Colfax Avenue.
Running through Golden, Lakewood, Denver, and Aurora, it’s America’s
longest commercial street and, prior to the interstate system, the cities’ main
thoroughfares. Jack Kerouac referenced
it in
On the Road and, because of the
street’s notoriety for burn-outs and prostitutes, Playboy once deemed Colfax “the
longest, wickedest street in America.”
On a more innocent note, Colfax also serves as a nostalgia preserve,
showcasing our country’s motoring history even if said history is in a decrepit
state; flickering neon signs, old-school motor lodges (now seedy motels), and
50’s style diners both authentic and recreated line the 26.1 mile stretch of
pavement. Smattered between those relics
of the past are popular concert venues, marijuana dispensaries, and dive bars
but, for all its reputation, Colfax Avenue was, until recently, devoid of
Denver’s most famous industry: craft brewing.
Mu Brewery opened on Colfax in late July, 2014, thus
ushering craft beer onto Denver’s most (in)famous street. Other brewers eventually followed suit and,
since Mu’s opening, three more Colfax breweries have opened for business (and
that doesn’t even count
Coda Brewing Co., situated only 0.5 miles [by the crow
flies] from that roadway of questionable repute). Over Thanksgiving break, Nicole and I visited
two of these newcomers.
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| Inside Alpine Dog |
Lately, Nicole and I have been hitting brewery grand
openings (i.e.
Mockery &
FERMÆNTRA) but we missed
Alpine Dog Brewing Company’s big night by half a week.
Nonetheless, it remains the freshest face on Colfax (even if the address
technically has it on Ogden Street) and in the entire city.
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| I've seen lots of chairs made of skis, I've only seen one with a binding cup holder |
Located in a space made available by
the downsizing of the neighboring music store and seated on one of the grittiest streets in
the nation, Alpine Dog is among the most urban of Denver’s breweries. The décor, though, is anything
but urban. In fact, the name “Alpine Dog” refers to Colorado’s
mountain adventurers—skiers, boarders, bikers, hikers, and climbers (not
ski bikers, though; they’re stupid). The
brewery shows admiration for the wild and rugged landscape looming to the west
of town, honoring a wholly different world from the tarmac and depravity of Colfax. Alpine Dog’s an island of mountain life amid
a sea of inner-city grime.
The two sides of Alpine Dog—its nature-loving and
city-slicking sides—mesh better than you might think. In some regards, the brewery’s quite modern
with its enormous, storefront windows, shiny metal chairs, and concrete floor. In other regards, photos of extreme mountain
athletes and a corner full of chairs and benches fabricated from discarded skis
and snowboards encapsulates the high country.
The wood on the tables and walls straddles a line; it showcases a
natural grain pattern but it’s also smoothed to a fine finish. A metrosexual lumberjack might use this wood
in his log loft.
We only stayed for a single beer since we were
scheduled to meet Nicole’s aunts later that night but the
IPA is a solid
example of the style and certainly worth a try.
Nicole liked it and she doesn’t normally go for the big, hoppy
beers.
Our second stop on the Colfax beer trail was
Lost Highway Brewing Company. Next to
Cheeky Monk and owned by the same folks, the brewery’s name is a reference to Colfax
itself, demoted as it was from major highway to lowly city street after the
completion of I-70. It is a highway no more;
it’s been lost in the dust of interstate construction.
The first thing patrons notice when approaching Lost
Highway is the signage which pays homage to the glory days of Colfax and, to a
larger extent, America. The neon sign
with arrow indicating the entrance (the arrow appropriately sporting highway
stripes) harkens back to the days when families packed up
the station wagon and
toured this great land
Clark Griswold-style.
Those were the pre-
Thule days when people simply strapped their luggage
to the roof of the car, stopping at every roadside attraction and sending
brightly-colored postcards from each tourist trap. It’s not a completely wholesome memory the
sign evokes, though; Lost Highway’s logo—a beret-wearing skull—also recalls a
certain counterculture, beatnik attitude born from Kerouac’s era and still, in
some form, surviving today. Even if
similar signs do exist on Colfax (my favorite being the one at
“Big Bunny” hotel which, if you look closely, clearly used to say “Bugs Bunny” until they
were likely hit with a copyright lawsuit), Lost Highway’s is the only one pointing
to an establishment law-abiding citizens feel comfortable entering.
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| Lost Highway brew equipment |
The second thing patrons notice about Lost Highway is
the patio. The wall dividing the outdoor
drinking space from the public sidewalk is abnormally tall and topped with iron
spikes. The floor-to-ceiling garage door
opening into the taproom sits several yards behind this fortification. Lost Highway might be on Colfax but the brewery’s wisely taken measures to keep Colfax
from getting in.
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| Nobody's getting through that barricade |
Once inside, the taproom is as charming and welcoming
as is possible. Brick walls envelope the
space, the brew equipment sits behind glass like an expensive art display,
steel lintels separate rooms, and the beer menu’s presented in among the
cleverest fashion I’ve seen—the wall behind the bar is sheeted in metal, the
beer names written out in those
plastic, magnetic letters used by children
learning to spell. It’s a creative,
colorful, and whimsical touch.
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| Tap menu at Lost Highway |
I enjoyed the
520 Copper Ale, Nicole sampled the
Longest, Wickedest Wit and
Golden Ghost and, as I bustled about taking photos
for this blog, the brewer, T.J. Compton (incidentally, one gangsta-ass name),
noticed my flitting about and offered me a quick behind-the-scenes tour. I got a peek at the brew room, the future
barrel room, and what I’m calling The B.S. Room—a place to drink and curse and
argue the finer points that separate German-style and Bohemian-style Pilsners
without disturbing and/or boring customers.
Apparently, during the last
GABF, Lost Highway hosted a few visiting
brewers and the beer debates in that room got heated and very, very nerdy. While I don’t expect or deserve special
treatment when I visit breweries, I do appreciate T.J. extending the
offer.
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| Left to right: Golden Ghost, 520, & Longest, Wickedest Wit (ignore the suggestive placement of the glasses) |
Nicole and I had to scurry out of Lost Highway to
meet her aunts but, even though our visits to both breweries were brief, I’m
confident Alpine Dog and Lost Highway will prove to be two great new additions
to the scandalous street. So, after
going to a concert, buying legal weed (or illegal other drugs), and picking up
a few hookers, indulge in Colfax’s newest claim to fame and have yourself a
craft beer.
Prost!
Chris
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| Cap art at Alpine Dog |
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| Inside Lost Highway |
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| One day, this will be Lost Highway's barrel room |
