In Sacramento, it is spring when trees sprout rich, new-dollar leaves. Ruben and I tour new south-side breweries all afternoon. I rather pedal on two lazy wheels than drive on four tipsy.
At the Oak Park Brewery, the brewmaster shovels great quantities of spent malt out of a copper mash tun into gray waste barrels. I like Oak Park’s style. They fashion beer taps out of metal pipe and outfit doors with portholes.
We pedal next over the highway into light industrial Sacramento to Track 7 Brewery for their chocolate cherry stout scented with vanilla rum. Over dark foamy goblets, Ruben and I discuss wood, poker, Ed Norton, and the Horowitz Hotel.
On the way back to midtown, we stop at our third brewery, New Helvetia Brewing. Two employees paddle pingpong balls by the brew vats. In the main room, local artists exchange their work for beer. I’m happily drunk but tired. We cycle back in last light to beat the owls.
Ruben sports a suit jacket with an ironed pocket square. He carries a rumpled second handkerchief for “blow,” as the ornate first square is for “show.” Is this carefully folded handkerchief an affectation or just part of Ruben? Who gets to decide?
I’m known for my light-up outfits, bright colors, and odd clothing. Is this brightness an affectation or just who I am? Although I make and wear for personal enjoyment, I also crave the amazed responses.