explains that all distilled agave is mezcal, and that tequila is a subset thereof. And that there are mezcalerias in Mexico much as there are small craft breweries in the US.

Ross' Mom
Has got it goin' on. Bold and very sour, almost vinegary. Some apple and maybe tart cherry, but not an orchard. Closer to salad dressing; Cantillon fans are bound to enjoy. Supposed to be sweet, but so tart it's almost dry.

Rub-Barrel-Aged Czar Imperial Stout
Smells like magnificent thrift store leather jacket. Marshmallow even. Creaminess that's definitely marshmallowy, almost cardamom. Faint warming rum on the finish. This was stand-out my favorite beer of the night, even above the Brazo Rollizo and Trogdor. I order a bigger serving later, not ready to depose the despot quite yet.

Tweak
Big, cold-coffee flavor with sugar. Bitter enough to be balanced. Big and bold, but not really evident of being 15% ABV. Danger, Will Robinson.

Bad Apple
Tangy with apply, but dryish, almost woody. Less acidic than Ross' Mom, but with a brett-funky nose.

TROGDOOOR
Smokey and doppelbock—the best of both worlds, properly balanced and not overwhelming. Not quite Charkoota Rye, but it's not trying to be. Outstanding rauch.

3point7 Milk Stout
After everything else, this ends up tasting like chalk-olate milk. A bit chalky, dry coconut stanky (that's what I write on the pad, unsure exactly what this descriptor could mean). Kinda root-herbal.

My phone is dying, the paper map is confusing, and the walk back is over a mile through an un-lit industrial district. I steel myself, but remember to pay my tab, as well as buy the gigantic metal sign hanging on the wall. I get a message that someone has been sent to get me, so I head to the landing zone for extraction, wondering whether the giant metal 'A' would have served better as a shield or a blade if I'd had to defend myself on the walk home. The ride is most welcome.