Snow in St. Loo!

Little did I know that Carol’s 69+ birthday present to me was to send me driving to St. Louis in a midwestern snowstorm!  I felt like I was on one of those legendary plains cattle drives!  (Not that I’ve been on one, but I’ve seen the movie and read the book.) It’s crazy!  Sunday in Indianapolis, it was a comfy 62 degrees.  Monday, the aforementioned blizzardo.  Tuesday morning in St. Loo, a bracing 13

degrees!  This morning in Albuquerque, it was 31, but in the afternoon it topped 60.  And later this week I should hit some real heat in Las Vegas and L.A.  So to all my smart-ass sons who make fun of me for rolling around a 52-pound piece of luggage:  I have just what I need for whatever the weather man sends my way!

And how do I know my bag weighs exactly 52 pounds?  Because yesterday at the airport in St. Louis, it flunked the scale test.  Threatened with a $100 penalty, and under pressure from a mounting line behind me, I quickly ripped from my suitcase a book (nice and heavy) and my toilet kit and transferred them to my carry-on.  But then, of course, I failed the security screening, because both my Bullfrog sunscreen and my after-shave were more than the allowable 3.4 ounces.  So those two items will now join my Swiss Army knife in my ever-growing TSA Secret Santa grab bag.  I’m really not good at airports.

Okay, so let’s backtrack a bit — to the land of Bourbon and thoroughbreds.  Though Matt and I are veterans of this neck of the woods (sipped our way from Lexington to Louisville back in Feb 2017), Greg and Geiger were Bourbon Trail virgins . . . and we fixed that nice and quick!  Five distillery tours (complete with tastings, of course) in two days!  G&G were blown away by the approach to the Woodford Reserve grounds on Friday morning: those white, horse-farm fences, the narrow winding roads, the white/gray limestone brick buildings.  Kentucky bluegrass country.  And Woodford Reserve was, and remains, one of my very favorite Bourbons.  Unfortunately, our tour guide was boring and dorky; no idea what they were thinking when they gave him the job.  Only valuable tidbit we picked up from the dude was that we were seeing Bill Murray’s John Hancock on one of the barrels in the rick house.  (Impressed by my jargon?)

Just a hop-skip-and-jump from Woodford (which “sets” in Versailles, pronounced locally “ver-SALES.”  As our very next tour guide would explain to us, “In these parts, we pronounce things pretty much the way we feel like . .”) was Wild Turkey, in the town of Lawrenceburg.  Our guide there, Bo (“It’s easy to remember my name.  Just start spelling Bourbon”) was The

Man — everything our geeky Woodford guide was not.  From his background (“My grandaddy made moonshine right in these hills”), to his reverence for WT’s legendary 85-year-old master distiller Jimmy Russell, to his no-nonsense attitude about Bourbon exclusivity and snobbism (“What’s so good about hard-to-find?  We make more Bourbon than anyone, better Bourbon than anyone, and you can get it anywhere!”), Bo was the genuine item.  His presentation — plus the tasting — moved Wild Turkey up several notches in my estimation.  (Side story on how Geiger talked me into buying myself a Wild Turkey ball cap:  Geiger [eyeing hat with subtle turkey logo — the “kicking’ chicken,” as Bo called it]:  “Hawk, you’ve gotta buy it.  It’s you!”  Beagle Man:  “But I have one just like it.  It’s a mockingbird logo. You know, from ‘To Kill a Mockingbird,’ with Jeff Daniels?  Geiger:  Oh, yeah.  A mockingbird hat is way cooler than a Wild Turkey hat.”  Point taken.  Hat bought.)

Four Roses was next up.  At tasting, the tour guide says, “Anyone having a special birthday?”  Of course G&G, by now under the influence, point at me and yell, “He’s turning 70!”  So she says, “Okay everyone, the tasting glasses are on me.  You can keep ’em!”  (I fell for that same line when I was here two years ago.)

On Bourbon Trail Day Two, Matt dropped in to join us, and the Three Amigos turned into the Four Horsemen.  Everyone was psyched to lead off the day with Buffalo Trace, a National Historic Landmark in Frankfort, Kentucky’s capital.  (Which all of us Hermans know, of course, from the now-famous placemat.)  Buffalo Trace is a big favorite in our little traveling band.  It’s got some great brands — Weller, Eagle Rare, and, of course, the outrageously expensive Pappy Van Winkle — and it’s got a gorgeous campus.  Did not disappoint.  Too bad I can’t say the same for Jim Beam, our next stop.  The tour started out just fine, but before long the guide went into this over-the-top, auctioneer barker-like mode:  “And for just Fifty-nine ninety-nine, you can put your own thumb print right there in the sealing wax and take that sucker home with you!”  Big turn-off.  Jim Beam takes a dive.

The sum total of my take-aways now, after 11 distillery tours on two separate trips:  The grains used in Bourbon are corn, oats,

and barley — and corn has to be at least 51% of the mix; limestone in the local water is a good thing; maximum proof for the finished product is 125, and what’s lost in the distilling process to evaporation is called the Angel’s Share.  Th-the-the-that’s all, folks!

Yikes!  I’ve already written lots of words, and haven’t even gotten up to Indianapolis!  And I have to get back out into that Albuquerque sun real soon.  They’re not kidding about those intense blue skies in Breaking Bad!  Will get caught up on Indy, St. Loo, and Albuquerque next post.  Meantime, Robby and Brianne just arrived at ABQ airport — and with Robby here, I’m sure we’ll be celebrating in earnest before too long!

Happy birthday to me!

LOOK FOR THE FREQUENCY OF BEAGLE MAN POSTS TO PICK UP NOW THAT I’M ON THE ROAD FOR LA/XC-6.  YOU CAN ALSO FOLLOW MY TRAVELS ON FACEBOOK AND INSTAGRAM.