Back East is always “Back” East

Ok, time for me to play catch up on the last year.

It wasn’t until the 3rd sequential Beiber barrage that the boxed merlot began to batter the brainstem enough to dull my senses a bit. We were blasting through the fourth state line in the previous 15 hours, and the only antidote for Gia’s drowsiness was the same pop music her middle-school pupils indulged in? Time for another swig.

This wasn’t the first cross-country foray, but it was surely the most rapid. Around 6 that morning we had boarded G’s olive-green bullet of a Subaru Outback and rushed through artisanal coffee drenched Denver suburban commuters eventually coming out eastern Colorado to the great plains.

Kansas. It’s bigger than you’d imagine.

Columbia, Missouri is home to Logboat brewing and a hefty imperial red ale.

First brewery of the trip

Day 2, and we pushed through the flat until the rolling hills of Pennsylvanian Appalachia greeted us with emerald applause. The beer-radar was pinging a brewery on the Delaware

ShawneeCraft Brewing

water-gap and given my wonderfully inherited near-sighted vision, I was deemed not to drive at night, meaning there was no problem in purchasing a full taster flight of brews as I passed the keys back to Gia.

3 harrowing hours later and through the metropolis of the tri-state area, we landed on the edge of the Atlantic ocean.

I spent my first 4th of July on the eastern seaboard and the ode du Americana hung for days after as we made it up to Vermont.

Vermont means “green mountain” in New English













We properly sampled the green mountain state’s finest breweries and after Gia was all checked in to her graduate program, I hit the road from Ticonderoga; home of the No. 2 pencil.

It was a slow day of hitching but I met a few interesting people along the way including this conversation:

“Hey man, so why’d you decide to give me a ride?”

“Well, you’re not exactly a big guy, so I figured I could take you if need be.”

“haha, yea, but that’s why I’m a runner!”

“Well, I have something under my seat that I can guarantee will run faster than you.”

I love rural America, and after a 7 mile walk, I ended the day at Sacandaga camping area with a Crusher from the Alchemist brewery as a nightcap.

The next morning I started very early, the fact that there had been a kidnapping of a teenage girl earlier that week with the suspect still at large didn’t help my chances. I made it to Amsterdam by midday and had already set my mind that I was going to take the bus. I only had the next week and a half to spend with friends and there was no point in using all that time just fishing for rides. Amsterdam to Albany to New York City where I crashed with one of my good friends from back in the dorm days at Cal Poly. The next morning before heading out via bus to Pittsburgh I was even briefly reunited with the chef from my days managing the ranch in big sky country.

12 hours later I arrived at my destination and proceeded to do my best at painting it red with another friend, Leisha, from my Montana times. The next few days were spent getting acquainted with the first Trump town experience outside of the Boulder bubble; I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Something I’ve missed about living in working class America is it’s ability to humble my liberal tendencies.

From West PA it was the Greyhound to Cincinnati. The Greyhound bus mentality is summed up perfectly in the first lines of this song:

Cincinnati was the first time in decades that I’ve dealt with true humidity; humidity that just sucks the life of of anyone caught in it. I had walked a good 10K from my friend’s place to downtown and decided to take a breather in the shade of a plaza to cool off a bit. I must have watched 200 teenagers search for pokemon before I was able to lift my ass from that bench, search for the library on my phone, and get to the A/C ASAP.

A note about anyone visiting cities, Libraries are a great way to get into the heart of the area. A few days earlier when visiting Leisha, we took a good half hour or more just looking into the newspaper archives of Acme, Pennsylvania. If you’ve never looked at your own local branch’s archive, I’d highly recommend it.

I love checking out old PSAs

My final day in Cinci was spent appreciating some of its beer (of which there is plentiful and high quality) before making my way back to Boulder.

Church converted to a brewery, that’s what I like to see.

Here’s a quick slideshow of all the other bits and pieces that happened in the past year.

I hope to be a bit more entertaining in the coming month with posts on my trip up to the Alaskan north!

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3 Responses to Back East is always “Back” East

  1. Shirlee Peha says:

    Someday someone is going to recognize your talent for writing. How come you never told me of your adventures while we were baking?

  2. Beth says:

    I love it all! You amaze me, Sark!

  3. Great to hear from you Sark! Those beers and green pastures looked good. I’m glad to see you at least stepping inside an old church. I go to church for the Spiritual Drink as well 🙂 (and for the Pascal Lamb!). You’re always welcome at your local Catholic mass my Jewish brother, but you’ve got to believe to receive! Peace.

    On Sun, Jul 23, 2017 at 10:31 AM, sarkelviajero wrote:

    > sarkispeha posted: “Ok, time for me to play catch up on the last year. It > wasn’t until the 3rd sequential Beiber barrage that the boxed merlot began > to batter the brainstem enough to dull my senses a bit. We were blasting > through the fourth state line in the previous 15” >

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