I awake, if that's the word for it, thinking that if I have in fact killed myself with beer, I hope to be eulogized as a man who died as he lived. My recollections of last night remain clear however, particularly the man in the pink gorilla suit whom we encountered on the street. The pink ape-man followed us into the doughnut store, got behind a register, and sold us some donuts, communicating only in a series of grunts. My partner in crime couldn't deal with this, but it seemed like my kind of town.
We hit the festival after a hearty brunch consisting of mostly poached eggs. The Hair of the Dog offering had come and gone already, but we tried Golden Valley Santa's Smokin' Bock (which was up to par with any German rauchbock), Viking Braggot Winter Squash Porter which had delicious spice backed up with a full squash body an sweetness, Crux Oud Freakcake which was a quality Oud Bruin, then swung by VIP to taste a very old Goose Island Bourbon County and North Coast Old Stock, the vintages of which escape me. The Bourbon County turned into delicious beer candy. We tried John Barleycorn Mele Kalikimaka which didn't really taste like coconut or bourbon barrels, and Stone Spiced Unicorn Milk which was a total spice bomb (nutmeg, cardamom, allspice). The flavors were running together, so we ran with them, out of the tent, and onto the street
I bought some film for my camera and we beat feet across the river while I made phone calls to phone trees which hung up on me repeatedly—far more efficiently than any human could've. At Hair of the Dog, we try Cherry Michael (the 'from the wood' variety on draft at the time) which is delicious (cherry is hard to do well, an argument we later have in depth), Blue Dot, the best IPA I've ever had, then we hit the bottle list: Adam from the Wood has the rich leather, fig, and date it ought to plus soy, chocolate, and sweet bourbon. Matt is similar: licorice and a bit of apple from its barrels. Bourbon Fred tastes like candy cigarettes, which suits me fine. We meet a nice couple sitting next to us on a beers by bicycle tour, fitting for Portland. We meet them again at Cascade, where I hope we provided ample entertainment.
We sprinted back across the bridge, or rather a different bridge, as this one appears to be missing a sidewalk. It puts us in a convenient location to encounter the ape man from Paragraph One. We stumble back to the hotel, and wander into a restaurant, about to close, evidently a repurposed bank building. I order the boar, but they are out, so I think I get macaroni. I wake up at 2AM, perhaps the most hung over I have ever been, wondering if I have in fact killed myself with beer, and wondering how I got back to Paragraph One. I'll ask the ape man if I find him.
