The day had come; Nicole and I finally arrived in
Massachusetts—the host state of the
Beer Bloggers Conference! We were, however, a few days early and, although
we’d yet to officially enter Boston, the state’s so miniscule one could throw a
rock across it and hit Maine; everywhere in Massachusetts is near everywhere
else in Massachusetts (for perspective, about 12.6 Massachusettses, with a little
finagling of the borders, would fit inside one Colorado). Thus, while we were adjacent to our destination,
it made no sense to complete the trip because the hotel room wasn’t yet ready. Therefore, we camped just south of Beantown
in
the suburb of Hingham.
Hingham and the surrounding area mirrors our
collective assumptions of the quintessential New England town:
colonial-style houses,
shingle-sided seaside shacks, and roads that zig, zag, loop around, and
shoot off in all directions as if the city planners had no concept of a
grid. Then again, with the town being
incorporated before America was even a country (1635), the founders probably didn’t
have automobiles in mind when they laid out the map; that spaghetti bowl of
streets would be easier to navigate if traveling at carriage speeds.
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| Inside Sea dog |
We made camp at
Wompatuck State Park and piled back
in the car to search for beer in
Hull, a neighboring town. Hull is, in a word, quaint. Located on a little spit of land jutting into
the Atlantic, Hull’s a little beach town rife with seaside shops and
restaurants and, to accentuate the wholesomeness,
a carousel. In many ways, Hull is reminiscent of
Amity Island in Jaws sans (I hope)
man-eating shark.
Our destination in Hull:
Sea Dog Brewing Co.—sort of. Actually, Sea Dog is based in Maine
but they have several ancillary pubs
along the eastern seaboard including, of course, one in Hull. No actual brewing occurs on premise—to call
it a brewery would be a misnomer—but they had beer
and fantastic views as the building is perched alongside the shores
of
Sunset Bay Marina. If ever a rooftop
patio was appropriate, it was the one at Sea Dog.
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| Patio at Sea Dog (and a little girl photo-bombing my picture) |
TANGENT #1: I’m what seasoned sailors call a “land
lubber.” I’m more appreciative of
mountains-and-canyons; the open seas do not beckon. From an evolutionary stance, it’s a
reasonable opinion—humans lack gills and Michael Phelps is an inefficient
swimmer compared to even the most awkward of fish. We weren’t designed for water and those who
seek the ocean are, I believe, actively fighting Mother Nature’s intentions (similarly,
beer geeks and our IPAs;
bitterness is innately hardwired into our brains to indicate poison. Nonetheless, we’ve
managed to override the alarm system and can now happily drink hoppy ales
without fear). Besides that, the ocean
is boring. It looks the same no matter
where you go. I can’t be convinced that,
if one removed all land-based clues (flora, fauna, culture, terrain), anybody
could distinguish Atlantic from Pacific.
Topography, on the other hand, is always unique. Each peak and valley has an appearance and
spirit all its own. Water is a fantastic
accompaniment to land—a rive cutting through a gorge, an alpine tarn—but the show-stopper
is always the terrain (tourists visit northern Arizona to see the
Grand Canyon,
not the Colorado River and
Crater Lake is only cool because, hey, it’s in a
crater). Also, salt water irritates my
skin. No, I’m quite content in the
continental interior. All that said,
however, when I gazed with all due serenity upon
Quincy Bay, at the sailboat
masts bobbing languidly against a dusky sky, I understood, on a certain level,
why some folks are called to the coast.
END TANGENT.
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| Old East India Pale Ale |
Whilst enjoying the awe-inspiring seascape, Nicole
and I did what every visitor to Massachusetts does and ordered clam chowder (as
though our pronunciation of the letter
r
didn’t already alert locals to our touristy status) and, less indicative of
out-of-town behavior, drank
Old East India Pale Ale, an
English-style IPA. Like the English themselves, this style of
beer is more polite and subdued than its American counterpart making for a beer
that’s more herbal and floral than face-smackingly bitter.
TANGENT #2: does anybody else find it curious that
the Northeast—the heart of the American Revolution—typically brews in the same
vein as their former overlords while the West—not even American territory in
1776—is more apt to make beer that truly rebels against traditional British
ales? I would think the colonists, with
their newfound independence, would want to immediately distance themselves from
anything relating to their oppressors. I
suppose when one is putting together a country one doesn’t necessarily have
time to dabble in new styles of beer. END
TANGENT.
We slept for the night and, at long last, drove to
Boston the next morning! We checked into
our hotel but, since we were a day early for the conference, we had time to
kill. We dumped our luggage in the room
and ventured out into the city.
Whenever we mention our visit to Boston, the
inevitable question is “Did you walk the
Freedom Trail?” Yes, we did—in a way. The Freedom Trail is a meandering squiggle of
a line and any aimless Boston wanderer (e.g. Nicole and I) will inexorably find
themselves on that iconic two-brick-wide path.
We saw
Old Ironsides, we saw
Old North Church, we saw a bunch of cemeteries
and more and more churches; we pretty much saw it all (including a place that’s
not yet on the list of historical must-sees but a place that, to me as a
runner, should be sanctified as a monument of silent reflection: the site of
the
Boston Marathon Bombing).
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| Marathon bombing memorial |
After sight-seeing, an internal alarm clock rang in
my head and stomach—time for a beer!
Cambridge Brewing Co., suggested to me by
a Twitter friend, didn’t look
far on the map and, really, it wasn’t; it was a relatively easy walk. However, with a storm rolling in and rain
falling in curtains, that short jaunt seemed an endless, grueling excursion. Oh, we remained fairly dry hopping to and
from storefront overhangs and trees but crossing the
Longfellow Bridge—1,767’
of absolutely no shelter—soaked us all the way through.
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| It doesn't look too bad in this picture but, trust me, it was a deluge |
Dripping like a St. Bernard’s jowls, we made it to
Kendall Square, walked into Cambridge Brewing, and took a seat. You cannot begin to imagine our relief! After that unpleasant stroll, we both needed
and deserved a bite and a beer at the self-claimed “
one of the nations (sic) first [brewpubs].” I ordered the pale,
hazy yellow
Jack Straw (4.2% ABV), an American wild ale with enough summery,
tart refreshment that I almost forgot how miserable it was outside.
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| Inside Cambridge Brewing |
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| Brewing equipment behind the bar at Cambridge Brewing |
Unfortunately, the rain did not stop. Doubly-unfortunate, we had tickets to a
Red Sox game (that game was postponed to a later date; a date when we would have
already left Boston). I’m no fan of
Boston professional sports but Nicole is a fan of baseball in general,
regardless of team, and was quite disappointed that we’d traveled so far only
to miss our opportunity to catch a game at The Green Monster. Lemon juice in the wounds: the rain let up
shortly after the postponement was announced.
I guess we’ll have to come back some day; Fenway Park is over 100 years
old, I’m sure it will still be there long enough for us to visit again.
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| Jack Straw |
After leaving the ballpark—heads hung in defeat—we
dropped into
a local Irish pub (as is customary when in Boston) and had a
beer. We only had one beer, though, because
tomorrow was a big day. Tomorrow was the
official start of the Beer Bloggers Conference—when the
real fun started.
Prost!
Chris
The highlight of my summer had
finally arrived, the Beer Bloggers Conference in Boston! I’d never visited Boston before and was very
excited about attending a game at Fenway Park. Fenway isn’t just any baseball stadium, it holds so much baseball history.
Before heading to the game,
we wandered around the city and took in the sites of where American history was
made. As game time neared, the clouds
rolled in. Of course, I packed a rain
coat but I left it in the car which
was valet parked somewhere in the city. It was only a two mile walk to our dinner at
Cambridge Brewing but two miles in the rain is definitely a miserable
experience. After dinner, we continued
our soggy trudge to Fenway. My first
stop was the team shop to buy a dry shirt and then we made our way to our seats. To our relief, they were in a covered
section. After sitting for about an hour, the game was called due to weather. I was pretty upset that I traveled all the
way from Colorado and I didn’t get to see a game at Fenway.
The next morning, we
continued our exploration of the city (with my newly purchased umbrella in hand).
We took the subway to UMass Boston and visited the
John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum which was featuring a temporary exhibit on the Bay of
Pigs invasion. After the museum, we went in search of local Boston lunch fare
and found it at the Beantown Pub where we ordered the quintessential Boston
baked beans. After lunch, we had a few
hours to relax but then the
conference started and relaxation became a thing of the past.
Nicole
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| It aint the mountains but it aint bad; the view from Sea Dog |
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| You can see the Boston skyline from Sea Dog |
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Fenway Park
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