Ghostly good

Sunday night was an evening of high expectations. The series finale of "Lost" aired. To commemorate the death of my favorite show, I picked a beer I'd been highly anticipating drinking -- Fantome Saison. (Plus it seemed like a good fit with "Lost," a show that features a phantom-like smoke monster.)

Fantome Saison is the highest rated saison, according to Beer Advocate. Rate Beer also gives it a 99 out of 100. Since I love saisons, I really, really wanted to try this beer, which is brewed in Belgium and is hard to find in the US. I got lucky and snagged a bottle at New Beer Distributors in New York.

As I watched the two-hour recap that preceded the "Lost" finale, I cracked open the Fantome.

It had a slight sour and musty smell, but it's faint. It poured a cloudy gold that gets milkier further down the bottle from the unfiltered yeast sediment.

The taste was surprisingly delicate -- slightly sour with some barnyard funk. The sour hits the back of the mouth, causing a slight pucker and the roof of the mouth to salivate. The funk -- a light horse-blanket taste -- intensifies on the backend. The beer has a flat carbonation, which makes drinking it sort of a wine-like experience.

What the beer lacks in taste intensity, it makes up for in authenticity. This is a classic farmhouse ale -- raw, simple, natural, organic. It's an artful Belgian gold ale that is worth seeking out.

That said -- like the "Lost" finale itself -- the Fantome didn't quite meet my lofty expectations. It's a good beer for sure. But I don't think it's great.


The details:
Name: Fantome Saison
Brewer: Brasserie Fantome
Beer Advocate rank: 68
Style: Belgian Saison
Alcohol: 8 percent
Cost: $12 for a 750-ml bottle
My Grade: A-
Skinny: Saisons just may be my favorite beer style at the moment. I highly anticipated this one because it's rated the best saison in the world by Beer Advocate. It's good, for sure -- delicate, funky, raw. But it's a bit more understated than I expected. I'd put it third on the world's best saison list -- a bit behind Ommegang Hennepin, which for me is still king of the saisons, and the wonderful Boulevard Saison - Brett.

Hiking buddies

It's been a rough year with the divorce, the move and all that. The two things this blog is about -- hiking and beer -- have helped get me through. My love for both have given me something to concentrate on when everything else has fallen apart.

But, as is the case in most things, it's the people associated with the activities that are most special. So here's a roll call of folks who have helped me get through. They're chiefly my hiking but also my drinking buddies.

I've known Leif Sidwell since I was 4. We've been fast friends ever since. He's always there for me -- no matter the problem or time. I've probably spent more time hiking with him than anyone else. The best trip was last summer when we spent seven days in the wild near Gunnison, Colo. It was awesome -- not nearly as awesome as Leif's beard at the time. After I move to Colorado this summer, I'm sure we'll be hauling each other around the backcountry and up 14ers. Can't wait.

Chuck Rowling has been one of my best friends since middle school. When I separated from my wife and quit my job in January, Chuck insisted I come spend a month with him in Tacoma, Wash. We went on some epic hikes -- on the Olympic Peninsula, in the caves of Mount St. Helens, on the Oregon Coast, on the flanks of Mt. Rainier. Like Leif, he's been a steadfast friend through the bad times, and I'm extremely thankful for it. I've vowed to climb Rainier, and I hope to haul Chuck up with me.

Dustin Stover -- along with Leif and Chuck -- has been a best friend since high school. Our hiking stretches back to high school excursions on the South Loup River north of Kearney. We were able to trudge around together again in Los Angeles this spring when we hiked in the hills of northwest L.A. It was an odd but cool experience. I wouldn't expect anything less from Dusty.

Josh Nichols and I have been on some epic hiking experiences. We went to college together and worked at the Daily Nebraskan student newspaper, but our friendship blossomed when I convinced him to take a reporting gig at the Grand Junction Free Press. There, we climbed our first -- and second -- 14ers together, we endured a waterless hike to see the arches near Grand Junction and we scaled Crags Crest on the Grand Mesa. I spent two weeks with him and his awesome wife KP in Montana on my road trip this winter. They showed me some cool spots up there, too.

I met Cullen Purser by chance. I'd been assigned to write a story about his furniture-making prowess. We quickly became friends, and Cullen graciously showed me many of the off-the-path spots in western Colorado. My favorite excursion with him was last fall when we backpacked on the flanks of Mount Sneffels near Ouray, Colo. I took the usual backpacking stuff. He took a coat and an umbrella. That's hardcore. He's been a great friend beyond that, always willing to listen and give honest advice. Plus he's let me sleep in his shed many nights.

(Special thanks to Jennifer Conner, Katie Perkins Nichols and Jeannine Purser for putting up with me and letting me abduct their husbands for adventures in the wild over the years. Your patience -- and friendship -- is much appreciated.)

'Berry unusual

New Glarus Brewing Co. is a sacred -- or is it spotted? -- cow of the American craft-brewing movement. Anyone who's had its brews will tell you they're world class. The trouble is getting the beer.

Situated in a small, central Wisconsin town of the same name, New Glarus only distributes within the Wisconsin boarders. They claim it's because they can only make so much beer.

Whatever. I'm sure they could reach further than they do. It's a shame because so many beer lovers would love to snag their products.

I've gotten lucky a few times. My former boss is from Wisconsin, and she brought me some Spotted Cow and Fat Squirrel. But I've always wanted to try New Glarus' Wisconsin Belgian Red and Raspberry Tart -- both of which are ranked highly by Beer Advocate. Thanks to my generous buddy Mike, I got to try the latter.

And, boy, was it a trip of a beer experience.

The color is beautiful. It's a jewel-like reddish amber. The first thing that hits you is the smell -- sweet, full raspberries. The taste runs a quick gambit -- initially sweet, thing an acidic sting, then a tart bite. That sweet-tart flavor lingers on the tongue for a while after the swallow.

I'm not big on fruit beers. They're just so strange, but I like Raspberry Tart a lot better than Lindemans Framboise because New Glarus' offering is much more authentic-tasting and well-rounded.

And if you're going to drink a fruit beer, this is the one to try. In the style, it's world class. If you're not a cheese head, though, good luck finding it.


The details:
Name: Raspberry Tart
Brewer: New Glarus Brewing Co.
Beer Advocate rank: 60
Style: Fruit Beer
Alcohol: 4 percent
Cost: $8.50 for a 750-ml bottle
My Grade: B
Skinny: This doesn't drink much like a beer -- more like a sparkling wine or cider. It's a startling experience -- sweet and tart. While it's not my favorite beer by any means, it provides a really interesting drinking experience. It's especially good for dessert -- or girlfriends.

Terrible Tilly

Sometimes, good trips go bad in a hurry.

My friend Chuck and I decided to take a trip to the Oregon Coast one weekend in early February. We knew it would be rainy, but, heck, that's Oregon. We left late on a Friday night after a dissertation meeting Chuck had at the University of Washington.

We jetted down I-5 through southern Washington and into Oregon. We eventually made it to Cape Lookout State Park near Tillamook, Ore., around midnight. We found a camping spot in an eerily vacant portion of the campground. We set up the tent in the rain, pounded a few Deschutes and Widmer Brothers beers and went to sleep. The crashing waves of the Pacific lulled us to sleep.

We awoke to the sound of a vehicle driving up, the slamming of its door and the crunching of boots on gravel.

"Good morning," a serious voice said. "I'm ranger John Johnson. I'm here to inform you that you're camped in a part of the campground that is closed. You're too close to the dunes. Waves have been known to crash over them and flood this section of the campground."

It was 7 a.m. He gave us two hours to get out of there. So we hurried. We grabbed some coffee and Tillamook cheese and drove a couple hours to Tillamook Head, which guidebooks dub as the quintessential Oregon Coast hike.

Things started out well. The beach was beautiful -- it's where "Goonies" was filmed. We trudged up up a steep cliff lined with lush trees and overlooking an especially gnarly part of the coast. We eventually emerged at a cool campground with wooded structures, walked past an old World War II bunker and peered over a huge cliff. There, in the distance, was Terrible Tilly. It's an iconic Oregon lighthouse that got it's name because it endures some of the worst sea storms in the U.S.

Most people stop there and turnaround. But we decided to trudge further through the forest to a place called Tillamook Head. We happily hiked. At one point a huge tree had fallen on the trail and we had to trek a quarter-mile out of the way to get around it.

As the trail got worse, a couple trail runners blazed past us, burning through the trees. We started to descend the trail. Then it disappeared in a mess of mud, fallen trees and mist. We trudged around for a good half hour or more. Then we were thoroughly lost. We thought the trail was a loop, and we desperately wanted to find the way back.

We never did. In fact, we found a different trail that took us further from our car. We didn't stick on it long. We eventually found the original trail and hiked back the way we came. Chuck and I didn't talk much. We were tired. We were hungry. We were pissed. And the rain never let up.

We got to that fallen tree. Instead of walking around, we climbed over the huge splitters and dangled over a 500-foot drop to the ocean. We made it fine, but it was scary.

We eventually made it back to the car, downed some Gatorade and ate the cheese. Our original plan called for us to camp that night. Instead we drove to Portland, drank a lot of beer at a Deschutes Public House in Portland and slept in our car in a Portland State University parking lot.

All in all, it was pretty miserable. But, as more time gets between then and now, the adventure seems sweeter. We're both glad we did it.


The details:
Tillamook Head
Location: About 5 miles north of Cannon Beach, Ore.
Length: 4 miles (or 6 if you get lost)
Beginning elevation: 20 feet
Peak elevation: 1,010 feet
Difficulty (out of 5): 2, worse if you get lost

Chocolate and beer

Chocolate beer? Doesn't sound like a great idea, right?

But Brooklyn Brewery's Black Chocolate Stout does it right. When I was planning my trip to New York City, scoring some was a priority. I did just that at the frumpy-fabulous New Beer Distributors. Snagging a four-pack was a coup because the stout is a seasonal winter brew. I wasn't sure I would be able to find it in May. When I saw it on the tightly packed shelf, I greedily grabbed it.

This beer is for the greedy. It's over-the-top indulgent. It pours a jet-black with a small, frothy head. It's technically a Russian Imperial Stout and smells like one with a rich malty aroma that has a bite from the hops and high alcohol content.

On the first sip, the beer coats the tongue and has a weighty feel in the mouth. It has a nice hoppy bite up front that melts away into the rich malts. There definitely is a chocolate hint -- from the chocolate malted barley used in the brewing process. But the chocolate taste is fairly subtle. It's more of an allusion. It's not overpowering or syrupy.

In short, the chocolate fits. It works. Beautifully. So well, in fact, that Black Chocolate Stout easily takes a spot in my top-three stouts.

There's only one problem: I wish I would have brought back more than four bottles.


The details:
Name: Black Chocolate Stout
Brewer: Brooklyn Brewery
Beer Advocate rank: NR
Style: Russian Imperial Stout
Alcohol: 10.1 percent
Cost: $9.75 for a four-pack
My Grade: A
Skinny: It's not as chocolate-tasting as it sounds, but it is just as indulgent as its name suggests. This beer is in my top three stouts -- along with the Abyss and Old Rasputin. It's robust and rich. The 10-percent alcohol doesn't hurt its case either. A really nice drinking experience.

Hoh!

Here's how I pictured Washington: Green from all the rain, lots of mountains that aren't quite as dramatic as the Rockies and rugged beaches.

What I didn't picture was mossy trees in a huge North American rain forest. But that's what I saw a whole lot of -- especially on the Olympic Peninsula's Hoh Rain Forest.

The place is surreal. Even in February, it was lush, green and humid. Hundreds of elk darted in and out of the trees as my friend Chuck and I walked along the muddy dirt trail. The Hoh River babbled mere feet from us.

Gorgeous waterfalls trickled down from the Olympic Mountains. Huge trees had fallen decades ago and stretched sometimes 100 feet along the trail. Their massive roots curled 20 feet into the air.

The 17-mile trail eventually leads to Mt. Olympus. We didn't follow it nearly that far. Instead, we stopped at 5-mile Island -- a rocky piece of land jutting out into the river.

The trail itself is a good adventure. We had to jump creeks at certain points and crawl over those big downed trees. Even though the trail wasn't too steep, it's still a strenuous 10-mile haul.

The best part: The trip back to Seattle takes you through Olympia, where you can eat at Old School Pizzeria.

The details:
Hoh Rainforest Trail, from the visitor center to 5-mile Island
Location: About 20 miles southeast of Forks, Wash.
Length: 10 miles
Beginning elevation: 200 feet
Peak elevation: 700 feet
Difficulty (out of 5): 2

Let's hear it for New York

My recent trip to New York City made me look at beer with an "Empire State of Mind." Like with food, art and theater, New York knows how to do beer right.

The best beer experiences from the trip:

5. Drinking Peroni at Lombardi's Pizza in Little Italy. The pizza, of course, was better than the beer. But if you're crunching an old-school Margherita, drinking anything but Peroni would be blasphemy.

4. Drinking Hoegaarden at the White Horse Tavern in the West Village. At this bar where Dylan Thomas drank himself to death, the beer selection isn't great. But Hoegaarden was a nice find. And our server happened to be a native Nebraskan.

3. Drinking Green Flash West Coast IPA at the Blind Tiger in the West Village. The bar had lots of good craft beers. They advertised having Dogfish Head on tap, but they didn't when I walked in. Lots of Rogue, which is cool. But the Green Flash was a nice hoppy treat on a sunny NYC day. The bar is cool with 30-some craft brews on tap daily.

2. Drinking Three Floyds Dreadnaught IPA at the Pony Bar, three blocks west of Times Square. The Pony Bar is awesome -- young, professional drinkers crammed into a small but classy bar. And beers are $5. That's a sweet value that close to Times Square. Plus Dreadnaught checks in at No. 30 on Beer Advocate's Top 100 list, so that was a nice find. The Pony is best bar I've ever been to in New York City.

1. Buying a bunch of hard-to-find beers at New Beer Distributors in NoHo. The warehouse-like beer store near Little Italy and Chinatown was dark and dingy. But it was full of brews you can't score in the Midwest. My haul included the much-sought-after Fantome Saison, the awesome Brooklyn Brewy Black Chocolate Stout, said Green Flash IPA and a Young's Double Chocolate stout. The only drawback: My suitcase was really heavy on the way back. Had I had my car, I'd probably have bought the place out.

The worst experience? The $10 Miller Lite at Yankee Stadium.

Flatlanding

Here's something I never thought I'd say: I've been running a lot.

Please note I said I've been running. I am not a runner. There's a big distinction in that.

Runners love running. They get off on the pain, trucking along roads, monitoring their heart rate.

I hate running. Even though I've logged 75 miles in the past six weeks, I still hate it. I dread putting on the Asics I bought on sale for $30. I have trouble breathing at the start. My stomach cramps up often. My legs get tired. I rely heavily on Sufjan Stevens, Ben Gibbard and Britt Daniel to sing me through.

But I keep doing it. Why? A few reasons.

Mostly, I want to be in good shape when I move to Colorado this summer. I want to be able to better climb 14ers and more easily haul backpacks into remote sections of the Rockies.

Also, my family has a pretty wicked history of heart disease. I'd like to beat that.

And -- who am I kidding? -- as a guy recently separated from his wife, I'd like to be more appealing to women. I'd like to make my gut recede as quickly as my hairline.

After hiking a whole lot on my West Coast swing, I was in pretty good shape. I didn't want it to waste away, so when I came back to Nebraska, I began running. It started with a 3-mile run on my 30th birthday in March. It's advanced to an 8-mile run today. I clipped it off in 74 minutes. That's 9:15 pace, which won't win any races but isn't shameful either.

Aside from the physical benefits, running has made me appreciate and connect with the flat land surrounding the home where I grew up. I run along mostly gravel and minimum-maintenance roads. Part of my usual trek along U Road south of Kearney runs along the Oregon Trail. Earlier this spring, I ran near Sandhill Cranes that majestically migrate to south-central Nebraska every year.

Don't get me wrong, I love mountains. I'll take a drastic, dramatic landscape over Nebraska's every time. But when it comes to running, flat rules. Plus the rigidly gridded road system makes measuring miles really easy. The dirt roads are laid out exactly a mile from each other.

A note on the picture: It was taken by my son. When he's with me, he and my dad usually jump in Papa's pickup and come hassle me.

I love that picture -- the weathered pick-up bed, the sentinel telephone poles, the startlingly flat fields and me actually doing something I never thought I'd regularly do.


The details:
Kearney County gravel road gallop
Location: About 5 miles south of Kearney, Nebr., on Hwy 44
Length: 8 miles
Beginning elevation: 2,150 feet
Peak elevation: 2,150 feet
Difficulty (out of 5): 1, depending on the wind