Culverts and Quicksand and Six-Packs Oh My

The best adventures in life are usually unplanned.

Usually.

My adventure late Friday night in a Florida culvert, chest-high in muck and water with a six-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale held slightly higher, was not one of those times.

I can laugh now, and my friends Cat and Steve, who got the short stack version of these events yesterday, are probably still laughing. But I can tell you I wasn’t busting a gut Friday night. There was even a moment or two, as I struggled to get a footing in the mud, when I even considered dropping the beer to save my skin.
But just for a moment or two.

My son and I arrived in Orlando Friday night and after unpacking our things at the hotel I was in need of a beer. Our friendly concierge suggested a gas station just a "hundred yards or so" down the road would meet my needs and pointed me in the right direction.

The "hundred yards or so" turned out to be nearly a mile, but who's counting, right? I made it and the gas station/convenience store - called Race Trac - carried beer, so it was all good.

The craft beer selection wasn't the best, but there was Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and I had heard great things about it, so I picked up half a dozen and headed back to the motel.

There be (or could have been)
dragons in this ditch

On the return trip, instead of retracing my steps along the roadside, I found a sidewalk. Seems logical, right?

Except the sidewalk ended abruptly – within sight of the motel – with just a little gully in my way. I remember a little voice in my head telling me this may not be a good idea – it being dark and all – but I plunged ahead anyway and within a few steps I realized I should have listened to that voice. Especially after I suddenly plunged into four feet of water with a base of quicksand.

I kept going anyway, sinking deeper with each step and finding it increasingly difficult to free my legs from the mire. The beer was still held high, but when I was just a body length or two from the other side I got stuck. And I got to tell ya, I got a little scared.

I found a second wind, heroically pulled myself out of the mud and made it to the other side, but I wasn’t free yet. I had to hoist myself up onto the bank (after placing the beer there first), which is not as easy as it used to be.

Because I’m not as young as I used to be.

So there I was knocking on the hotel door, dripping mud and water and scaring the hell out of Jake. “What happened, Dad?” was all he could sputter.

“You don’t want to know, son. Just put these in the fridge, would ya?”

Mother Nature hates me

The next day was going to be much better, I told Jacob. After all, it couldn’t get worse. I had showered and changed after I got into the room and placed the contents of my wallet – one bill at a time – on the table to dry.

(My phone, however, wasn’t as lucky. It’s been in a bag of rice since then and has yet to recover. I’m afraid I may have to perform Last Rites soon.)

My enemies

In the morning we were outside the hotel waiting for the shuttle to take us to our next connection on this vacation and as the scene of my harrowing experience the night before was just a few steps away, I called the J Man to come over and take a look.

I'm standing on the bank of the culvert, looking at the creek below, and in the midst of re-telling the story - I'm sure the water was ten feet deep this time, and there were alligators -  when I feel a little sting coming from my sandaled foot. Then another, then a few thousand more.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. OW. OW!” I cry as I stumble back towards the bus, brushing off a few ZILLION red ants feasting on my ankle.

I was wrong. It did get worse.

Good thing the beer was good.

Beer O'clock

I haven’t had a chance to try too many of the craft beers yet, but I have had several of the Sierra Nevadas, which were excellent. Nice copper colour, decent head and just citrusy enough for my liking. Rate Beer agrees, giving it a 96.

I found some Sweetwater IPA at a local 7-11 in Orlando, and while this Georgia IPA was decent (Rate Beer loves it, giving it a 97 score), I didn’t find the hops as overpowering as advertised. Nicely balanced, though.

I also tried a couple of Flying Bison offerings at the Buffalo Airport while waiting for our flight. First up was Rusty Chain, a Vienna-style amber ale made with sweet German malts. I wasn’t expecting much, so I wasn’t disappointed. The next bar had some Buffalo IPA on tap, which is more to my liking. A mash of English malts and Australian hops (which may be the source of its poor Rate Beer Rating of 47), the beer was very hoppy, with grapefruit and floral notes.

Maybe it was the excitement of an adventure just beginning, but I really liked it. I think, if I was stuck in water and mud up to my chest and I was holding a six of Buffalo IPA, I’d do my best to save that too.

And to think this holiday is just beginning.

Cheers!