The Beer Chronicles, Day 3 - Driving Into Our Past

Our Route

Strange Routes

Sunday, May15, and the winds from yesterday have barely abated.  We arrived in the Palm Desert area in a virtual brown out, a familiar sight to desert dwellers in the N32-35 latitudes.  There's a reason the massive wind farm, an iconic fixture of the Coachella Valley along the I-10 corridor, has been crashing away since the 1980s, providing much needed power for the region and gracelessly annoying many passersby on CA111 out of Palm Springs, who complain about the massive noise they create when it's breezy... which is most of the time.  

As Saturday evening wore on and we crawled our way back to the hotel, there was no sign of the wind stopping like it does in our desert when the sun goes down.  On the contrary: the dust and wind magnified considerably and continued on well into the morning.  We resolved then, to get out of the San Gorgonio Pass ASAP, taking the back way into Big Bear rather than the shorter but likely longer and windier routes to the south.  

Sonny's Dedication Fountain

Strangely, at a pit stop in Palm Springs- nestled quietly away from the bustle of the interstate at the foothills of the 11,500'+ Mount San Gorgonio itself- the wind was nothing more than a gentle, pleasant breeze, cooling the morning desert air and allowing for a brief but pleasant walking tour of downtown.  We secured coffee and a quick stop to "visit" Sonny Bono, arguably Palm Spring's most famous resident before his skiing fiasco, where we posed selfie style with his memorial (and to satisfy a geocache requirement).

Now you may be asking: why on earth would they drive through Yucca Valley and then Big Bear to get to Los Angeles?  Well, my pretties.  That's an interesting story.  Prior to moving to New Mexico at the ripe young age of 12, I lived for four years up in Running Springs, a very small mountain town just 10 miles west of Big Bear Lake in the San Bernardino Mountains, right along the lovely Rim of the World Scenic Byway.  Cheryl too, who predates me on this planet by 11 years or so, also spent some time there in her 20s.  Of course, back in the 1970s when we lived there, the scenic views were frequently hampered by a dense layer of smog that covered the Inland Empire, a monument to dirty industry and a excessive amount of even dirtier cars.  Nearly 40 years later, the smog problem is substantially curtailed thanks to some draconian but effective emissions measures California passed as well as "dirty" industries largely packing up and moving to other countries.  

So to make a long answer even longer, we drove the Big Bear Lake area and subsequently Running Springs for the sake of nostalgia, for touching on a more innocent time of youth and play.  Also, there was a brew pub which served food...

Climbing from Sea Level to 4000', quickly!

The Mountains

Neither one of us had ever taking CA62, which wound its way through Joshua Tree forests to reach

the high desert north of Big Bear, and it was exhilaratingly beautiful.  The windy road that followed up to above 7500' was equally spectacular, if a bit harder to spectacle, given the nature of the drive up and the fact that inevitably got caught behind a "land whale" of an RV on the switchbacks.  It was also a bit disheartening when we came upon the first body of water which you approach coming from the north, Baldwin Lake.  The locals told us that it usually dried up in the summer but even so, this early in the season to see a completely dried up mountain lake was sobering indeed.

As we finally arrived in Big Bear Lake itself, we secured time to find an absolutely spectacular geocache at a Big Bear Lake Inn.  It was quite clever, requiring you to pull the right combo of cords to activate the cuckoo clock and thus open the back of the cache where the container and log were.  

From there it was a hop, skip, and to Big Bear Lake Brewing Company, one of two brewpubs in the city and the one recommended to us by others and the all important Tripadvisor and Google Reviews.  

What we found was a homey, friendly full service brewery with a large food menu, just in time to slake our thirst and fill our bellies.  Not surprisingly, the beers here were big on the pine and resin, as if to remind us that we were smack dab in the middle of a forest.  The Double Down IPA was a strong example of this, a sort of Porter/Double IPA hybrid that came in at a whopping 9.2% ABV.  Even more indicative of our surrounding was the Whisper Pine IPA, which gave off an almost palpable aroma of Spruce and Pine resin and followed with a hoppy punch in the teeth.  

We also sampled their Golden Ale, which strangely had a black licorice finish, their high alcohol Red Ale, and a rather ordinary Hefeweizen and Chocolate Porter.  Still in all, it was a heady mix of quality craft brews, eagerly served up by a young, enthusiastic local.  Side note:  What was considerably more surprising than a quality brewpub in a town of just over 5000 people was the fact that my sis had never had Carnitas before!  Luckily, the carnitas tacos fit the bill to educate her about the marinated pork goodness that this iconic Mexican preparation offered.  Needless to say, I now have a convert.  

Our bellies full and beer palates satisfied, we stopped again to grab a highly rated geocache.  I suppose I should mention: premium member geocachers (those that pay the $30 annual fee) can earn and assign favorite points to caches which they like.  Some, like some virtual at major national monuments, can have thousands of favorite points.  Most, more humble and less visited ones like this clever fake wood knot cache, will be lucky to get to 100 favorites.  Still, this stop afforded us the chance to talk to the cache placers themselves, who lived right across the street, and a fellow geocacher, who found it just before us.  And it's no wonder it was so popular on this day:  it was a gorgeous 65 degrees, sunny, light winds, perfect for being out in the woods.  

My old house, circa 1976-1980

I mention this casual detail because the 10 mile drive to Running Springs, which also dropped us about 1500 feet to about 6000', became anything but.  Low hanging fogs rested between the 4000' and 6000' elevation mark in the mountains, hovering there with cold and frightening intensity.  What was a beautiful 65 degree spring day in Big Bear became a zero visibility 38 degree day by the time we got to Running Springs, freezing fog stinging our cheeks as we got out to find another geocache.  My old home was spared the worst of the fog as Palo Alto Way sat slightly above the brunt of the storm... But Running Springs main street was socked in completely and we were barely able to see 50' in front of us.  

The drive down the mountain reminded me of the terror we all felt at times during a San Bernardino Mountain winter, when thick blankets of fog, layers of black ice, and massive 6-10' drifts of snow made the drive up and down to San Bernardino and Riverside beyond a hazardous, life threatening terror ride.  It was no wonder my mom and dad were all too happy to move to the less wintery southern New Mexico.

Los Angeles

LA's iconic city hall

Full disclosure: I learned how to drive in New Mexico, which is not a great place to learn how to get behind a wheel. Las Crucens have a justifiable reputation for being some of the worst drivers in the US: slow and clueless, fast and clueless, or with just a complete disregard for their fellow drivers.  So I would say that I actually LEARNED to drive in Los Angeles, where the unstated motto is drive well or die; we don't give a crap which one.  I prefer this method of driving, where aggressive competence rules the day, where the rule of the road is stay in formation, go with the flow of traffic and for God's sake, don't go slow in the fast lanes.  

Well, that's true when traffic is moving at all. 
Yes, the notorious Los Angeles traffic jams are a very real thing, something I have experienced in their full frustration way too many times.  On this day, though, the drive into downtown was a cake walk, with only a small delay when we hit the spaghetti bowl of intertwined tarmac where the 110, the 101, the 10 and the 5 all come together in spectacular cluster of freeway madness.  It was no wonder my sister declared that she would be happy to drive anytime on this trip... except in LA.  Point of fact: I did all of the driving, which is just as well.  In Guinevere, our 2015 Toyota Avalon hybrid, there's this little thing called "sports mode", which is ideal for Angelino-style driving.  


Angel City

It should be said that normally, I avoid driving into downtown LA, mostly because I'm usually heading up to Ventura or points north to visit family and/or friends and the route through Pasadena and Burbank is usually faster.  

Well, today was different because we were meeting an old colleague who lived in Torrance for the Angel City Brewery Heritage Music Festival; right at the cusp of Asian, Hispanic, and European cultures, the brewery is at the center of an Arts Distract revitalization, one which I can attest to after visiting their area some 25 years ago and not wishing to return to that torrid wasteland again.  

I should add that my sister spent many of her formative years here, as her dad lived very close to the heart of the city.  So this was a homecoming for us both.  I was born in Hollywood just north of here and she spent a good portion of her teen years in the belly of the beast itself.  And thus we drove deep into our past, only to find that LA has done far more to embrace a vibrant future while still recognizing its cultural connections.  I have spent many years poo pooing the vast sprawl that is the City of Angels, with its myriad of cultural, economic, and crowding problems.  But today, there is a sense of optimism, especially when you spend times in neighborhoods like the ones we did.

Inside Angel City

Now the wasteland is no more, the region punctuated by at least five breweries, a Japanese-style mall, more sushi places than I could count, trendy bistros, and a vibrant sense of a neighborhood on the rise. For me, the core of this is Angel City, a massive city block warehouse cum brewery some 4 stories high, once a place of industrial commerce and now a huge tasting room and brewery; the place also sports a large outdoor area, where additional taps were laid out to accommodate the massive crowds the festival attracted.  Food trucks were aplenty as were drummers, artists, and vendors of all sorts, creating an atmosphere of exuberant but convivial hedonism.  The inside features the largest tasting room I would encounter on this trip, complete with darts, boardgames, and some sort of beanbag toss game that seems quite popular in California.   A metal loft rises up above the main cement floor and it was here that we ran into some truly spectacular brews; the weird and wonderful world of barrel aged, small batch gems were featured here, mostly just in tasting cups as the vast majority of this magnificent space is reserved for fermentation vats and bottling areas for more common fare.

And each one was better than the next. First up was a magnificent beer called the Funky Wit, a Belgian Wit Soured and Barrel Aged to bring out the lemony citrus character of the wit. Then there was the Dark Rye Lager, Bourbon Barrel Aged that accentuates the lagering with an almost molasses finish.  Similarly, the Mouthful Molasses Dopplebock exudes coffee bitterness and burnt sugar sweetness. The Imperial IPA is a hophead wet dream, with tropical passionfruit permeating the palate, nicely balancing the hop bitterness.  Finally, my favorite was the Jameson Barrel Aged Irish Red, a phenomenal 15% ABV powerhouse that tastes of Islay smoked whiskey and Irish Red sweetness.  What a beer!

Keep in mind that should ever decide to make the journey into downtown LA, there's a very good chance that you'll never find these brews. But I'm sure the eclectic geniuses that run the place, like the very city itself, will surprise and delight you with even more delectable and usurious pleasures for your palate.  Just be sure to bring your credit card.  

Wurstküche Pub

Post Mortem:  I wasn't sure if I would include this tidbit- as it doesn't really fit with the local craft beer theme of this blog- but I should admit that my sis, friend and me decided not to indulge in the food truck city of the festival, instead walking two blocks away to the remarkable Wurstküche, a place that has made German food trendy again.  With a huge array of reasonable and house made sausages available at walk up window, the place is a also a trendy pub, with some 30 taps of German and Belgian ales straight from the motherlands.  First you stand in line for your sausages (yes, there's even a vegetarian one for you veg heads out there!), then you sit down at in the pub, where you will happily fork out between $8-10 dollars for a tasty treat from the Old World.

Our plan was simple: Cheryl and Kristi would stand in line and order the sausages while I secured us seating at the bar, ordering libations in the process.  I suffered through a lovely Belgian saison called Brasserie St-Feuillien while I ordered (and sampled) Früli Strawberry beers for my companions. Those Belgians do know their stuff, although the Früli was a little sweet for my palate.  The Brasserie, on the other hand, was a very traditional Farmhouse, giving off an almost meaty quality that paired well with the tubes of pork we were ingesting.

Next up:  Monday, May 16, where we venture down to the beach and enjoy carnitas in Oxnard, curvy driving wonders of Highway One, the trendy hipness of Santa Monica and the funkiness of Venice Beach.