Craftbrewing Breaks into NASCAR!

Lagunitas Brewing #37 Truck
If you’ve browsed through Beer Rant at all, you may have come across the Inaugural Post I made back in January 2008 (gosh have I been frittering my time away with this blog that long?). One look at the picture and you’ll judge I’m something of a hillbilly. As such, I like me some NASCAR now and then. (I won’t turn this into a commentary on how NASCAR is like the Mafia, or how the series caters way too much to the RV and camper crowd, or how all the drivers are becoming way too young. I won’t.)

NASCAR blows into town a couple times a year and once upon a time, I’d attend all 3 or 4 days of racing over at Phoenix International Raceway. Now, for various reasons (some enumerated in paragraph one) I’ve pared down my attendance and usually go to the minor series races, eschewing the main events on Saturday and Sunday.

So this past week, my buddy Jon flew into town from his retirement compound in Oregon and we took in the Thursday and Friday racing events at PIR. On Thursday, drinking the usual Budweiser and Coors products mandated by the sanctioning body (See my Mafia comment in paragraph one.) I was intrigued by the letters “IPA” on the side of one of the trucks speeding around the track in preparation for the next day’s Camping World Truck Series race. (See my RV and camper comment in paragraph one.)

I used to be really up on all the team numbers in all the series, but since the advent of grandchildren at Beer Rant HQ, I don’t follow the individual teams as closely. The truck was number 37 and the more I thought about it, the more I began to look for that “IPA” truck and before long, I spied the word “Lagunitas” above the rear wheel well. Cool!
Alcohol and cigarettes used to be mainstay sponsors in every NASCAR series, but nowadays, only Budweiser, Coors and Miller seem to be interested in dumping money into stockcar racing. Consequently, the only beer product you’re likely to be able to purchase at PIR is a beer from one of the main beer sponsors. Imagine seeing the Lagunitas name on the side of a truck in NASCAR’s third-tier series! Pretty cool for someone who at least knows a little bit about NASCAR and a little bit about craft brewing.

All that evening and most of the next morning, I feverishly hatched up an idea to enjoy me some Lagunitas IPA at the track on Friday. My reliable neighborhood Sunflower Market regularly stocks Lagunitas IPA and I grabbed a six-pack of it as Jon and I headed to the track Friday afternoon. I eagerly enjoyed a bottle or two of the IPA while we tailgated in our meager fashion, chatting with a fellow from British Columbia who’d driver over from his winter quarters near Yuma (Hello to you Mr. Miller. Hope you got home safely.) Knowing that I’d be searched before entering the track, I simply carried a couple of bottles of the Lagunitas with me as we browsed through the souvenir stands outside the gates. Nobody was selling hats and t-shirts with the #37 Lagunitas truck emblazoned on them. There were no Lagunitas can coolers or stickers or bandanas or thong undies. I’d hazard a guess that I was the only race fan drinking a Lagunitas product outside the track. Had I been brazen enough to smuggle a bottle of Lagunitas IPA into the track, I suspect I’d have been the only person in the stands drinking Lagunitas, too. (I’d imagine the #37 truck team had some Lagunitas in their hauler. I hope they did.)

So what of the #37 Lagunitas IPA Ford truck and its driver? Robbie Brand seems like my kind of driver – he’s older than the current crop of barely pubescent drivers in NASCAR’s upper series. Born in 1958, Mr. Brand’s older than dirt by current NASCAR standards and for that reason, just the sort of driver an old timer should root for in the series. (See my comment about drivers being way too young in paragraph one.)

Friday’s truck race was Mr. Brand’s debut in the truck series and in the end, he did alright for himself in his first Camping World Truck Series race, finishing 27th out of 36 trucks and still running at the finish. Sadly, because the truck series is a fairly low tier series, he only garnered about $8,000 for his effort; hopefully, the Lagunitas folks also supplied the team with a hefty stock of their delicious product.

For my part, I took the remaining two bottles of Lagunitas IPA home and enjoyed them the next day, comfortably ensconced at Beer Rant HQ and not fighting traffic at PIR. The 2009 NASCAR season is just about wrapped up, but I’m going to keep an eye out for the Lagunitas sponsorship next year. (They haven’t responded to an email I sent them, but I’m hoping they will eventually.) I think it would be terrific if the craft brewing industry could step into the world of racing sponsorship and make their existence known to more of us hillbillies.

You can Google Robbie Brand, but don’t expect to find a ton of information. Information about Lagunitas is far easier to locate, though there isn’t much regarding their NASCAR involvement. (I'll let you know if I receive an email from the Lagunitas folks.)

Hot Weather Ramblings

We had some fun at my nephew’s birthday party yesterday – he’s only a couple years younger than me, but he’s seen a lot more, I’ll wager. For the fun of it, I picked up some Boulder Brewing Never Summer Ale and some Deschutes Inversion IPA. Given that the room was filled with a bunch of displaced Coloradoans, I’m not surprised that the Never Summer Ale went over a bit bigger. Nevertheless, I’m left with a couple and I’m tossing them back as I jot this post.

I am surprised to see this is their version of a winter seasonal…wha’? It’s really good and I think I’ve blogged it before so I won’t go much into it except to say it’s malty, tastes like bread and finishes dry.

I just like the name – Never Summer Ale – because it conjures up images of a past life spent in Colorado, and a failed attempt at a second life there after military service. You can’t go back folks. But you can pine away, living off the false recollection of what a place was and will never be again. What I do know is that it’s hotter than hell here at Beer Rant HQ and it’s significantly cooler up in the high country in a little place called Clear Creek County, Colorado.

On the other hand, come December, some place with a name like “Winterhaven” will seem awfully nice, too. It brings to mind something that a very wise fellow told me when I was in the army: “As a rule, man’s a fool. When it’s hot, he wants it not, when it’s not, he wants it hot.” (That guy rose to the rank of major general. I think he’s pretty smart.)

Cut ‘em Some Slack
I think we give the macro brewers too much grief – they probably don’t notice anyway – but we’re a bit hypocritical when it comes to the standards we set for the Miller/Coors/Bud conglomerates versus what we let some of the small fry get away with. Budweiser was excoriated for calling one of their beers “drinkable” in a recent ad campaign. Well, since the advent of that little goof, and the resulting web explosion, I’ve begun paying more attention to what the so-called micro-and craft-brewers are printing on their labels. I see the same sort of inane glittering generalities on labels from craft brewers as well, including the likes of Dogfish Head, too, folks. They characterize their Indian Brown Ale as “clean,” which I take to mean it’s not brewed with water taken from the Ganges River. (C’mon folks. If we’re going to set a standard, let’s have it apply to everyone or just drop it.)

The Dating Game
Speaking of labels: the last issue of Beer magazine had a rather inept article explaining how to read a beer label. (Thank heaven those nice folks at Coors have come up with those temperature sensitive labels so we know when our beer is cold, and thank heaven for the editors of Beer magazine, who will help us decipher the mysterious world of beer labels.) One of the label characteristics covered in the piece was date stamping or freshness dating. Well, again, I’ve begun paying more attention to beer labels lately and I have to say that freshness dates only work if you (meaning the brewers) actually use them. I recently encountered a label (Lost Coast Brewing Raspberry Brown Ale) whereon none of the months of manufacture were “notched.” What am I to take this to mean? It’s a bit like buying a new car battery and not punching the month and year of sale. (Grease monkeys will know what I’m talking about.) Bottom line: Freshness dating is a joke, in both the macro and micro brewing worlds. If consistency isn’t the be all, end all of brewing and beer drinking, then why the hell do we even care when a beer was “born”? Likewise, if we’re going to have a dating system, then let’s stick to it.

Gosh. I didn’t really intend to go all Beer Jerk in this post. I’m really just cranky because of the heat. All the Never Summer Ale is gone. I’ve had a Deschutes Inversion IPA and a Michelob something-or-other and I’m feeling a little better now.

Happy Birthday Dane!

The Macros Were Micros Once, Too.

Let’s face it, beer is an acquired taste. I don’t recall anyone remembering their first stolen beer (c’mon, we all stole our first beer) as, “light, refreshing, with a thin but prominent mouth feel,” or “hoppy with a dry finish.” Only after we season a bit and after we start making a living so we can buy our beer do we somehow begin to think ourselves too good for the Coors and Millers of the world. Frankly, we transform into Beer Knerds or Beer Knazis.

I’ve already noted that the takeaway message I got from the documentary Beer Wars was that we all need to support our local craft brewers. The lesson fairly blared from the screen. But much more subtle and perhaps unintended, was the notion that the likes of Coors and Budweiser, Pabst and Miller all started out as microbreweries with one arm tied behind their back as their immigrant founders struggled to establish their place in the market, all the while trying to strangle the competition with the one free arm.

I helped put Miller Brewing where it is today but I rarely drink Miller these days. I was raised just up the road from Coors brewery in Golden, Colorado and they hold a special place in my heart, but again, I don’t buy as much Coors product as I used to. I rarely buy Budweiser because I never cared for Bud products and I think the current raft of Clydesdale horsey ads are stupid. Nevertheless, I do from time to time have the occasional bottle of macro-brewed product, usually because it’s being offered at a party or it comes at a ridiculously low price. I’m just not so proud that I’ll ever say, “I’ll go without before I drink a Coors, or a Miller, or a Bud.” Besides, under certain circumstances, it doesn’t matter what the beer is; even if it's not great, it’s just good enough.

D-Day, June 6, 1944

Perhaps, a beer before parting.

I stuck to a tried and true today. No tasting. No notes. No sniffing the bottle or the glass. I sought out the common. It could have been a Schlitz or a Pabst or a Budweiser, but I chose High Life. All I expect today is that the beer I drink be a beer that some American fighting man would have had on a rainy day in England in June 1944.

We'll never know their kind again and that's sad. What's also sad is that the world has forgotten their sacrifice. Sadder still is that many Americans have forgotten their sacrifice. So, if you, or someone you love, was in a place called Normandy this time in 1944, you have my thanks and prayers.

(It wasn't until after I'd posted this that I realized June 6th was also the first Friday of the month and thus, the day that beer bloggers the world throughout, engage in what has come to be called "the session." All the more reason to be thankful for the sacrifices of D-Day and so many other d-days since: America's fighting men and women sacrificing and dying to defend our right to waste the better part of a day rambling and ranting about beer.)

Beer Moment

Not a great beer, but maybe the best beer he’s ever had.

My son-in-law shipped out for Iraq last August and it seemed a different world last summer when we were packing up my daughter’s household goods to bring she and my granddaughter back to Arizona from Camp Pendleton. A sense of foreboding was certainly there with us as we worked.

Cleaning out the refrigerator was simple enough: anything that wouldn’t make the trip as road food was tossed out or packed for restocking the pantry in Arizona. I considered the lone bottle of Miller Lite that my son-in-law had left behind in the refrigerator. Not knowing what the future would bring but wanting some link to the time, I salvaged that bottle and carted it home in the back of the U-haul truck, explaining that I planned to make my son-in-law drink it upon his safe return from overseas.

The lonely bottle of Lite resided in my refrigerator for a time, was exiled to the garage for a spell, and then rather unceremoniously dumped into a cooler of ice this past weekend following my son-in-laws safe return to the United States. He spent an uneventful few months at a place called Al Asad and came home in one piece. Thank heaven. Now mind you, this bottle of Lite wasn’t the first beer we shared upon his return, but rather the last beer we popped open right before he packed up to head back to Camp Pendleton.

I’ve had warm beer. I’ve had skunky beer. I’ve had stolen beer and beer that was paid for out of my pocket and out of the pocket of others. I’ve had lots of Miller Lite. This particular Miller Lite was nothing to write home about if you consider it solely for it’s taste value, but if you consider the story behind this particular bottle of Miller Lite, I guess you might say that, for one of us at least, regardless of the quality, this beer must rate right up there as a lifetime best.