With my train home scheduled for Friday we had a couple of days left to explore before taking my leave. We decided a brewery tour was in order and traced a route towards Burlington so as to maximize our exposure to craft brew. The passage north proved blandly rural but it was nice to be rolling steady again, just watching the world blaze by. We stopped at a brewery called Otter Creek that offered, among other things, a sample of my first dark IPA. I'm not normally a fan of IPAs, too hoppy for me but it was a nice treat. The bar keep lined up a round of 6 4oz samplers of our choosing, ranging from an organic honey wheat through mild nut brown and into deep chocolate stout. We drank them a bit quickly, not realizing that we just quaffed the equivalent of two beers in a half hour. We stepped outside where I realized I was a bit tipsy. Wooooo!
Next stop, Bobcat Cafe, in a small town whose name I've now forgot. Quaint little place built into the slope of a mountain. As luck would have it we sat down directly adjacent to the Brew Master, a kindly fellow who had plenty of insights into his own craft (no shit.) I told him of my love for nut browns which prompted him to tap a cask of product in progress. He explained how this shit here was settling with that shit there or something that was completely lost upon me but, awesome, I was treated to a unique and personalized beer sipping experience. Can't ask for much more. Again we drank a bit fast. This time, however, upon leaving the joint our step was drowsy. Jason decided he needed to cool it a bit before taking the wheel again. We walked down to the river, hopped around on the rocks, and sang songs at the top of our lungs into the roaring water. By and by we returned to the road.
We pulled into Burlington just before sundown and promptly set about exploring the place. Burlington is a shining example of the kind of hippy towns scattered across the nation that draws out the freaks. Places such as Madison, Eugene, and, allegedly, Austin TX that cater to a young, free thinking crowd that wants live music, organic grub and head shops. As night falls we decide some live music is in order. We duck into a promising spot and settle in. It turns out to be some kinda electro-psychedelia. Not bad. Upstairs a rowdy crowd moshes to some drunken irish type rabble rousers with an accordion, a violin, and other such non-sense. All fun and games but at the back of the mind we ponder where to sleep.
Eventually we settle on sleeping in Jason's truck. Drunk as we are we manage but damn was it cramped. One of the most uncomfortable nights of my life, no offense Jason. He sprawls across the front while I pack into the narrow back seat. I can't wait for dawn. Eventually light creeps through the window. We're in the parking lot of an apartment complex. It seems pretty obvious to me that two bums just spent the night in a truck, but the locals don't seem to mind. Perhaps their used to this behavior. By the look of things, transients are a common sight in these parts. We spend the majority of the day walking about, stopping in various shops and visiting local brew pubs. They're nice, have good repertoires, but none exceed the quality of Bobcat. Well enough. With train leaving Rutland early tomorrow we decide to take our leave. Better to spend the night down there than to have to drive early. In Rutland Jason knows of a unique little community that runs a restaurant/hostel called the Back Home Again. Inside the interiors are creatively accentuated with wild root forms and leather. It has a warm, cozy atmosphere despite its size. The food is generous, affordable, and totally satisfying. The staff are friendly but strangely cultish(?) They're really interested in explaining their particular perspective on life. It's neat, but more in an anthropologic way, I want to understand their take on life but have no interest in joining. With some clever finagling we manage to arrange a work-for-stay situation. Jason and I tag team the floors, sweeping and mopping, which affords us a night in their bunk house. Much better than sleeping in a truck.
Up bright and early and the pleasant fellows have breakfast prepared. Omlettes, rendered perfectly. I am truly thankful. A short jaunt to the Amtrak station and I'm off. A short but sweet trip I will not soon forget. The train schedule lays me over in lovely Schenectady for seven hours. Ugh. What to do? Hang out in the public library for a few until I've exhausted my intronet needs, then a walk through the dreary ghettos before settling in for a movie. Sucker Punch. It was atrocious but totally fitting seeing as how I was in fucking Schenectady. Finally the train departs and I'm homeward bound. Too bad I couldn't have stayed longer.
