Finally . . . #1

I moved to Montana because it had been a dream of mine since I was a little kid.  I wanted to be in the beauty of Big Sky Country with all of its mountains and wild life . . . and, very few people.  Yes, I said very few people . . . less than seven per mile while the average for the United States is 87.4 . . . as an introvert, Montana is about as close to heaven as one can get.  So far, it has been everything that I thought it would be . . . but, now, there is an added bonus . . . Montana is number one.

That’s right.  Montana is number one . . . and, you will never guess what Montana is number one in.  Beautiful mountains . . . maybe, but lots of states have beautiful mountains.  Abundant wild life?  Sure we have just about every critter anyone would ever want to see in the great outdoors of America . . . but, we are not the only state with those critters.  Fewest people . . . no, there are fewer people in the Dakotas per square mile I imagine.  Nope, none of those things.  Montana is considered the number one state in the whole United States of America for beer lovers.  Yep, that is right . . . Montana is a beer lover’s paradise.

On the Motley Fool website an article, beer tazes at49 states’ butts.  Now this was not one of those humorous polls that pop up on Facebook, no this was hardcore research using facts.  The rankings were based on certain criteria such as: annual beer consumption per capita, gallons; breweries per 100,000 people; bars per 100,000 people; and, beer excise taxes per gallon.  Using these numbers . . . Montana came out being the best state for beer lovers . . . beating out Wisconsin, Massachusetts, and California (all states with more people).

Wyoming had the lowest at two cents a gallon.  Now it is probably not because they love their beer as much as they hate taxes.  Since they won’t tax people’s income, they put a small tax on their beer.  Overall, Wyoming could move to number one next year if they would just drink more beer.  With the traffic on the highways leading to Billings, one would think that they do all their drinking in Montana before heading home.  Montana ranked 11^th in the beer tax category . . . 14 cents per gallon.   Shoot it is worth paying the extra 12 cents to stay out of Wyoming!

In the area of beer consumption, North Dakota was number one at 45.8 gallons per capita . . . followed closely by New Hampshire at 43.9 . . . and the then Montana at 41 gallons.  That is a lot of beer to consume, but have you ever been to North Dakota or New Hampshire . . . it is enough to make anyone drink.  But the fact is, North Dakota and Montana loves their beer.  It is a part of their roots, lifestyle, and strong outdoorsy bent.  Hey, long winters don’t help much either . . . shovel snow or drink beer?  Duh, apparently we Montanans drink beer!  Remember winter is nine months here in Montana . . . nine months that we endure for three fabulous, beautiful, awe-inspiring months that we call summer.

Vermont had the most breweries per capita at 6.38 per 100,000 people.  They must have crowed breweries.  Montana had 4.6 breweries per 100,000 people to rank third in this category.  This is one time when having a love for brewing beer, drinking beer, and only a million people in the whole state is an advantage.  Again, brewing beer is a big hobby around here thanks to long, cold winters.  The scary thing about this is that there seems to be new breweries popping up around the state each month!  At the rate that new breweries keep being born . . . well, Montana could easily move up to number in this category in a couple of years.  One of the great road trips in Montana is sort of like a pub crawl except it is hitting all the breweries is one swooping trip.  I almost pulled that off in the first two years of living in Montana . . . but I missed it by three breweries.  Now it is a pipe dream as I am now approximately twenty breweries behind . . . always searching for that elusive beer!

The one category of statistics that Montana did win was in the category of bars per capita . . . yeppers, we were number one.  Got to have a place to drink all of that finely brewed brew.  Montana has 59.3 bars per 100,000 people . . . that is a lot of bars.  In the little town where I live there used to be three bars for the 1,000 people who lived here, but we are now down to two . . . I am not sure whether or not that is even close to the average for the state, but bars are crowded and I don’t like crowds . . . outside of a meal or two at the local bars I really haven’t stepped into them since moving here.  Shoot, the wife cooks better than any bar food and the beer is cheaper at my house.  We Montanan’s might be sots, but we aren’t stupid!

I did not move to Montana because of the beer . . . though it was a nice bonus to discover such wonderful beer being brewed all around.  Outside of our three months of summer, Montana takes a beating because of its cold weather, low population, and lack of cultural . . . well, it was nice to finally be recognized as being number one at something.  We beat out all of the big boys in this race . . . Wisconsin was number two . . . Oregon was number four . . . Colorado (supposedly a brewer’s paradise) was number eight . . . California was 35^th!  Montana even beat out the nation’s capital—Washington, D.C.—which came in a distant 32^nd!  Bringing in the bottom at 51^st place was Tennessee.  Man, it feels good to be number one!

No one denies the beauty of Big Sky Country . . . it is beautiful.  No one denies its wildness . . . we have all the critters anyone would ever want to see and encounter.  No one is going to deny its sparse population . . . there are not many of us out here in God’s country.  All reasons why I chose to move to Montana when I had the opportunity.  And, now no one is going to deny that Montanans love their beer . . . the fact prove it. Just an added bonus for making the move.  We are number one . . . and, we will bask in the glow and warmth of being number one . . . at least until the next statistics come out.  But in the meantime, we will continue to seek the elusive beer . . . it is out there somewhere.  Most Montanans have seen glimpses of the beer, usually after three or four brews . . . the beer is out there . . . somewhere . . . with the jack-a-lopes and snipes.  Being number one only breeds greater hope!  We’re number one!  We’re number one!

Name Your Brew

“They sell courage of a sort in the taverns. And another sort, though not for sale, a man can find in the confessional. Try the alehouses and the churches, Hugh. In either a man can be quiet and think.”

(Ellis Peters)

“Beer is my coffee.”

(Moi)

I am not a coffee drinker.  The wife and seventy-five percent of our children are coffee drinkers . . . or what passes as coffee drinkers these days.  My parents were coffee drinkers . . . Maxwell Cup right out of the jar . . . not this chocolaty, frothy stuff with exotic sounding names.  They liked their coffee to be black and strong . . . no cream . . . no sugar . . . straight up.  I never could stand the smell of coffee . . . made my stomach queasy.  Nope, I am a tea drinker through and through.  Not those wimpy herbal teas . . . not those spicy and fruity teas (though I really like Wild Sweet Orange Tea by Tazo) . . . plain old, black leaf tea . . . Red Rose and Liptons . . . no condiments.  I like my tea straight.  I guess if a person is not going to drink coffee, he or she should drink tea . . . I am not a coffee drinker.

The other day, the oldest child and his mother started a conversation about coffee . . . actually it was about Starbucks . . . the commercialized flag ship of coffee shops.  Both of them were drooling and ranting and raving about how wonderful the coffee was at Starbucks . . . actually, at any good coffee shop that can produce the exotic drinks that they pass off as coffee today.  Now, I have gone into the aforementioned coffee shop with the wife before, but my heart practically stopped beating when they charged me nearly four dollars for a cup of tea . . . black tea, at that!  I know the price of a box of tea . . . Liptons or Red Rose . . . and, I know that for four bucks I could have made myself forty-eight cups of tea!  The wife told me to relax, I was paying for the experience and ambiance of the place.  I thought I was paying for a cup of tea!  It didn’t even faze the wife to spend six bucks for her coffee . . . four bucks for my tea . . . to sit in a crowded, stuffy place where people used a strange language to order their brews.  For a minute I was not sure if I was really in the biggest city in Montana.  Which brings me back to the conversation . . . the two of them just thought that the coffee and experience was the neatest thing since sliced bread.

In fact, as my wife says, coffee shops . . . in particular Starbucks and the coffee shop in Barnes and Noble . . . are one of her favorite places to unwind, relax, and spend some time with her self.  Most of the time she is with friends or family, it is rarely quiet, and nerve wracking in the introvert eyes of me. She likes to get her brew, sit back, do a crossword puzzle or read a book, think, and relax . . . a good way to end her day, she tells me.  I don’t get it.  In my mind I would think that it would be better to come home to the peace and quiet of home, brew a quick cup of coffee, and find true tranquility . . . but, the oldest and wife informed me I was wrong.

So, I was thinking about this as I was driving home from working at the university in the big city.  Coffee shops are the wife’s favorite places to sit back and have a brew . . . she can relax . . . talk to people . . . read a book . . . listen to music . . . cruise around on her smartphone.  It is a special place for her.  As I thought about that, it dawned on me . . . I have a special place like that too . . . a place where I get my favorite brew, sit back, enjoy some company, listen to some music, do a crossword (if I was really, really desperate for entertainment), cruise around on my smartphone, and even read a book if I wanted to.  The only difference is that my brew would not be coffee . . . it would be beer.  As I was moving down the highway, I thought to myself . . . there ain’t much difference between a brewery and a coffee shop in Montana . . . just depends upon what type of brew a person wants.

The wife doesn’t agree with me on this one.

So, I did a little research . . . coffee versus beer . . . coffee shops versus breweries . . . which are better for a person?  Here is a bit information for you . . . if you want to be creative, drink beer; if you want to be energetic, drink coffee.  Research shows that a couple of beers will make a person more creative . . . that the brain is less distracted by the world around it . . . that it is good for searching for an initial idea.  On the other hand, research shows that coffee is great at giving an individual quick energy . . . makes the person able to focus better . . . and, it makes one active.  This particular research stated that two would be perfect working together . . . the beer would create ideas that the coffee would give energy to achieve.  But, the research warned, moderation is the key to either one . . . neither one was good in over-abundance.

Other research had to do with telomeres—the end parts of DNA.  Apparently telomeres get shorter as a person ages, when they become too short, the cell dies.  Shorter telomeres are associated with poor health and an increased chance of premature death.  In this research it was found that caffeine was found to shorten telomeres, but that alcohol lengthened them.  In others words . . . beer lengthens a person’s life while coffee has a tendency to shorten it.  Beer topped coffee in this research.

Now, if you are actually seeking to relax, think, and spark the creative juices . . . beer is the brew to go with.  If you are seeking to be energetic, twitchy, and raring to go . . . coffee is the brew to drink.  If you are seeking longevity . . . beer.  If you are seeking an adventure and quick action . . . coffee.  Beer is served in breweries . . . coffee in coffee shops.  I get anxious in coffee shops . . . I feel out of my domain . . . out of place . . . I am uncomfortable . . . and, no one has ever yelled out my name in a coffee shop when I entered.  The brewery, on the hand, I feel more comfortable in, I feel I am among my people, and every so often someone actually knows my name.  A pint of beer is usually between three and four dollars . . . a cup of coffee between four and seven dollars . . . a cup of tea, four dollars.  I am no Einstein, but I think my genetic make-up would have me preferring the brewery and beer over the coffee shop and coffee.

I haven’t popped this theory on the wife yet.  As I said, she is a coffee drinker, I am a beer drinker.  She likes coffee shops, I like breweries.  She likes to spend money, I like to save money.  Either way, I have discovered that neither one of us really buys our coffee or beer . . . we rent it.  I do not think that we are going to agree on this topic of which brew and which place to have our favorite brew is best.  We disagree. As singer Dave Mason used to sing: “There ain’t no good guys, ain’t no bad guys.  There is only you and me and we disagree.”  On that I know the wife and I agree.  I can raise my stein to that!

What is your favorite brew?

Road Trip

“The Americans have found the healing of God in a variety of things, the most pleasant of which is probably automobile drives.”

(William Saroyan, Short Drive, Sweet Chariot)

Saturday morning.  Long before the sun had risen.  The long-anticipated road trip arrived without a whole bunch of fanfare, but with a lot of expectations.  The destination . . . Missoula, Montana . . . where the oldest son and I were heading to meet his sister and brother-in-law for an Avett Brothers concert on Sunday evening.   It had been a while . . . over a year . . . since the oldest and I had taken any sort of a trip—much less a road trip--together.  The last time was when I traveled to assist the son on his move to Montana . . . to welcome him home after his life had unraveled.  In a way, this was just a continuation of the original journey.

Road trips are not supposed to be completely planned, but we did know our destination . . . Missoula.  When I think about road trips I think about hopping in the car, traveling down the road, and seeing where I end up . . . no maps, no expectations . . . just the trip itself.  But, this trip had a destination, a stated purpose, and a lot of expectations for having a good time.  Not only were we heading off to see a concert, I was on a mission to show the oldest parts of Montana he had yet to see.  Trust me, there is a lot of Montana to see between here and there!

So, you are probably wondering how the road trip went.  Well, let me tell you what I learned . . .

I learned that when one takes a long road trip that it is probably not good if one is an introvert and the other is an extrovert.  Ideally, this trip would have been so much more enriching for me had I gone on it by myself . . . that is an introverts ideal vacation . . . being on the road by him or herself.  We were two mismatched traveling companions—me the introvert, him the extravert.  Needless to say, it drove the oldest crazy . . . me, not so much.  I don’t need a lot of conversation or interaction when I am on the road.  Oh, I must admit, there were moments on the trip when I wish I had brought ear plugs . . . but, I listened.  I am a good father . . . I listened.  And, in all honesty, I really do not care to hear anything else about fantasy football for a long, long time. Yet, I was not much company for a person who starved for company . . . but, such is a trip with an introvert.  I was content with the silence or listening to the music.

The music . . . another sticking point on the trip.  The Keener tradition is that the person driving controls the music . . . which meant whatever was on my MP3 player was it.  Over the years my children have inundated me with all sorts of music . . . lots of it I like, but on my MP3 player I run the gamut of musical selections.  I have everything from the big band era to country, blue grass, rock, rock and roll, blues, jazz, heavy metal, Americana, country rock, pop, soft rock, folk . . . just about everything but hip hop and rap.  The oldest was cordial and did not complain . . . even said that he survived the majority of what we listened to . . . and, actually enjoyed some of it.  I think that he drew the line at the big band stuff! 

So, in the actually driving to Missoula, the score was one to one . . . he talked when I longed for silence, I blared my music when he longed for real music.

Another thing I learned is that I am getting too old for the road trips I remember as a younger adult.  Upon arriving I think that the two of us had the same expectations . . . we were going to have a great time, explore the city, experience its life, and make a fun time of it.  And, we started out well . . . but somewhere along the way, something I ate or drank, decided to exert its presence in the deepest bowels of my body.  About our third stop, a brewery, my body rebelled.  I couldn’t even finish my beer that I had ordered.  It wasn’t even five o’clock yet . . . the day and evening was still young . . . and there I sat with a growling bowel, hoping that I could keep everything down, and wishing I was twenty years younger with that cast iron stomach I used to have.

As an introvert, I wanted to sit there and quietly die.  Luckily for my son, he is an extravert.  My dilemma did not slow him down too much . . . he made the most of the opportunity to hob knob with those around us.  He easily talks to others and others are attracted to him . . . he is a charismatic sort of guy.  It is his blessing and his curse.  While he was socializing with the best of them, I was praying that whatever it was that was using my intestines as a trampoline would hurry up and settle down.  By the time the oldest had had his brewery defined limit, I was almost back among the living . . . the key term here is “almost”.  Where he was ready to hit the next spot, I was ready for hitting the sack . . . and, the night was young. 

My car, my gas, my money . . . we went to eat and it was only seven o’clock.  Though worried, the son was disappointed . . . even though we did eat at a Hooters.  There wasn’t much to hoot about . . . I ate, paid the bill, and we headed back to the hotel.  I was ready to call it a night at eight o’clock.  Somewhere in the rules of road tripping I am sure there is a rule that states that bedtime is never before midnight at the earliest . . . I could see it in the face of my son and hear it in his voice.  But, it sure felt good to hit the bed.  Ernest Hemingway wrote: “Never go on trips with anyone you do not love.”  Thankfully, my son loves me . . . and, I love my son.

Sunday was a new day.  It had new lessons to be learned.  I got to have breakfast by myself . . . I got to walk around, see the area, and take pictures.  I witness people out on a hot air balloon ride over the mountains . . . and, I longed to be there with them.  But, I appreciated the quietness.  The culprit from the day before was long gone, and I felt a hundred times better.  In the meantime, the son slept.

One of the new lessons I learned, only later, is that there is a difference between men and women . . . especially when it comes to fine eating experiences.  The daughter and son-in-law arrived and we headed out for lunch.  I wanted food that I had to eat with a fork . . . that came from a cow . . . and was cooked on a grill.  I chose Outback Steakhouse . . . a place I had not eaten at in over six years . . . a place I thought was fancy.  Little did I know.  I forgot that when in a new place, women want to go someplace where the food is a little more elegant and artsy-fartsy . . . not a steakhouse.  I thought I was being a gracious host . . . but, the wife informed me that I had disappointed the daughter when we pulled up to the Outback.  I explained to my wife that they were lucky it wasn’t Mickey D’s Golden Rainbow Room!  But, since then, I have made a mental note . . . next time on a road trip with the daughter in tow . . . that I will eat a meal at some place where the napkins are not a roll of paper towels on the table, the water had lemon wedges in it, and they do not have a football blaring away on twenty televisions.  I will eat in a place where the portions are way too small for the amount of money I am paying, napkins are made of better material than the clothes I am wearing, and the music is more chamber-like than rock-n-roll.  Well, the daughter was out-numbered—three to one, but the company was wonderful.  I just need to remember . . . men and women see things differently.  Though I was in heaven, others were in hell!

The afternoon was spent on the brewery trail between Missoula and Hamilton . . . something all of us would have usually enjoyed . . . all of us enjoy microbrews and Montana has some of the best in the United States . . . but, there were complications.  First complication was the fact that the daughter was not feeling well.  Feeling sick and breweries do not mix well . . . no microbrews for the daughter . . . the daughter who loves her brew. It was no fun watching everyone else enjoy the many wonderful brews being offered.  Second complication was limiting the amount anyone could drink.  This was due to time, distance, and the fact that I was driving.  Once again, the expectations of a road trip were dashed for the oldest son.  He wanted extravagant imbibing and was only getting a tease of what could be.  But, the company was great!

The purpose of the road trip—the concert—was up next.  Needless to say, the kids did not steer me wrong on the Avett Brothers.  They were great.  The music was great.  The concert was one of the best I had ever been to.  Full of energy.  It was the highlight of the trip.  Plus, they sold beer there.  The oldest was in heaven . . . good music, good beer, and great company.  Even at my age, I still quiver in the temple of good music, and I was touched.  None of us walked away from the concert disappointed . . . maybe with a little less hearing, but not disappointed.  It took me a good hour to calm down enough to fall asleep after the oldest and I wished the daughter and son-in-law a safe trip home.  I learned that good music speaks to all generations, and the Avett Brothers were preaching that evening.

Of course, the edge wears off of any road trip when reality of having to go home sets in.  The trip home was quiet . . . no music . . . very little conversation . . . lots of beautiful scenery.  A quick brunch in Bozeman.  We were home by one in the afternoon.  The oldest hit his bed, I did laundry and work I needed to get done.  And, that was it.  I learned that reality never lives up to expectations . . . what started out as having the potential to being a big bang, ended up being a fizzle.

Yet, it was a good road trip.  It was good to get away from the routine.  It was good to be with my children.  It was good to be able to go someplace new, observe it, experience it, and wonder.  It was good to connect, even in the silence and awkward moments, with one another.  It was good to see how far the oldest had come from his trip home a year ago . . . but, to realize there is still a long ways to go.  It was good to see the daughter and son-in-law . . . to enjoy her laughter, his wittiness . . . to watch them express their love towards one another . . . to be in the presence of family.  It was good to just be quiet . . . to appreciate the beauty of the place and the places we pasted coming.  It was fun to take pictures of the obscure and beautiful in places no one ever looks despite it being right before their eyes.  It was just good to be.  It was a good road trip . . . despite the silence it ended in.  It wasn’t the destination, it was the journey and the people it was shared with that made it wonderful.

As Morgan Matson writes in Amy and Roger’s Epic Detour:

“And I felt, in the silence that followed,

everything that had happened on the trip

 to bring me to this place.”

And, it was a good place to be.