Milwaukee, WI. February 03, 2015

I could only afford to be away for 24 hours. One day, one night. But I needed an excursion. I needed to get out of dodge at least for a little while. Milwaukee is close enough to home to be accessible, and far enough to feel, I don't know... different. I paused when the forecast called for snow. Frankly, this winter cold, grey, wind, ice, snow slurry bullshit is lighting a fire in me to dip for a while. I keep dreaming of driving South. It is rather silly to drive to a colder, snowier city, but the promise of adventure overrides my shivering.Teddy Roosevelt advised one must do what he can where he is with what he's got. I grab a scarf and decide to take my chances in the land of beer.

I started from scratch, Google-ing "Milwaukee City Paper," and checking out the music tab on expressmilwaukee.com . There is a band I have never heard called Wild Child (Austin, TX) playing at a club I have never been to called Mad Planet http://www.mad-planet.net/. I checked out Wild Child's Facebook page and website, http://wildchildsounds.com/ and I liked what I heard. It's a sort of slow, acoustic-driven, synth, dream jam. Chill out room stuff, accented by orchestra strings and pretty, female vocals. The $10 cover seems reasonable for a night of new music. 

I throw a change of clothes and my toothbrush in a bag and I start my car. I have some time to explore the town before the show, and I know that Milwaukee knows beer, and I like beer. Another Google search informs me that Lakefront Brewery offers tours every afternoon, every hour on the hour. Perfect. I enter the address into my GPS and point my car north, pulling up just before 3:30p.
http://www.lakefrontbrewery.com/tour#beer-on-us

 I walk into the gift shop and buy my $8.00 ticket. The kind woman gives me my taster cup, four beer tokens and instructions to bring the plastic cup back to her when my tour is over, and she'll trade me a pint glass. She informs me that I am welcome to try the beer before, during and after the tour, and releases me out into the Great Beer Hall.  LFB was once a coal operated municipal power plant. The facility is a massive, brick warehouse, beautifully preserved. Even in the great beer hall, with it’s two story ceilings, the atmosphere is warm. And there is a stage along one wall, so they must provide live music entertainment from time to time.

There is a group forming for the tour, a Japanese couple, a family with a baby in a carrier, a mother and daughter, and two groups of three guys - one wearing shirts and ties, the second with shiny, shaved heads.

And me.

 A note about travelling alone: it is liberating and terrifying. It is imperative to be safe. The sense of vulnerability can be overwhelming However, the value of my experience is largely influenced by the people I meet and the insight they are willing to share. So, while I am discerning, I must admit I do talk to strangers... a lot.

Our tour starts at 4:00p. I'm starving, and the menu looks fantastic. I decide to grab a bite before I drink four beautifully crafted beers. I order up the pork tacos. I'm a sucker for tacos. They are excellent: toasted flour tortillas, beer braised shredded pork, gouda, pickled jalapenos, etc.

Confession: I had five beers. I grabbed an extra one at the end.

1. Fuel Cafe Organic Coffee Stout

2. Cream City Pale Ale

3. Extended Play - India Style Session Ale. 

4. IBA - India Style Black Ale

5. East Side Dark

LFB is always rotating the taps, so check out their website to see what they’re offering up.

And do please tip. We’re all just struggling to make it in this world. If you’re off enjoying beer in the middle of the afternoon, miles from home, remember that these folks are working to ensure that you are enjoying yourself. Unless you come across someone who is blatantly rude and apathetic, you tip. Also, most of us in the service industry will be much more likely to share knowledge about our beloved cities and give insider information if you’re polite and generous.

Lakefront Brewery Totals:
Tour, Four Beers, Pint Glass: $8.00
Pork Tacos: $7.00
Tips: $11.00
Total: $26.00 - Not bad for an afternoon of tipping back beers.

When the tour is over we all sit in the great beer hall to finish up our tokens. I sit at a long table with the mother and daughter. The mother, Allison, is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas. It is her birthday, and we have all hailed her the queen for the day at our tour guide’s behest. She is warm and has all the charm and sensibility of a true Southern Lady. Her daughter Kris lives in Milwaukee. She is strong and smart. Both of these woman have the most beautiful skin I have ever seen. I’m envious. With good beer in our bellies and blood, we stumble onto topics normally reserved for conversation with intimate friends: travel (I ask about Fayetteville, AR), politics and the Clintons, the Affordable Care Act – both women work in health care, but Allison’s husband sells insurance, family tales of wild women and the national education system. Given any more time with these ladies, I would have been honored to call them friends.

But, I wanted coffee. I wanted to check in to my room. I wanted dinner. I had about 3 hours until Wild Child started. So I made warm farewells and took my leave from two of the coolest people I’ve met in recent history.

My room:  A year ago I started using Airbnb. I cannot imagine ever staying in a hotel room again. My rooms are always private, and usually much nicer, and cheaper than I could ever find in a hotel. I booked my room from my phone while on my beer tour. It was super last minute, so it wasn’t surprising or in any way upsetting when my host texted to ask if I could check in after 7:00p. He needed the time to have the space cleaned for me. Not a problem. I wanted coffee anyway.

I’d heard of Fuel Cafe. I've seen it's stickers and logo around Chicago for years. When I saw the Fuel logo on my Organic Coffee Stout at LFB, I made it a point to stop in. Fuel is located in the Riverwest neighborhood of Milwaukee.  Even in the snow, it took me five minutes to get from LFB to Fuel, and I found a parking spot right in front of the door.

Fuel is everything you want a coffee shop to be. It’s warm inside, and it smells good like baking bread. And it’s kind of dark and tough looking, without being unwelcoming.

 That's my Prius in the rock star parking spot. 

They have something called the Peanut Butter Cup, that I desperately want to try, but I think about my waist line, and opt to save myself for dinner. I get a large black coffee for $2.50 and its perfect, hot, and strong. The guy behind the counter is tattooed and pierced, which suits this place, and he’s friendly and fast. The Weakerthans filters through the speakers. I sit at a counter in the window and note all the people I’ve seen today are very, very real. Even the tattooed kids at the brewery and coffee shop don’t appear to have any pretense. They’re just being themselves. At the counter across from me is a young Latino woman, and teenaged Latino boy. They’re sipping their drinks just like me, watching the window. And there is an older gentleman at a table reading. Maybe this place has a different feel in the afternoon, but at 7:00p, there is no scene here. It’s just a cool place, welcoming to everyone.

I split at 7:30p eager to check out my room. It’s on the “other side of town,” which means it’s about another ten minutes away. I park in an alley behind the garage. A neighbor, Bertha, comes out to introduce herself. She shovels my stairs and tells me that I should let her know if I need anything.
My room is more that a room. It is an entire house. It’s clean, and cute and cozy. It cost me $63.00. Thanks, Airbnb! Thanks, Bertha! And thank you to my host, Jacob!!

Walkers Pt: W National Gallery

 I’m half tempted to stay in for the night, but I’ve got fish to fry and too little time as it is. So I drop my bag, freshen up my make-up and head out for dinner.

Even though my room is nowhere near the Bay View neighborhood (another 12 minute drive), I know that this is exactly where I want to go. I’d been to a bar there years ago called Palomino. It is exactly my kind of place, and I swore I’d come back someday. Today is the day. Neon beer signs in the window. Black and white linoleum floor. Art  deco booths raised up on a platform. 50 beers and a zillion whiskeys to choose from.

 It’s dark inside, and empty because of the snow, but there is great music playing – Guy Clark, The Haunted Windchimes, The Band,The Rubber Knife Gang. Later this would turn into old Snoop Dogg, but hey, that’s cool too. The bartender is heavily tattooed, hands, neck, all of it. He’s putting on a skate video and talking with the only other couple in the bar about bicycles and motorcycles. They slam a shot of whiskey. I order up some food. A Shrimp Po Boy, a side of potato pancakes, and a beer.

The next time the couple orders a shot, they invite me to join them. The bartender is Nick, the couple Jason and Melissa. Nick works here and at another whisky bar up the street. Jason sports a long, thick beard and a fisherman’s cap. He works in the kitchen at another restaurant up the street. Melissa’s hair is blonde and cut in a cute bob, with bangs. She is a teacher.

Before long we are all comparing tattoos and telling horror stories. Jason shows us pictures of his suspension endeavors.  Nick shows us the massive back piece he’s working on. Melissa and I compare tramp stamps.

(No photos here. You're welcome).

Honestly, at this point the whiskey has been flowing, and the night gets a little fuzzy. I choose not to drive to the show, and opt to hang out here with my new best friends until its time to take a cab back to my room. Safety first, people. I regret missing Wild Child, and I will absolutely check them out the next time they play a town near me.

Still, I feel confident I made the best choice. At Palomino, we talk about music and movies and food. We talk about Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Chicago and Charleston. We talk about cars and clothes and beer and whiskey and wine. We just talk about whatever. We bond in a dark, empty bar on snowy Tuesday night in Milwaukee.

Before I crawl into a cab, I ask the folks about breakfast. Jason works at a place called Honey Pie. Coincidentally, Allison and Kristi enjoyed breakfast there earlier in the day. Allison mentioned the biscuits. She said they were wonderful, and when a Southern woman tells you about a good biscuit, you really should follow up on that lead. My mind is made up. I drift off to sleep dreaming of biscuits.

In the morning, I wake up and check out of my room. I’m a little bummed to leave, but I am so looking forward to breakfast, I barely care. I grab a cab back to my car, and head up Kinnickinick (KK) to Honey Pie.

It’s warm inside, with large wooden booths and a long, inviting bar. They serve it all. Breakfast, lunch, pies, booze, coffee. I had my heart set on the ham biscuit, but then the waitress mentioned a vegetable hash breakfast special. She had me at Brussel Sprouts. It also had squash, potatoes, onions, goat cheese and eggs. And I got a biscuit on the side. The hash was great, but the biscuit stole the show. Allison was right. The thing was about six inches long and weighed a pound. Crispy on top, warm and soft in the middle, and served with Orange-Bourbon Butter and Jam. If I had done nothing else in 24 hours, the trip would have been worth it just for this freaking biscuit. I don’t know how they bake it. Lard, maybe? I don’t really care. It’s a meal, a hangover cure, a lifestyle.

I clear my plate and drain my coffee with bittersweet satisfaction. I'm sad to leave, but I've accomplished what I set out to do: adventure. I've tried new things, eaten great food, and met new people. A smug pride accompanied me on my drive home. "It's less than two hours," I thought. "I can do it again any time."

Introduction

I cannot sit still. I am restless and bored. It’s an affliction. I see age and death waiting in still and silent corners. I have tried to change my attitude, to meditate, to apply gratitude. I have switched careers, addresses, relationships. All have a sedative effect. These solutions ease my anxiety momentarily, but eventually, a familiar disease gnaws at my gut. I start noting the exits, eyeing calendars, and tracing interstates in Atlases. I have recently come to understand and to accept the solution to my affliction is not singular change, but permanent exploration. “The Road” calls to me. If you don’t already know the sensation I’m describing, I’m not sure I can explain it, but I'll try: I imagine blacktop segmented by hypnotic yellow lines. I imagine loud music through car speakers, open windows and fresh air. I imagine imagining the place I might land next, if the people are friendly, if the food is interesting, what the weather might be. Through all of this I am afloat on anticipation. And I am aware of the power that lies in the temporary things, of the freedom. Jack Kerouac put it a little differently:

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks disappearing? -it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy adventure beneath the skies." - On the Road. 

Let me be clear, I have a good life, filled with honorable and generous people whom I appreciate and adore. I am not in search of a relaxing vacation where I might sprawl out on a beach with a book simply to get away from it all. I am not running away, but rather toward: adventure, exploration, and possibility. And I will take advantage of every opportunity I get to ramble.