This Is Your Brain on GABF

A few days ago, I left Boston for the Great American Beer Festival in Denver, convinced I wouldn’t make it back in one piece; what passes for a full-length drinking event in normal life was only 1/4^th of the festivities. The good news: I lived to tell the tale! The bad news: I barely caught a glimpse of the mountains.

I spent a LOT of time indoors – at media briefings, in a bus, at breweries, inside the Colorado Convention Center. My free time was spent charging my rapidly depleting phone battery (turns out live tweeting a 2-hour awards ceremony with 82 categories is iPhone kryptonite) and getting to the next activity. Then there’s the main event(s).  

How does one describe life inside a giant hall full of craft beer? It’s all the things you would guess – noisy, full of costumed folks, long lines, and gleeful note-taking. It’s also a whole lot more. Without further ado, I present…

Your Brain on GABF

Smell:

The overwhelming scent of mingled Ales, Lagers, Pilsners, Barleywines, Belgians, and Stouts fills the air. Occasionally, you’ll get a whiff of Axe body spray or pizza.

Sight:

The exhibit hall is chock full of brightly colored booths arranged by region, lines for the men’s bathroom (sorry not sorry), and a surprising amount of non-beer activity. Those dragged along by friends/sig O’s can find refuge in a laser maze, beard-trimming salon, silent disco, or Vegas-style marriage booth. The traditional pretzel necklace has evolved to include entire bags of Cheez-its, whole cookies, and Funyuns.

Touch:

The predictable press of bodies, sticky fingers, being led by the hand/arm/waist by friends or chummy non-friends, and your plastic cup, always. …Oh crap, where did my cup go?

Taste:

Your tongue is having the time of its life. Compared to the sours and experiments with jalapeno/blackberry/curry, the lighter beers tend to pale in comparison. Free samples of pretzels, cheese, beef jerky, granola bars, and nachos are a welcome break from the onslaught.

Sound:

The roar of the crowd as a drinker drops their cup. “What was your favorite?” “Holy shit that was Sam Calagione.” “We’ve still got ___ hours left!” Bagpipes.

And that’s just GABF proper. Then you have the awards ceremony, held in a room full of hundreds of people representing hundreds of breweries, and the satellite events – campfires, brunches, paired lunches, concerts, bottle swaps, meetups at local watering holes like Euclid Hall and Falling Rock, tours through Crooked Stave and Great Divide, leading up to post-midnight car rides back to a suburban AirBnB house because two former strangers offered a lift.

You can understand why I’m a little dazed on my first day back to civilization. But if there’s anything I will take away from this experience, it’s (1) I need to get a phone with way more battery life, and (2) beer people are some of the funniest, kindest, craziest people you will ever meet.

Next time, I’ll do some actual sightseeing, eat a proper meal, sleep more, and stay closer to downtown. But for now, I’m happy to be home alongside Gold medal winners Jack’s Abby and Mystic Brewery.

Correspondent out.

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