Forget the Boots, Grab the Brews

Written By Jonathan Cranfield

By Ian Guavera

The rain poured in sheets turning the contoured roads of Asheville into a series of slip and slides.  I park in the riverside industrial parking lot of my next brewery, New Origin Brewing.  Thankfully there’s an overhang in the parking lot, it’s filled.  There’s one spot left, allowing for only half of the truck to be protected from the rain… the passenger side half…

I reach behind blindly to the back seat of the truck for my raincoat.  Nothing.  Only my hiking boots and the six flat brim hats I decided in my vanity to travel with.  My hand begins to sweep the area, searching the backseat, performing a line search from one side to the other like I'm volunteers performing a line search through the woods.

Still no raincoat.  I’ve not needed it yet on this journey, opting for the red poncho in my gearbox because it’s lighter and I don't sweat as much in it.  But the weather is cool, and this rain warrants a little warmth along with protection from precipitation.

Where the hell is it? I ask myself.

I quit the blind search and turned my whole body over to peer into the junkyard that’s become my backseat after three weeks of travel.  Two fanny packs, gym bag, hiking boots, hangers, bag of koozies, mini cooler, two dirty t-shirts, two clean t-shirts, wrinkle remover, two books, clothes detergent, bag of quarters, but no raincoat.

Did I leave it in my room back at the house? It’s possible.  This isn't the first time I left something important at home on a big trip.

It was the day before we were to begin our 100 mile hike through the New Mexican wilderness at Philmont Scout Ranch.  The previous two days were spent road tripping from New Orleans to Cimmaron, a quaint town in the dusty New Mexican interior.  Per usual for a big trip like this, the troop made this a family affair.

Loads of cars with moms, dads, grandparents, brothers, and sisters made the move west like pioneers racing to take advantage of the Homestead Act.  While the kids would hike the trail with a couple of very young adult supervisors (one was 18 and the other 24), the families would trout the great Western US.  They would travel to the Grand Canyon, Durango, Roswell, and the world's largest ball of string.  We were all looking to stake our claims on fun and adventure, however I opted to make it a little more difficult.

We arrived at a campground a couple of miles outside of Philmont.  The next day we would prepare for the trip, shaking down our equipment, stripping away unnecessary weight, and get as acclimated as possible for elevations 6,000ft and above.  Everyone sat in their camp chairs and watched the evening sun melt over the mountains, casting the sky into a palette of pinks, blues, and oranges.  Everyone, that is, except me.

I was frantically digging through my bags, my backpack, and Mr. Groome’s van searching for my hiking boots.  They were nowhere to be found.  This was disastrous.  How can I hike the trail in a pair of Payless brand tennis shoes?  The things were so cheap that looking at them too long made the glue unbind.  I had nothing else, no more footwear, save for a pair of water shoes.  My mother began berating me with questions that I already asked myself a billion times before.  

Where was the last place you left them?   Did you put them in the packs?  Did you put them in the camp trailer?  This is why I shouldn't have let you pack for yourself.  Did you look at the checklist?  Everytime we go camping it's the same thing.  

A crowd began to gather around me as I searched, drawn by my mother’s innate ability to beat a dead horse out of existence.  I most definitely didn't make it any better by falling into the most basic instinct a 14 year old possesses and answer everything sarcastically.

“I swear I packed them!” I pleaded with anyone who could hear.  I was terribly upset, embarrassed, ashamed, and felt as if the trip was already a disaster.

Mr. Groome and I ended up having to wake up at 4am and drive two hours to Taos in search of replacement boots.  He didn't nag me or make me feel ashamed.  We just talked.  We talked about all the sites I would be seeing on the trail.  The food I would be eating and how to prepare them right.  He asked me if I remembered his trick to drying dirty socks by hanging them on the outside of the pack.  He taught me to use third and second gears on steep downhills on the roads while driving.  He got me excited for adventure again.   I miss him.

No outdoor stores were open that early in Taos, so we ended up purchasing cheap and uncomfortable boots at a Walmart.  It was not until later that day, upon our return, that we found out that the trip was unnecessary.  There was an outfitters store on Philmont property that could rival an REI.

The Walmart boots were terrible, caused enormous blisters, and led to a very rough trek into the wilderness, but I still have fond memories of that trip.  Mostly thanks to a single car ride with my grandfather, learning the lesson that material goods are replaceable, but experiences are not.

Three weeks later when we returned home, the boots would be found, resting majestically on the fireplace.  Barely broken in and begging for adventure.

Back outside New Origin, I searched my backpack in a last ditch effort to find that damned raincoat.  EUREKA!!  It's found.  I awkwardly slip the coat on in the front seat, grab my pack, and step out into a ray of sunlight and parting clouds.  It stopped raining.

Located along Thompson St. just a stone's throw from the Swannanoa River, New Origin Brewing  offers a cozy tap room and lively outdoor stretch suitable for relaxation and camaraderie.  Opened within this past year, New Origin is already a popular haunt for locals and it's understandable tasting its brews.  The brewery offers 13 different brews including 11 beers, a seltzer, and a slushie.  New Origin does not fill the boards with a hefty selection of brews, but what it does create is well crafted and tasty.

No flights here.  So I roll with the offer of half pours, but I cut out a lot of beers I hoped to taste.  The problem is that I am dragging right now, still feeling the long night previously when I walked around Asheville like a drunken Uncle Pennybags.  I’m only going with five selections and desperately trying to follow the beer strategy I devised while at Highland.

I selected five beers to roll with: “Keller 7”, “Tmave Origin”, “Focal Point”, “Terraform”, and “We’ve been Jammed”.  All the beers glowed and danced in front of me, and at that moment I realized that I’m not completely in the right mindframe.  I step out for a moment to catch a second wind and rip a dart.  Ok, now I’m ready.

Keller 7 is a Pilsner displaying a light hay color and a slight floral hop aroma.  It’s a crispy and stunning pilsner possessing just the right touches of sweetness at the start and bitterness to follow.  Perfect beer for outside.  I imagine on hotter days, the Keller 7 is a popular choice to knock back will sitting in the courtyard here at the brewery.

Tmave Origin is a dark Czechoslovakian Lager.  The word “Tmave” is Czechoslovakian for the word “dark”... that doesn't properly describe the opaqueness of this beverage.  It’s nearly black, with a malty scent.  You can get lost if you peer too long into this brew, it’s swirling foam creating a pillow for your lips to rest.  Tmave is smooth with a roasty malt start and sweet toffee finish.

This place has some interesting beers and they possess my full attention.  The aforementioned Chez Lager in conjunction with the next beer I taste, the Vienna Lager, gives me a worldy feeling.  It's preposterous to even think this, I know.  But at the very least, I’m getting a little Epcot “Beers Around the World” vibes, and that’s comforting.

Focal Point is a Vienna Lager parading a Gingerbread color with a subtle malt aroma.  It owns an excellent balance of malt and hops, making this a lovely dad beer!  Just dont tell dad that it’s a Vienna Lager… just say lager, smile, and walk away.

Terraform is a New England Style Hazy IPA revealing a vibrant mellow yellow color with classic Hazy IPA notes.  Outstanding!  It’s juicy and sweet from the start with a balanced hop bitterness to end.  Delightful!  Superlatives! Superlatives all around!  Nothing better tells you how good something is like a one word superlative.

The last beer of the day.  No worries, I’m not going anywhere else today.  Straight to bed… after a quick trip to Bojangles for a two piece and Bo-Rounds… Leave me alone, I’m on vacation.  Maybe a sweet potato pie too… and some Bo-Sauce.

We’ve Been Jammed is a blueberry and lactose Sour exhibiting a milky coral color with a sour berry punch to the nostrils.  Sour throughout, with the sweetness of the raspberry and blueberries in the beginning, ending with a lasting vanilla aftertaste.  Almost like a blueberry dreamsicle… a BLUEBERRY DREAMSICLE!  Oh man, don't you dare steal my million dollar idea.

New Origin Brewing is open Tuesday through Thursday from 4pm to 9pm, Friday from 3pm to 10pm, and Saturday and Sunday from noon to 10pm.  The brewery offers a cozy place to relax from the pressures of the real world and sink into some tasty brews.  All are welcome, including puppers and kiddos.  There was food there under a popup tent when I arrived, but I don't know if that’s a normal set up or just on the weekends, so I suggest you call ahead to make sure.

Remember the lesson here, material goods can be replaced but experiences cannot, so forget the boots, slap on some sandals, and experience this jewel on the Swannanoa River.

Jonathan Cranfield
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