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

Brocation 2023, Pt. II

 (contd.)

The next morning everyone had to get up and around somewhat early - we had a loooong day ahead of us, hitting up a museum, a few different distilleries, and restaurants. We convened down in the ol' Carriage Room for our complimentary breakfast in order to rally together the team and finalize our plans for the day.

Erik, Morgan, Tom and Ryan, tearing into some waffles.

Grumpy old Mitch, grabbin' himself some breakfast.

Following the morning meal, Ryan fills up his travel cooler with ice for the road.

Morgan, Erik, and Yours Truly, waiting for everyone else to finish getting their crap out of the rooms in order to hit the road.

After setting out from the hotel, we stopped off at a local institution - Toddy's Liquors. This is the must-stop place for picking up hard-to-find bourbon in Bardstown, with prices more reasonable than in the distilleries themselves and a far wider selection that anything else for miles around.

Tom, overwhelmed.

My co-worker had me look for a bottle of Very Old Barton for her husband (the specific one he wanted was the bottle at the far right, which unfortunately didn't come in a half-gallon size - I asked the store owner if he had one sitting in the back and the crotchety old bastard said I was 'lucky he had that one and be good with it.' Whatever, dude.)

Mitch had a laundry list of bottles he was tasked with picking up for various golf clients back home, he probably dropped a grand in that store, filling up a large, cardboard box full of bottles.  I'd be having serious anxiety over folks paying me back for that shit.

While some of us were still inside the store, purchasing bourbon, Ryan and a couple other guys wandered across the street, where some random, historical school house was sitting nearby.

No way in hell I'd teach in a dump like that.  Of course, back then you could take out your teacher frustration with whacking kids with a stick, so maybe it wouldn't be all that bad.

Waiting for Mitch to finish up purchasing half the damn party store.

Mitch shows off some of his newly-acquired bottles to Erik.

Our first stop of the day was some local museum that specialized in the history of bourbon manufacturing in the state of Kentucky, some five or so miles away. While on our drive over that way, we kept seeing these dudes walking around the downtown area carrying a bunch of crosses.  You know, like normal people do.

Unloading the Battle Wagon at the museum, ready for some education.

I forget what this building was originally. It was like a hospital first, then a school/orphanage, or like a school where they taught people how to work in a hospital. Something like that.

Coming into the side entrance.

As we walked in, we had to sign in to a guestbook. One of those sorts of places.

Omkar leaves his mark.

There wasn't any admission into this place, but donations were strongly encouraged. I didn't give them shit, they're doing just fine.

This guy's had way too much to drink.  That's called substance abuse, folks.

Prepare thyselves for a ridiculous amount of poorly-captioned pictures, folks - I wasn't always sure what I was looking at when I took these pics.

Erik takes a gander at some ole timey copper stills.

Morgan and Ryan, learning more about the process.

If this museum had anything, it was a plethora of antique and vintage whiskey bottles - some familiar labels, but most of them were from distilleries no longer in operation, some dating back hundreds of years.

There, now you know. And knowing is half the battle.

Brother Washington, fellow bourbon aficionado. 

Carry Moore Nation, the Temperance Movement's Debbie Downer.

They featured a lot of time-period crap from the Prohibition Era throughout the museum.

More bottles.

One of these old whiskey crates had a swastika on it, but it pre-dated the 1930s. Which was weird.

The museum had multiple rooms with a 'theme' to them, but after awhile they all kinda started to look the same - big stuff (like stills, barrels, etc.) in the middle of the room, with pictures and information displays on the wall, shelves of antique bottles and flasks, etc. 

As you can see, all the pictures started to look the same after awhile.

A walking tour of some of the museum, for your viewing pleasure. . .

Ain't nobody wanna touch those lips anyway, 'ladies.'

We managed to nab ourselves a group pic at a 'bar' that was located in one of the side rooms.  Mustachio'd dude running the place didn't seem to mind.

Amen, Blue Eyes. Amen.

(We weren't allowed upstairs, sadly.)

They had these mannequins stationed throughout the exhibits, wearing time-period clothing but otherwise not contributing anything to the learning experience. Kinda creepy. 

At 'the store.'

I didn't realize that was an actual brand, pretty crazy.

Dollar admission, no foolin'?

A much, much older version of the exact same bottle that I picked up for my coworker not an hour before.

This room was towards the back of the building (clearly an old chapel that would have served the hospital staff. . . or orphanage. . . or school. . . whatever the hell used to be here.)

Now we're talkin' - 'bout time we saw some antique weaponry around this joint.

The scribble-to-text feature was a nice touch.

I could stare at weapons all day.

A portrait of some random-ass, ugly kid I spotted on the wall upstairs (wasn't sure I was supposed to go upstairs, but sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission.)

Another creepy mannequin. Probably haunted.

Shove your suggested donation straight up your ass, lady.

We're hilarious.

Back outside, after about an hour and a half touring through the museum's various rooms.

Kinda creepy.

Heading back to the van, preparing to set off for a couple smaller distilleries that were last-minute additions to our itinerary (we had about an hour to kill before our first big one of the day, Four Roses, where we had tour/tasting reservations.

The first one we attempted to stop off at was a smaller one, and nothing really high on anyone's priority list, but it was nearby - a matter of blocks - so we figured we'd give it a shot. Unfortunately, the place was closed on the weekend to visitors, so we weren't able to drive in past the guard gate.

The second distillery we stopped at, however, was open - Bardstown Bourbon.

Don't see these EV charging ports very often, and definitely wouldn't expect to see one in a random spot like this.

We saw hundreds of these large warehouses throughout the rest of the weekend - each distillery had dozens. Each of these warehouses contains thousands upon thousands of whiskey barrels, storing them in atmosphere-controlled environments that age the bourbon accordingly. I'll go more into the process later.

We didn't have reservations to this place - which wasn't high on Morgan and Mitch's 'To-Do' list - so we couldn't sign up for a tour or tasting, so we just decided to pop in and get a quick drink, look at the merch, and then head out for Four Roses.

It's crazy to think about how much money is contained in each of these frickin' warehouses.  You can see the barrels stored inside the building through the windows, there.

A much cleaner aesthetic than that of many of the other distilleries we'd be touring later.

Omkar asks where the bourbon's at.

This couch was super comfortable, I could have easily napped here.

You could spend all day sampling a collection like this, but it surely wouldn't end well. . .

Decisions, decisions. . .

The men hit up the bar to sample the local wares.

I stuck with water, since I was on backup duty as designated driver (I can't drink much liquor - my tolerance isn't great anymore - so I volunteered to drive so Morgan, our default driver, could enjoy himself.)

Mitch, bein' snoody with his bourbon.

Tom, looking pensive.

We didn't stick around Bardstown very long - like I said, just long enough for a round of drinks and a quick sec to scope out the merch store (no one bought anything, though - their branding wasn't great.) We got back on the road and drove about 45 minutes to get to our first 'main' distillery of the trip: Four Roses. 

This whole place had a very 'hacienda' vibe to it, which stood in stark contrast to the clean, modern look of the the distillery we had just been at.

You'd think at a place this nice, with a clock this fancy, you'd at least have it set to the correct time (it was actually 12:25pm.) 

Mitch and Omkar

We booked this tour late - way to go, Mitch - and were consequently unable to all do the distillery tour for this place. Morgan and Mitch - the two big bourbon guys in the group - and Erik decided to do the tour, while Yours Truly, Ryan, Tom and Omkar scheduled a simple (and cheaper) tasting. When we first entered the visitor center, we had to straighten all this crap out at the front desk before passing on to the merch store to check shit out while we waited for our tour/tastings to start.

They had like three or four varieties for sale.

Lots of barware on hand. I only ended up getting one souvenir glass on this entire trip, with a tasting (at this distillery, actually) because I have waaaaay too many drinking glasses at home as it is.

Outside of actually bottles of bourbon, I probably ended up buying the most 'merch' on this trip out of all the guys, and that was usually in the form of bar mats for our bar down in the basement. The bar mat from this place was pretty awesome.

They had a cocktail bar off in a side room where folks could order drinks while they waited around for their tours and tastings.

Still waiting. Erik, Tom and Omkar.

Ryan and Mitch

Morgan and I

Can't take this guy anywhere. . .

Eventually, the other three guys went off on their tour and Ryan, Tom, Omkar and I went into a room for our whiskey tasting.

The differences in these four bourbons were very subtle. Not bad, but we definitely had better this weekend.

This dude walked us through the tasting - a role we'd see again and again in future distillery tastings throughout the weekend. Like he'd have you smell the bourbon with your mouth slightly open so you didn't just smell alcohol, but the different notes and flavors that are somehow obscured when your mouth is closed. Weird shit like that.

Slainte

Meanwhile, on the tour, Morgan and the others were finding that several of the buildings were closed due to maintenance, so they didn't get to see all that much. They did get complimentary drinks, though.

I feel the need to buy this exact, same sign in my house for our various parties throughout the year.

After our tasting, we decided to wander the grounds and give ourselves a self-guided tour of sorts. Mitch, Morgan and Erik were at this point in time doing their tasting, having concluded their tour, so we had some time to kill.

Took a pic of whatever the hell this thing is/was. Certainly looks old.

I had to carry my bar mat with me all around the joint, but wanted to get the purchase out of the way so I didn't forget to grab it later.

These are some of the manufacturing (or whatever) buildings where they make their bourbon, but were closed to the public for the day.

Big vats filled with various liquids and crap. I assume.

We saw a lot of these big, open casks at other distilleries later in the weekend - filled with bubbling grain fermenting into whiskey. Smell was god-awful. 

Back at the bar in the Visitor Center, the other guys were still wrapping up their tasting, so we grabbed one more drink at Four Roses.

The different varieties of Four Roses (Small Batch was probably my fav.)

Slainte again.

With our tour and tastings wrapped up at Four Roses, we loaded back up into the Battle Wagon and drove another half-hour down the road to Jim Beam - one of the most famous bourbon makers in the world.

Some old structures still stand on the grounds as you make your way up the long drive towards the distillery's visitor center. 

Remember me talking about distillery warehouses earlier (where they age their barrels)? Well, over time, these warehouses start getting this creepy, black stuff spreading up the outside (it will also discolor the trees and plants in the area, too - like something out of Stranger Things.) Something to do with the sugars and vapors that are leaked out of the barrels, stains the wood and local vegetation. . . I guess.

Tour registrations, merch store, etc. - as always in the visitor center (not sure what I'm taking a pic of here.)

Mr. Beam himself.

Family photos (I guess) on the walls of the visitor center.

More antique flasks.

Just a bunch of fellas, hanging out with James Beam.

Rock and Roll.

(. . . and a black and white one, for good measure.)

For this tour we had to board a tour bus that drove us down a winding lane, back down the hill towards the barrel warehouses we had passed on our drive in. 

Cool kids sit at the back of the bus, folks.

The black shit growing up the walls of these warehouses is definitely unsettling.

The tour bus dropped us off at this warehouse, where we were to wander in and learn more abut the barrel aging process.

Entering the warehouse the first thing that hits you is the smell - the vapors of bourbon seeping into the air (something folks in the industry refer to as 'The Angels' Share.') Smelled incredible, wish I could bottle it up and make candles or something from it.

This was one row of one floor of the huge, multi-level warehouse. . . of which there were dozens spread throughout the distillery grounds. Soooo much booze. . .

It's hard to wrap your head around how much money is stored in just one of these warehouses. I mean, a single bottle costs $25 for cheap Jim Beam, and so each barrel has gotten be worth almost a grand.

Crazy to think these little, wooden boards can support so much weight.

When we got to the end of one of the rows, they began a presentation to show us what the whiskey tasted like before it was aged, versus after it was aged.

In case you were ever curious as to how they uncork bourbon barrels, here you go, folks.

The before-aged stuff tasted like frickin' lighter fluid - most of the guys couldn't finish their small pour of it (I did, though - you only live once.) They then gave us all a post-aged pour of bourbon, straight from the barrel, where the color was set and it actually tasted like whiskey and not, you know, the shit they strip paint with.

Here you go, folks - educate yourself.

Had one of the other tour attendees there take a group pic of us in the warehouse - we like group pics on trips like this, apparently we're just as bad as the wives.

After our tour of the warehouse, the bus dropped us back off at the distillery visitor center, where a couple of us bought some more merch (they didn't have bar mats, so I bought a magnet for my beer fridge int he basement instead.) Afterwards, we wandered around the grounds for a bit and checked out some of the local buildings.

Could be wrong, but I think those are the original owners' houses.

Few of us popped into this other visitor center/restaurant to use the bathroom (and a couple guys ordered a pizza for a mid-afternoon snack.)

Mitch and ol' Grandpappy Beam.

So many people have pet the dog statue's head over the years that the finish has worn off.  Love stuff like this.

Making friends, wherever we go.

Ryan and what I assume is a wishing well.

Took us shortly over an hour to drive back from Jim Beam to our town of Bardstown - once again I offered to drive, but Morgan declined the offer.

Last stop on our distillery tour today was Willet, a bourbon that both Mitch and Morgan really wanted to do. Unfortunately, once again, they had contacted the distillery too late in the summer and were unable to get us a tour or tasting, so we had to make due with just having drinks and appetizers there instead.

We got stuck walking behind the slowest old folks EVER on our walk up to the main building, it was excruciating.

Outdoor hangout area that apparently no one could use today.

Another old distillery building - don't think its a warehouse, that's probably where they ferment stuff by the looks of things.

Tom, our group cat aficionado, found a friend outside the door to the visitor center and had to take a pic of it. He should've crushed its skull with his shoe. I hate cats.

Willet is pretty good bourbon, and they come in bad-ass potion-like bottles. This is the sort of bottle a sorcerer would drink bourbon out of.

Talking shop in the merch store. They didn't have much there in terms of bar gear, so I didn't end up buying anything.

We wandered upstairs to get some food and drinks, seeing how we had come too late in the day to do anything else.

They didn't really do meals here, per se, but rather Spanish tapas-styled little plates and bowls of appetizers.

I wasn't hungry yet, and didn't want to drink too much bourbon throughout the day (like I said earlier, I have to pace myself with liquor, I'm no longer in college and my tolerance sucks), so I just stuck to water. 

The guys each ordered a drink or two and a couple plates of food to pick at, though.

This high-end bourbon they had on hand was pricey - that's $300 for less than a shot glass.

Went downstairs to use the restroom at one point, and to check out the merch store some more.

Good thing we had popped in before, it was already closed for the evening (which pissed off a couple guys that had wanted to grab a few bottles after their evening tapas.)

Bourbon bar.

Heading out from Willet after an hour or two.

Back in downtown Bardstown, folks were wanting some dinner (seriously - despite the fact that they had literally just finished eating at the other place, I can't fathom how these guys eat so damn much.)

Tom makes a friend in the Men's Room. Again.

I forget the name of the place we ducked into for dinner, but it was pretty slammed and we had to wait for a table to open up. Collier was not amused.

The bartender here was a huge bitch - she gave Morgan shit for ordering Jack Daniels instead of bourbon.

Fortunately the girl that was serving our table was not a bitch, and got us seated and served pretty damn fast.

The Bourbon Boys, pouring over another whiskey list.

This was my dinner this evening. Drinking all day doesn't leave much room in my stomach for food.

Random shot of the outdoor patio area on our way out of the joint.

Another pit stop off at Toddy's Liquor Store on our way back to the hotel so folks could grab some stuff to drink back by the pool.

While down by the pool, we spotted that carriage driver again on his rounds - usually makes a poolside appearance.

Beers, Bluetooth'd music, and Bros in a pool.

Erik tosses down my sandals that had randomly disappeared (one of the other guys wore mine out of the pool on accident.)

Like the night before, the pool closed at 10pm so we reconvened downstairs in the front of the motel for some euchre.

Morgan and I dominated this evening, for sure - beat two different pairs of dudes.

Mitch's hand (Omkar called Clubs.)

Aaaaand to close out the evening, Collier took a pic of this horse's balls. So there ya go, folks.

- Brian