As I mentioned the other day, WSD and I decided to celebrate this unexpected Indian Summer by making our way into the Great White North on Saturday in search of open roads and delicious craft brew. And, while our adventure took some acceptable, though unforeseen, detours, we were served some of the finest riding and most delicious beer these lips and legs have ever been blessed to devour.

I made a bit of a mistake when plotting our route for the day. If you look at the map you can see I moved us off interstate and into what I had hoped would be scenic rides sooner rather than later.

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Right around McHenry county I put us onto IL-12 which I hoped would be rustic and tree lined. And, while a few short points on that ride did produce a few trees, the majority of the ride was lined with the relics of the new national seal – Chili’s, American Mattresses and empty car lots. It’s a shame to see the few remaining points of wild in the north of our great state being raised to make way for more fat factories and ghettoized apartment complexes. Seriously, what soulless husk of a gorilla would ever choose to inhabit these flaccid dumps?

With that said, we did pass a decent looking skate park in Lake Zurich which, at 10:30am on a beautiful Saturday, was totally empty. I will be plotting my revenge on that spot for sure.

So, while I had the best intentions of getting us into some meatier roads sooner, in the future I will reroute us to stay on 90/39 until we reach Beloit as, really, the roads did not open into much worth writing home about until well past Lake Geneva and over 43. Next time we won’t waste our time on 12, but keep the throttle locked on the highway until we get to Beloit, exit route 81 there and take that into the gorgeous Swiss town of New Glarus, WI.

But this is not how we traveled this time.

We crawled along 12 through McHenry county into Johnsburg, IL, that working class town immortalized by Tom Waits in a song of the same title on the Swordfishtrombones album. We passed through the painfully pink resort pose of Lake Geneva, where everyday appears to be Sunday with the parents, before escaping out a decent Rustic Road on the west side of town.

Rustic Roads are a phenomena specific to Wisconsin and one that clearly reflects the rich motorcycle culture of that state. If you happen across one of these brown gems on your ride take the time to pull off as the signs are shorthand for steep, twisty roads loaded with technical joys. Just please be cautious as these great detours are often spotted with random pockets of loose gravel, or, at this time of year, piles of wet leaves and/or dirt. But, if you ride with caution and keep your eyes peeled, these brown road-side beauties are an assurance of short, breathtaking distractions from any trip you are on.

Once out of Lake Geneva and heading down 50 our trip really opened up. Soon we had our throttles locked back and our bikes were gobbling through the endless rolls of dairy farms and Nordic grandeur that is Western Wisconsin. The traffic is slim, the skies are wide and ancient glaciers have left us with treasures that, frankly, we probably don’t deserve. But parsing through rightful due is a job for the contemplative and bored, we here at Outsider’s Almanac are more interested in what pleasures we can take while the getting is good. Discerning thieves should take a keen interest in the Alphabet Roads of Western Wisconsin.

In fact, we took such an interest in ’sconny’s many siren signs that we wound up bit too far over our skis and couldn’t really figure out where exactly we were. The GPS unit was not much help either because we had to keep pulling over to read it and also because, well, the folks whose job it was to mark the roads in Wisconsin must have been too distracted riding them to really give a shit about finishing their job. So we took a mixed approach of checking the GPS, following the sun, and periodically indulging in a little mid-ride blood-letting to show us the proper way.

As always, the spilling of precious bodily fluids appeased those dark lords of the road and, after many a twist and dip, we came up upon Rt. 69/92 which took us directly into either our intended destination of New Glarus or Mt. Horeb. Because our distractions had gotten the best of us and time had slipped away we decided to hit Mt. Horeb first, grab some food and then head over to New Glarus for a look around the brewery and a taste of Dan Carey’s creations.

Mt. Horeb is a quaint norwegian town that bills itself as the Troll Capitol of the World, they flex this distinction by lining their streets with troll statues in all states of duty. And what better place than the Troll Capitol of the World for a brewpub called the Grumpy Troll to call home?

The Grumpy Troll sits just off the main drag in a two story, late 19th-century building. Hop heads from all around seek out this local spot as evidenced by the parade of beer-hungry folks lining into the brewpub as we pulled up on our bikes. Presently The Grumpy Troll has 12 beers in it’s portfolio ranging from a well charactered “lite” beer, to a surprisingly drinkable smoked beer, and a delicious, nearly 10% ABV, Belgian dark. We ordered up a flight of all 12 and some sandwiches. It was nice to be off our bikes after almost 5 hours of riding and their oddly named Freedom IPA really helped to take some of the sting out of the morning.

With our tanks full and whistles properly dampened we finished our business with The Grumpy Troll, each purchasing a growler of their ‘Curly’ brew, and headed just a few miles south and east to New Glarus and the New Glarus Brewing Company.

Maybe it was the road fatigue, maybe it was the Grumpy Troll samples, or maybe it was the fever high I was suffering through as a result of a flu shot I received the day before, but, as we entered the town of New Glarus I was overcome by a very tangible sense of mythical gravitas. Set inside, almost hiding within, the golden creases of several glaciated hillsides, New Glarus is one part Swiss settlement and one part Museum to it’s town’s unique heritage. Chalets and Swiss flags contour the rolling streets that bend between quiet residential homes, bars and restaurants and the New Glarus breweries – both the old riverside facility and the new hillside complex – bookend the town with their quiet, yet clearly stated purposefulness.

I was so excited as we rolled past the riverside facility, the sun orange and sinking behind the hills, that I let the torque drop my head back into a howl as we opened up the long hill to the hilltop brewery. It’s those moments of man/machine symmetry that come together like song which every motorcycle enthusiast lives for. And why would I not be thrilled? We were about to reach our storied destination and enter the confines of what has become, in many a beer geek’s circle, the mid-western mecca for craft beer as revered and holy a destination as any two-bit religion could hope to strum up.

With all that excitement in our bellies and the anticipation of over 6 hours of our trip you could imagine our disappointment as we rolled onto the gravel lot and the sign welcoming us also served also as a stark reminder that the brewery closes at 4pm daily. I had known this before leaving for our trip, but somehow I had suffered a kind of optimist’s amnesia as the day progressed. Fortunately, when you’re this deep into a great ride very little can dampen your spirits. We figured any town so clearly defined by the presence of a brewery has got to have at least one bar loaded up with it’s namesake’s beer on draught and we immediately began our pursuit.

Sure enough, our first stop, Puempel’s (unfortunately it appears their site has some XXScripting hacks on it so I’m not going to post a link), sits right off 69 on 6th Street in downtown New Glarus. Built in 1893 the building that Puempel’s is in is the oldest building in New Glarus and, judging from the photos on the wall, the bar remains almost entirely unchanged since it’s inception, even using the same ice box they used at the turn of the century.

The walls are lined with deep, earth-toned murals depicting civil war battles and musicians that were originally painted in 1913 and remain as vibrant and relevant today almost 100 years later. Apparently, Puempel’s serves some great food as well, although we were still stuffed from the Grumpy Troll by the time we got there and all we could focus on was the drink. Which was plenty.

We ordered a couple New Glarus Staghorn’s and spent our time staring at all the well-maintained history around us making plans for our next trip to this part of the country.

By the time we finished our beers it was plenty dark and the temperature was dropping fast. We bundled up as warm as we could and headed for home. But, before we got too far, we stopped off at the BP on 69 to stock up on the New Glarus we were hoping to pick up from the brewery that day. The guy running the store insisted he had better deals than the brewery itself, but I had no way of verifying since they were closed. He did have a hell of a selection though. I picked up a sixer of Snowshoe, a 4-pack of the Imperial Saison from the Unplugged series, and a bomber of the storied framboise. I’ll review these in another post. With our saddle bags rich with delicious inebriants, we said goodbye to New Glarus and pointed our fenders for Chicago. The ride home was a bit chilly, though enjoyable nonetheless. We stayed warm and caffeinated and got the hell out of Beloit as soon as the devil allowed it.

There is a particular signature to riding a motorcycle at night that can’t be replicated outside of the dark. The expanse, the heat, the unending possibility of coasting across swelling farm roads in daylight gives way to a much more inward and, in my opinion, more odd and absurd selection of sensations by night. Having a similar kind of trance inducing effect as you get when sitting in a theatre, the projector’s lamp easily securing your attention against the rest of the blackened hall, riding a motorcycle at surrendering speeds through unknown roads by headlight tends to isolate you as a rider and makes me, in particular, hyper-aware that I am essentially sitting on a very fast chair. My vision shakes, the road in front of me glows, and the world comes alive in vibrations otherwise too fickle to bother grasping with my attentions.

There is a rich, dangerous, and almost mystical rhythm in the disciplines of beer and motorcycles, two of the greatest pleasures available to nearly anyone who seeks them out. And, like any great art, the deeper the questions, the more sincere the search, the fuller the revelations gathered from each. Both, motorcycles and that amazing fermented mystery, beer, are almost elemental in their components – water, yeast, grain and hops, fire and metal – there is a sacred simplicity intrinsic in both. Indulging in these pleasures can bring the purveyor back into a clearer sensitivity to the textures of a more simple approach to life. I, for one, am proud to be a devotee in the only church with walls thin enough to insure that the service is always held Outside.

“Some people paint, some sing, others write … I brew.” -Daniel Carey, Brewmaster, New Glarus Brewery, Wisconsin

I was planning on hitting the AHA Teach Your Friend to Homebrew event at Brew & Grow tomorrow, I figure it’d be a good way to find those bits of information that only experience can offer a person and to meet some other budding alcoholics. But when I found out that the weather tomorrow is supposed to be sunny and in the mid-60’s I had to change my plans and fast.

So now, instead of learning about the craft of homebrewing, the esteemed Willard Skynard Devotionliner and I will be saddling up our gas belching toads and riding them to the New Glarus hilltop brewery. I’ve heard good things about the new facility and I’m anxious to try the much promoted framboise those sick wiscos brew up there.

However, my dirty little secret is that I have never been terribly crazy about New Glarus. I find it totally drinkable and will typically always enjoy it while in Wisconsin, but I have yet to have a beer of theirs that really knocks my knickers up. Although I did really find myself enjoying the Totally Naked brew last weekend at the Up North in Madison, it’s confident maltiness deliciously cut the fall evening air. With that said, I’ve not had much from their portfolio beside the Cow, the Flying Squirrel and the Totally Naked so I’m fully prepared to be blown away.

Here is the tentative route we’re taking across Wisconsin’s beautiful alphabet roads to our temporary beer nirvana:

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I’ve really been enjoying the fall weather these past couple of weeks. The gray rain of early October has given way to crisp afternoons glowing their way into the winter death. And what more can a fat, old man ask for, other than a proper parade into eternal night? Oh right, motorcycles and beer.

Wisconsin brew tours
Craft beers making a name, staking a claim on state’s tourism
By Carrie Antlfinger

“Wisconsin lost its unofficial beer capital designation when large brewers moved away decades ago, but the state’s reputation remains strong among beer-lovers as brewpubs and microbreweries have taken the reins — with nearly 70 around the state.

With that in mind, the Wisconsin Department of Tourism has posted itineraries of brewery tours for those who want to learn all about barley, hops, yeast, wheat, fermentation and pasteurization for all their favorite craft beers. And of course, sample some at the end.

The support from the Department of Tourism means “it’s not just regarded as beer — but this is artisanal craft beer,” said Anne Sprecher, spokeswoman for Glendale-based Sprecher Brewing Co. It brews 17 year-round beers and four seasonal beers, and distributes to 14 states.”

Read the whole article here.

As I’m sure you’re aware if you’ve been following the OA blog these past few days, we just got back from our second annual fishing trip. While our fishing skills still require some earnest attention our efforts at decadence and leisure were masterfully honed prior to our departure and, fortunately for us, our destination this year, Lake Vermilion, offered as much for the truly leisure prone as it did for the cadre of world class fisherman it hosts annually.

This year’s trip was, in every manner, a marked improvement over last years trip and last year was nothing to sneeze at. We ventured up to Heaven on Stevens Lake in the UP, MI enjoying some modest fishing (some bass, a few pike, and plenty of pan fish) as well as a chartered trip on Lake Superior hosted by the fearless and stealy-eyed Dave Kimar. If you’re up in the UP and want to dine on some seriously delicious Lake Trout I highly suggest tugging the sleeve of Mr. Kimar and make sure he takes you to the Stannard Rock location. There was a frightful moment during our excursion where Matty snagged a lake trout that attempted to snap his pole in half. Without missing a beat, Dave jumped half over his rail and snagged the trout by it’s snout, festooned his foot for leverage and pulled the slimy, barking beast into the boat with both hands, a gnarled GPC cigarette still clinched between his teeth. Taking a breath, he dragged on his smoke and cooly removed it from his wind-scabbed lips. He looked over at me with a mischievous smile and punched the fish between the eyes killing it instantly. As he tossed the limp demon into our cooler he flipped a whisp of his long white hair and hissed, “Welcome to the club mate.”

Dave Kimar, when he’s not running chartered fishing trips onto Lake Superior, spends his time drinking Old Grandad Whiskey and carving his grave stone from the reformed metal of a 1947 Plymouth Mercury Club Coupe, the car he lost his virginity in. He told us he’s not interested in putting dates or religious affiliations on his tomb, but instead he’s only going to etch one phrase on it when it’s ready to go live: “I caught my lunch and I ate yours, too.”

But, while last year’s trip was a great success, this year we wanted to find a spot with a bit more seclusion and a slightly larger expanse then the 65 acres of last years Stevens Lake. Lake Vermilion with it’s 40,000+ acres, 365 islands and over 45 mile run from end to beautiful end safely fit that bill. Just 20 miles south of Ontario, Lake Vermilion is teeming with crystal clear water, a large bald eagle population, and claims to be home to otters, moose, black bear and some of the best Muskie fishing in the country.

Lake Vermilion was a serious upgrade from last year and our accomodations on the lake were a marked improvement as well. After some modest web hunting we came across the Eagle’s Nest, a log cabin styled house with 3 bedrooms, satellite tv, a hot tub, jacuzzi bath, extensive deck, fire pit and all glass a-frame that over looks it’s perch at the far apex of Black Bay. Every last amenity was given careful consideration and provided in the most purposefully articulated manner possible down to the providing of 2 fully charged walkie-talkies making communication between people at the house and those at the dock – and the other end of the 110 steps downhill to get there – completely effortless. All the multitudes of lights and fans were well marked and the “Cabin Manual” gave clear explanation of any question you might have even before having it. When we ran up against a question we called the number provided and our host answered promptly giving us both reassurance and a warm attitude.

With 3.1 acres of private land backed up by national forest and the only other house anywhere in the back of the bay being another rental that was uninhabited during our stay we were able to have the seclusion, the comfort and the rustic excesses we were in search of. I have had few greater pleasures than sitting under the star-lit night sipping 12 year Glenlevit and listening to Joanna Newsom’s “Y’s”
through the Bose outdoor speakers wired from the stereo inside the Eagle’s Nest.

But long afternoon’s and slow, steady evenings were only the spaces between the important notes of this trip. While a properly timbered unwind is paramount to a savory vacation the truly important moments of a fishing adventure are steward in the golden hours of the morning and dusk. For this, our twice daily hunt for the elusive Walleye, we turned to Gander Mountain and the wonderful folks at the Spring Bay Resort for proper dressing.

I broke my fishing pole somehow during the off season so I had to pick up a new one. I settled for the Ugly-Stik Lite a totally servicable pole for my purposes. I moved the Daiwa Sweepfire from my previous pole and was ready to fish in under 5 minutes. I actually prefer the feel of Matt’s pole that he picked up from Cabela’s, the Pro Guide IM6,  as it sets a bit easier in the hand than my Ugly-Stik Lite, but honestly this is only a minor and fairly unimportant distinction when you get down to it. Probably the best aspect of Matt’s Cabela’s rod is it’s price point, coming in at under $50 for both a rod and reel is a pretty sweet deal in today’s odd market.

While at Gander Mountain we also picked up plenty of tackle (which we subsequently donated to Lake Vermilion) and I picked up a nice and toasty flannel that helped take some of the bite out of our late dusk fishing excursions.

The good folks at Spring Bay Resort hooked us up with a 50hp Alumacraft, the Lunker, for $100 off their posted price and kept us armed with fishing nets as we somehow managed to lose one during the week. Joe Amundsen, the owner of Spring Bay Resort, refused to take any money from me for the replacement net he only laughingly inquired about just how much the three of us must be drinking. It was this kind of warm, accommodating, laid back attitude we found from – literally – everyone we interacted with up at Lake Vermilion at the surrounding areas. Coming from Chicago with all it’s noise and tempo it’s easy to forget that, with a few good decisions and a restful attitude, life can provide you with every essential you might need and, in honor of that, you can act in accord with that wisdom. If nothing else, our trip up to Lake Vermilion in northern Minnesota reminded me of that and, for my money, that was the best result I could have hoped for from our trip.

Dining is always an essential part of a trip and, as far as essentials go, one that receives more than a fair amount of attention from us here at Outsider’s Almanac. In fact, at this point, if you didn’t know better – and you may not – you might think Outsider’s Almanac is a food blog as, I believe, we are statistically heavy on posts about eats. But, while we’re not exclusively a food blog, we’d be criminally remiss to pretend that a majority of our outside activities (especially in the summer) constellate around a variety of culinary investigations. Our fishing trip was no different.

I’ve spoken a bit about one of our favorite meals we had on the trip in another post, the Poutine and Walleye dinner was amazing. We also had some deadly delicious barbequed chicken, some bleu cheese stuffed burgers, several variations of Breakfast Poutine (just add over easy eggs and toast, yo!) as well as the ubiquitous prime New York Strip. But these are just the meals we prepared for ourselves, on any good trip it’s vital to venture Outside (ahem) and see what the local faire has to offer.

We hit 3 restaurants during our trip, 2 of which were on the road to our destination and the 3rd, the Landing, was on Lake Vermilion. The first place we stopped was at our hotel in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, the Green Mill. We didn’t really expect much going in except for half-priced happy hour hores d’voures and pints. But we got inside and found that not only did they have a pretty decent selection of food but they also had this beautiful copper tower for their fairly extensive collection of pulls. It being Wisconsin we felt obligated to drink the New Glarus Spotted Cow flowing cold and steady and, it being vacation also, we managed to find a few shots of Jameson to spill across our chins as well. Combine their very serviceable food, with their great selection of pulls and the apparently rigorous hiring standards of lovely young co-eds from Eau Claire University and the Green Mill turned out to be a exceptionally pleasant surprise after a longish day of driving.

The next day we stopped at Gronk’s in Duluth for a late lunch. I was feeling pretty ill so I stuck to the Spotted Cow and deep fried cheese curds. But Matt and Alex ordered up the Gronk burger – a half pound patty covered in grilled onion, deep fried provolone and BBQ sauce. It was a delicious burger to be sure, the bun in itself a revelation. The only drawback is that the patties were clearly not hand packed nor were they cooked to order. A couple of odd decisions to be sure, but an otherwise pretty delightful sandwich.

And, if you’re stopping at Gronk’s, and you’re feeling froggy, they offer the Enger Tower Burger challenge. Named after a 5 story tower in Duluth this 6 patty, 5lb burger is served to the more heroic of patrons for a price of about $20. If you can manage to eat the entire Enger Tower and a basket of fries in under 2 hours you also get a shirt boasting your savage victories to others. Frankly, it seems to me if you are able to complete the challenge you should have your burger comped in addition to getting the t-shirt, otherwise I would have a hard time finding the incentive in a t-shirt to make myself sick on burger for what would certainly be at least a couple of days. But, some odd sons of bitches enjoy a culinary challenge and measure their size pant leg in how much food per pound they can put down. For you, I offer the Enger Tower Burger Challenge.

Here’s a pretty lousy video of a kid allegedly meeting the challenge:

Our final restaurant experience was born from the riddled hands of desperation and bounded determination to eat some freaking fried fish on this trip. As the Walleye gods mocked us from below we stayed resolute and made damned sure our lips would drape across the tiny acreage of battered Walleye before leaving Lake Vermilion. Our strategy was elegant in it’s simplicity: drive the boat over to the Landing, order 3 plates of the $9.95 All-You-Can-Eat Friday Fish Fry (soup and salad bar included) and proceed to get drunk on cheap beer and Jameson. As one of the few plans that remained ordered from concept to completion our trip to the Landing proved a great success. The Walleye was fresh and well breaded with a cornmeal batter, the service was unwaveringly sweet and the company we kept, a couple from the twin cities who just inherited a house on the lake, was both full of great stories and at least as pickled as us. If you’re at the Landing on a Friday evening in the summer or early fall keep an eye open for our fabled friends Chad and Julie they’ll offer you no end of enthusiastic and good-spirited trouble to help the buttery delicious Walleye go down.

I received a great piece of wisdom one time from Hunter Thompson’s co-conspirator and Road Manager, Wayne Ewing. He told me that he learned early on when traveling with Hunter to always pack the night before as “You never know what terrible thing may happen around dawn.” I may be stupidly stubborn at times, but I am not stupid, so I learned quite quickly to heed any wisdom handed to me either from the Good Doctor by way of Wayne or directly from Wayne himself, the unfortunate glutton who had to clean up after Thompson’s excess for the better part of 15 years. And, in this and every other case, the wisdom proved highly profitable. Had I not done the better part of my packing the night before our departure the 10 AM drive time might have rightfully killed me.

There’s another piece of advice related to this trip I can only offer adamantly. If you’re staying at the Eagle’s Nest – and you should definitely do yourself that great favor – pay the extra $100 for the “Pack and Go” option, allowing you to, as you might guess, simply pack your bags and drag your vacated and bruised body to your vehicle for the slow and labored escape back to the dark realities of your day to day life. Nobody likes to clean, especially on vacation, and there really is no better way to spend one’s money – at home or on the prowl – than to enable someone else to tend to the unappealing and menial tasks of life. Save your time for the Good Work and always, always keep your eyes on the prize which is, usually, located just Outside your door.