Brocation 2023, Pt. IV: Epilogue

(contd.)

It was rainy and dreary as we awoke on our last day of Kentucky - fitting weather for the solemnity that hung over our group as we slowly emptied our hotel rooms and loaded everything up in the back of the Battle Wagon. The party was over.  We were headed home.

We set off North, back towards Michigan, with about six hours of driving ahead of us.  Nobody was looking forward to it.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I wish we had roadside cliffs like this in Michigan.

We had one, last adventure up our sleeves, however: Morgan and Mitch had another distillery on the agenda, one north of Bardstown and on our way back home. Buffalo Trace.

Heading up the long, winding drive towards the distillery.

Like Heaven Hill, Buffalo Trace is somewhat of an umbrella distillery that has a bunch of different brands under its banner. 

Mitch got a pic of me taking the previous pic. You know, so you can see the Master at work.

Another placard for your viewing - and educational - pleasure.

The grounds here were kinda a dump compared to some of the other places we'd been to - it was like walking into a factory row some where in pre-WWII, industrial Birmingham, England. Looked more like an ironworks factory setting than a distillery.

More barrel ramps, like we'd see earlier throughout the weekend.

The team sallies forth towards the main visitor center.

No, that's not the Rust Belt.

The first thing that greets you in the Visitor Center - aside from the check-in counter - is a sprawling merch store, bigger than any that we had been in all weekend.

Some of the brands Buffalo Trace houses in its facility.

Like some of the other distilleries we had frequented earlier in the weekend, we didn't schedule this one soon enough (thanks again, Mitch and Morgan) so there was no tour to be undertaken this time around. Just a Tasting.

We had to queue up in line for an available tasting group, but fortunately it wasn't much of a wait (probably 15 minutes, thereabouts.)

Erik, Mitch, and Tom check out the baseboards of the walls on their way down the queue.

Authentic whiskey barrel slats, taken from old aging barrels.

Soon enough, we saddled up to a tasting station with an old guy - a fellow Midwesterner - who lined up six drinks for us to sample.

Behold the Bourbon. . .

Tom got a group pic of all of us at the bar (he had it on wide angle - Morgan's head isn't that tiny, folks.)

After our tasting, we headed on back downstairs towards to the huge merch store to pick up last-minute souvenirs of our trip. On the way, we saw this vault filled with bottles that would set you back, like, $1000 or more apiece. Available upon request sort of a thing.

This room was decked out with motion-sensor lasers, like you see in heist movies all the time (you can see the green dots along all the walls if you look closely.)

Bourbon artwork is pretty awesome.

Picking up last-minute bottles of treasure. I, once again, neglected to pick up any bottles from this place, and I didn't care for their bar mats in the slightest. Instead, I bought a giant, metal bar sign for the wall behind my bar (probably 20"x 28") - that's the next step in my bar development plan, to decorate the wall behind the bar with various bar signs. 

With our final purchases made, we made our way back out to the car to resume our journey home.

Not sure what the deal was with these vans. Like, are they food trucks, but instead of cheap Mexican options they sling bourbon? I guess we'll never know. . .

Fast forward a few hours, and we were coming out of Kentucky and entering the Ninth Circle of Hell. . . more commonly referred to as Ohio, the Butthole of the Nation.

Fun Fact: I've never once driven through Cincinnati without wanting to take my own life.

Miraculously, we didn't encounter bumper-to-bumper traffic backups, construction, etc. while driving through this Godforsaken city. . .

Crossing the Ohio River (which, by the way, was one of the main causes of the French and Indian War.)

Hooray. Ohio.

For the last couple of hours, Mitch had been playing Caddyshack on a tablet that he strapped to the back of my seat. I was seated in the row ahead of them, and was content just listening to the movie play behind me (I've seen it so many times I could picture it in my head while listening to it.)

Later on, sometime in the afternoon, we crossed out of the dismal wastelands of Ohio and back to the lands of our forefathers, Michigan. And so, dear readers, ends another epic installment of the Brocation series. Be sure to tune in next year when this random group of Midland Dads, The Kings of the Hill, strike out again on another, end-of-summer adventure (sans wives and kids, of course.) Until next time.

- Brian