It was a random pop in and I got what I deserved. Nothing. I did get to enjoy the company of some fine beer lovers as I enjoyed a Moloko milk stout. I loved everything about the atmosphere of their brewpub. It had no continuity in design concept. In fact, the most remarkable thing about it was how hidden it was! I am continually amazed by people who succeed in spite of their best attempts to fail. I can't see why an out of the way industrial park, surrounded by nearly nothing, would be a persons choice as a brewpub location. I am not sure if I lived in the area I would consider it hidden, maybe this is the way the ceaseless and mundane urban sprawl of northern Indiana works. All I can say is that I never would have found this place without a GPS and I almost left before I found it due to skepticism.
Thank God I didn't.
After trying desperately to relate to the first person I see I find out he "only builds boxes" and is probably unconcerned with my petty attempt to garner material to write as a distraction from painful self-awareness and the pressures of reality. Oh well.....off to the bar, age old creator of legends.
As I enter the bar I notice it is surprisingly full. I feel like this should help me gain access to the brewery. Someone at the bar has to be a brewer sitting down for a shift beer, right? I remove my helmet and gloves before striking up conversation with the first waitress I see. In an attempt to be concise I fear that I terrify her by speaking too quickly. To add to the level of intensity I have forgotten to remove my earplugs. This means that I am not only speaking too fast, but I am screaming my story at her as well. In spite of all this we get on the topic of her being a Mainer (I was born in Portland) after I tell her where I am riding from. She says she never meets New Englanders out here and she will be glad to try to help me. I wait at the bar as she goes to relay my story. Sadly she returns moments later to say that everyone who can help has left for the day.
I end up finding out there is one more person who might help me find a way to do a days labor for Three Floyds and I approach a guy named "Doc" to see if I can make any headway. Doc tells me he can't really help me, and that he is really a "gardener", whatever the fuck that means. I didn't see a garden. I am pretty sure I was annoying Doc. I definitely made an attempt to thank him after he tried to help me and he sort of did the "TV is wonderful and you're not" 1000 yard stare as I was awkwardly attempting further conversation. No matter, I am a poor conversationalist too Doc. You did your best.
Easily the best part of my entire visit was the quality of the beer I chose, the friendly staff, and above all else the 4 people sitting next to me. One man in his early 40's had just bought a bar with some friends. I think he is going to try to fashion some type of beer bar out if it. There were three other people next to him. They had met about 90 miles south of the brewery, at a stoplight, on their motorcycles. They decided they would ride together to the brewery, and in a roundabout fashion this earned me a free slice of pizza to go with my beer. I owe you guys pizza credits. Cheers.
We talked about riding. We also came to realize that the couple who met the tagalong stranger were at the motoGp in Indy. This was an incredible conversation booster and I'm glad we got to meet each other. It was
a real pleasure. I'm sorry I didn't get any names.
After left Three Floyds I headed further west to a supposed campground in the Illinois wetland/wildlife preserve. Much to my dismay it has been closed for some time. Oh well............
I am typing now from a town park in Morris Illinois. I am staying here for free.
I am winning.
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